“Something wrong?”

She had to laugh at herself, and shook her head. “Sorry. I was thinking of something else.”

He nodded, nonplussed. He had heard it all before anyway, as long as she gave him a decent tip, that was all he cared about, and she did. That was good enough for him.

Once there, she checked her bag at the curb, she went in and checked in, bought three magazines, and sat down near the gate to wait for her flight. It was already nine o'clock, and in twenty minutes they would board. She looked around and realized that the flight would be full, but as usual, she would be traveling first class, so it probably wouldn't be too bad. And she flipped through the magazines waiting for the flight to be called, keeping one ear alert to the flight number. It was the last flight of the day headed for New York, familiarly termed “the red eye,” because that was how one would arrive at six o'clock the next morning, red-eyed and exhausted, but at least one didn't lose an entire day flying.

And as she listened, she suddenly started. She thought that she had heard her name, but decided that she had been mistaken. They called the flight, and she waited for the first crush of passengers to get on board, and then picked up the briefcase and handbag she was carrying and got on line with her ticket and her boarding pass in her hand, and again she heard her name. But this time she was certain it was not her imagination.

“Melanie Adams, please come to the white courtesy phone … Melanie Adams … white courtesy phone, please … Melanie Adams …” Glancing at her watch to see how much time she had, she dashed for a white phone on the far wall and picked it up, identifying herself to the operator who answered.

“Hello, this is Melanie Adams. I believe you were paging me a moment ago.” She set her bags down on the floor next to her feet and listened intently.

“You had a call from a Dr. Peter Hallam. He wants you to call him back immediately if you can.” And with that, she gave Mel his home number. She repeated it to herself, as she ran to the nearest phone booth, digging in her bag for a dime, and keeping one eye on the large clock hanging above. She had five minutes left to board her flight, and she couldn't afford to miss it. She had to be in New York by the next morning. The dime found, she slipped it into the slot in the phone and dialed the number.

“Hello?” Her heart pounded as he answered, wondering why he had called her.

“Peter, it's Mel. I only have a couple of minutes to catch my flight.”

“I don't have much more than that either.” His voice sounded terse. “We just got a donor for Marie Dupret. I'm leaving for the hospital now, and I just thought I'd let you know on the off chance that you'd want to stay.” Her mind raced as she listened, and for only the flash of a second she was disappointed. She had thought he had called her to say good-bye, but now she felt the adrenaline course through her system as she thought of the transplant. Now Marie had a chance. They had found a heart for her. “I didn't know if you'd want to change your plans, but I thought I'd let you know, in case. I wasn't even sure what airline you were on and I took a wild guess.” His guess had been a good one.

“You just caught me.” And then she frowned. “Could we film the transplant?” It would be a sensational addition to the story, and it would give her justification for staying another day.

There was a long pause. “All right. Can you get a camera crew there right away?”

“I can try. I have to get clearance from New York to stay.” And the time it would take to call could cost her her flight. “I don't know what I can do. I'll leave a message at the hospital for you either way.”

“Fine. I've got to go now. See you later.” His voice was businesslike and brusque and he hung up without saying more, as Melanie stood in the phone booth for a second gathering her thoughts. The first thing she had to do was talk to the ground supervisor at the gate. She had done this before, and with any luck at all, they would hold the flight for five or ten minutes, which would give her time to call New York. She just hoped that she could reach someone of sufficient rank in New York to get clearance. And grabbing her briefcase and handbag, she took off at a dead run for the gate, where she found a supervisor, and explained who she was, flashing her press card from the network.

“Can you hold the flight for me for ten minutes? I've got to call New York on a big story.” The supervisor didn't look pleased, but for people of Mel's rank they often did special favors, like find them seats on fully booked flights, even if it meant bumping some unsuspecting passenger off the plane, or holding a flight just before takeoff, like this one.

“I'll give you ten minutes, but I can't give you much more than that.” It cost the airlines a fortune to pull stunts like that and delay on the ground. She turned away from Mel then and spoke into the small walkie-talkie she carried as Mel ran back to the pay phone, and put the call on her credit card. They got her through to the newsroom right away but it took four precious minutes to find an assistant producer and a story editor, who conferred with Mel on the phone.

