Free Cell by Robin Cook Page A

Diplomacy was not his concern, nor was Thorn’s reaction. But the success of iDoc was. “This newest incident happened at Santa Monica University Hospital, same place as the first. We thought it had been a fluke at the time but apparently not.”
    â€œWhat kind of a bug are we talking about?” Thorn asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear. “Something serious?”
    â€œI would qualify it as serious. Especially if the media or the FDA became aware of it. Two patients involved in the beta test have died.”
    Thorn swallowed hard. “How many people know about it?”
    â€œJust the IT supervisor. Me. And now you.”
    â€œNo, I don’t know about it. Just you and your IT man do. This is your responsibility. Deal with it, and do it quietly and effectively! That’s your job.” Thorn looked around, making sure no one was within earshot. “And if we
need
to have a conversation this sensitive,
this
would not be the time or place for it. Don’t be such a goddamn cowboy, even though you look the part. Furthermore, fix your errors, Langley! Or I’ll get someone who can.” He turned to head back to his guests.
    â€œYou don’t understand,” Langley snapped, grabbing Thorn’s arm. Thorn stared at Langley’s hand until it was dropped. “My take is that it’s not an error. At least technically speaking. Rather, the program is working
too
well. We might not want to fix it. In fact, this kind of bug may appeal to certain parties we’re currently negotiating with, namely Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services. It might be just what will get CMS to take iDoc for all its beneficiaries.”
    â€œExplain yourself!”
    â€œMy sense is that the IPAB set up by the ACA might find this bug entirely to their liking. If they do, and force CMS’s hand, that’s eighty-seven million potential client-patients in the plus column.” Langley had the habit of lapsing into geek-speak punctuated with acronyms, but it didn’t trouble Thorn. He knew Langley was referring to the Independent Payment Advisory Board and the Affordable Care Act, but he was still confused. “All right! All right! You are going to have to explain in more detail. But not now, for Chrissake!” He straightened his tie and plastered a broad smile on his face before walking off to rejoin the waiting hedge fund managers.

8
    L.A. UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER
    WESTWOOD, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
    MONDAY, JUNE 30, 2014, 11:45 A.M.
    G reg Tarkington entered the office of his oncologist, Dr. Peter White. Greg was nervous. He had noticed that the MRI technician had been reluctant to make eye contact at the conclusion of the procedure earlier that morning. The resident, Dr. Boucher, did the same. Greg sensed it meant bad news. After everything that Greg had been through, he knew the ground rules regarding ancillary personnel: divulge nothing. But Dr. White couldn’t hide behind that dictum, and finally he spilled the beans.
    â€œI’m afraid the MRI showed several questionable lesions in your liver. We aren’t sure they’re cancer metastases, so we will have to biopsy them, and we want to do it sooner rather than later.”
    The doctor spoke calmly, as if discussing an ingrown toenail that needed treatment. At least that’s how it sounded to Greg. He was tired of being patronized. He was tired of the whole experience since he had first noticed that the whites of his eyes had turned yellow. That had been the very first symptom that started the nightmare. Then came the tests, the surgery, and the chemotherapy, which had been a torture.
    â€œSo the pancreatic cancer is back?” Greg’s voice was accusatory.
    â€œWell . . .”
    â€œStraight up, Doc! I don’t have time for equivocation.” Greg’s worst fears were materializing. He wanted it all out. Now. No more false hopes.
    Dr. White sighed. “As we have