"G.o.d is the one who gave you a sick son. I'm the one who's going to give you a healthy one. You should reconsider who the real Almighty is."

"I..." Andrew didn't know how to respond to such incredible arrogance.

"Now, let's talk about the money transfer," the Broker said.

"The payment is processed in advance and the delivery will occur within the same week. The procedure will take place in a Mexican hospital of our choice, and we will appoint an escort for you who will be with you throughout the trip and procedure. You should know-"

"Wait! You don't understand." Andrew pulled his hair. "We can't wait a week and my son won't survive the trip."

"It's unfortunate you waited this long, then. I'm afraid this is the best I can do."

* 56 *

"No, you don't understand. My son is dying. Right now, as we speak. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"I'm sorry your negligence is going to cost you your son."

"My what?" Andrew exploded. "I've done everything possible."

"Clearly too late," came the cold reply. "I'm sorry I can't help you any further."

"Wait. Please, wait," he pleaded as he felt his only hope slip away. "Help me in twenty-four hours and I'll double the money."

"This isn't about money. It's about time."

"Surely you can do something for four hundred thousand dollars."

This time the Broker didn't answer immediately. He heard more clicking. Please let something show up.

"Not possible."

The finality of the words. .h.i.t him like a tornado. He sat down on the pavement, defeated. He was about to disconnect when a couple and their young son pa.s.sed by.

"Are you okay, mister?" the boy, roughly his son's age, asked before his parents pulled him away.

"I'm going to hang up now," the Broker said.

"Six hundred thousand." When no reply came, he repeated the amount. "In twenty-four hours. You can't possibly turn that-"

"I'm going to need your name and your son's to complete the purchase."

"Yes!" he shouted. Now all he had to do was reveal his ident.i.ty.

He knew the risk he was taking, but he'd gotten this far and wasn't about to second-think his decision.

"My son is Matthew Schuster." He wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I'm Andrew Schuster."

"Noted."

"For obvious reasons, maximum discretion is necessary."

"I am discreet with all my customers, regardless of their social status or...employer. Give me a moment, please." The silence that ensued was so lengthy Andrew feared they'd been disconnected. By the time the cold voice returned he was near panic. "Please note the account number for the transfer."

* 57 *

Andrew fumbled in his jacket for a pen and paper. "I'm listening." He scratched down the number.

"The deal will close only after we receive your payment."

"You'll have the money within the hour."

"Should it not be there in the full agreed amount by midnight, the consequences are obvious."

"It'll be there."

"Your son is at home, correct?"

"Yes."

"The delivery and procedure will take place tonight, a.s.suming of course the transaction is complete. Be ready to transport him to Forrest General Hospital in Brooklyn as soon as you get the call."

"Thank you for-" Andrew said, but the line was already dead.

The Broker perused the four matches that came up on the computer: a thirty-seven-year-old woman from Queens, a forty-nine-year-old Brooklyn man, a twenty-four-year-old Chinatown busboy, and a twenty-year-old student who lived on the Lower East Side. Schuster's status and the price they'd agreed on ensured delivery of the highest quality merchandise possible, so the two young men were the best candidates. But since they'd be least likely to be home at ten p.m., the delivery team would get all four addresses, prioritized by the age and health of the prospective donor.

The computer genius on the payroll kept their donor list current with semi-annual hacking forays into the patient records of several area hospitals. Those included on the list had to be single and living alone, in good health, under age fifty, and a registered organ donor.

The Broker ordinarily resisted utilizing the kidnap-and-murder method of donor procurement, but the kind of money that Schuster had offered made it worth the risks involved.

After dispatching the three-man delivery team, the Broker dialed the director of Forrest General to begin preparations.

* 58 *

Eddie Cochran's cell rang as he emerged from the Delancey Street subway station, two blocks from his studio apartment.

"Where are you, dude?" his friend Jason shouted with annoyance over the din of thumping club music and laughter. "The place is crawling with new blood. I need my wingman."

"I'll be there in twenty," Eddie promised him. "Got hung up at the library."

