The last surgeon : a novel

The New York Times bestselling author and master of medical suspense delivers another shocker of a thriller filled with insider details and a terrifying psychopath Four murders. Three accidents. Two suicides. One left… THE LAST SURGEON Michael Palmer’s latest novel pits a flawed doctor against a ruthless psychopath, who has made murder his art form. Dr. Nick Garrity, a vet suffering from PTSD—post traumatic stress disorder—spends his days and nights dispensing medical treatment from a mobile clinic to the homeless and disenfranchised in D.C. and Baltimore. In addition, he is constantly on the lookout for his war buddy Umberto Vasquez, who was plucked from the streets by the military four years ago for a secret mission and has not been seen since. Psych nurse Gillian Coates wants to find her sister’s killer. She does not believe that Belle Coates, an ICU nurse, took her own life, even though every bit of evidence indicates that she did—every bit save one. Belle has left Gillian a subtle clue that connects her with Nick Garrity. Together, Nick and Gillian determine that one-by-one, each of those in the operating room for a fatally botched case is dying. Their discoveries pit them against genius Franz Koller—the highly-paid master of the “non-kill”—the art of murder that does not look like murder. As Doctor and nurse move closer to finding the terrifying secret behind these killings, Koller has been given a new directive: his mission will not be complete until Gillian Coates and Garrity, the last surgeon, are dead. Publishers Weekly In this anemic medical thriller from bestseller Palmer (The Second Opinion), former trauma surgeon Dr. Nick Garrity, who suffers from PTSD as the result of a suicide attack on his field hospital in Afghanistan, is now in charge of the Helping Hands RV, a mobile clinic that plies the streets of Baltimore offering medical aid to the homeless. Meanwhile, a high-priced hit man starts to commit a series of murders, his first victim being Belle Coates, a nurse in Charlotte, N.C. When Belle's sister, Jillian, who lives in Virginia, searches for her sister's killer, she finds a connection to Nick. Several missing homeless men lead everyone to a massive plot involving high-level politicians and a secret CIA program. The action is all fairly predictable, the characters off-the-shelf, and the writing, if not exactly purple, at least mauve: “A guttural, primal scream exploded from Nick's throat as he crouched by the body.” 250,000 first printing. (Feb.) PROLOGUE“I know you can’t believe this is happening, Ms. Coates, but I assure you it is. I have been paid, and paid very well, to kill you.”
Belle Coates looked up at the intruder through a glaze of tears. “Please. Just tell me what you want,” she said. “Just tell me what you want and you can have it. Anything. Anything at all.”
The man sighed.
“You’re not paying attention, Ms. Coates,” he said with the accen­tuated patience of a third-grade teacher. “I am not here to bargain. I told you that. I’m here because this is what I get paid to do.”
“But why? Why me?”
Belle made yet another futile attempt to stand. Her wrists and ankles were lashed to her kitchen chair by the sort of Velcro restraints she and other hospital nurses used so often on diffi cult patients.
“Those restraints look amazingly simple,” the intruder said, “but I tell you they are a marvel of engineering and ergonomics. No pain, no marks. None at all. That’s why I have a dozen or so sets of them in the drawer at home.”
The man, six feet tall and wiry, had been hiding inside Belle’s apart­ment, probably behind the couch in the living room, when she arrived home at nearly midnight. Her nursing shift—3 to 11 p.m. in the car­diac surgery ICU at the Central Charlotte Medical Center—had been a tough one, and she had relished every stair of the trudge that brought her closer to her apartment, a cup of tea, and a steamy shower.
She was just choosing a tea when he appeared in the doorway of her kitchen, an apparition in sky blue surgical hair and feet covers, latex gloves, black jeans, and a black long- sleeved tee. She was so fix­ated on his appearance that it was several seconds before she noticed the huge, gleaming knife dangling at his side. Her hesitation was more than enough. In two quick strides he was beside her, seizing a handful of her hair, snapping her head back, and pressing the blade against her throat. With just enough restraint to keep from drawing blood, he forced her down onto one of the oak chairs she had recently refinished, and in moments the restraints were on her. It had hap­pened that fast.
A dozen or so sets in my drawer.
The statement was as terrifying as the knife.
Was he a serial rapist? A psychotic killer? Desperately, searching for even the smallest inroad to understanding the intruder, Belle tried to remain calm and remember if she had read about such a man in the papers, or heard about him on the news.
“What do you want?” she said. “My fiancé will be home any min­ute.”
He fixed her with pale, translucent blue eyes that were devoid of even the slightest spark of humanity.
“I don’t think so. We both know about your failed engagement. ‘Celebrate Belle and Doug’s love.’ I’m very sorry about that.”
Belle froze at the words, quoted from her wedding invitation.
“Who are you?” she managed again. “What do you want from me?”
“Now we’re getting someplace.” The man produced a vial from his pocket and set it on the table. “I want you to swallow these sleeping pills I found in your medicine cabinet the last time I was here. I have augmented what was there with some that I brought with me to­night, so there will be more than enough to achieve our goal. But before you take these pills, I want you to copy and sign a brief note I have composed explaining your despondency and your desire not to live anymore. And finally, I want you to undress, step into your tub, and go to sleep. See? Simple and absolutely painless.”
