The Last Surgeon

EPILOGUE

Thanksgiving dinner at the new headquarters of the Helping Hands Foundation was at once joyous and bittersweet. The broad rented table in the waiting room was piled high not with food but with boxes of food, prepared by volunteers and supervised by Jillian. Board and staff members set up a human chain to pass the boxes to a waiting line of patrons. Sam Wright and the Levishefsky twins worked alongside members of the Washington and Baltimore professional sports teams handing out the turkeys. The mayor was there, shoulder to shoulder with Reggie, and Nick’s PTSD students were there in force and unusually good humor.

“Hey, Nick,” Matthew McBean called across the room. “I think my SUD score is a three today. Seeing all these people outside makes me so appreciative of what I have that I’m having trouble feeling lousy.”

Nick smiled at his friend. Since the death of Phillip MacCandliss, a number of the former enlisted men had gotten the benefits that had previously been denied. Several more had gone back to work and one, Eddie Thompson, had actually gone to work for the VA.

David Bagdasarian, Nick’s attorney, entered the crowded room carrying two huge boxes of pastry.

“Breaking news, Nick,” he said. “Yesterday evening, Ramsland’s latest bail appeal was denied. Too great a flight risk. The guy is going to stay locked up until his trial. His lawyers argued that without Aleem Mohammad, the prosecution doesn’t have much of a case, but the judge disagreed.”

Jillian, who was standing nearby, gave the lawyer a thumbs-up.

“I guess the judge knows a mass murderer when he sees one,” she said.

The fallout from the government cutting a deal with Mohammad in exchange for his statements and cooperation had not fully dissipated. There had been demonstrations, and an organization called No Deals was agitating the CIA to disclose the terrorist’s whereabouts and to begin proceedings to bring him back.

“Anything new on Paresh Singh and the money-laundering charges?” Nick asked.

“Not since he jumped bail and vanished. India is a big country and he has more than enough money to bribe anyone. Nobody thinks they’re going to find him.”

Junie came in from where she had been arranging the equipment in the new Helping Hands thirty-nine-foot Winnebago.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Nick asked.

“What do you think?” Junie said. “This is more physical labor than I’m used to, but the doctors say it’s good for me to start pushing myself a bit more. And now that I don’t have to worry about this guy every day since you’re adopting him”-she put her arm around Reggie-“I’ll be back to a full schedule in no time.”

“Remember,” Reggie said, “you promised I could go with you on the first run in the new RV. It’s not exactly a limo but, like you said, I plan on having my own one day.”

“Mr. Mayor,” Junie said. “Things are slowing down a little now. Would you like to come out and see the new RV you helped us raise money to purchase?”

“I’d like that very much,” the mayor said.

Together, Jillian, Junie, Reggie, and Nick guided the mayor to the street where the two vans were parked. Second Chance, leashed to the steering wheel, greeted them proudly.

“This is my dog, Chance,” Reggie said. “Chance, this is the mayor.”

The mayor toured the new RV briefly and thanked them before heading off. For a time the four of them stood quietly, looking at a glass-enclosed display on one wall. In it was a poster-size version of the picture of Umberto Vasquez that Nick had carried from street to street for four years, and beside it was the photo of a beautiful young woman reading a book beneath a tree.