Two Hours to Save a National Hero

The interrogator's expression softened a fraction.

He was just about to say something when the click-clack of leather shoes echoed from outside the door.

Edward pushed his way into the room, taking a sip from a cup of coffee he'd bought from a vending machine.

"Oh, look at that. Calling in help already?"

He strolled over to my side. As he leaned down and glanced at the phone screen, he scoffed. "Officers, don't let them fool you. This Carissa woman is his secret lover. They've been in this organ-trafficking ring together for years.

"My sister already gathered all the evidence on this. She was planning to report it to the disciplinary committee tomorrow. The only reason he was in such a rush to run today was to get this shipment out before everything hit the fan."

On the screen, Carissa's face turned red with fury. "That is an absolute lie! What the hell is going on over there? Who is this guy?"

Edward tilted his head toward the camera. "I'm his brother-in-law, and I represent the victims here. Nice acting, Ms. Carter. Great choice of background, too.

"But let me tell you something. With how advanced AI is these days, who knows if you're even a real person? For all we know, you're sitting in some rented apartment acting in front of a green screen."

Stirred up by Edward's claims, the interrogator's face tensed up again. "A video call cannot be accepted as direct evidence."

"What are you guys waiting for anyway?" Edward pressed.

"Tear that stupid cooler apart and test it already! I'm telling you, there's definitely a hidden compartment in there. That's where the drugs are!"

The interrogator weighed the options for a moment, then picked up his radio. "Lab, dismantle the cooler and check for any hidden compartments."

"No!" I struggled, lunging toward the door.

"You can't take it apart! The cooler is already cracked from the fall. If you dismantle it, the heart is finished!"

Two officers pinned me down as I thrashed desperately.

15 minutes later, a lab technician walked in, carrying a metal tray. On that tray lay the heart, stripped from its sterile bag.

It had been exposed to room temperature for nearly 30 minutes. Its surface had turned from a vibrant crimson to a dull, dark purple.

The tech handed over a report. "No illegal substances detected. The liquid in the sterile bag is standard organ preservation fluid, and there are no hidden compartments in the cooler. This is a human heart."

Silence fell over the interrogation room.

Edward froze mid-sip before trying to force a look of confidence. "Well, that still doesn't prove he isn't smuggling organs. Who handles a legal organ so suspiciously?"

Nobody answered him.

The interrogator's expression had turned incredibly grim.

He looked at the discolored heart, then back at the lab report. Sweat started breaking out on his forehead.

Meanwhile, I collapsed back into the chair, completely hollowed out.

I stared at the heart on the tray.

30 minutes at room temperature. The preservation fluid was gone. The sterile environment was entirely compromised.

It was over. The heart was completely ruined.

My mouth hung open, but not a single sound came out. Tears just poured down my face.

400 miles away, a 72-year-old man was lying on an operating table with his chest wide open, waiting for this heart to save his life.

Now, he would never get it.

…

The digital clock on the wall read 11:47 am.

The train had left 40 minutes ago. Even if the heart hadn't been ruined, it was too late.

I leaned against the wall of the interrogation room, my body shaking uncontrollably.

The phone in my pocket vibrated nonstop.

The interrogator glanced at me but didn't stop me.

I pulled it out and saw that the screen was flooded with missed calls. 23 from Lythoria Hospital, 11 from Carissa, and six from the head nurse from my department.

There was also a never-ending string of WhatsApp notifications.

Before I could even look at them, another call flashed on the screen. The caller ID read, "Lythoria Hospital ICU, Dr. Oscar Hooper."

With trembling hands, I answered it and hit speakerphone. "Dr. Randall! Where is the heart? Where the hell is it?"