I scan the hangar, watching several medical staff prepping a large table. I’m assuming it’s the surgery unit. It’s clear that the patient is due to arrive any minute.
I find the room on my own. The door is open. The lights are on. The whiteboard has been wiped clean, although there’s a faint shadow of old marker still on it. A phone sits on the desk with a code on a pad next to it. A second chair has been dragged in from somewhere.
The door opens behind me.
“Hi, Magma.”
I turn, and it’s Carla.
She’s in the same suit she had on this afternoon, but the jacket is gone, and the sleeves of her blouse are pushed up. Her ponytail is looser than it was. There are smudges of mascara under her eyes, and that’s all that’s left of her makeup.
She has an iPad in one hand and her cell phone in the other.
“Evening, Carla.”
“I’m sure you didn’t expect to see me again so soon.” Before I can answer, she continues. “I’ve set this room up for you. The phone is connected to an outside line. The Wi-Fi password istaped to the wall by the desk. If you need a second handset, I can get one from the admin floor.”
“This is fine. Thank you.”
“Robyn will brief you the moment she’s out of the helipad. The Red is on the way down now. The chopper landed about a minute ago.”
“What’s the timing on surgery?”
“Less than ten minutes. They’re prepping the bay.”
“I saw that.” I nod once.
She goes to the desk and puts the clipboards down.
She gestures to a stack of clipboards on the table. “These are for your guards. Sign-in sheets, shift handover, incident logs. Standard hospital protocol. The Council has asked for everything to be documented to the minute. They’re going to want a paper trail on this one, even though it’s strictly confidential.”
“No problem.” I pick up the top clipboard and flip through it. “I’ll sort this out.”
“Is there anything else you need?” she asks.
“Perhaps coffee for the team. There are eight of us, including me. We’re all off the day shift, and it looks like we’re going to be pulling an all-nighter.”
“Done. I could do with a cup myself.”
“And I’ll need a list of everyone on shift tonight with access to the trauma floor. I need to make sure everyone is properly debriefed when this is over.”
“I have it ready. I’ll bring it in with the coffee.”
“Perfect.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I start setting up. It isn’t long before Carla is back, this time with a tray of mugs and a printout. She puts the tray down, hands me the printout, and waits.
I scan the list. She’s flagged two locums brought in this afternoon and attached their vetting paperwork. She’s added her own cell number at the top.
“Is this everyone with access to the trauma floor between now and six in the morning?”
“Yes, it’s everyone including cleaners and the porters.”
“No porters or cleaners are permitted to stay on the floor.” I shake my head. “Essential staff only. The fewer people who know about this, the better.”
