A dozen policemen have formed human barricades in front of each of the three stairwells, shunting off the swelling mob of reporters. Two nurses and an orderly argue at their station with members of the governor’s entourage, while governor Grace Demers continues her verbal assault on Dominique’s private nurse.

‘… we had an arrangement, Mrs. Klefner.’

‘Hey, lady, I called you, just like I said I would. Not my fault the preggo wants nobody but the old woman and the Jew in her birthing room. You don’t like it, you can take your money and let it hit you where the good Lord split you.’

‘Now you listen to me—’

‘Nurse Klefner?’ Rabbi Steinberg grabs the nurse by the arm, dragging her away from the governor. ‘Where’s Dr. Wishnov?’

‘Who’re you?’

‘I’m the Jew. Where’s the doctor?’

‘Uh, he’s trying to secure an operating room.’

Steinberg heads down the corridor.

The governor hustles to catch up. ‘Rabbi, wait, let’s talk. Get me inside to witness the birth, and I’ll make it worth your while.’

Steinberg spots Bruce Wishnov, Dominique’s obstetrician, hurrying down the opposite corridor.

‘I’ll bet your synagogue could use a new parking lot.’ She lowers her voice. ‘Or would you prefer credits?’

Steinberg’s blood pressure boils. ‘Geh feifen ahfen yam.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘It’s Yiddish for go peddle your fish elsewhere.’

The rabbi jumps aside as a burly Hispanic cop drags two handcuffed reporters into a makeshift holding room. Jogging down the corridor, Steinberg intercepts Dr. Wishnov, who is dressed head to slippers in surgical green. ‘Where have you been? Dominique’s in pain, she needs an epidural.’

‘Dominique may need a Caesarian. The OR’s ready, but the mob’s getting worse. I thought Chaney was sending the National Guard?’

‘Yes.’ Steinberg struggles to keep up. ‘That’s what we were told.’

The security guards step aside, allowing the doctor and rabbi to reenter the private birthing room.

Edith is at the window, peeking between wooden shutters at the scene three stories below. The night is torn by sirens and swirling lights that streak the surging crowd blue and red. Mesoamerican Indians, news reporters, and religious fanatics have jammed the parking lot and hospital entrance to jostle with local police. The deep thrumming from news choppers pounds the humid air, their white-hot search lights cutting through palm fronds, casting bizarre shadows across the glass-faced building.

‘There must be ten thousand people out there. Where’s the National Guard?’

‘Owww!’ Dominique moans as she rides another crest. Sweat mats her black bangs to her forehead, beads of perspiration rolling past her cheekbones. She grabs the doctor by his arm, burying her nails into his skin. ‘Get these babies out of me!’

Dr. Wishnov releases the brakes on her roller bed. ‘Hang in there, we’re moving you to an operating room.’

‘No! No Caesarean! It’s time. Just get them out … owwww!’