Zero kill, p.32
Zero Kill, page 32
The five-hour heart operation underway in one of the biggest hospitals in the city was notoriously complex, and Vaida was one of the few cardiothoracic surgeons in the country with the necessary skill and experience to steer it to a successful conclusion. The patient suffered from a rare connective tissue disorder called Loeys-Dietz syndrome, in which the aortic root enlarged under relentless blood pressure, threatening to rupture.
But on this occasion Vaida felt under an even more intense pressure, because the patient on the operating table was his nineteen-year-old godson.
Vaida had known Ben since he was born; had held him as a tiny baby, gone to his birthday parties, and encouraged the clever young man in his ambition to study medicine. Ben was as dear to Vaida as if he were his own son.
The boy’s father was one of Vaida’s oldest friends, and when his condition was diagnosed, the family insisted immediately that Vaida perform the operation; they would trust nobody else to do it.
Vaida tried to clear his mind and do what he did best. He’d made countless life-or-death decisions in circumstances just like this, but would never forgive himself if something happened to the boy.
He began the delicate work of re-implanting Ben’s aortic valve. There was no room for error: the slightest misalignment and the valve would not function, leading to catastrophic heart failure.
Working with a rock-steady hand, anticipating every subsequent step of the operation and clearly communicating with his team, Vaida was in total control. The boy was in the safest hands possible.
Ben had holidayed with the surgeon’s own family numerous times – Vaida remembered one memorable trip to the Pyrenees – and he made a vow to himself that when his godson was back on his feet, they would go again.
Vaida and his team worked in absolute silence. Because Ben’s heart had stopped, there was no intrusive beeping monitor, and no hissing ventilator sound because his lungs had been switched off.
Nearly halfway to completing the valve procedure, Vaida told the scrub nurse, ‘We’ll need a couple of 5/0 prolene sutures for the next stage.’
But as he spoke, Vaida was shocked to feel a faint buzz from the back pocket of his scrub trousers. It caused his hand to do something it hadn’t done in twenty years of surgery – it trembled.
The phone he’d carried with him everywhere, and which always remained hidden in a pocket, and in a drawer at his bedside when he slept, had finally rung.
After all these years, Vaida had almost convinced himself, had fervently hoped, that it never would. But it had – and it couldn’t have happened at a worse moment.
His breathing became heavy, laboured. He felt sick, because he knew what he had to do.
‘Christian?’ asked one of his ten-strong operating team, and he looked up to see everyone in the theatre staring at him. They all heard the phone now, buzzing in his pocket; surprisingly loud in the shocked silence.
Vaida’s instructions had been clear: he must answer it immediately. And as soon as he did, his life as he knew it – his marriage, his career, his happy life with his family – would come to an end.
The surgeon took one last brief look at the unconscious body of his godson, fighting for life on the operating table, critical parts of his heart not yet reassembled, and stepped away.
To everyone’s horror, Vaida walked out of the theatre, leaving Ben suspended precariously between life and death.
Ignoring the clamour and alarm behind him, he pushed through the swing doors into the corridor of the theatre suite. Lowering his surgical mask, Vaida took out the phone, which buzzed patiently.
The screen display showed ‘unknown caller’. Vaida connected the call, placed the phone to his ear.
‘Zero Day is here,’ he was told.
‘Yes,’ he said, in a voice barely a whisper.
‘You know what you have to do.’
The caller disconnected.
Vaida dropped the phone in a yellow box of used sharps that he knew would end up in the incinerator, and made his way to his office, stripping off his theatre cap and mask and dropping his gloves and gown as he walked.
Locking the office door behind him, he opened the bottom drawer of his desk, took out the many files and papers he had dumped there, and lifted the false bottom to reveal the secret compartment beneath.
Hidden there was a black P365X SIG Sauer handgun, a slim suppressor, and a fifteen-round magazine, all of which he put in his briefcase.
He hadn’t even changed out of his scrubs when he left the hospital minutes later, never to return.
One life was over…
His devoted wife of ten years, the three children he loved so much, his beautiful house and holiday home on the Algarve, the brilliant career he’d carved out for himself…
All of it gone for good.
Already, Vaida felt like he had woken from a dream. His new life had begun.
How long he had left, he had no idea.
Acknowledgements
I’m so pleased you read Zero Kill. If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a rating or review; it really does help people find the book.
As usual, there are plenty of lovely and talented people who helped in the writing of it. My thanks to virologist Sir John Skehel, bioengineers Dr Jagroop Pandhal and Prof Ben Almquist, Liz Waterman, Caroline Maston, Cameron Hough, pilot Rory Auskerry, computer guys Graham Beale and Adrian Scottow, the mighty John Rickards for editorial advice, and his knowledge of a whole range of useful shit, and cardiac surgeon and author Samer Nashef. Michael Gradwell, Kevin Horn and Jason Eddings have patiently allowed me to plunder their emergency services expertise for six books now – time flies!
Thanks as usual to my agent at the Ampersand Agency, Jamie Cowen, who joined me on a rollercoaster ride of highs and lows during the unusual writing experience of Zero Kill, and I’m grateful to Book-To-Screen Agent Hannah Weatherill, at Northbank Talent Management.
They’re a hugely talented and dedicated bunch at my publisher, Head of Zeus. I’m talking about editor Bethan Jones, and Laura Palmer, Peyton Stableford, Polly Grice, Ben Prior, Andrew Knowles, Christian Duck, Dan Groenewald, Jenni Davis, Nicola Bigwood, and Nikky Ward.
Much love as always to Fiona and Archie, who put up with me on a daily basis. And big cuddles to my four-legged work associates Jason and Gracie, who kept me company and ate all the treats, every last one.
About the Author
M.K. HILL was a journalist and an award-winning music radio producer before becoming a full-time writer. He’s written the Sasha Dawson series, Ray Drake series and the highly acclaimed psychological thriller One Bad Thing. He lives in London. Visit him at www.mkhill.uk.
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M.K. Hill, Zero Kill
