It's hard to think when I last read such an amateurish and slipshod piece of work and I'm amazed it ever made it past an editor and into publication. Apart from the paper thin characters, numerous plot holes, narrative inconsistencies, a multiplicity of unresolved loose ends and an entirely predictable and wholly unsatisfactory ending, Cook seems to be using the novel to work out his many and varied prejudices which range from private medicine and medical malpractice litigation, to tobacco, caffeine, traffic and, oddly, Boston. Indeed, if anybody cared enough they could make a case that the book was anti-semitic and racist. Perhaps worse than all this is Cook's bizarre writing style and cloth-ear for dialogue which confuses frequent recourse to the thesaurus with erudition. It is profoundly irritating. But in the end, I hated this book not so much for its many faults, but for the cynicism that lies behind it. This was the first Robin Cook book I have read and it will be the last. But Cook seems to have a devoted fan base who deserve better.