Donor by Ken McClure Page B

bank of regulators, each gas with its own gauge and flow monitor and not a cylinder in sight. Endoscopy monitors were mounted on swinging arm platforms that could be adjusted to any height and angle required by the surgeon.
    As they waited for a lift to take them up to the transplant unit, Ingrid asked, ‘What do you think so far?’
    ‘It’s hard to believe I’m in a hospital,’ said Dunbar. ‘Apart from anything else, it’s so quiet. There just don’t seem to be any people about. I always associate hospitals with bustle and activity.’
    ‘Company policy,’ said Ingrid. ‘They don’t just hide the equipment, they hide the nurses too! But whenever you need one, one will materialize at your shoulder.’
    The lift doors slid back and three people got out, a man in pristine white Arab clothes and two others whom Dunbar recognized as the driver and bodyguard he’d seen getting out the limo earlier. Ingrid smiled and said something to them in Arabic. She sounded fluent.
    ‘I’m impressed,’ said Dunbar as they got into the lift and the doors slid shut.
    ‘Omega patients expect no less,’ Ingrid replied.
    As they stepped out into the reception area for the transplant unit, Ingrid said, ‘I’ll have to check with Dr Ross first to see if it’s all right to show you round.’
    Dunbar nodded.
    Ingrid leaned over the reception desk and asked the nurse sitting there if she would tell Dr Ross they were here. The woman smiled, nodded and picked up a telephone. Ross appeared in the foyer a few moments later. He acknowledged Ingrid with a nod, then turned to Dunbar, stretching out his hand. ‘Big Brother is watching us,’ he said with a smile.
    ‘It’s not that bad,’ smiled Dunbar in reply. ‘As long as you’re not carrying out operations for nothing.’
    ‘As a matter of fact we will be tomorrow,’ said Ross conspiratorially. ‘One of my colleagues is carrying out facial reconstruction work on one of the NHS patients we agreed to take on for free as part of the funding agreement.’
    ‘A laudable exception,’ said Dunbar. ‘Actually, I was rather hoping I might be able to see round your unit? Meet the staff?’
    ‘Of course,’ replied Ross. ‘That is, the bits that are empty. Ingrid has probably told you that patient privacy is paramount.’
    ‘It’s what I keep hearing,’ agreed Dunbar.
    ‘The plain truth is that many of our clients don’t want anyone even to know they’re in hospital, let alone what they’re having done. And if they pay the piper …’
    ‘They call the tune.’
    ‘You can see the transplant theatres, of course, and one of the intensive-care suites for post-operative use. The individual rooms are pretty standard throughout the hospital.’
    ‘Even for Omega patients?’ asked Dunbar.
    Ross exchanged an uncertain glance with Ingrid before smiling and saying, ‘Perhaps a few more little goodies for them.’
    There were smiles all round. Ross said, ‘Come and meet the staff.’ He led the way to a room where a man dressed in surgical greens was standing in front of a blackboard addressing several medical and nursing colleagues. He paused as the newcomers entered but Ross indicated that he should continue and ushered Dunbar and Ingrid to seats at the side of the room.
    ‘Staff briefing,’ he whispered. ‘We have one every morning. I’ll let John finish.’
    Dunbar nodded and listened with interest to the briefing. There were seven patients in the unit. The current condition of each was discussed in turn and staff were asked for any observations they might have. Updates were made to all their charts and all staff were made aware of plans for each patient for the day. Again, Dunbar was impressed. This was a well-run unit.
    ‘Any questions?’ asked the man Ross had called John. There were none.
    Ross stood up and said, ‘Just before you go everyone, I’d like you to meet Dr Steven Dunbar. He’s been assigned to the hospital by the Scottish Office to keep an eye on us,