"You really need to chill about the chemistry final. You know you'll ace it. Now get the h.e.l.l down here and let's get this party started."

"Save me a cute blonde." Eddie shrugged off his backpack as he scaled the steps of his building and fished through it for his keys. He'd just closed his hand over them when a voice from behind startled him.

"Hey, man. Got a delivery here for an Edward Cochran. You know him?"

He turned to find not one, but two guys standing behind him, both six feet tall or better. One was holding a manila envelope bearing his name and address in large letters. Eddie had no idea what the delivery could be, unless it was some new prank Jason had engineered or something from the university. "I'm Cochran." Before he knew what was happening, the two guys grabbed him, one clamping a beefy hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming. As they hurriedly carried him toward a car parked at the curb, panic exploded in his chest and he struggled unsuccessfully to free himself, but they shoved him into the back where a third man was waiting.

One of his abductors pushed in as well and slammed the door, preventing escape, while the other hurriedly got behind the wheel.

The windows of the nondescript sedan were tinted, but Eddie couldn't see anyone on the street who might have witnessed what happened. "Who are you? Did Jason send you?" His friend had pulled some monumental gags, but never something like this.

None of the men responded. All three were well beyond college age, and Eddie couldn't imagine how Jason might know them. His alarm grew. "This isn't funny. What the h.e.l.l do you guys want with me?"

* 59 *

More silence as the car navigated side streets until it reached the ramp for the Brooklyn Bridge. "Where are you taking me?" he asked, his voice an octave higher than normal, as they left the lights of Manhattan behind. "What's going on, man?" After exiting from the bridge, they stopped at a well-lit intersection behind a delivery truck and waited for the light to change. Eddie tensed and glanced around in growing desperation.

A pickup with two men inside was in the lane to their left, and a convenience store, still busy with customers, stood on the corner.

Just as he made up his mind to risk a scream for help, the man to his left pulled a handgun from beneath his jacket and pressed the tip of the barrel hard against his ribs. Eddie slumped back against the seat, fighting the urge to p.i.s.s himself, as the light changed and they turned onto a dark side street.

This was certainly no prank. "What the h.e.l.l do you want from me?" he asked again. "I'll give you anything you want. I can get you money."

Still the men said nothing, but the guy to his right retrieved Eddie's backpack from the floor between his feet and began to rifle through its contents.

When the man pulled out his wallet, Eddie felt a glimmer of hope that this was indeed a kidnapping for profit and he might still come out of it in one piece. But that hope faded when the man ignored his cash and credit card and focused solely on his driver's license, scanning it briefly under the illumination of the overhead light. Apparently satisfied, the man stuck the license back into its slot, then inexplicably zipped the wallet into the side pocket of the jacket Eddie was wearing.

Before he could ask more, the car pulled to a stop in front of a dark alley. The location couldn't be more foreboding. The graffiti-riddled neighborhood was run-down, with no other traffic or pedestrians-just closed shops, condemned buildings, and a couple of vacant lots littered with junked cars and trash.

"Let's go." The man to his right opened the curbside door and clamped one hand over Eddie's right wrist to pull him from the vehicle. He tried to jerk free and kicked at the brute in a last * 60 *

desperate struggle to escape, but with the other guy's help, they had him in the alley in seconds. The driver remained behind the wheel, the car idling.

"Listen, guys," Eddie pleaded, his voice almost girl-like as his words came out in a rush. "Whatever you want, I'll get it for you.

Just tell me what it is. Don't do this. Please, don't hurt me." The men wrenched his arms behind him and pushed him to his knees, then one held him there while the other stepped in front.

Eddie watched in horror as the goon facing him pulled out his gun and slowly screwed on a silencer. He pointed the weapon at Eddie, then pulled out his cell phone with the other hand and called 911.

"I'd like to report a shooting," the man said. "Alley in the five-hundred block of Standish Avenue, Brooklyn. I think the guy's dead." Tears streaming down his face, Eddie pleaded, "Please don't.

