In retrospect it should have been plainly evident, even obvious, especially to an academic from Boston’s celebrated Trent University Hospital, but the diagnosis didn’t occur to Dr. David Randall, not until it was too late.
The sounds were out of synch as Randall sprinted downstairs to the ER, and the colors seemed overly vivid. What could have happened? Barry was young, still just a kid, really. Referred to Randall’s refenterine study by that Sarah Ellis. He’d seen Barry only yesterday afternoon. What had he missed?
Through the windows in the swinging double doors, Randall saw that Sanjay Patel was on. They’d been interns together. Barry was intubated, bagged by a figure in mask and scrubs. Patel murmured to a young--resident, he must be--up on a stool doing chest compressions. The resident nodded once and stood down.
"What happened?" Randall gasped as he joined the team.
"You're too late," said the resident.
Sanjay nodded, grim-faced. "Yes. This plot is DOA."
Opening: Scott.....Continuation: khazar-khum