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The Rusted Scalpel
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PRAISE FOR
THE RUSTED SCALPEL
When I open a Timothy Browne novel, I expect a compelling storyline driven by relentless suspense that will transport me to a new world where evil is exposed and hope endures. Chapter by chapter, The Rusted Scalpel exceeded my expectations again...and again...and again. My favorite book in the series so far, Dr. Nicklaus Hart is at his best--and so is Timothy Browne.
—Karen Sargent, author of Waiting for Butterflies,
2017 IAN Book of the Year
Fantastic…a story woven with intrigue, suspense and romance. Browne gives us full-throttle exploration into the human brain, big pharma, and the ancient rainforest of the headhunting Iban. I loved every minute of this riveting adventure.
—Don Stephens, Founder of Mercy Ships
This is the finest story in the Nicklaus Hart series of medical thrillers. Dr. Tim has the background as an orthopedic surgeon and as a medical missionary to write vivid thrillers set in the remote and forbidding ends of the earth. This taut, suspenseful medical thriller draws the reader from Montana to exotic Singapore, to India, and to the remote areas of Borneo once known as the land of the headhunters. The memorable characters drive the story from one man’s struggle into the broader human battle between good and evil. Goodness and seductive evil reveal themselves slowly from the gray areas, one decision at a time, to the breath-taking conclusion.
—Joni Fisher, author of the Compass Crimes Series
Easily the best of the Dr. Hart thrillers! If you’re familiar with IQ and EQ, I would add a third component...SQ (spiritual quotient). I literally felt myself growing significantly in all three areas while reading.
—Glenn Price, YWAM Missionary
Browne’s trilogy offers a fast paced, roller coaster ride with plenty of romantic soul-searching along the way. The author has lived his novels and skillfully mixes internal and external struggles, mystical aspects of faith v. reality, international political intrigues, and current issues such as the collapse of modern medical practice under the heavy influence of the pharmaceutical industry. As a result, he offers details most novelists would miss – details that enrich the dangers and near-death encounters the characters experience and offer glimpses into the masculine mind surrendering to love.
—Julia Loren, author of the Shifting Shadow of Spiritual Experiences Series
Having read Maya Hope and The Tree of Life, I anticipated the arrival of The Rusted Scalpel with eagerness that was not disappointed. In fact, it is the best yet! Dr. Timothy Browne continues to write with skill, beauty, and depth as he takes the reader in the company of some familiar characters, like Dr. Nick and Maggie, and others into the inner workings of a major pharmaceutical company. The handsome, wealthy head of the company is multinational and multitalented, and adds intrigue and complexity. The reader journeys, not to the Middle East nor South America in the Rusted Scalpel, but to Singapore, Borneo, and Calcutta; jungles and cities. Again, Dr. Tim describes the peoples and places with affection and understanding that draws the reader into his perspective. And again, he includes faith and relationships expertly in realistic terms. Power and money nearly overwhelm through big Pharma, but integrity and strength of character founded in God produce a spell-binding struggle.
—Deyon Stephens, Co-Founder of Mercy Ships
Browne’s best work yet! I work as an integrative physician where we deal with both acute and chronic neuro-psychological issues. Dr. Browne’s latest book delves into complex neurotransmitter chemistry in a way that is both intriguing and factual. The story line is woven through threads of deception, romance, murder, and emergency surgery. Anyone who loves medical thrillers will want to read The Rusted Scalpel.
—William J Brown, MD, Brown Integrative Wellness
Dr. Nicklaus Hart Series
Maya Hope
The Tree of Life
The Rusted Scalpel
Timothy Browne, MD
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The Rusted Scalpel, a medical thriller
A Dr. Nicklaus Hart Novel, Book 3
by Timothy Browne, MD
Copyright © 2018 by Timothy Browne
All rights reserved.
