Noble Vision (45 page)

“Or you can punish your son with the maximum suspension and fine, putting a lid on his new treatment. After he cools his heels for a year, he can practice again, this time in a humbler frame of mind. So what’s the problem with this? The public hails you as the honorable leader you claim to be. The doctors learn that they can’t walk all over us. Your son has another shot at continuing his work in the future. The patient sues and becomes filthy rich with a huge malpractice judgment paid by your son’s insurance company. Your son finds a new girlfriend. . . . And I announce you as my running mate.”

The last sentence brought a tinge of hope to Warren’s face.

“And we ride to victory on your great moment, Warren. You’re Abraham, the man of integrity who sacrificed his personal interest in order to serve a higher good.”

Warren tried to forget the words just uttered by the previous visitor about a slick ointment that covered tainted motives.

Burrow rose, pacing restlessly, his weariness gone. “Warren, I need this election. I must maintain the momentum that’s going to catapult me to the presidency. I’ll be the leader of three hundred million people and the most powerful man in the world!” Burrow’s face burned with excitement. “Do you think I’m gonna let a hotshot doctor and his Broadway cupcake grind my career to a halt? Do you see what I mean, man?”

“My sons would say you’re blackmailing me to win an election.”

“I see it differently. I have a duty to bring this letter to your attention because it’s relevant to a case you’re evaluating. You need to control your son before you can hope to control an entire state. If you don’t put a lid on him, you can say good-bye to your place in history.”

Warren sat quietly for a long moment, contemplating the situation, while Burrow sipped his cognac patiently. Then the secretary rose from his chair with the resolve of someone who had reached a decision. Excusing himself, he went into his study and made a copy of the document that his staff had prepared for his signature. It was so much easier to act now, he thought, to do what he really wanted—no, not
wanted
, but felt was his
duty
—to do . . . for the
public
, of course. But now there was no more conflict, because the act that he would perform for the people was also the act that would save David. He at last had full justification for doing the . . . right thing. Even his sons could not challenge his actions in light of the new information just revealed to him. Warren brought the papers to Burrow.

“Mack, today I wrote this decision, which punishes David. I have two copies, which I can sign. One of these documents I’ll bring with me to the trial tomorrow, and the other I can give to you now . . . in exchange for David’s original letter to Nicole.”

Burrow smiled in sheer delight. “Now you’re learning, Warren!”

“This isn’t what you think it is, Mack. I’m not signing this document to buy a political post from you. I could never do that! I’m acting to save the career of a brilliant surgeon and to do what’s right for the people.”

Burrow grinned mockingly. Warren eagerly handed him the papers but evasively looked away. “The people need David’s skills. Protecting him from scandal and preserving his license is in the public interest.”

“Whatever you say, Warren, my friend.” Burrow laughed derisively.

Warren signed both copies of the document while Burrow summoned an aide to bring him a confidential folder containing David’s original letter. Soon a noble exchange of papers between two honorable officials was completed.

Chapter 23

The Final Verdict

For the first time in weeks, Warren slept soundly and awoke refreshed. A gourmet meal service arrived with his breakfast, which he devoured. The dark rings around his eyes had lightened and a pink color had returned to his gaunt cheeks. When he arrived at the brick building of the Bureau of Medicine, he lifted his head to the gold inscription above the door, as if catching sparks from a power source:
To serve the public interest above all other concerns—this is the noble work of medicine.

Inside the crowded hearing room, David and his lawyer sat at one table, CareFree’s attorney at the other. The reporters and onlookers were in the same places as on the previous day. Only the young patient was missing. When David had telephoned Nicole’s apartment earlier that morning, he learned that she had not yet awakened, doubtless the result of his sleeping pills and her exhaustion. He had asked Mrs. Trimbell not to wake her; instead, he would visit her after the hearing to relay the verdict.

“She’ll be angry if she misses court,” Mrs. Trimbell had warned.

“Blame it on me,” David had replied.

When his father appeared at the judge’s bench and called the meeting to order, David rose to hear his sentence.

Warren had subdued the warring factions in his mind so that his voice was calm and confident. “Dr. Lang, you are a gifted surgeon. Your research is excellent. However, you have broken the law, and you must be held accountable. I have no choice but to fine you twenty-five thousand dollars and to suspend you for one year.”

A murmur rolled through the spectators. David gasped in horror.

“You may return to medicine after your suspension and enjoy many productive years of practice,” Warren continued. “We encourage you to pursue your research at that time through the proper channels. Your work is a noble vision, Dr. Lang, but CareFree is noble, too. We must combine the two for the public good. This is why you are prohibited from performing any more unauthorized surgeries. And for the patient’s safety, you must discontinue treatment in the case in question.”

David’s voice was an outcry of anger and hurt: “I
will
complete the case I started, Mr. Secretary.”

Warren’s voice faltered. He looked taken aback. “Dr. Lang, I expected that once the sentence was official, for the sake of your future, you would resign yourself to it. You have many years left to practice and thousands of cases to treat. I hope your love of medicine will prevail and help you to accept this fair decision!”

“I
don’t
accept it.” David’s voice reverberated through the courtroom. He pointed his finger at Warren. “But it does set me free. I can say anything I please now, because I have nothing to lose. I’m going to expose CareFree so that everyone will know how arbitrary and corrupt it is. I damn your institution and
you
as irrevocably evil!”

