Read Online Deep Storm by Lincoln Child - Free Book Online Page A

extremities.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œDr. Bishop, Asher told me this Facility uses some kind of classified pressurization technology. Basically untested in the field. That makes the bends the most likely culprit by far.”
    Bishop did not reply; instead, she frowned and looked away.
    Crane felt himself growing impatient. “Feel free to talk to Asher if you don’t like it,” he said crisply, “but he brought me down here to make suggestions. Now please get this patient to the chamber.” He paused to let this sink in. “Shall we visit patient number three?”
    He had saved the most interesting case for last: a woman who presented with numbness and weakness in both hands and face. She was awake when they entered her room. Latest-generation monitoring equipment surrounded her, bleating quietly. Immediately, Crane sensed a difference. He noted the distress in her yellowish eyes, the wasting body rigid with worry. Even without performing a diagnostic procedure, he knew this case might be serious.
    He opened the clipboard, and the LCD screen sprang to life. The patient history came up automatically.
Must be tagged to her RFID chip,
Crane thought.
    He glanced over the summary data:

    Name:
Philips, Mary E.
Sex:
F
Age:
36
Brief Presentation:
Bilateral weakness / numbness of hands and face

    When he looked up from the clipboard he noticed a naval officer had slipped into the room. The man was tall and lean, and his pale eyes were set unusually—even oddly—close together. The right eye appeared to be exotrophic. Commander’s bars were on his sleeves, and his left collar sported the gold insignia of the Intelligence Service. He leaned against the door frame, hands at his sides, acknowledging neither Crane nor Bishop.
    Crane looked back toward the patient, tuning out this new arrival. “Mary Philips?” he asked, falling automatically into the neutral tone he’d long ago learned to use with patients.
    The woman nodded.
    â€œI won’t take up much of your time,” he said with a smile. “We’re here to see you back on your feet as quickly as possible.”
    She returned the smile: a small jerk of the lips that vanished quickly.
    â€œYou’re still feeling significant numbness in your hands and your face?”
    She nodded, blinked, dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Crane noticed that when she blinked her eyes did not seem to close completely.
    â€œWhen did you first notice this?” he asked.
    â€œAbout ten days ago. No, maybe two weeks. At first it was so subtle I barely noticed.”
    â€œAnd were you on or off shift when you first became aware of the sensation?”
    â€œOn shift.”
    Crane glanced again at the digital clipboard. “It doesn’t say here what your station is.”
    It was the man in the doorway who spoke up. “That’s because it isn’t relevant, Doctor.”
    Crane turned toward him. “Who are you?”
    â€œCommander Korolis.” The man had a low, soft, almost unctuous voice.
    â€œWell, Commander, I think her station is very relevant.”
    â€œWhy is that?” Korolis asked.
    Crane looked back at the patient. She returned his gaze anxiously. The last thing he wanted to do, he decided, was increase that anxiety. He motioned Commander Korolis in the direction of the hall.
    â€œWe’re performing a diagnostic procedure,” he said, in the corridor and out of the patient’s earshot. “In a differential diagnosis, every fact is relevant. It’s quite possible her work environment is in some way responsible.”
    Korolis shook his head. “It’s not.”
    â€œAnd how do you know that?”
    â€œYou’ll just have to take my word for it.”
    â€œI’m sorry, but that’s not good enough.” And Crane turned away.
    â€œDr. Crane,” Korolis said softly. “Mary Philips works in a classified area of the Facility on a classified