Michael Palmer: The fifth vial

"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.