First Edition © 2018
ISBN-13:
978-1-947545-09-0 (pb)
978-1-947545-10-6 (hb)
978-1-947545-08-3 (epub)
978-1-947545-11-3 (pb/BN)
978-1-947545-13-7 (hb/BN
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the author, except in the manner of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please respect the author and the law and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.
The events, peoples and incidents in this story are the sole product of the author’s imagination. The story is fictitious, and any resemblance to individuals, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Historical, geographic, and political issues are based on fact.
Every effort has been made to be accurate. The author assumes no responsibility or liability for errors made in this book.
Scriptures quotations used in this book are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Bible Publishers or from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.
Scriptures are taken from the KING JAMES VERSION (KJV): KING JAMES VERSION, public domain.
Scriptures are taken from the THE MESSAGE: THE BIBLE IN CONTEMPORARY ENGLISH (TM): Scripture taken from THE MESSAGE: THE BIBLE IN CONTEMPORARY ENGLISH, copyright©1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.
Episcopal Church. Protestant Episcopal Church in the Confederate States of America. The Book of Common Prayer and Administration of the Sacraments and Other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church: Together with the Psalter or Psalms of David According to the Use of the Episcopal Church. New York: Seabury press, 1979.
Cover design, Book layout & design, cover art, maps by Suzanne Parrott
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018908182
To: The most courageous people on the planet…
those that suffer from depression and anxiety.
To: My parents, John and Ginny…
you taught me love and compassion
Table of Contents
PRAISE FOR THE RUSTED SCALPEL
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
MAPS: Phillipines, Borneo, Indonesia
MAPS: Borneo, Sarawak
PROLOGUE ~ BORNEO—SOUTHEAST ASIA
CHAPTER 1 ~ BLINDED, JANUARY
CHAPTER 2 ~ STORM
CHAPTER 3 ~ ANGER
CHAPTER 4 ~ BLUE BABY
CHAPTER 5 ~ BAPTISM
CHAPTER 6 ~ CHA-CHING
CHAPTER 7 ~ HEALING
CHAPTER 8 ~ GRANDMAMA
CHAPTER 9 ~ THE KISS
CHAPTER 10 ~ SINGAPORE
CHAPTER 11 ~ WEALTH
CHAPTER 12 ~ MERCY
CHAPTER 13 ~ WELLTREX
CHAPTER 14 ~ INDIAN PRINCESS
CHAPTER 15 ~ THE HUNTSMAN RETURNS
CHAPTER 16 ~ PHARMA
CHAPTER 17 ~ ANTU GERASI
CHAPTER 18 ~ ADAM AND EVE
CHAPTER 19 ~ THE LONGHOUSE
CHAPTER 20 ~ DRAGON’S BLOOD
CHAPTER 21 ~ MIRACLE
CHAPTER 22 ~ THE OFFER
CHAPTER 23 ~
SEPARATION
CHAPTER 24 ~ FISHING
CHAPTER 25 ~ PINECONE
CHAPTER 26 ~ TRUST
CHAPTER 27 ~ BEAST OF BURDEN
CHAPTER 28 ~ CURSED
CHAPTER 29 ~ MOTHER TERESA
CHAPTER 30 ~ THREAT
CHAPTER 31 ~ FIRE
CHAPTER 32 ~ CRICOTHYROTOMY
CHAPTER 33 ~ REGRET
CHAPTER 34 ~ THE SAVIOR
CHAPTER 35 ~ DAISY
CHAPTER 36 ~ DECISION TIME
CHAPTER 37 ~ IGF-1
CHAPTER 38 ~ SILENCE
CHAPTER 39 ~ A TURN FOR THE WORSE
CHAPTER 40 ~ LETTING GO
CHAPTER 41 ~ SANITIZED
CHAPTER 42 ~ DUST TO DUST
CHAPTER 43 ~ REVIVERE
CHAPTER 44 ~ KUMĀRĪ
CHAPTER 45 ~ ASYSTOLE
CHAPTER 46 ~ PSYCHOSIS
CHAPTER 47 ~ WITHDRAWAL
CHAPTER 48 ~ MADNESS
CHAPTER 49 ~ UNVEILED
CHAPTER 50 ~ ATTACK
CHAPTER 51 ~ RESCUE
CHAPTER 52 ~ REVENGE
CHAPTER 53 ~ SAD VICTORY
CHAPTER 54 ~ JUSTICE
CHAPTER 55 ~ GOOD-BYES
EPILOGUE ~ 6 MONTHS LATER, LOVE
A WORD FROM TIM
UPCOMING from Timothy Browne THE GENE
LARIMER STREET
AUTHOR’S NOTE
MINISTRIES
PHOTOS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I am so grateful to my readers. Without you, I could not continue to fuel my imagination with story. My hope is that these stories touch something deep within you.
