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  As Eli walked the length of the pew, he removed his wallet from his back pocket. When he reached the wheelchair, Eli leaned over and placed a folded dollar bill in the man’s hand, just as his mother had done with him and Henry. Eli departed the sanctuary and felt a sense of closure. But then he wondered if perhaps he had insulted the man by such a meager gift. Eli reached the narthex and looked back to see the man nod in appreciation.

  Outside, Eli walked to a gas station and found a pay phone. He had left both his cell phone and his beeper in his OR locker. A phone book, without a cover, hung from a flexible wire. Eli scanned through the pages and saw numerous entries for the last name Calloway. He searched the P’s looking for Prine. He smiled when he found only one listing, as he expected, for the name Prinobius.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  SUNDAY MORNING

  7:24 A.M.

  A white ’65 Mustang drove down RBI Drive and stopped at the guardhouse. Tongue heard the tap-tap-tap of the old motor well before it arrived and he was waiting outside the gate.

  “Prine, what are you doing here on Sunday?” Tongue asked. He enunciated Sunday with a “th” and then looked through the dusty windows at an empty back seat and floorboard.

  Every morning, the gate was lifted for Prine automatically and he never had to stop. But Tongue had been given instructions to be extra careful today. He even had a list of approved names on a clipboard.

  “They got me cleaning up after the bigwigs take a crap,” Prine said.

  Tongue laughed at this but continued to look inside Prine’s car.

  “You going to let me through or what?”

  Tongue turned the clipboard toward Prine. “See this list of names? You ain’t on it.”

  “Is that right?” Prine said as he put the Mustang in reverse and slowly backed up. “That’s fine,” Prine said. “I’ll call and tell them you’ll be cleaning the toilets later.”

  “Okay, okay,” Tongue yelled as he hustled back in the guardhouse and lifted the gate.

  Prine waved and smiled as he drove past. He knew that Tongue would never think to look in the trunk.

  Eli lay in a fetal position, the edge of Prine’s spare tire pressing his ribs. With the smell of gasoline and exhaust filling the small compartment, he had tried to take only shallow breaths since leaving Prine’s house in South Memphis where he had cleaned up and changed clothes. Through the thin, rusted-out wall of the trunk, Eli listened as Prine pulled away from the guardhouse and described the scene.

  “Oh yeah, Dr. B. We got television crews all over the place.”

  Eli felt the car turn to the right and he arched his back away from the tire.

  “I’ll take you through a back door that no one ever uses. Just hold tight until I tell you.”

  A minute later, Prine opened the trunk and the full morning sun poured in. Eli clamored out with his eyes shut, a mole using his sense of touch.

  “That’s one of my biggest fears, getting locked in a trunk,” Prine said, grabbing Eli’s arm to steady him. “You put a lot of trust in old Prinobius.”

  “I didn’t have much of a choice.” Eli squinted to see where they were. “I need to get inside before they start the press conference.”

  Prine led him through an unmarked door off the back parking lot, which Eli thought would have been locked. They went down one flight of stairs to a basement hallway lined with battery-powered trolleys and with pipes overhead. After several turns, Prine entered a stairwell and took two flights up at a brisk pace as Eli hustled behind him. On the second floor, he opened the door and looked both ways. Looking over Prine’s hunched shoulders, Eli saw Lisa behind the reception desk and realized they were in the lobby.

  “Stay here,” Prine said. He took a few steps and opened the bathroom door. After confirming it was empty, he motioned for Eli and mouthed,Come on.

  At the front of Regency Biotech International, a ring of reporters stood behind yellow rope, a safe distance of thirty feet from the center of the press conference. The RBI logo, in bold metallic letters, embossed the front of the lectern. The lectern itself was centered so that the company name would be displayed from every angle. At the perimeter of the group of reporters, cameras poised on tripods waited for Sister Frances D’Aquila to emerge from the grand lobby. To capture live footage, cameramen coiled loops of black extension cord ready to be unraveled. Wherever Sister Frances might move, shoulder-mounted cameras could track her.

