“Fine,” Oleg says with a melodramatic sigh. “My personal physician is expected in an hour. He can tell you everything you need to know about my medical history.”
“And Nadia?”
“What? I told you what she needs.” He arches an eyebrow and gestures at Nadia as though she were an appliance on a game show. “And come on, you can see she’sveryhealthy, no?”
Maggie crosses her arms. “I’ll need to examine her. Alone.”
“But Nadia doesn’t even speak English.” Then Oleg stops and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine.” He barks some more Russian atNadia. Nadia nods and scurries away. “I’ll show you your operating theater. Then you can”—he makes quote marks with his fingers—“‘examine’ Nadia—alone—before my physician arrives. Okay?”
Maggie is about to accept, but Oleg sees no need to wait. He is already on the move. She follows him into a corridor with tile flooring. Their footsteps echo. When they reach the end, Oleg opens a door and steps aside.
“Your operating theater,” he says with a deep bow.
She enters, blinks, looks again.
Oleg is enjoying her reaction. “I trust you find it satisfactory?”
Maggie swallows and manages to say, “It seems fine.”
“Oh, it seems more than ‘fine,’” Oleg replies. “It is an exact reproduction of the operating room you used at Johns Hopkins. Our people measured yours, took videos and pictures, asked your former staff for details. You’ll find every instrument and machine in the exact places, though, not to boast, our equipment is more up-to-date.”
He isn’t exaggerating. It feels as though she were back in Baltimore. She wants to ask about the how and why, because she had just agreed to take this job, what, thirteen, fourteen hours ago?
How had Oleg built this so fast?
Answer: He couldn’t have.
Had he already known—or at least, assumed—that she’d agree to come? That seems more likely. Dr. Barlow came down from New York City to Johns Hopkins for the award ceremony. He had to have known by then, at the very least, that he would be asking Maggie to go to Russia to do this surgery. Taking it a step further, it seems unlikely that Barlow didn’t first consider Maggie for this surgery at least a few days before he came to campus. It probably took some time and thought on his part. Backing up even further for a moment: Ivan Brovski—or maybe Oleg Ragoravich himself—would have approached Barlow. Maybe they offered the job to Barlow first, but Barlow wouldn’t need the money. Or maybe Barlow didn’t want to go at his age or with hisreputation. Whatever. They would have then discussed with Barlow who would be a good candidate for the job. Somewhere along the way, it would occur to Barlow that the perfect person—someone who desperately needed money, who would be discreet, who had the necessary skills, who would not worry about career repercussions—would be Maggie McCabe.
And continuing to follow this road, someone like Oleg Ragoravich or Ivan Brovski wouldn’t just accept Barlow’s recommendation without doing due diligence. They’d run a thorough background check. They’d have learned about her schooling, her surgical expertise, her finances, her malpractice suit, her work with WorldCures, her now-tattered (though once-pristine) reputation.
All of that, even with the power and money behind Oleg Ragoravich, would take time.
Time enough to build an operating room.
And if she had said no? Well, so what? The operating room would be at the ready for the next potential doctor. They could then quickly redesign, if need be, to suit the next candidate. Who knows? Perhaps Maggie wasn’t their first choice. Perhaps this wasn’t the first time they’d done surgeries out of Oleg’s compound. Perhaps this room was originally bigger or smaller or the anesthesia cart was placed on the left instead of the right or was painted cool blue instead of the muted green Maggie preferred.
Or perhaps they knew she would say yes.
It all feels very surreal.
There are three men in the operating room. They all come toward her.
“Your two nurses per your request,” Oleg says. “And your anesthesiologist.”
Oleg’s watch buzzes. He squints at the screen and frowns. “I must leave you now. Nadia should be in the other room waiting for you by now. Then my doctor will be here. I’m sure you’ll then need to rest before tonight’s ball.”
“Ball?”
“Yes. A massive one, here at the palace. Five hundred people. I expect you to be there.”
“I thought you were a…” She stops.
“Private?” Oleg finished for her.
She was going to say “recluse” but close enough. “Yes.”
“I am. Very.”
