Endorphin Conspiracy, The by Fredric Stern Page A

a Jesus Romero. The girl’s scan was signed out earlier today,” Walter said.
    “Signed out?” Balassi asked. His face reddened, his gaze narrowed. “No one signs out a PET scan from here before I have a chance to review it! No one! Who signed that out?”
    “Dr. Kapinsky,” said Walter.
    “Who the hell does he think he is?” raged Balassi. His fist crashed down on the table, launching pencils into the air like aborted ballistic missiles. Walter scampered to pick them up and return them to their proper place.
    “We have rules down here for a reason. If we let just anyone sign out an unread scan, they’d be all over this medical center! Besides, he doesn’t even know what he’s looking at.”
    “Not that I’m defending his action, but we had a discussion about her scan on rounds this morning, and he probably wanted to review it himself. Maybe he’s becoming a believer,” said Geoff.
    “Whatever the reason, his behavior is inexcusable. When you get up to the ICU, tell him I want that scan returned to me here—personally—or Pederson will hear about it!”
    “I’ll take care of it,” Geoff said.
    Balassi turned and headed out the door, leaving a gust of air in his wake. Walter Krenholz followed behind him.
    Geoff was surprised by Balassi’s sudden outburst over the girl’s missing scan. It didn’t seem like a big deal to Geoff, but Balassi was a perfectionist. After a year in Balassi’s lab, Geoff was used to that side of him and knew how to handle his sporadic outbursts.
    Geoff was more puzzled by the lack of a record of any kind on Romero. He was sure Romero had had a scan just months ago. Damn the Neurad system. He’d check the medical record file room himself.
    A shrill, beeping tone pierced the air. The alarm stopped, and a voice boomed from the overhead speaker. “Code 999, seven east, code 999 seven east!”
    Geoff startled, sprang from the chair. He looked up at the speaker on the ceiling, waited for the “all clear” signal. Must be a drill. The alarm resumed, followed again by the urgent page. “Code 999, seven east, code 999.”
    “Shit. Let’s go, Karen!” He grabbed her arm, pulled her up from the chair.
    “What’s a code 999?”
    “Disaster code. This is no drill.”

Chapter 11
    Geoff dashed out of the elevator followed by Karen Choy and a cadre of residents and technicians. He raced down the hall toward the mob of people congregated at the nursing station on seven east, pushed his way through until he ran into a wall of security guards. A woman’s scream echoed from a distance, penetrated the babble of confusion at the nursing station, but Geoff could not make out her words.
    Geoff turned to Gail Ross, the head nurse, who stood at the nursing station, anxiously biting her lower lip. “What the hell’s going on?”
    “I can’t believe this is happening.” Gail nodded her head in denial.
    Geoff grabbed her by the shoulders. “What’s happening, Gail? Tell me.”
    “A patient flipped out and is holding one of the nurses hostage in his room. I was just in there half an hour ago to give him his meds. He seemed okay, just a little anxious. Nothing unusual, at least for a head trauma patient.”
    “Who’s the patient?” asked Geoff.
    “His name is DeFranco. John DeFranco.”
    “John DeFranco? The hang glider we sent down from the NSICU earlier today?” Geoff was incredulous.
    “That’s right,” she said.
    “What medication did you give him?”
    “Just his usual dose of IV cimetidine.”
    “Any sedatives, narcotics, new medications he might be allergic to?” asked Geoff.
    “Nothing else,” Gail said.
    Karen Choy was standing nearby, listening to the conversation. “Cimetidine has been reported to cause rare hallucinogenic reactions,” she said.
    “Anything’s possible,” said Geoff. “I’ve got to get in there and see what’s going on. Wait here.” Geoff walked over to the security guard nearest the nursing station. “I’m Geoffrey Davis, Chief