To my Beta readers, thank you for diving into the story and helping flush out areas that were not clear but mostly for your encouragement to continue to write.
To my story editor, Burney Garlick who has the hardest job of all when she receives the raw manuscript. Thank you for not just sending it back but caring for it like a grandmother would their grandchild. Loving unconditionally and gently offering advice and wisdom.
To my editor, Erin Healy who not only found spots where the story fell short but is a master craftsman of words. Thank you for helping me become a better writer.
To Suzanne Fyhrie Parrott for the amazing artwork, design and your patient guidance in publishing. As a new author, I quickly realized that writing the books was the mere beginning of the journey. It reminds me of standing at the bottom of my beloved Mission Mountains in Montana and pondering how I could possibly get to the top. It’s easier to turn around…but don’t, you’ll miss the treasures ahead. The best way to proceed is with a guide, someone that has been there before you and can point out the hidden pathway and warn you of the dangers. Full of integrity, Suzanne is that perfect guide with the experience as both an author and publisher. She will guide you into the publishing wilderness and help you find your vista.
To my family who mean everything to me. To my boys, Timothy, Joshua and Jacob and their beautiful wives, Jamie, Sarah and Devlin. You all make the work worth it and to my wife, Julie…you have lived the adventure.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.
For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
—Matthew 11:28–30
“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”
—Romans 15:13
PROLOGUE
BORNEO—SOUTHEAST ASIA
Sayau had never seen a blue baby. He brought the lantern closer to the newborn to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. He pushed on the infant’s leg, and it blanched white but returned to blue with the release of pressure. It looked like the parents had dipped the child into a vat of indigo.
“The ulat’s blood is blue?” Sayau asked the frightened young mother. She did not answer and diverted her eyes to the floor of the longhouse. He meant no disrespect calling the baby ulat, worm. All Iban babies were termed that for the first year, and this one was only a few hours old. Sayau looked the mother up and down. She was of childbearing age and appeared well nourished and neatly kept.
“What did you or your husband do?” he asked. Pinpointing the broken custom or taboo would give Sayau clues to what caused the baby’s discoloration.
The girl’s father answered for her. “She is without marriage.”
Sayau nodded and stared at the baby, who uttered a weak, gasping cry. A baby out of wedlock was not unusual and could explain the curse on the baby, but it gave him no further understanding.
Sayau glanced at the girl’s father and then at the dukun, the medicine man of the longhouse. He wondered if they read his thoughts. I wish Grandfather were here. The beloved man died three months ago, and because Sayau’s own father had died young, succession of the position of the manang, witch doctor, passed to him. He took pride in being the youngest witch doctor among the Iban people, but lately, the mantle was a heavy burden.
After his father’s death and his mother’s inability to ascend the depths of mourning, he lived with his grandparents. He accompanied his grandfather in all duties including deaths, marriages and every other aspect of life in the rainforest that involved the manang. Sayau had attended to dead babies, and infants born with strange deformities, but never a blue one. Grandfather would have known what to do.
