Dead Tomorrow

transplant in the UK?’
    ‘Do you know what is the blood grouping of your nephew?’
    ‘AB negative,’ he said.
    Her eyes flickered and the faintest frown appeared on her face. ‘Not so common.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Our price for a liver is three hundred thousand euros. We need 50 per cent in advance, before we start to look, and 50 per centon delivery, before the transplant takes place. We guarantee to find a matching liver within one week of receipt of the deposit.’
    ‘Even a rare blood group?’
    ‘Of course,’ she said, confidently.
    ‘So, with my nephew living in Brighton, in Sussex, in England, where would the transplant operation take place?’
    ‘Brighton is a nice city,’ she said.
    ‘You’ve been there?’
    ‘Brighton? Ja , sure. With my husband, we made a tour of England.’
    ‘So, you have a facility near to Brighton?’
    ‘We have many facilities around the world, Mr Taylor. That you have to trust us on. In some we have the facility for liver and kidney transplants, in some heart and lung, and in some all four. I can give you references who are very satisfied with our service. People who would not be alive today without what we do. But there is no pressure. In your country, a thousand people die each year because they are unable to obtain an organ for the operation which could have saved them. Yet one million, two hundred and fifty thousand people a year die in road accidents around the world. At Transplantation-Zentrale we are merely the facilitator. We are giving comfort to the families of loved ones who have died suddenly and tragically, by creating a use for their organs–in saving the lives of others. In doing this, you see, it gives some kind of purpose to each loved one’s death. You understand?’
    ‘Yes. Which do you do in Sussex?’
    ‘Liver and kidneys.’ She looked at him quizzically. ‘You carry an organ donor card yourself?’
    He blushed. ‘No.’
    ‘You and most of the world. Yet, if you wake up tomorrowwith kidney failure, Mr Taylor, you will be grateful that someone else did.’
    ‘Good point. Tell me something, is there anyone in the Brighton area who has used your services, who I could talk to?’
    ‘You will understand our client confidentiality.’
    ‘Naturally.’
    ‘I will check our records and, if there is someone in your area, I will contact them and see if they would be willing to talk to you.’
    ‘Thank you. Can you tell me which clinic you would use?’
    She looked evasive. ‘I’m sorry, but that will depend on theatre availability. We won’t make a decision until closer to the time.’
    ‘A private facility or a National Health one?’
    ‘I don’t think your National Health would be very cooperative, Mr Taylor.’
    ‘Because this is illegal?’
    ‘If you want to call saving your nephew’s life illegal , then yes. Correct.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I have a plane to catch, so I am sorry–because you arrived late, we have to make this meeting short. Perhaps you want to think about what I have said? Take our literature home with you? We never do a hard sell here. Why? Because, simply this. Always there are desperate people–and always there are organs. It is nice to meet you, Mr Taylor. You have my email and my phone number. I am available 24/7.’
    Marlene Hartmann’s limousine was waiting outside and she was anxious to get off to the airport–her schedule was tight. But she sat at her desk until she saw, on the CCTV camera,that Roy Grace had left the building, then she downloaded two of his photographs from the camera to her mobile phone and texted them to Vlad Cosmescu in Brighton, asking him if he could identify this man, urgently.
    Mr Roger Taylor , you are a liar , she thought to herself.
    After ten years as an international organ broker she knew her market pretty well. She knew the way the system worked in the UK. If you were a patient suffering from acute liver failure, you would instantly be put on the liver transplant list and you would be hospitalized. You would not be well enough to be at home.
    Roger Taylor, if that was his real name–and she thought not–had fallen at the first hurdle. Who was he? And why had he come to see her? She suspected from the man’s demeanour and the kinds of questions he was asking, that she already knew the answer.
    Then, as she stood up to leave, her phone rang and her day suddenly got worse.

89
    With the calmweather and the wide, empty expanse of the English Channel all around