Noble Vision (50 page)

The disturbing adage about Greeks bearing gifts flashed across David’s mind. However, the immense value of doing Nicole’s surgery legally—in a hospital, the safest of all places, and without the worry of her running away—drove thoughts of the Greeks away.

“I have to do this surgery right away. I can’t wait even five weeks for approval.”

“I assure you we can act on your application expeditiously. By CareFree’s charter, the federal government will also contribute funds to this initiative through its National Institute of Medical Research. Once we approve you, we’ll send your application to the feds for their acceptance. But that’s only a formality, just a background check to ensure you are who you say, you did what you claim, and you worked in accredited institutions, that kind of thing.”

“What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch, Dr. Lang,” said Wabash, extending the application to David across the desk.

David did not pick it up. “I’ll think about it.”

“Very well,” said Wabash, rising. “By the way, we also evaluate a doctor’s public image—you know, his appearances and statements to the media—to be sure he reflects the vision and ideals of the institute.” Despite his casual tone, Dr. Wabash looked at David pointedly.

“So that’s it.”

“If your public behavior is acceptable,” Wabash said pleasantly, “we should be able to approve your research.”

“What about a television interview on how CareFree is destroying medicine? How would that look on my application, Dr. Wabash?”

The new director laughed. “You must be joking.”

After Dr. Wabash left, David briefly felt the crisp air of late September as he walked next door to the Riverview Hospital office of his brother.

“You’ve been avoiding me since the funeral and not returning my calls. Last night I saw you on the news
campaigning
for
Burrow
. Then today I get guardian angels to lift my suspension and approve Nicole’s surgery. What’s going on, brother?” David stood over Randy’s blank face behind his desk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” a toneless voice answered.

“I got a letter from CareFree lifting my suspension, then a visit from the head of a new CareFree research institute that wants to approve my experimental surgery. Why is this happening? Why is it coming right after your appearance with Burrow? And why in hell’s name are you standing on his goddamn platform?”

Like an engine with a worn starter, Randy rose sluggishly to face David. “Dad’s death was the end of the road for me, pal. My kids were devastated to lose the old man. When Mom died, it was from natural causes, and my kids accepted that. But this was their first experience with tragedy . . . the end of their innocence. And it left me drained, too. I saw how hopeless it was to knock our heads against a brick wall. I’m tired of fighting—with the board, with the regulators, with everybody. What’s the use?” He threw his hands up. “Being a CareFree boy scout makes my job much easier. I’m in tight with Burrow now. I know he’s using me, but at least I’ll get tossed an occasional crumb. You can hate me if you want to, but that’s my new life.”

David reached across the desk to squeeze his brother’s shoulders. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“This is a trick. You made a deal with Burrow. Why would he send me Christmas presents today? I won’t let you do this! You’ll get out of his grip now!”

Randy’s arms hung limply as David shook him by the shoulders. When David released him, he calmly sat down behind his desk and dialed a number he had memorized.

“Burrow here,” the governor’s voice sounded over the phone’s loudspeaker, with David hearing him clearly.

“Hey, Mack, it’s Randy Lang.”

“Hi, kid. What’s up?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. I agreed to campaign for you, Mack, but you didn’t say anything about lifting my brother’s suspension or approving his new surgery.”

“I felt I owed it to your father, Randy.”

“I’m sure you also felt safer reeling my brother in, so he doesn’t talk to the media.”

Burrow said nothing.

“I told you I didn’t want David involved with CareFree. If he comes back into the system, he’ll break more laws and get into more trouble. The sooner he gives up or gives in, the better off he’ll be. I don’t want to encourage his new surgery. If it’s successful, then CareFree will control it. CareFree will set the terms, pick the patients, fix the fees. David will have to battle the certification officers, the inspectors, the administrators—and when will it end? I don’t want my brother dragged through this, Mack. I want you to stop him
now
, before he’s beaten—and broken—later by the system.”

David gasped incredulously.

“I’m sorry, Randy, but I did what I did. Your father would’ve approved. Your brother can practice medicine again, and he can apply for permission to perform his new surgery. CareFree doesn’t hold grudges.”

“Maybe no hospital will give him staff privileges.” Randy’s eyes avoided David’s mortified face. “Riverview won’t, if I can help it.”

“I think it will. I’ve already talked to my friend Charlie Hodgeman, your chairman of the board.”

“I wish you would’ve asked my opinion, Mack! I thought I was your new advisor on medicine.”

“I’ve got a stable of advisors, kid. Hey, I’ll see you at the rally in Buffalo, won’t I?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Thanks. Take care.”

“’Bye, Mack.”

Randy stood up to face his brother across the desk.

“I don’t believe it! How could you do this?”

“Give up, David. They’ll toss you a crumb now, but they’ll make you pay later. They’ll own you, man.”

“A crumb! You’re talking about Nicole’s life!”

“It’s a new procedure. I don’t want to see you raise wild hopes—”

“Wild hopes!”

“And I don’t want to help them destroy you.”

David walked behind the desk. His eyes searched Randy’s face for a sign of life but found none. He was trembling when he cupped Randy’s face in his hands. “They got Dad. They’re getting Marie. I can’t let them get you!”

“And I can’t let them get
you
. They don’t really give us anything. They tease us. They’ll pretend to let you do your research, and then they’ll tell you to use a black animal with a white spot every other Tuesday. They’ll pretend to let you do your surgery, then they’ll tell you what patient to take, how to operate, what to charge, what color pill to give on what day. Give in, David. The time for research is past.”