“What's up?”

“A real break. One of the people I interviewed was a patient waiting for a transplant. And I just got a call from Hallam. They've got a donor, and they're going to operate now. Can I stay and take a camera crew back out.to Center City to film the operation?” She was breathless from the excitement and from running to the phone.

“Didn't you shoot him in surgery before?”

“No.” She held her breath, knowing that could decide it all.

“Then stay. But get your ass home tomorrow night.”

“Yes, sir.” She grinned as she hung up the phone, and hurried back to the gate.

She told them she wasn't taking the flight and then called the local network for a camera crew. She hurried outside for a cab then, hoping that the airline would hold on to her bag in New York, as they'd promised to.

The camera crew was waiting for her in the lobby when she arrived, and they went straight upstairs to surgery. They all had to scrub, don masks and gowns, and they had been assigned a minuscule corner of the room which they had to confine their equipment to. But Mel was vehement about following the rules, she was grateful that Peter let them be there at all and she didn't want to abuse the privilege.

And, at last, wheeled into the room on a stretcher with the side rails up, Marie appeared. Her eyes were closed, and she looked deathly pale. She didn't stir at all, until Peter walked in, in mask and gown, and spoke to her. He didn't even seem to see Mel then, although he glanced once at the camera crew, and seemed satisfied at where they stood. And then everything got under way, as Mel watched in fascination.

Peter constantly glanced at the monitors and gave a constant series of orders to his team. They moved in total unison like an intricate ballet of hands, with instruments being passed to him from an enormous tray.

Melanie looked away when they made the first incision, but after that she was drawn to the intensity of the scene, and hour after hour she stood by and watched, praying silently for Marie's life, as they worked endlessly to replace her dying heart with the new one of the young woman who had died only hours before. It was fascinating to watch as they lifted the old one from her chest and placed it on a tray, and Melanie didn't even gasp as she watched them lower the new one into the cavity they had left, valves and arteries and veins were hooked up as the hands moved ceaselessly over the woman's chest; Melanie held her breath, then suddenly the monitors came to life again, and the sound of the monitored heartbeat leapt into the room like a drum in everyone's ears, and the cardiac team gave a cheer. It was truly amazing. The heart so lifeless since the death of its donor sprang to life again in Marie's body.

The surgery went on for another two hours after that, and at last the final incision was closed, and Peter stood back, his back and chest drenched, his arms sore from the precise work, and he watched carefully as they slowly pushed her bed from the room again, into a nearby cubicle where she would be watched for several hours. He would remain close by for the next six or eight hours himself to make sure that all went well, but for the moment everything seemed to be under control, and he walked out into the hall and took a deep breath of air, as Melanie followed him, feeling her legs shake. It had been an extraordinary experience watching him work, and she was deeply grateful for his call. He chatted for a few moments with the others, still in his cap and gown, his mask cast aside on a desk, and for a few minutes Mel conferred with the camera crew. They were ready to go home, and enormously impressed with what they'd seen.

“Christ, that guy's good.” The man in charge peeled off his blue gown and lit a cigarette, suddenly wondering at the wisdom of it as he did, but all he could think of was what they'd gotten on film, the constantly moving hands, working in pairs, sometimes two pairs together, never stopping, picking up tiny slivers of tissue to be repaired and veins barely thicker than hairs. “It really makes you believe in miracles to see something like that.” He looked at Mel in awe, and he shook her hand. “It was nice working with you.”

“Thank you for getting here so fast.” She smiled, and they glanced over some notes. He told her he'd have the film in New York the next day to add to the rest and then he and his crew left, and she changed her clothes. She was surprised to see Peter emerge in his street clothes too. Somehow she had assumed that he'd be sticking around in his operating-room garb, but she didn't know why she'd assumed that. It was strange to see him though as just an ordinary mortal again. “How did it go?” she asked him as they walked outside together into the hall. It was as though she had never left, and something deep inside her leapt to see him again.