Deep Storm by Lincoln Child Read Free Book Online Page A

across the table to shake Cranes hand. He was short, with thinning mouse-colored hair and watery blue eyes. He had a small, neatly trimmed beard of the kind favored by psychiatric interns.
     
    Youre the mental health officer, Crane said, shaking the proffered hand. Im your new neighbor.
     
    So I understand. Corbetts voice was low for a man of his size, and he spoke slowly and deliberately, as if weighing each phrase. He wore round glasses with thin silver rims.
     
    Sorry to barge in on your domestic arrangements.
     
    Just so you dont snore.
     
    No promises. Better keep your door closed.
     
    Corbett laughed.
     
    And this is Michele Bishop. Asher indicated the woman seated across the table. Dr. Bishop, Dr. Peter Crane.
     
    The woman nodded. Nice to see you.
     
    Likewise, Crane replied. The young woman was slender, as tall as Corbett was short, with dark blond hair and an intense gaze. She was attractive but not stunningly so. Crane assumed she was the stations chief medical officer. It was interesting that she had neither stood nor offered to shake his hand.
     
    Please, Dr. Crane, have a seat, Corbett said.
     
    Call me Peter.
     
    Asher beamed at each of them in turn like a proud parent. Peter, Ill leave you to the kindly ministrations of these two. Theyll bring you up to speed. Michele, Roger, Ill check in later. Then, with a wink and a nod, he stepped out into the corridor and closed the door.
     
    Can I get you something to drink, Peter? Corbett asked.
     
    No thanks.
     
    A snack of some kind?
     
    Im fine, really. The sooner we get to the medical problem, the better.
     
    Corbett and Bishop exchanged glances.
     
    Actually, Dr. Crane, its not problem, Bishop said. Its problems.
     
    Really? Well, I guess Im not surprised. After all, if were dealing with some variant of caisson disease here, it often presents in a variety of ways.
     
    Caisson disease was so named because it was first diagnosed in the mid-nineteenth century in men working in environments of compressed air. One environment was in the first caisson dug beneath New Yorks East River to support the Brooklyn Bridge. If the diggers in the caisson reemerged into open air too quickly after working under pressure, nitrogen bubbles formed in their bloodstreams. This caused, among other symptoms, intense pain in the arms and legs. Sufferers frequently doubled over in agony, and the ailment became known mordantly as the Grecian bend. This led to the nickname the bends. Given the depth at which they were currently working, Crane felt certain caisson disease was involved one way or another.
     
    I assume you have a hyperbaric oxygen therapy chamber or some other kind of recompression equipment on site youve been treating the patients with? he asked. When were done here, Id like to question them directly, if you dont mind.
     
    Actually, Doctor, Bishop said in a clipped voice, I think we could proceed more quickly if you let me outline the symptomology, rather than make assumptions.
     
    This took Crane by surprise. He looked at her, unsure why she had responded so tartly. Sorry if Im overeager or presumptuous. Its been a long trip, and Im very curious. Go right ahead.
     
    We initially became aware something was wrong about two weeks ago. At first it seemed more a psychological issue than a physiological one. Roger noticed a spike in the number of walk-in visits.
     
    Crane glanced at Corbett. What were the symptoms?
     
    Some people complained of sleep disturbances, Corbett said. Others, malaise. A few cases of eating disorders. The most common complaint seemed difficulty in focusing on what they were doing.
     
    Then the physical symptoms began, Bishop said. Constipation. Nausea. Neurasthenia.
     
    Are people working double shifts down here? Crane asked. If so, Im not surprised theyre feeling fatigued.
     
    Others complained of muscle tics and spasms.
     
    Just tics? Crane asked. No associated pain?
     
    Bishop looked at him with mild reproach, as if to say,