Belle felt her breathing stop. This couldn’t be happening. She wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t be able to pry her jaws apart with a crowbar. She began to hyperventilate and shake, grabbing and releas­ing the arms of her chair.
“I won’t do it.”
“You will.”
“I won’t!” she began screaming. “I won’t! I won’t! Help! Someone help m—”
Her words were cut off by exquisite pressure around her throat. A hard rubber ball was forced expertly between her teeth and into her mouth. The killer remained absolutely calm during the insertion.
“That was stupid, Ms. Coates. Do anything stupid again, and you will be responsible for causing both yourself and your sister a great deal of pain.”
Belle stared up at him, wide-eyed. The mention of her sister was a dagger. Hyperventilating through her nose, she still could not seem to get in enough air.
“That’s right,” the man said. “I know all about Jillian. Just like I know all about you. Now, refuse to do exactly as I say, try anything stupid again, and I promise, both you and Jillian will die prolonged and pain­ful deaths. Understand? I said, do you understand?” Belle nodded vigor­ously. “I’m still not certain you do. Now listen, Ms. Coates, and for your sister’s sake, believe me, I have no contract to kill Jillian—only you. With very rare exceptions, those I am not paid to kill, I don’t kill.”
He took out his mobile phone, made a gentle tap on the screen’s touch display, and held it up for Belle to see.
“I assume you recognize your sister’s condo in Virginia— Arlington, to be exact, 489 Bristol Court to be even more exact. Nod if you agree that is the case. Good. I know how close you two are. You see, I read your journal, or diary, including entries from the trip to Nassau that Jillian took you on after you learned about Doug’s . . . how shall I say . . . dalliance with your friend Margo. Surgeons. They are just so full of themselves, aren’t they? I see you are having a little trouble breathing. Okay, here’s the deal: I’ll re­move that ball if I get your assurance you will stay quiet and still.”
Belle grunted her agreement and again nodded. The man pulled the ball out, keeping his fingers clear of her teeth, and dropped it into his pocket.
“Now,” he said, “what you are about to watch is a live video feed— live as in ‘it’s happening at 489 Bristol Court right this very instant.’ ”
Belle stared in disbelief at the full-color projection. The footage was unquestionably taken from her sister’s tastefully and lovingly decorated condominium. She was certain that the woman sleeping alone in the queen- size bed was Jillian, also a nurse, and one of the main reasons Belle herself had chosen the profession. Following the automobile- accident deaths of their parents, Jillian had stepped in to raise her fourteen-year-old sister, often making major sacrifices in her personal life. Belle considered her to be the kindest, brightest, most centered person she had ever known. The camera had been placed above the valance in the bedroom. At the sight of Jillian, roll­ing languidly from her left side to her back, Belle began to hyperven­tilate again.
“Easy,” the man warned. “Slow down. That’s it. . . . That’s it.”
“Please. Please don’t hurt her.”
The apparition holding the phone leaned forward. Belle cringed as his empty eyes came level with her own. His pale white skin was tinted blue, a ghoulish illusion cast by her ecologically friendly halo­gen lights.
“You must calm down your breathing and listen, Ms. Coates. To save your sister’s life, and yourself from a great deal of pain, it is es­sential that you believe I will do as I say.”
“I believe. I believe. Turn it off.

Continues...
Excerpted from The Last Surgeon by Palmer, Michael Copyright © 2010 by Palmer, Michael. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site. The New York Times bestselling author and master of medical suspense delivers another shocker of a thriller filled with insider details and a terrifying psychopath Four murders. Three accidents. Two suicides. One left THE LAST SURGEON Michael Palmers latest novel pits a flawed doctor against a ruthless psychopath, who has made murder his art form. Dr. Nick Garrity, a vet suffering from PTSDpost traumatic stress disorderspends his days and nights dispensing medical treatment from a mobile clinic to the homeless and disenfranchised in D.C. and Baltimore. In addition, he is constantly on the lookout for his war buddy Umberto Vasquez, who was plucked from the streets by the military four years ago for a secret mission and has not been seen since. Psych nurse Gillian Coates wants to find her sisters killer. She does not believe that Belle Coates, an ICU nurse, took her own life, even though every bit of evidence indicates that she didevery bit save one. Belle has left Gillian a subtle clue that connects her with Nick Garrity. Together, Nick and Gillian determine that one-by-one, each of those in the operating room for a fatally botched case is dying. Their discoveries pit them against genius Franz Koller--the highly-paid master of the non-killthe art of murder that does not look like murder. As Doctor and nurse move closer to finding the terrifying secret behind these killings, Koller has been given a new directive: his mission will not be complete until Gillian Coates and Garrity, the last surgeon, are dead. LCCN: 2009039234 Librarian's note: This edition was later reprinted for a "Book Club," with a slightly smaller book, smaller fonts and the same cover art, using the same ISBN and having the same number of pages. The "Book Club" edition does not have a printing number sequence or Library of Congress information on the publication data information page. Also: The First Edition has a textured dust jacket with the price of the book on the inside flap, while the Book Club edition dust jacket is non-textured with no price listed. ~