  To the left of the podium, dressed in a long white lab coat and black high heels, Dr. Tsarina Anatolia stood smiling, and the cameras clicked off more than the usual number of test shots. The top button of her lab coat was unbuttoned, the lapel flaring to reveal ample cleavage.

  At the right side of the podium, standing at attention in his tailor-made black suit, stood Vice President Alexander Zaboyan. He kept his hands clasped behind him, altering his stance only to wipe the sweat that ran from his forehead in a steady stream.

  Like a schoolboy hiding from the teacher, Eli stood with his feet planted on the sides of a toilet seat and balanced himself with both hands against the walls. Just outside the stall, Prine kept watch with his usual flair. He had been waiting to set things right and would not let anyone discover Eli and foil the plan now.

  Through a crack in the door, Prine saw Stone emerge from the side office, a wrinkled woman dressed in a blue habit at his side.

  “They’re heading out, Dr. B.”

  Eli stepped off the toilet, opened the stall door, and regarded himself briefly in the mirror. If all went as planned, in a few moments he would be on national television. He smoothed his white coat, still wrinkled from the cramped ride in Prine’s trunk. Prine came up behind him, grabbed the hem, and gave it a firm yank straight down.

  “You look a lot like Elizer Branch,” Prine told him. Eli froze at the mention of his father. “You knew him, didn’t you?” Prine nodded. “He was a good man. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

  Eli doubted that Prine knew of the illegal device testing on cadavers. And he hoped he never would.

  Prine removed a black comb from a jar of blue, medicated solution, climbed up on the rungs of his stool, and administered three quick grooming strokes to Eli’s hair.

  Eli tried to dodge the last swipe. Surprisingly, he liked what he saw, strands of wavy gray hair pulled back.

  Prine looked over Eli’s shoulder and smiled. “Movie star doctor.”

  “Yeah, right.” Eli moved to the door and left Prine balancing on his stool.

  From the bathroom door, Eli had an unobstructed view of the entire lobby. Harvey Stone was escorting Sister Frances through the large glass doors, already dotted with the flash of cameras. Stone smiled as he offered his right arm, and the sister curled her forearm over his.

  It’s now or never, Eli thought.

  He caught up with the couple before the doors had closed behind them. In a symmetrical approach, Eli slipped his arm in close to the sister’s side.

  Stone stopped abruptly.

  Covered modestly in a blue habit, the sister gradually raised her head, a smile transforming her wrinkled face when she saw a young doctor sweeping in as her escort.

  “It’s so nice of you to visit us,” Eli said and brought her thin hand to his lips.

  “Dr. Branch,” Stone said, his alarm evident. “What an unexpected surprise.”

  “Right where you told me to be, boss.” Eli watched Bennie closing in, his arm in a sling and road rash across his face. Following Bennie were the same two guards who had chased Eli from the amphitheater at RBI on Friday evening. “Call off your boys,” Eli said. “You don’t need a ruckus on national TV.”

  Stone gave a wave and they stopped.

  The featured trio kept moving toward the podium.

  With a fake smile, Stone said, “Branch, I swear, if you screw this up, consider your brother dead.” Stone motioned to Bennie, who reached inside his blue blazer and removed a very worn John Deere cap.

  It was Eli who stopped
the procession this time. Although it did not surprise him that RBI had taken Henry, its confirmation in the form of Henry’s cap came as a paralyzing blow. He would have to play by the rules, at least for now, especially after witnessing Jimmy in peril.

  “That’s not nice language in front of the sister,” Eli told Stone.

  The reporters began to sense a problem with Sister Frances’s press conference. Someone from the crowd yelled, “Welcome to America,” and grateful applause broke out.

  Stone stepped up to the microphone.

  “This is truly a historic day. I met Sister Frances D’Aquila over a decade ago in a small village in the African country of Lesotho. That morning she held the first child to receive our vaccination. Since that time, we have delivered over ten million vials of vaccines to that ravaged country.”

