The Heart Unit occupied most of the ninth level and was accessed by two elevators, one for gurneys only. It was divided into four separate but interlinked areas of management. The bulk of the department, the clinical division, was in the east wing and dealt exclusively with treatments. Here were the patient bays, intensive care, invasive cardiology and diagnostic radiology. The southern wing held the underfunded, understaffed and underused research 6 laboratories. The west wing was reserved for administration, while the northern annexe was kept as offices for the professor and his immediate staff.

Jack Hunt was half out of his chair wondering whether he should answer the alarm. There were usually enough staff in the east wing, in the immediate treatment zone, to deal with emergencies and a full crash team could be beside the patient within three to four minutes. But the arrest bleep had been sounding for what seemed like ages. When it suddenly stopped, Jack relaxed. He returned to his letter of resignation.

Kate Hanzek knew she was way off track. At the Hyatt Regency the scheme had literally been drawn out, the areas colour-coded and numbered, each step measured. Get off at the elevator. Turn left, swing into the third corridor on the right, then immediately left. Walk about fifteen yards, then swing immediately right again. You are now in the office area for senior attendings. Room twenty-six is the tenth door ahead on the left. The door will be unlocked, maybe even partly open. Your target will be in there dictating reports until 1.30. He rarely hangs about. Get there a minute too late and he could be gone. Open the door and start shooting.

It had sounded so simple in the relative peace of the hotel room. But it was now a very different ball game. She was ruffled, lost and stuck in a disabled washroom. Her head was still spinning, her ears ringing. And it was 1.27. One half of her brain warned her to abort. But the stakes were high: two hundred thousand dollars for a successful hit. She decided to see it through.

When I was appointed to the Carter cardiology division there were certain guarantees offered about the unit's research commitments. You, in particular, were very aware of my published data on links between childhood infection and heart disease. Jack was working himself into a self-righteous lather. He glanced at his watch: It was 1.29. Almost time to go.

Hanzek felt confident she was now on the right corridor. She had finally collected her wits, and slipped the washroom door lock and started walking briskly to the left. Her confident pace had returned and she no longer seemed out of place. 'The office zone 7 for senior medical staff is painted the same throughout: sky blue walls, white ceilings.' The Korean had reinforced this during the briefing. A quick glance confirmed the description. 'All the doors are coloured navy blue. Each is clearly numbered.' This time he was wrong, and Hanzek's nightmare suddenly intensified. The doors in this sector were all the same, but not navy blue. Here they were obviously brand new and unpainted, their natural beechwood retained. Worse still, not one was numbered.

I do not believe I can continue to work in this unit unless funda-mental changes are agreed. Jack was hurrying to finish and get back to his patients. He was also concerned to find out what was going on in the cardiac arrest bay. It was 1.32. Time for one more sentence.

Hanzek felt there was no option but to try each room in turn. She was uncertain coming at the target from an unknown approach, and the alarm still seemed shrill in her head. She was confused but determined. I'm nearly there; I'll finish him off one way or another. Her eyes darted nervously. At least I'm the only one around. That slit-eyed bastard at the Hyatt got something right. She opened door after door, carefully so as not to alert anyone. Nothing. The whole division seemed abandoned. She gripped the Heckler & Koch firmly, her heart pounding again. This was the first time in her killing career she'd allowed herself to get into such a stupid situation. Every other hit had been uncomplicated. Plan where to strike, sight the target, shoot. Not this hide-and-seek she now found herself playing. It was 1.35.

I may be forced to seek a new position and leave the Carter Hospital. Outside, Jack Hunt heard doors opening and shutting, hurried footsteps coming closer.

Hanzek was halfway down the corridor. She'd disturbed one young woman poring over textbooks. 'Sorry, wrong room.' She'd even forced a smile as she pulled the door closed. The gun felt unsteady and she paused only to wipe away sweat before gripping it firmly again. She hurried back to the start of the corridor and started counting, then stopped outside the tenth door on the left. 8

Inside she heard shuffling. Very gently she turned the handle. It was 1.38. Yours sincerely. Jack scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page. He leaned forward in his chair and picked up the photo of his wife and child from the desk. I'm sorry, guys, but we could be off again. And that's going to cause one helluva row at home. The killer had the door quarter-way open, her breath caught in anticipation. A finger squeezed gently on the trigger of the Heckler & Koch as she saw a head of jet-black hair and sensed someone sitting at a desk facing a window. The man started to turn and, for the first time ever, Kate Hanzek mumbled a sorry. Then she started shooting. The digital clock on the office wall clicked over to 1.39. 9 --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.