“You’re depressed over Dad. You’ll snap out of it. This isn’t you, man!”

“But this is what you wanted, isn’t it, David? You told me not to get involved with your affairs. You told me to denounce you. You wanted me to be safe. Now I’m safe. If I support you, I’m not safe. You don’t want both of us getting in trouble, do you?”

David’s voice shook with a fear he could not control. “That’s the same thing Marie says! I couldn’t bear to see what’s happened to her happen to you. Listen to yourself, brother. This isn’t you!”

“I’m tired, David. Very tired.”

David loosened his grip around his brother’s neck, a grip that was part embrace and part stranglehold. His hands fell slowly, and he stepped back. Randy’s face was an impermeable block of stone. David was seeing pathology more serious than anything he encountered in the OR. He quietly turned and left the office.

He did not see Randy fall into his chair, his face sinking to his desk, his hands covering his face.

*
  
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*

That evening David discussed CareFree’s offer with Nicole.

“Oh, David, I’m so happy you can work again! I’d give anything to have you perform my surgery legally. That’s the only way I could agree to it.”

The next morning David canceled his television appearance on
Insight
and submitted an application to the Warren Lang Institute for Medical Research.

The autumn chill of the next two weeks deepened the leaves to orange and red. They bristled stiffly in the wind and speckled the tree-lined walkways around Riverview Hospital with the vibrant October colors of sunflowers and wine. Beyond the crimson vines of ivy clinging to the redbrick hospital, color was returning to a surgeon’s life. In the manner of a starving man let loose in a supermarket, David gorged himself in the OR. He filled his cart with all manner of tumors, aneurysms, blood clots, tangled vessels, ruptured discs. He explained cases to patients, drew pictures of their insides, showed them their scans, answered their questions, cured their problems, accepted kisses from grateful relatives. He operated at a grueling pace, as if the heady world of the OR were the narcotic he needed to dull the wrenching pain he felt at the death of his father . . . and the living death of his brother.

He received notice from the Warren Lang Institute for Medical Research that his application was provisionally approved. It was sent for final acceptance to the federal authorities jointly funding the project. Dr. Harold Wabash assured David that permission would come in two weeks, after a routine check of his professional background.

A brain scan showed that Nicole’s optic nerves were mending, although her visual perceptions were diminishing because of the growing interference of the scar tissue. From his experience with animals, David judged that the best time to perform the second surgery was fast approaching. He would need to operate before she lost all perception of light. Waiting beyond that point would yield failure. However, operating too soon would also be risky because introducing the scar-inhibiting drug would halt the growth of the optic nerve. For the maximum nerve growth, he had to wait until the last possible moment, which was right before Nicole totally lost the perception of light. David concluded that the perfect time to operate would be when the final approval came in two weeks.

One mid-October day, long-legged Nicole, in wool slacks and turtleneck sweater, sat at the end of his examining table. He darkened the room and shone a strong light at her.

“I see light,” she said.

He waved his hand in front of the light from ten feet away, a distance from which she had detected motion a few weeks earlier.

“Do you see anything moving?” he asked.

“No.”

He moved to five feet from her, waving his hand. “Do you see anything moving now?”

“No.”

He moved to three feet. “Now?”

“I see light, that’s all.”

He stood directly in front of her, waving his hand before two lovely blue eyes that had alertly followed his motion a few weeks ago but now stared vacantly in one spot. “Do you see anything moving now, Nicole?”

“No.”

Although she knew what to expect, losing what little perception she had was disturbing. She lowered her head in concern.

He held her hands in comfort.

Chapter 26

The Unexpected

Outside the governor’s mansion, a few remaining autumn leaves clung precariously to the sugar maples, resisting their inevitable fall. Inside, Malcolm Burrow was trailing in the gubernatorial race, hanging on to the branches of power just as tentatively, on the day when Randall Lang phoned him.

“Need I remind you, Governor, that it’s Friday, October twenty-sixth, over a month since we made our gentleman’s agreement? My brother needs to operate
now
, but I know he hasn’t gotten approval yet.”

“I’ll get on that right away.”

With less than two weeks before the election, the governor wanted nothing to go awry. He called Dr. Henrietta Richards, the head of CareFree. She called Dr. Harold Wabash at the Warren Lang Institute. He called his counterpart at the National Institute of Medical Research, who called his administrator, who called her inspector assigned to review David’s application. Dr. Wabash assured Dr. Richards and the impatient Dr. David Lang, who called daily, that approval would come on Monday. Dr. Richards assured the governor, who assured the equally impatient Dr. Randall Lang.

*
  
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On Saturday night, no moon shone to illuminate the cloudy autumn sky. The thicket of leafless shrubs lining the campus walkways of West Side University concealed a man dressed in black. The whooshing sound of his steps was amplified in the stillness as he trampled through piles of fallen leaves on his way to the William Mead Research Center. He zippered his leather bomber jacket against the biting chill of the season’s first cold spell. The parking lots were empty and the windows of the buildings dark. People belonging on the campus had left hours before to meet companions at restaurants, movies, parties, bars. But the man in black met no one save a stray cat that paused to appraise him with a translucent stare, then vanished in a flash, apparently sensing something unsavory.

As he slipped his key into the locked door of the research center, he tried not to think about the scientist who had been arrested and handcuffed in that building on charges of cruelty to animals. An undercover member of an animal rights organization had taken a job in the scientist’s lab, compiled evidence of alleged regulatory violations, and blown the whistle. After years of trials and appeals, the researcher had been cleared of all charges, but he was never again given a job by any scientific institution.