The fifth vial

EPILOGUE

"I can see why you love autumn in New England so much," Ben said. "I'm really happy to be here again."

Natalie squeezed his hand and smiled up at him. Four weeks had passed since Dom Angelo, and this was Ben's second trip to be with her. Their embryonic connection, forged initially in the rain forest, was growing stronger and more passionate, although neither of them was anxious to push things too hard too fast.

"I have something to share with you," Natalie said as they passed the Esplanade where just a few months before she had gone with friends to watch the Pops celebrate the Fourth of July, "but first tell me about Texas.

"It was kind of a surreal trip," he said. "The cops knew who I was and didn't charge me anything for towing and storing my car. Then I started out of town, but almost before I knew it, I was heading out John Hamman Highway to see the place one last time. The gate was chained and padlocked, and the Oasis inside looked totally deserted. I got out and hung for a time, just taking in the whole scene."

"That had to have been intense."

"Oh, it was. I stood there wondering about how many. How many unsuspecting clients were tissue-typed there? Millions, I guess. How many perfect matches had they chosen? How many had died as a result?"

"Ben, you helped put an end to it all."

"I hope. So, how do you feel about taking a leave from school?"

"It's the right thing to do. I'm not mentally or physically in shape to go back yet, but I will if I can. Maybe next year. Meanwhile, I'm getting to spend some quality time with my niece, Jenny. With her CP and my sister's death, she's really had a raw deal of it and I want to be sure she gets as much as life owes her. Plus I really am enjoying the time we spend together."

"And your residency?"

"First things first, Ben."

"I understand. I'm still angry and frustrated for you, that's all."

"I don't have a hell of a lot to look forward to in terms of my health, but at least I'm not walking around all day thinking about solving my problems with a bunch of pills and a plastic bag."

"I sure hope not." Mindless of the runners and roller bladers passing by, Ben lifted her chin and kissed her gently. "Wanna sit down for a bit?" he asked.

"Why, am I breathing weird again?"

"Hey, hey, no touchiness, now. Remember our deal. You stay cool about your lung and I'll stay cool about having no career, no interests aside from you and the illicit organ trade, and no immediate job prospects. Job or no job, good lung or bad, we still have what everyone else has — we have today. Now, what did you want to share with me?"

Natalie didn't respond immediately. Instead, she rested her head on his shoulder, trying to purge any unpleasant thoughts from her mind. Finally, she reached in her pocket and extracted a letter.

"This came yesterday," she said. "You watch the boats. I'll read it to you." She was unable to cull the melancholy from her voice. "Sorry for sounding down. I'm still lacking closure in this whole business, and from time to time notions about the future just hit me."

"Hey, read and don't worry. My scars are almost gone. Yours is slightly more permanent." He ran his fingertips along her right side. "Anything that brings closure a little nearer, do it."

Natalie pressed his hand to her lips.

The letter was folded in quarters and already dog-eared.

"It's from Detective Perreira," she said, opening it.

Dear Senhorita Reyes,

This letter, like my first one, is being translated by an American friend who teaches English and can be counted upon to be absolutely discreet. I first want to tell you that the attorney you have hired here has been most active and seems to us all to be extremely competent. I believe that ultimately there will be no formal charges pressed against you in connection with any of the matters related to Dom Angelo.

I also wish to thank you and Mr. Callahan for referring your friend Alice Gustafson to me. I find her to be a charming, thoughtful woman, who only yesterday was a guest at our home for dinner. She and I have traveled together to Dom Angelo (my third trip) for picture-taking and for her to examine the hospital and the village. With the help of information from someone in the town, several bodies have been unearthed. It may be difficult if not impossible to identify them, but Professor Gustafson believes the answers to that mystery are in London, and she will be flying there when she leaves here. Scotland Yard has been investigating their end of this case and are eagerly awaiting her arrival. Although it will take some time to identify all of those involved, she believes that some arrests there are imminent. Professor Gustafson is, as I assume you know, a most determined woman.

We here in Rio de Janeiro have great respect for your courage and for the service you and Mr. Callahan have done our country. I hope our aggressive pursuit of this matter, and the arrests we have made, including two of our own, have changed your opinion of the Brazilian Military Police.

If and when you choose to return to our country, please accept my invitation to serve as one of your hosts.

"Power corrupts," Ben said.

Natalie's reply was cut short by her cell phone, which announced a call with its riff from Vivaldi. With no one around to disturb, she let the melody play through twice before answering.

"Hello?"

"Is this Natalie Reyes?" a woman's voice asked.

"Are you selling something? Because — "

"Please indulge me for a moment and I'll explain everything."

"All right, I'm Natalie. Now, what is this? Who are you?"

"Natalie, I know you picked up Ben Callahan at the airport earlier today. Is he with you now?"

"Look, either you tell me what this is all about, or I'm going to — "

"Okay. Okay. This has to do with Brazil."

Instantly, Natalie's irritation vanished.

"What about Brazil?"

"Natalie, if you're not already, you may want to sit down."

"We re sitting."

"Great. Can you put the phone where you both can hear?"

