Page 33 of Every Last One

“What is it?” Sandra coaxed out of him.

“Bad news. The surgery is scheduled, and people are relying on other organs from that donor. It can’t be pushed off.”

“Son of a bitch,” Kreiger muttered and slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand.

“Ah.” Luis’s cheeks flamed bright red. “And now they know about our situation, they are prepping the next heart recipient on the list for possible transplant.”

“They’re not even giving us a chance here?” Neal’s voice was strained.

“They are, but if things aren’t worked out here by nine PM, Phoebe Chapman’s heart will go to someone else. But everything should be, uh, wrapped up by then, shouldn’t it?” Luis looked at his wristwatch.

“These things take the time they take,” Brice said solemnly. “And sometimes that’s far longer than we’d like.”

“Oh.”

The tiny utterance from the emergency director’s lips hit like an anvil tossed into water. The repercussions rippled out, reminding all of them of the stakes involved.

SEVENTEEN

1:07 PM

Sandra sat back in her chair, feeling like she’d been hit by a dump truck. Putting a clock on negotiations was never effective. Deadlines made for impulsive decisions. She watched Kreiger’s face ball into an angry mask, and she feared he might do something rash. But storming into Founders wasn’t the smart choice. Not with innocent lives on the line. “Luis, I need the direct lines for all the nurses’ stations.”

Luis rattled off the numbers while noting the floors they belonged to. Brice wrote them down, while Luis added, “I just wanted to point out the number I gave you for the eighth is for the main admin desk. No patients stay on that floor. It’s mostly offices and labs.”

Sandra put her headset on and placed the first call, starting with the sixth floor. Presumably, the man who had infected the server was there. And now the thought occurred to her,What if he never left the server room?

The line rang repeatedly before rolling over to an automated voicemail.

Next, she started on the main level and worked her way up, while skipping the fourth floor for now.

No luck until the eighth floor.

A woman answered. Her voice was sheepish. “Hello?”

Brice wrote,an innocent?on a piece of paper and pushed it over for her to see. Sandra shrugged. It might be the shot caller making herself seem guileless.

“I’m FBI Special Agent Sandra Vos.”

“Thank God. Are you here to help us?”

“We’re working on that. What’s your name?”

“Janie DeSilva. I’m an endoscopy technician with the hospital. I didn’t know the phones were back up, or I would have called nine-one-one again. I did this morning and got cut off.”

Sandra glanced over at Brice. The woman she spoke to at the cordon line said her sister’s name was Janie DeSilva. “Is it safe for you to talk with me?”

“Yes. I’m hiding beneath the desk, but I don’t think she’ll be back.”

“Who isshe, Janie?”

“I don’t know who she is, but she had a gun on Pam. That’s why I called before.”

“Do you know what she wanted from Pam?” She’d get around to asking who she was.

“She was walking down the hall with her, and they pushed their way into the meeting.”

“Can you describe this woman’s looks?”