Chapter 6 - Infiltrating St. Luke’s
At 11:45 PM that night, a heavy rainstorm once again pounded the streets of San Antonio, giving us the cover we desperately needed.
Disguised in scrubs as pediatric night-shift nurses, Detective Reyes, Dr. Silva, and I moved quietly through the service corridors of the third floor of St. Luke’s Hospital. Sophie was hidden inside a large, covered linen cart I pushed before me.
The third-floor VIP wing was heavily guarded. Two armed men in suits sat outside Room 312—Leon Montenegro’s private ICU suite.
"Dr. Silva," one of the guards said, standing up as we approached. "No visitors allowed. Mr. Vance’s orders."
"I am his lead cardiologist, gentlemen," Dr. Silva replied with sharp, icy authority. "His telemetry monitors down at the nurse's station just showed an acute arrhythmia. If I don't check his pacemaker settings right now, he will suffer cardiac arrest within the hour, and you will be answering to the district attorney."
The guards hesitated, looking at each other nervously before stepping aside and scanning Dr. Silva's badge.
We slipped inside the room. The heavy door clicked shut behind us.
The room was dark, filled with the rhythmic beep... beep... beep of the heart rate monitor. Leon Montenegro lay motionless on the bed, surrounded by IV lines and oxygen tubes, looking small and fragile beneath the white sheets.
I opened the linen cart and lifted Sophie out.
She looked at the old man lying on the bed. There was no fear in her small face—only a deep, intense focus.
She walked slowly toward the bed, climbed onto the plastic footstool, and gently placed her tiny palm against the center of Leon’s chest, right over his heart.
The room went completely still.
Sophie closed her eyes, tuning out the world, absorbing the silent vibrations pulsing through her fingers into her arm.
After thirty long seconds, her eyes snapped open. She looked up at Dr. Silva and me, her small hands moving with breathtaking speed.
Not stroke, Sophie signed emphatically. Chemical pulse. Three beats fast... one beat stop. Like the small bottle from the bedroom.
Dr. Silva immediately leaned over the bedside table, inspecting the IV bag hooked into Leon’s arm. She pulled out a small sterile syringe, drew a sample of the fluid from the line, and held it up to the light.
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"Digitalis derivative mixed with a potassium blocker," Dr. Silva whispered in horror. "It doesn't show up on standard blood panels unless you specifically test for it. They've been feeding it into his IV line bit by bit!"
Suddenly, the door handle behind us turned.
