15

The elderly physician, who had a gray mustache, wore suspenders, and didn't mind ordering full-body X rays for anyone willing to pay him five thousand dollars, came out of a door marked TECHNICIANS ONLY. Instead of sending his patients to one of the hospitals, he'd chosen a private facility called the Radiology Clinic. As he crossed the waiting room, Savage, Akira, and Rachel stood.

“Well?” Savage asked.

“The films are excellent. We won't need to take a second set. I've studied them carefully.”

Savage couldn't keep the anxiety out of his voice. “But what did you find?”

“You paid so handsomely to have your pictures taken, why don't you come along and see for yourselves?”

The doctor led them through the door. They quickly entered a dimly lit room. To the right was a counter with cupboards above and below. To the left was a wall upon which a row of X-ray films hung from clips, illuminated by fluorescent lights behind them.

Various skeletal segments were revealed in shades of gray.

“These are yours,” the doctor said, gesturing to Savage. “And these farther over are yours,” he told Akira.

They leaned toward the films. After thirty seconds, Akira shook his head and faced the doctor. “I don't know how to read them.”

“You asked me to determine how well your injuries had mended. My response is, what injuries?”

“Jesus,” Savage said. “I was right.”

“I'm not sure what you mean, but I'm sure of this.” The doctor traced a pencil along bones on the various films. “I'll save you the medical terminology. This is your upper right leg. Your lower. Your left leg, upper and lower. Right ribs. Left ribs. Various views of the skull.”

The doctor shifted toward Akira's X rays and used the pencil to draw attention to the images of his bones as well. “Completely intact. No sign of calcium deposits where the bones would have mended. Why would you tell me that each of you had suffered broken legs, broken arms, broken ribs, and a fractured skull, when none of those injuries obviously ever happened?”

“We thought they did,” Akira said.

“Thought?Traumas that extensive wouldn't leave you in doubt. Your suffering would have been enormous.”

“It was,” Savage said.

He trembled. Rachel gripped his arm.

“Howcould you have suffered?” the doctor asked. “If the injuries didn't occur?”

“That's a damned good question. Believe me, I intend to find out.”

“Well, while you're at it, find out something else,” the doctor said. “I don't like coincidence. Both of you claim identical injuries, though they never occurred. But both of you do have signs of surgery”-he gestured with his pencil toward two X-ray films-“which weren't the result of broken bones.”

“Yes, each of us had our spleen and appendix removed,” Akira said.

“You showed me those scars,” the doctor said. “They're exactly as they should look if those organs were in fact removed. Your X rays aren't detailed enough to verify my conclusion, of course. Only further surgery would prove it. But that's not my point The surgery I'm referring to wasn't on your chests and your lower torsos. It was on your skulls.”

“What?” Savage said.

“Of course. Because of the fractures,” Akira said.

“No.”The doctor kept gesturing toward separate X-ray films. “These tiny circles? One above each left ear? They're unmistakable evidence.”

“Of?”

“Intrusions into the left temporal lobe of each brain.” The doctor pivoted toward Savage, then Akira. “And neither of you is aware of the surgery?”

Savage hesitated.

“I asked you a question.”

“No,” Savage said, “we weren't aware.”

“That's hard to believe.”

“It wouldn't be if you'd been with us for the past few days. Please.” Savage swallowed bile. “Help us.”

“How? I've done what I could.”

“No, where do we go? Who do we ask from here?”

“All I can tell you”-the doctor turned to the films-“is the surgeon was a genius. I'm merely a Pennsylvania general practitioner about to retire. But I haven't ignored the latest medical texts. And I know of nothing this sophisticated. The juncture between detached skull segments and each skull itself is almost perfectly disguised. The procedure was magnificent. Where do you go from here? Where money buys superstars. The best neurosurgeons at the biggest institutions.”

JAMAIS VU

1

The neurosurgeon's name was Anthony Santizo. He had thick dark hair, swarthy skin, and extremely intelligent eyes. His handsome features were somewhat haggard-the consequence of fatigue, Savage guessed, since the doctor had just completed seven hours of surgery. In contrast, his body was trim-the consequence of addiction to racquetball games, one of which Santizo had explained he was scheduled to play in an hour.

“I know you're busy,” Savage said. “We're grateful you made time for us.”

Santizo raised his shoulders. “I normally wouldn't have. But the neurosurgeon your physician spoke to in Harrisburg happens to know a former classmate of mine, a good friend from Harvard Medical School. Harrisburg has excellent physicians, of course, but the way your problem was described to me, I think my friend was right to send you here.”

Here was Philadelphia, the hospital of the University of Pennsylvania. A hundred miles east of Harrisburg, it was quicker to get to than Pennsylvania 's other major university hospital, twice as far to the west, in Pittsburgh.

“I'm intrigued by mysteries,” Santizo said. “Sherlock Holmes. Agatha Christie. The wonderful clues. The delicious riddles. But the brain is thegreatest mystery. The key to the door to the secret of what makes us human. That's why I chose my specialty.”

A secretary entered the immaculate office, bringing in cups and a pot on a tray.

“Excellent,” Santizo said. “On time. My herbal tea. Would you care for…?”

“Yes,” Akira said. “I'd like some.”

“I'm afraid it's less strong than you're used to in Japan.”

Akira bowed. “I'm sure it's refreshing.”

Santizo bowed in return. “I went to Harvard with one of your countrymen. I'll never forget what he said to me. We were both just starting our internships. The long, brutal hours wore me down. I didn't think I'd survive. Your countryman said, ‘When you're not on duty, you must find an exercise you enjoy.’ I told him I didn't understand. ‘If I'm already tired, why would I want to exercise?’ You know what his answer was? ‘Your fatigue is caused by your mind. You must combat that fatigue by physical fatigue. The latter will cancel your former.’ That made no sense to me. I told him so. He responded with one word.”

“Wa,” Akira said.

Santizo laughed. “Yes! By God, you remind me of your countryman!”

“ ‘Wa’?” Rachel asked, assessed the word, and frowned. As everyone looked at her, she reached self-consciously for a cup.

“It means ‘balance,’” Akira said. “Mental fatigue is neutralized by…”

“Exercise,” Santizo said. “How right your countryman was. It's tough to find time, and after the days and nights I put in, I'm usually so exhausted I hate to do it. But I have to do it. Because racquetball makes me abetter neurosurgeon.” Preoccupied, he glanced at his watch. “And in fifty minutes, I'm due at the court. So show me these supposedly baffling X rays.”

He took the oversize folder. “Hey, don't look depressed. Remember ‘wa.’ Racquetball and neurosurgery. Sherlock Holmes.”