Natalie pulled Ben closer and did as she was asked.

"Okay," she said, "we can both hear."

"Natalie, my name is Beth Mann. I'm a private detective here in Boston. On behalf of a client, I have been investigating you since your return from Brazil. No Peeping Tom stuff, I promise you."

"An ethical detective," Ben whispered, pulling back for a moment, "must be a hoax."

"Go on," Natalie said.

"As part of my investigation, I have had a number of conversations with Dr. Rachel French — "

"My pulmonologist," Natalie whispered to Ben.

" — and also with your friend Dr. Terry Millwood. He is at White Memorial Hospital right now, awaiting your call. Those two physicians have spoken with the head of the hospital, and all necessary arrangements have been made."

"Necessary arrangements for what?" Natalie asked, absolutely non-plussed.

"Natalie, does the name Dr. Joseph Anson mean anything at all to you?"

"No, should it?"

"Not really. Dr. Anson is from West Africa — Cameroon to be more exact. He's a dedicated physician and a brilliant researcher in the area of neovascularization."

"Making new blood vessels," Natalie whispered to Ben. "Go on."

"At this moment, Dr. Anson is in or around Boston. I have no idea where. He has made a decision from which he has no intention of turning back. The decision was made after I told him about the fire at your mother's house and the damage your lung incurred in saving her and your niece.

"But how did you — ?"

"Mr. Callahan, would you please take a moment and tell this woman what we detectives do?"

"We detect," Ben said.

"Please go on," Natalie said, sensing, but not yet believing, what was to follow.

"At nine o'clock this evening, just seven hours from now, Dr. Anson is going to peacefully take his own life. I will get a call from an attorney telling me the address where Dr. Anson's body can be found. Then I will receive a call from Dr. Anson. I have an ambulance standing by and will wait exactly thirty-seven minutes before sending it out to the location. By the time they arrive, Dr. Anson's heart will be beating, but he will be brain-dead. Believe me, Natalie, Dr. Anson is a genius, and is absolutely capable of making this happen. Once a neurologist has confirmed the brain death, Dr. Millwood and his team will be standing by to transplant Dr. Anson's lung into your chest."

"But…but why? Why not just donate a lung to me and keep one for himself?"

"Because, Natalie, Joseph Anson has only one functioning lung — yours."

Natalie felt her body go slack and wondered if, for the first time in her life, she was going to faint. Ben squeezed her hand so tightly that it hurt.

"Oh, God," she said. "There's already been so much death. Is there any way I could talk to this man?"

"Believe me, Natalie, I have spoken to him a number of times, and researched him thoroughly. Dr. Anson is at peace with what he is doing. All we need now is your cooperation."

Ben nodded vigorously at her.

"Then…I guess you have it," she heard herself say.

"In that case, Dr. Millwood is awaiting your call. He'll explain what happens next. I'm very happy for you. Be sure to stop by my office after your recovery."

"But what if — ?"

Beth Mann had rung off.

Natalie, making no attempt to stem her tears, took both of Ben's hands in hers.

"Remember what I said about closure?" she asked.

The time is right, Anson was thinking. The time is right.

He was in a small, rented garage, just a mile from Natalie Reyes's apartment, sitting in a compact car in pitch-darkness. The passenger side window was open an inch. The opening was sealed with rags. Protruding inward from the rags was one end of a length of garden hose. The other end was sealed in the exhaust pipe. The heavy sedation he had taken at a carefully predetermined moment was beginning to take effect.

He had read and reread Beth Mann's two-hundred-page report on Natalie Reyes, her family, and even on the new man in her life. He had studied the numerous articles, dating back to Natalie's days as a student athlete at Harvard. He had watched videos of several of her races. And finally, he had walked beside her, close enough to brush her sleeve.

Oh, yes, the time was absolutely right.

Natalie Reyes, and possibly Ben Callahan as well, were perfect to oversee the bringing in of new management for the hospital, and to control the fate of Sarah-9. After she recovered from the surgery, she — and if she wanted, Callahan — would be summoned to his attorney's office to receive his notebooks and a detailed DVD he had recorded for her.

She would be under no obligation to stay in Cameroon indefinitely, but he suspected that once she breathed the wonderful air of the jungle and met the people, she might want to. She and Callahan were everything the would-be philosopher kings of Elizabeth's and Douglas Berenger's sad organization were not. They were true Guardians.

Anson flicked on the inside light and checked the time. Then he opened the notebook on his lap and read aloud.

The world can be hard, full of trickery,

Full of deceit,

Full of injustice,

Full of pain.

But there is an emptiness waiting, my friend — a great, glowing emptiness,

Soft and fragrant with the essence of peace,

The essence of serenity.

You are almost there, my friend.

The magnificent emptiness is the eternal harbor for your soul.

Take my hand, friend.

Take my hand and take a step, just one more step,

And you are there.

Anson lifted his cell phone and dialed.

"Ms. Mann," he said, "you may start timing now."

Without waiting for a reply, he set the phone aside, shut off the light, turned on the ignition, and placed his notebook down on a well-worn copy of Plato's Republic.