  Here we go, Eli thought. He glanced over his shoulder at Tsarina, who smiled and winked. Opposite her, Zaboyan looked like a mannequin in a clothing store.

  Stone continued the accolades. “I have witnessed firsthand the miraculous work of this woman.” He turned to Sister Frances, and, with a hand on her back, eased her toward the podium. This brought another round of applause, and the sister lowered her head in response. Then there was complete silence.

  She raised her head briefly to a cascade of flash and said, with a slight accent, “I am honored by your kindness.”

  Hands shot up and the reporters vied for her attention, calling, “Sister, Sister!” But the press conference had been billed as a brief introduction to the international visitor, and Sister Frances retreated from the podium, a woman of few words. However, one TV reporter refused to let the trio escape, and stepped forward.

  This woman is everywhere, Eli thought.

  “Mr. Stone,” Shontay Williams shouted, directing attention away from Sister Frances. “As CEO of RBI, can you explain recent deaths in patients with the aortic device manufactured by your company?”

  Stone saw the CNN camera scan over to him. He made a stutter step toward the podium, but Eli intercepted.

  “Ms. Williams,” Eli said, addressing her directly. As he spoke into the microphone, Eli took command, both hands gripping the lectern. “Sister Frances has traveled across the globe. This is her day. Let’s not diminish it with talk of business.”

  Another reporter called out. “What’s your name, doctor?”

  Eli took his gaze off Shontay Williams and smiled. “Branch, Dr. Eli Branch.”

  The reporters scribbled his name in their notepads.

  “I will escort the sister to Washington where she has an important meeting in —” Eli pulled back the sleeve of his coat, “less than two hours. Please be watching for her very important announcement.”

  Exactly what I wanted, Eli thought. Now the nation will be watching.

  Stone was so relieved that Eli had fielded the question of the aortic device that this promise of an announcement went unnoticed and he said nothing. Another barrage of questions came forth.

  “Will the sister endorse RBI’s use of embryonic stem cells? Do you take responsibility for the recent deaths?”

  But Eli had turned away in a position of escort for Sister Frances. His mission was accomplished and he wanted no part of any more sound bites.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  RBI AIRSTRIP

  SAND DOLLAR REEF

  8:20 A.M.

  They left the press conference immediately and were whisked toward the company’s Lear. Sister Frances leaned forward on the back seat of the RBI limousine, elbows against her knees.This is a woman who prefers to kneel on the scorched earth, Eli thought as he admired her. He poured a glass of water from the built-in bar and handed it to her. She accepted it graciously.

  Eli had struck a deal with Stone—he would escort Sister Frances to Washington as long as a reporter accompanied them on the plane. This would keep Stone’s plan intact, and the presence of the reporter would protect Eli from being detained by RBI security. Eli was surprised that Stone fell for it so easily.

  The limousine quickly approached the Learjet parked in the center of the tarmac. They had little time before the plane would leave. Eli spoke directly to Sister Frances.

  “RBI is promoting your visit as support for its stem cell program. Are you aware of this?”

  Sister Frances looked confused.

  “As we speak, Harvey Stone is informing the media about RBI’s plan to conduct the first human embryonic stem cell transplant on U.S. soil,” Eli said. “The operation is scheduled this morning at Gates Memorial Hospital. Stone will tell them that you support embryonic stem cell therapy.”

  Sister Frances was infuriated now. The sun-baked skin of her face flushed and she spoke in broken phrases.

  “All life . . . from conception . . . is sacred.”

  On the opposite seat, Shontay Williams copied down every word.

  The limousine stopped near the jet and the doors opened. While Eli escorted Sister Frances to the Lear, Prine pushed his food cart on the tarmac to the opposite side of the plane. Eli boarded with Sister Frances and the reporter. A few minutes later, the Lear was airborne toward Dulles Airport.

  As the jet leveled out, the pilot spoke. “I thought Dr. Branch was accompanying us.”

  Sister Frances answered him. “It seems as though Dr. Branch has urgent business at his hospital.”

