'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.
