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‘What can I say? They only choose the best.’
‘You’d think you’d won awards for your research or something...’ Oz had stopped abruptly, his entire demeanour changing in an instant. ‘Ah, wait, is that it?’
He’d moved aside to give Jake room.
‘Kill the lights, please,’ Jake had instructed, all trace of their former banter gone as they’d focused on the task in hand.
The operating room had turned eerily dark, with only the light from the monitors casting out around the area. Then he’d shone a near-infrared light over the patient’s brain and a pink-purplish glow had lit up.
‘That’s it,’ Jake had confirmed with satisfaction. ‘That’s the chlorotoxin we injected last night.’
The chlorotoxin that Flávia Maura had worked on.
The thought had rattled through Jake’s brain before he could stop it, proving that, even before tonight, with the vision of her in front of him, the woman had been positively haunting him. And no matter how many times he told himself it was purely professional interest, a part of him knew there was more to it.
‘It’s lit the tumour up like Christmas lights in a grotto.’ Oz had shaken his head. ‘I’ve seen it on footage but never in person like this. She’s quite the beauty.’
‘Remarkable, isn’t it?’ Jake had concurred, staring at the tumour. ‘The engineered toxin fluoresces every cancer cell, yet leaves every single healthy cell around dark.’
‘My God, it shows me every last bit of the tumour which I’d need to remove without worrying about margins and without fear of leaving anything behind, causing a recurrence. The only question will be whether it also interferes with the centres of the lad’s brain responsible for speech or motor control.’
‘That’s your call.’ Jake had nodded. ‘How about get it out so that my patient can get his life back.’
‘Okay, you’re ready for the brain mapping? Can we go ahead and wake the patient, please?’
For the next hour or so, Jake had worked with the neurologist, using flash cards, asking questions and just generally keeping his patient talking whilst Oz had sent light electrical currents down the nerves to stimulate each part of the brain, then worked on removing the tumour.
And then Oz had given the signal that it was time to anaesthetise the patient again so that they could close up.
‘Okay, mate,’ Jake had told his patient. ‘Next time you wake up, you’ll be out of surgery.’
‘You’ll be with me?’ the lad had managed.
‘I’ll come and see you as soon as I can and we’ll talk you through how it’s all gone,’ Jake had confirmed, moving back to allow the anaesthetist to take over.
‘Want to see?’ Oz had offered when he was confident the lad was out again, but Jake had already been making his way around the table.
‘I don’t see any fluoresced areas.’ He’d frowned in disbelief. ‘You were actually able to get all of it?’
‘Every last bit.’ Triumph had reverberated through his mate’s voice. ‘Your patient might have to relearn his grade-two flute from when he was a kid, but if any tumour recurs in this guy, then it won’t be because of anything I had to leave behind. You need to complete these clinical trials so we can get our hands on this stuff for every patient.’
‘I’m working on it,’ Jake had replied grimly. ‘You know how long these things take.’
‘Yeah, too long, when we’ve got patients to try to save. You’d better ask Ms Maura what else she has up her sleeve. And how long.’
And he’d filed it away as though professional interest was the only reason he was planning on talking to Flávia Maura.
They’d worked carefully, precisely, for a little longer.
‘Now bone flap.’
Using plates and wires, they had secured the segment of skull they had removed in order to access the patient’s brain. And then the surgery had been completed, and Flávia Maura had still been in residence in Jake’s head.
‘Nice,’ Jake had congratulated as he and Oz left the OR together, trying to shake her, though not too hard. ‘Good going.’
‘Yeah, well, when you see the delectable Ms Maura, don’t go doing anything I wouldn’t do.’
‘Apart from the fact that leaves pretty much everything on the table—’ Jake remembered ignoring the jolt of anticipation which shot through him ‘—Brady will be with me. So my interactions will be strictly professional.’