He stomped angrily out of the hushed courtroom, the echo of his steps reverberating in Warren’s ears.

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When the secretary reached his office on the twelfth floor, he vanished behind closed doors to tackle his most important assignment: composing the acceptance speech for his nomination as lieutenant governor. There was no time to spare, he told himself, bracing for a whirlwind seven weeks of campaigning.

He resisted the temptation to ask for his messages until completing the task at hand. He eagerly expected congratulations on his courageous decision from across the state and even from Washington. The secretary of the National Department of Health Services would surely call, and perhaps even the president himself. After Burrow’s announcement of his running mate, there would likely be a banquet and a late-night party. He sprang from his seat to check his adjacent closet and dressing room, relieved to find a favorite outfit, a linen suit handmade by a tailor in southern France, ready for him if he found no time to change at home. He had best keep multiple suits handy in his house, his penthouse apartment, and his offices to meet the demands of the campaign. There would be strategy sessions, speeches, rallies, magazine interviews, television appearances, photography shoots. He felt a rush of excitement unequalled in his life.

His door opened a crack.

“Dr. Lang, I’m sorry to interrupt—”

“Doris, come in, my dear! Can you schedule my barber and manicurist to stop by tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course. The reason I—”

“And could you arrange to have two of my tuxedos sent from my Albany home to my Manhattan condo?”

“Yes. Now I have—”

“And I’ll need more dress shirts. Can you telephone my tailor?”

“Dr. Lang, the governor wants to see you
right away
.”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Warren smiled broadly.

“He’s at his suite in the Rutledge Hotel.”

Warren leaped from his chair with the energy of a sprinter at a track meet. He opened his closet door so he could look in a mirror to straighten his tie and smooth his hair. “I may get stranded with the governor for lunch and a press conference, Doris, so don’t be surprised if I’m gone for a while.” He winked at her with a boyish exuberance.

“Of course, Dr. Lang. Your driver is waiting outside.”

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Warren inhaled the splendor that was the private parlor of the governor’s suite at the Rutledge Hotel. A crystal chandelier hanging from a gold-leaf ceiling rested like a bejeweled crown over the antique furnishings. He entered with the spry gait of a prince called to the palace for his coronation. Smiling broadly, he approached the governor, his hand extended for a robust handshake. Burrow raised a limp hand to oblige halfheartedly, then gestured to a seat on the sofa.

“Have you heard the news?” Burrow said crossly as he sat in an armchair opposite Warren.

“You mean the news of my decision at the trial?” Warren said cheerfully, expecting to be congratulated.

“That news is two hours old! You’re always a step behind, aren’t you?” Burrow snapped. “I mean the announcement by
Insight
, the most popular news show on national prime-time television, that your son will appear in a special segment called ‘A Critical Look at CareFree’!”

“He’s grounded, Mack. He’s just letting off steam. He’ll get over it.”

“You silly fool, he’s gonna open a can of worms, and just weeks before the election! You were supposed to put a lid on him, damn it!”

“I did. He’s handcuffed. He can’t operate.”

“What about his mouth?”

“I did exactly what you said to do. Now, I was hoping to discuss . . . our campaign.”

“You mean
my
campaign.” Burrow folded his arms sternly.

“What?!” Warren whispered incredulously. “What do you mean, Mack?”

“I’m rethinking my choice for lieutenant governor.”

“
What?!
How could you? I acted honorably. We had a deal! I’m expecting my name on the ballot!”

“Our deal was that you’d put a lid on your son. I can’t pick a lieutenant governor whose son is waging a crusade against me. He’d get tremendous news coverage if his father were on my ticket. His gripes against CareFree could dominate the campaign. I can’t have that.”

Warren’s face was a white oval of naked fear. “Mack! What did I buy for signing that document last night?”

“You bought his license, man. You got the love letter, so he keeps his license.”

“What about the . . . lieutenant governor’s . . . post? You were ready to choose me. It’s the . . . dream . . . of my life. I’ve sacrificed everything for it!”

The desperate plea failed to register on Burrow’s indifferent face. He walked to an antique desk in the room and removed two documents from a delicate drawer of carved wood. “There’s plan A and plan B.” He held a document in each hand. “In my right hand is a speech announcing you as my running mate. In my left is a speech in which I announce that the state comptroller will be my running mate instead. If you can’t deliver the goods, I’ll go with plan B.”

“But you said that if I punished my son, the press would hail me as a man of integrity who puts aside personal motives to serve a higher good, and that’s what you needed. You offered me a deed to immortality. You said we’d ride to victory on my great moment.”

“But you didn’t have a great moment. The news reports are mixed. Your son is a loose cannon, threatening to blast CareFree. The press is wondering what secrets he knows and what dirt will come out.”

“But Mack, I still chose
you
over my son!” Warren rose from his seat to plead his case before Burrow. “Remember Abraham and Isaac? God rewarded Abraham for his loyalty. You can’t double-cross me!”

“I expected you to crush your son. You tied his hands but not his mouth. Having you on the ticket now will embarrass me and help him get massive media exposure as the son of my running mate.”

Burrow surveyed the trembling body before him that moments ago held dignity, and even he felt sickened at the transformation. He sighed. “Okay, Warren, I’ll give you one final chance.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s noon. My press conference is at three. You have a couple of hours to talk sense into your son. If you can get him to cancel his appearance on
Insight
and call off his crusade by two-thirty, you’re in. That’s the best I can do.”

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