Please don't do thi-"

Andrew Schuster s.n.a.t.c.hed the phone before it rang a second time. "Yes?"

"This is Doctor Elliot Griffith, with Forrest General Hospital in Brooklyn. I'm calling for Andrew Schuster."

"Speaking."

"Mister Schuster, your son is at the top of our list for a liver transplant, and we have just admitted a matching donor. How soon can you have Matthew at our facility?"

"A half hour, at most." Despite the possible risk involved, Andrew had contracted a private transport company because of his son's deteriorating condition, and two attendants with a fully equipped medical van were parked in his driveway. He motioned them inside from the window.

"Good. We'll see you then. Come right to the ER entrance." The van made the trip in twenty-two minutes, unimpeded by traffic at that hour. When they pulled up at the entrance, a dour-faced man in a blue suit tossed his cigarette and intercepted Andrew as he exited the back.

* 61 *

"All is in readiness, Mister Schuster," the man said, without introducing himself. "The donor is a perfect match. Just behave normally, and your son will get the best care possible. No one you'll come in contact with will have any reason to suspect your son was moved up the list tonight."

"Who's the donor?" Andrew asked as the two attendants unloaded the gurney.

"No questions," the man answered. "I'll be nearby until it's over to make sure you get your money's worth." He stepped away as two nurses in surgical scrubs emerged from the hospital and headed toward the van.

"Matthew Schuster?" one of the nurses asked.

"Yes, that's my son," Andrew told her.

"We're taking him straight to the OR," she said. "If you follow us, there's a lounge nearby where you can wait." Andrew walked beside the gurney, holding his son's hand as they wheeled him inside and into an elevator. As they ascended two floors, he leaned over and kissed Matt's forehead. "Be strong, pal. Pretty soon, we'll be in the backyard breaking in that new catcher's mitt."

"Daddy, I'm scared," Matt whispered.

"I'll be right here when you wake up. There's nothing to be afraid of. You're just going to sleep for a while." The doors opened and they hurried down a long hallway, bypa.s.sing two other operating rooms, headed for the one on the end.

"I'm sorry, Mister Schuster. This is as far as you can go." The nurse pointed to a room farther on. "There's the lounge. You'll be kept apprised."

With a sick heart, he let go of Matt's hand and called out, "I love you, son," as they wheeled him inside.

During the next hour, Andrew paced the hall. He noticed early on the adjacent operating room was also occupied, but it wasn't until he saw a nurse move from one to the other, carrying a silver pan, that he realized his son's donor was in the second OR.

When the nurse re-emerged, tiredly stripping off her mask, Andrew caught up with her. "Excuse me. But I have to know. Is that the organ donor?" He gestured toward the second room.

* 62 *

The woman nodded solemnly. "A pity. Such a young man. He was shot in the head just a few blocks away. Brain-dead when he got here." She put a comforting hand on Andrew's arm. "But a blessing for your son and several others that he was an organ donor. So far, Matthew's doing just fine. It should be over in another half hour or so." "Thank you." Andrew tried to remain composed, but the news made him unsteady on his feet. He didn't know exactly what he'd expected when he'd offered triple price for a black-market organ to save his son, but he hadn't thought it would require the cold-blooded murder of an innocent young man.

How could he live with what he'd done? Would the sight of Matt, healthy and strong, be enough for him to overcome this crushing guilt?

Needing fresh air and a chance to clear his head, Andrew headed back downstairs. Only when he spotted two Brooklyn police officers by the admissions desk did the possible repercussions of his actions fully hit him. Not only would his ill.u.s.trious career be over, he could face serious criminal charges for conspiracy and who knew what else.

The mysterious man in the blue suit reappeared without warning as he stared at the cops. "Keep calm, Mister Schuster.

We've taken care of every contingency. How's your son? Was our service satisfactory?"

Andrew bit his tongue to keep from lashing out at the man and drawing attention to himself. "You can leave now," he replied, then turned and headed back to Matt.

* 63 *

* 64 *