Free Donor by Ken McClure Page B

Landes. Her gaze was confident and direct, her handshake firm.
    ‘Come with me, and I’ll show you to your office, Dr Dunbar. Do you have a car?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You’ll need this.’ She handed him a hospital parking permit, already inserted in a clear plastic holder for fixing to the windscreen, adding, ‘You’ve been allocated space seventeen round the back of the building. It’s clearly marked.’
    ‘Thank you,’ replied Dunbar, impressed by the efficient way he’d been met and welcomed. He was even more impressed when he was shown into a well-appointed office, tastefully furnished and equipped with just about everything he could possibly need, including a computer and fax machine.
    ‘Will this be all right?’ asked Ingrid.
    ‘Absolutely.’
    ‘Now, can I get you some coffee while you decide what you want me to do? How do you like it?’
    ‘Decide what I want you to do?’ he asked.
    ‘I’ve been assigned to you for the beginning of your stay with us, to help you settle in. But if that doesn’t meet with your approval I’m sure we could just—’
    ‘No, no,’ interrupted Dunbar. ‘It’s just that I didn’t expect assistance. This is a very nice surprise.’
    She gave what he saw as a superior little smile and said, ‘Good. And the coffee?’
    ‘Black. No sugar.’
    She left the room and Dunbar sat down behind the desk. He wondered about her and why she had been assigned to him. He hadn’t requested secretarial assistance. Had she been detailed to keep an eye on him, or was it just a case of creating a good impression, an apple for the inspector? Maybe he was being too suspicious. For the moment he would keep an open mind.
    Ingrid returned with coffee and laid it down on the desk. The smell told him it had been made with proper ground coffee. There was only one cup.
    ‘You’re not having any?’ he asked.
    ‘I’m trying to cut down,’ said Ingrid with a smile that showed uneven teeth. ‘I was drinking too much of the stuff. It made me jittery. I’ve changed to Perrier.’
    ‘Then why don’t you get yourself a Perrier and then you can tell me about the hospital? After that perhaps you can show me around? I’d like to get a feel for the place.’
    Ingrid went out again. Dunbar got up and walked over to the window. The carpet pile felt uncomfortably deep. It reminded him of walking on the beach and how sand stole your stride pattern. His window looked out on the unremarkable main square in front of the hospital. The central area was grid-lined for parking; the road running round it was double-yellow-lined and one-way. Traffic coming in through the gate was directed to the left and brought round clockwise to pass the front doors.
    As he looked towards the entrance, a long, black stretch-limousine turned in through the gates and followed the road arrows to glide silently to a halt at the steps leading up to the main door. The tint on the windows of the car was so dark that the glass almost matched the gleaming paintwork. It was impossible to see inside. The registration plate was foreign. Dunbar guessed it might be in Arabic but the angle he was looking down at made it difficult to tell.
    Ingrid returned while he was watching the arrival below, and joined him at the window.
    ‘Our Omega patient has arrived,’ she said.
    ‘Omega patient?’
    ‘Big money. A whole wing has been reserved for her.’
    The front doors of the car opened below and two men got out. Both were of Middle Eastern appearance although dressed in western clothes. The driver was wearing uniform. The other, a thickset man wearing a suit of light-grey shiny material, looked all around with eyes hidden by reflecting sunglasses before resting his hand on the rear door handle. He kept his other hand inside his jacket.
    ‘What on earth?’ murmured Dunbar.
    Ingrid did not comment.
    Having decided that the hospital and its environs posed no threat to the occupants of the car, the man in the grey suit opened the rear doors and