  Prine pushed the food cart across the tarmac toward his car. Although he had emptied it of food, the cart was much heavier than before. With the Lear’s engine blast fading in the distance, Prine said, “Yeah, Dr. B, I was wrong. You are going to make it out of here.”

  When Prine reached the hangar where his Mustang was parked, Eli climbed out of the cart and assumed the fetal position again in Prine’s trunk. Prine did a short turnaround on the tarmac and headed for Gates Memorial, just as Eli had instructed.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  GATES MEMORIAL HOSPITAL

  8:45 A.M.

  Eli leaned into the open window of the Mustang. “Go home and lie low for a few days,” he told Prine. “Let the dust settle.”

  Prine reached across the seat. His hand was bony and cold and the skin folded in on itself like wax paper as Eli shook it.

  “Be careful, Doc.”

  Eli knew that entering Gates Memorial again could jeopardize his position in the field of medicine forever. He held to Prine’s hand for a few seconds longer, this bridge to a former life. Then he turned and sprinted up the ramp of the loading dock.

  Through the window of Operating Room One, Eli saw Korinsky, gowned and facing the operating table, his back toward Eli. Kanter was at the head, recording vital signs on his clipboard. It was a scene so similar to the one Eli had observed less than a week ago, in this same room, that he felt a sick sense of déjà vu. Except now, there appeared to be much less chaos.

  That was about to change.

  Eli did not see a patient on the operative table. There was no gurney inside the room from which to transfer a patient, no sound of a bed being pushed from the holding room around the corner. Eli glanced down the hall, empty except for a cleaning cart a few feet away. Yet, when he looked at the monitor above Kanter’s head, there was clearly an EKG tracing and CO2 waveforms returned from an endotracheal tube.

  Roberta leaned over the table and handed a blue towel drape to Korinsky. As the surgeon moved forward to grasp the towel, Eli saw the patient’s feet and the small frail knees of a child. To his right, Eli heard the activated hum of electric doors, and he ducked behind the cleaning cart. The doors opened and Karl Fisher lumbered into the hallway. He was struggling, both hands behind his head, to tie his surgical mask. Landers followed behind him. Fisher kicked open the door of Room One and yelled to Korinsky, “How we doing?”

  “I’m about to cut her.”

  “Good,” Fisher grumbled. “I’ll have the donor tissue down here in ten minutes or less.” He let the door close behind him and turned down the back hall of the operating suite, still fumbling with his mask.


  Eli remained hidden behind the cart until Fisher was out of sight. He knew now the procedure-gone-bad that he had witnessed in RBI’s amphitheater was just a test run for what was happening now. Crouching, his eyes came level with a collection of cleaning supplies inside the cart: old rags, jugs of ammonia, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He took the alcohol, slipped the bottle into the back pocket of his scrubs, and approached the window again.

  The child’s exposed body lay on the table. Before the final drape descended into place around the patient, Eli followed frail knees up to the rib cage and then the pale face of Margaret Daily. When Korinsky started to press his scalpel into the little girl’s skin, Eli burst through the door.

  Korinsky responded immediately. “Virginia, call security. Now! Dr. Branch no longer has privileges at this hospital.”

  “And you don’t have privileges to endanger a child’s life.”

  Virginia stood motionless and stared at Eli, uncertain of what to do.

  “Call security, that’s an order,” Korinsky yelled again.

  “What’s going on here, Branch?” Kanter asked, stepping from behind the canopy. “You’re out of line.”

  Eli moved toward the table as Virginia picked up the phone and began to dial. Korinsky cut the last few inches of incision on Margaret’s abdomen, a line that snaked from her breastbone, around her navel, and was now oozing bright red blood.

  There was a precipitous drop in both frequency and tone of Margaret’s heart rate. Kanter looked back at his monitor. “Her pulse is dropping like mad.”

  “She’s too sick, Korinsky,” Eli said, and he continued to move closer. “She won’t make it through the operation.”