responsibility of dealing with whatever came through the emergency room door proved unable to handle it. Ninety seconds later, he came into the glass-walled cubicle where Dr. Levell and Nurse Wallace were.
“Sir,” the Corpsman said, “there’s a civilian—two civilians . . .”
“I saw them. What’s up?”
“They want to see whoever’s in charge, sir,” the Corpsman said.
“Now what?” Dr. Levell said, stubbed out his cigarette, pushed himself off the desk, and walked out of the glass-walled cubicle.
He walked up to the couple—I know this guy from somewhere—and smiled at them.
“May I help you, sir?”
“We’re here to see one of your patients,” the man said, and added an explanation that was more of an accusation. “There’s no one answering the door at the main entrance.”
“Well, sir, the main entrance closes after visiting hours, which are over at nine, I’m afraid.”
“Lieutenant, I think the best way to get this over with quickly would be for you to get the hospital commander on the line.”
“I’m not sure I follow you, sir,” Dr. Levell said, “but I’d like to suggest that you come back at nine tomorrow morning, when visiting hours begin. There’s just no way—”
“Get the hospital commander on the phone, Lieutenant, ” the man said. “Tell him Senator Fowler is in his emergency room.”
Oh, Jesus. That’s who it is! Richardson K. Fowler in the goddamn flesh! I knew I knew that face!
“Senator, will you come with me, please? We’ll see if we can get the hospital commander on the phone for you.”
“Thank you very much,” Senator Fowler said.
“Senator,” Captain W. Ainsley Unger, Jr., MC, USN, said five minutes later, “there’s obviously been a communications foul-up somewhere. If I had known you were coming . . .”
“Captain—or do I call you ‘Doctor’?”
“Either’s fine, Senator.”
“This is Mrs. Patricia—Mrs. Fleming—Pickering. Her son, Major Malcolm S. Pickering, Marine Reserves, was flown in here last night from Japan. We want to see him.”
“Well, Senator, visiting hours—”
“Are over. The young doctor made that clear. Let me put it this way: Mrs. Pickering is determined to see her son, who spent most of the last three months evading capture in Korea, and I am determined that she shall. Now, can you arrange this for us, or should I get on the telephone to the Secretary of the Navy?”
“I’m sure an exception can be made,” Captain Unger said. “Do you happen to know where in the hospital your son is, Mrs. Pickering?”
“Room 16,” Patricia Pickering said, “NP Ward.”
The effect of that announcement was evident on Dr. Unger’s face.
“Yes, ma’am, it does. And that may complicate things, as you can well understand.”
“I want to see my son,” Patricia Pickering said flatly.
“May I make a suggestion, Mrs. Pickering?” Dr. Unger said.
“Of course.”
“I think it would be best if you had a word with his attending physician before you see him.”
“That makes sense, Patty,” Senator Fowler said.
“Okay,” Patricia Pickering said, “as long as I have the word with him now, tonight.”
“Yes, of course,” Dr. Unger said.
Lieutenant Patrick McGrory, MC, USN, looked a little flushed when he came into Captain Unger’s office. Senator Fowler wondered if he was flushed because he had run or trotted in response to the captain’s call, or whether, perhaps, the young Navy doctor had had a belt or two.
Dr. McGrory immediately put the question to rest.
“I was in the Officers’ Club, sir,” he said to Captain Unger. “I didn’t expect to be called upon to discuss Major Pickering tonight.”
“You’re not drunk, certainly.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to drive, sir, but I’m not drunk.”
“Doctor, you probably recognize Senator Fowler,” Captain Unger said.
“Yes, sir, indeed I do,” McGrory said with a smile, putting out his hand. “I even voted for you, Senator, thereby enraging my staunchly Democrat family.”
Fowler beamed.
“How do you do, Doctor?” Fowler said. “I have myself been known to take a little nip at the end of a hard day.”
“You’ve a connection with Major Pickering, Senator?”
“I’m his godfather,” Fowler said. “And this is his mother, Mrs. Patricia Pickering, who has herself been known to take a little nip after duty hours.” He paused and looked at Captain Unger. “I mention that, Captain, to make the point that neither Mrs. Pickering nor I are in any way offended because Dr. McGrory has had a drink or two.”
“I’m glad you understand,” Unger said. “And I know how hard Dr. McGrory works.”
“Let’s talk about my son,” Patricia Pickering said.
“Okay,” McGrory said. “He’s a hard-nose. I’m pleased to see that it’s probably genetic, rather than