He didn’t finish, but everyone in the operating room froze.
— “Or” what? — Alina whispered.
— Or this isn’t the man who’s lying on our table at all, — Pavel finished.
The silence was deafening. Belov lay on the operating table, submerged in a medicated sleep, unaware of the turmoil unfolding around him. Sergey Petrovich was the first to compose himself.
— Pavel, that’s impossible. Are we operating on the wrong person? How could that happen?
— I don’t know, — Pavel looked at the paper again. — But it says here that the test was done last night, at the patient’s own request. Alina, call the lab. Find out who exactly gave this sample, at what time, who collected it.
Alina ran to the phone. Katya and Olga stood like statues, unsure of what to do. Pavel approached Belov and looked closely at his face. The sleeping man looked calm, even peaceful. But now it seemed to Pavel that there was something… off about his face. As if it were a mask.
A minute later, Alina returned, pale as a sheet.
— Pavel Viktorovich, the lab said that last night, around eight, a man came in and said he was Igor Belov. He showed a passport, asked for an urgent genetic analysis. The lab technician didn’t notice anything suspicious, took the blood, the analysis was done overnight, and the results were put in the folder this morning. But she says… — Alina faltered.
— Say it, — Pavel ordered harshly.
— She says the man looked like our patient, but… somehow different. She couldn’t explain it, but it seemed strange to her that he came to give a sample on the eve of his surgery when all the tests were already done.
Pavel felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Zara was right.
— We are canceling the operation. Immediately. Sergey Petrovich, do not administer the anesthesia. Wake the patient up.
— But Pavel… — the anesthesiologist began.
— That’s an order, — Pavel interrupted him. — We have no clarity on who this man is. We cannot operate until we find out the truth. Alina, contact the chief physician. Katya, call security. Olga, ask the patient’s wife and brother to come here. Let them explain what’s going on.
The next half hour was chaos. The chief physician of the clinic, Anatoly Borisovich, rushed to the operating room and at first couldn’t believe what was happening. They began to bring Belov out of his medicated sleep; he slowly came to, looking around with groggy eyes. Victoria and Viktor were brought into the operating room. The woman was pale and frightened, the man stared from under his brow and remained silent.
— What’s happening? — Victoria asked in a trembling voice, looking at her husband who was lying on the operating table, still disoriented. — Why haven’t you started the surgery?
Pavel approached her, holding the paper with the analysis results.
— Mrs. Belova, answer me honestly. Did your husband come to the clinic last night to give an additional blood sample?
Victoria blinked in confusion:
— No. We were home all evening. Igor was nervous before the operation, we watched a movie, he took a sedative and went to bed early. He didn’t go anywhere. Are you sure?
— Absolutely.
— So what happened?
Pavel turned to Viktor:
— And where were you last night?
Viktor tensed up:
— What business is it of yours? I don’t have to report to you.
— Security, — Pavel called, and two security officers entered the operating room. — Don’t let this man leave the clinic until we figure this out.
— Are you out of your mind! — Viktor exploded. — By what right?
— By the right of a doctor who is responsible for a patient’s life, — Pavel answered coldly. — We have a blood test, taken yesterday by a man who identified himself as Igor Belov. But the blood type in this test does not match the one in your brother’s medical chart. Moreover, the new test shows markers for a serious genetic disease. So either your brother’s chart has someone else’s data, or he wasn’t the one who gave blood yesterday. In any case, we cannot proceed with the operation until we find out the truth.
Victoria gasped and clutched her heart. Viktor stood with his fists clenched, his face slowly turning red. On the operating table, Belov finally came to his senses and sat up, holding his head.
— What? What’s going on? Why am I not under anesthesia?
— Igor Andreevich, — Pavel approached him, — tell me, did you come to the clinic last night to give a blood sample for analysis?
— No. I was at home. Why would I come? All the tests were already done.
— Exactly, — Pavel looked at him intently. — But then someone impersonated you. Presented your passport and gave blood in your name. And that blood showed a completely different type and the presence of a genetic disease.
Belov slowly got off the table, staggering. Victoria rushed to him, but he pushed her away with a sharp gesture.
— Wait. Let me think.
He paced around the operating room, then abruptly turned to his brother:
— It was you.
Viktor stepped back as if he’d been struck:
— What are you talking about?
— Don’t lie to me. — Belov’s voice was strangely calm. — You were the one who gave blood yesterday, pretending to be me.
— Why?
A heavy pause hung in the air. Viktor looked at his brother, and his eyes held a multitude of emotions—anger, fear, hatred, despair—that Pavel involuntarily clenched his fists, ready for any reaction. Finally, Viktor gave a bitter, crooked smile.
— Do you really want to know? In front of everyone? In front of these doctors, in front of your precious little wife?
— Speak, — Igor said quietly.
— Fine. — Viktor stepped forward, and his voice became louder, harsher. — Yes, it was me who gave blood under your name yesterday. I stole your passport, went to the lab, and gave my blood, saying I was you.
— Want to know why?
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