Chapter 5 - The Midnight Whispers
Within fifteen minutes, I began my performance.
I slumped against the high back of the dining chair, letting my head loll slightly to the side while blinking sluggishly.
"Daniel... I feel so strange," I slurred, letting my words blur together.
"The room is... spinning."
Daniel stood over me, his smile completely gone, replaced by the cold, dispassionate clinical assessment of a livestock handler.
He didn't offer a glass of water; he didn't ask if I needed an ambulance.
He reached out two fingers, pressing them firmly against the carotid artery in my neck, checking the timing of my pulse against his wristwatch.
"Heart rate is sixty-eight, steady," Daniel muttered aloud to the empty room.
"The sedative is taking hold nicely."
He scooped me up into his arms, carrying me effortlessly down the wide corridor toward the master bedroom suite.
I kept my body completely limp, letting my arms dangle like heavy ropes, suppressing the instinct to tense my muscles.
He laid me flat on the king-size bed, kicked off my leather slippers, and pulled the down comforter up to my chin.
He stepped into the adjoining dressing room, and through my cracked eyelashes, I watched him open the floor-to-ceiling mirror panel.
Behind the glass was a concealed electronic keypad; he punched in a six-digit code, and a heavy fireproof steel vault swung open.
Inside were neat rows of padded medical coolers, sterile surgical trays, and stacks of dark blue European passports.
Daniel pulled out a satellite burner phone, dialing a number from memory as he walked back toward the foot of the bed.
"Victor, this is Vance," Daniel spoke into the receiver, his voice crisp and completely devoid of emotion.
"The specimen is secured and fully prepped. Serum immunosuppression levels were brought up to baseline over the last seventy-two hours."
He paused, listening to the caller on the other end, then glanced at his gold watch.
"Yes, she's sixty-four, but her liver enzymes are pristine. Non-drinker, zero hepatic scarring, universal compatibility.
Your client's daughter will have complete graft acceptance within six hours of perfusion."
My heart hammered so violently against my ribs I was terrified the micro-transmitter on my sternum would broadcast the thumping across the room.
He was selling my liver to save another man's daughter, treating my life like an automobile engine ready to be salvaged for spare parts.
"The surgical transport is landing at Falcon Field in forty minutes," Daniel continued, closing the steel vault door with a sharp metallic click.
"Have the mobile surgical unit bring the gurney to the underground garage entrance.
No lights, no sirens. We load her directly into the pressurized cabin and perform the initial laparotomy at thirty thousand feet."
A laparotomy at thirty thousand feet.
They weren't even taking me to a hospital; they were going to dissect me in the sky, far outside any sovereign nation's airspace or legal jurisdiction.
May you like
Daniel pocketed the satellite phone, walked over to the bed, and patted my cheek with two gloved fingers.
"Sleep tight, Margaret," he whispered with a cold chuckle. "You're finally going to make me ten million dollars."