“It is like the ulat is without breath,” the medicine man said. “I have warmed the child next to the fire and sprinkled him with ginger root, but his color does not change. I burned dragon’s blood over him and rubbed it behind the neck, but there is no improvement. There must be an evil spirit in this child, so our chief sent for you. Our longhouse is without a manang.”
Sayau was a manang mata, the lowest level witch doctor, but his grandfather, a manang bali, taught him well. “Undertake one sickness at a time and always settle your sabang, fee, before attending to the patient.” The fee was nonnegotiable, whether the sick person lived or died.
Sayau surmised an evil spirit was at the root of the infant’s condition. He would call upon the gods of the hills for help. His grandfather had taught him the ancient incantations to make his plea—but which one should he summon?
Sayau closed his eyes to listen for his grandfather and the spirits, but for the last six months he had heard only silence. The night air in the longhouse was cool from the drizzle of the evening rain, but heat rose through his spine, making his head spin. Maybe it was the white man’s heart medicine that made him feel so off balance. He had voted with his chief to participate in the medication trial. The money was a help to the people of his longhouse, but now he wasn’t so sure he should have agreed to it.
“I am sorry, Sayau.” The girl’s father put his hand on Sayau’s shoulder. “I can see by your expression that you cannot help this child. I should have told you this when I came to get you. As I went downriver, I heard the shrieks of the Ketupong, the Rufous Woodpecker. This sign from our omen bird indicates that the child cannot be cured by you.” The man let go of his shoulder. “I am sorry, Sayau, for making you come all this way. I tell the truth so nothing more happens to my family.”
Sayau tried not to act too pleased, because he didn’t know what to do for the child and was tired of looking foolish. Instead he frowned.
“Please, Sayau…please accept my offering to you and plead to the gods for my family.”
Sayau nodded and then decided to add, “I do not understand the meaning of the color of this child, but I think it would be best to take the baby far downriver to the white man’s medicine lodge. They may be able to help.”
He put a hand on the baby’s belly, and the infant’s arms and legs trembled, followed by a stream of urine arcing through the air. Maybe that was a good sign. Sayau chanted an old incantation over the child, one that his grandfather’s grandfather had passed down. Since nothin
g in Iban history is recorded, Sayau figured it must be one from the beginning of time.
When he finished, the girl’s father held out some money to him, and Sayau waved it off. He had done nothing, and he, too, had to answer to the spirits that ruled the rainforest.
* * *
Sayau took care to guide his longboat down the river in the darkness. The rainforest never frightened him, but tonight the jungle seemed darker and more ominous. A light sprinkle wet his face, and he pulled a burlap bag from under his seat and wrapped it around his bare shoulders. It smelled strongly of fish, but at least it cut the chill.
He knew this river by heart, and with only the slightest glimmer of light reflecting off the water, he let the current pull him home more than the engine pushed.
The jungle creatures had silenced their choir, and the only sounds were the water lapping at the boat’s sides and the wind whipping through the thick canopy. He imagined an intense earthly battle between the spirits that inhabit the tops of the trees and the spirits from the summits of the hills.
The constant war between good and evil spirits was something that his grandfather spoke about often, frequently stopping in the midst of an ordinary moment. “Do you feel that, Sayau? Do you hear it? Pay close attention so you know how to pray,” the old man would say.
Sayau shivered, feeling the strain of good against evil. These were unsettled times. A man from his longhouse had disappeared without warning. Among his people it was unheard of for a middle-aged man with a wife and four children to leave without warning. The man’s wife said he had grown more and more agitated and enraged over the past few weeks, then he was gone.
Several people in the community were sick. They had a spectrum of symptoms including muscle pain, fatigue and nausea. One of the young men who traveled to civilization for a job in the offshore oil rigs suggested that it was the mosquito-borne dengue fever. But their symptoms had lasted for months and no one suffered the classic fever, so the elders concluded the cause was spiritual, and they all looked to him. Sayau had been their manang for only three months. He didn’t have the answers, and his people were losing confidence.