Michael Palmer - The fifth vial

"I have insurance that will cover everything…I can get the policy number when I call home."

"We do a great deal of charity work here at Santa Teresa's, but we certainly appreciate it when we can get paid. We have a small rehabilitation room here in the annex, and we would like to get you up on the treadmill or the bicycle as soon as possible."

Natalie recalled the countless hours she spent in physical therapy re-habbing her torn Achilles. Would this rehabilitation be as bad? It was probably normal after a trauma like this, but she wasn't able even to consider the prospect of recovery. First the suspension from school, now this. How could this have happened?

"A phone?" she asked.

"Of course. I'll have Estella take care of that also."

"I wonder if you could stay around…I'm going to call my professor, Dr. Douglas Berenger… Maybe you could speak with him."

"The cardiac surgeon in Boston?"

"Yes, you know him?"

"I know of him. He is regarded as one of the very best in his field."

"I work in his lab."

Natalie had neither the desire nor the wind to go into the reason for her ill-fated trip to Brazil. All she really wanted, in fact, was to get home as soon as possible.

"You must be a very brilliant student," Santoro said. "Wait here, we'll get the phone. Also, the police have asked to be notified if — when — you woke up. They would like to take a statement from you as soon as you are strong enough to give one. And I must replace those eye patches."

"I don't feel any pain."

"We have used numbing drops."

"I will tell the police what I know…but it isn't much."

"Contrary to what we Brazilians often hear when we travel, our Military Police are quite efficient and effective."

"Even so," Natalie replied, "I doubt they'll have much success with this case."

…I reach for the door handle and prepare myself to hit the pavement at forty miles an hour. But before I can move, the cab screeches to a halt, throwing me hard against the back of the passenger seat. What is happening? Again, the scene blurs. The movement around me is indistinct. Suddenly the door is ripped open. A large man reaches in and grabs me. I fight, but he is very strong. A black nylon mask covers his face. I try tearing at the mask, but a second man is on me. His face is also covered. Before I can react a syringe appears in his hand. No! Please no! Don't!

As in the past, Natalie was at once both a participant and an observer in the events that were so radically altering her life. She was a prisoner of her memory, watching and feeling, terrifyingly involved yet strangely detached, and above all powerless to escape the scenario or to alter the outcome. As always, the cab driver's voice was as distinct as his appearance was blurred. He might be sitting next to her and she wouldn't have recognized him, but if he said just one word, she would know.

…The alley's blocked with trash and garbage and cardboard boxes…and a fence…

An unwilling captive, Natalie, as always, ran from her masked pursuers and clambered over the boxes and trash, and heard the shots and felt the pain, and collapsed into blackness. Then, as had often happened, a voice wedged itself into the hideous experience. This time, the voice was a familiar one.

"Nat, it's me, Doug. Can you hear me?"

"Oh, thank God. Thank God you're here."

"You're at the airport, Nat, ready to fly home. They gave you something to knock you out for the transfer and the ambulance ride out here. It should wear off in just a few minutes."

"How…long since I called you?"

"It's less than twenty-four hours since we spoke. I came down on a medevac flight to get you. The school has consented to pay for whatever your insurance doesn't."

"Thank you…Oh, thank you. This is terrible."

"I know, Nat. I know it is. But you're alive, and your brain is intact, and take it from me, your body will improve more than you can imagine. Emily Trotter from Anesthesia is here with me just in case. She's waiting in the plane. Terry's here, too."

"Nothing could keep me from coming, Nat," Millwood's comforting voice said. "We have to get you home so we can go running again. I've told everyone who would listen about how you ran away from those arrogant high-school track stars. Now I need some more stories."

He stroked her forehead and then squeezed her hand.

"Nat, we're all so sorry for what's happened," Berenger said. "We've been worried sick."

"The policeman who came to interview me…said that no one had called."

"That's nonsense. I even had one of the Boston police who's originally from Brazil call them."

"The one who interviewed me…couldn't get away fast enough…It was like he just didn't care."

"Well, we certainly called and called."

"Thank you."

"Dr. Santoro says you're strong and your recovery has been astonishing — a miracle, he calls it. He says your left lung is doing incredibly well, and your body is compensating beautifully for the loss of the other one."

"My eyes…"

"I spoke to the ophthalmologist. They're covered because you've had some temporary damage to your corneas from exposure in that alley. He said that if your discomfort isn't too bad, we could remove the patches for good when we have you settled on board. We'll have someone from the eye service go over you as soon as we get home."

Natalie felt the stretcher begin to roll across the tarmac. In just a few minutes, she had been transferred to one inside the plane. Moments later, her eye pads were removed. Berenger, stethoscope in place, was listening to her chest.

"Doing great," he said.

Natalie reached up and touched his face.

"I never got to present our paper."

"That's okay. You can do it next year."

"That depends. Where's the meeting?"

Berenger grinned.

"Paris," he said. "Now get some rest. Everything's going to be all right."

As always, the conference call of the Guardian council took place on Tuesday at precisely noon, Greenwich mean time.

"This is Laertes."

"Simonides, here."

"Themistocles. Greetings from Australia."

"Glaucon."

"Polemarchus."

"The meeting is called to order," Laertes said. "I have heard from Aspasia. The operation on A has been a complete success. The match was twelve out of twelve, so only minimal drugs will be required, if any at all. Aspasia expects A to be back at work within two weeks. His prognosis is for a full recovery and unimpaired life span."

"Well done."

"Marvelous."

"Other cases?"

"Polemarchus here. We might as well start with me. This coming week we have two kidneys, one liver, and one heart scheduled. The recipients have each already been certified as worthy of our services, and all necessary arrangements — logistical and financial — have been taken care of. In the case of kidneys, the procedure would usually result in the transplantation of both kidneys into our recipient. The liver would result in transplantation of the largest organ segment anatomically possible. Let's consider the kidneys first. Twenty-seven-year-old male laborer, Mississippi, United States."

"Approved," all five called out in unison.

"Forty-year-old female restaurant owner, Toronto, Canada."

"What sort of restaurant?"

"Chinese."

"Approved," they all said as one, and laughed.

"The liver, a thirty-five-year-old male teacher from Wales."

"Glaucon, here. I thought we agreed no teachers. Have we any options?"

"None that I know of," Polemarchus said, "although I can check again. This is a perfect twelve-point match for L, number thirty-one on your lists. As you probably know, he is one of the wealthiest men in Great Britain. I do not know what he has agreed to pay for this procedure, but knowing the way Xerxes negotiates, I would guess it was substantial."