Mrs. Lambert slowly shook her head. “Why would anyone—”
“My guess is there was a terrible error. For instance, the body these people expected to receive might have been someone who died of a highly communicable disease. Immediate cremation was called for and carried out. In the meantime, the police had been in contact with every funeral director in town, looking for your husband’s body. When these people went through the personal effects that accompanied the body, they realized their error. It was too late to stop, so they did what they could. They delivered the cremains to the right funeral home with the personal effects and a note that said they were sorry.”
Mrs. Lambert sat silent, shaking her head, her lips pursed. Then she said, “You said the personal effects were a wallet, a watch, and a wedding ring?”
“Yes. The wallet was your husband’s, with identifying material inside. The watch had his name engraved on the back, apparently a gift of some kind. And the wedding ring bore his initials and yours inside it.”
“What about his class ring?”
Karen shook her head. “All we have is what I’ve described.”
Mrs. Lambert looked away. “Ben did his pre-med at Texas A&M. That senior ring was more precious to him than his wedding band. He never took it off.” She fixed Karen with a steady gaze. “If there was no A&M senior ring with the personal effects, I can’t believe that those cremated remains are those of my husband.”
Chapter 5
5
Karen climbed into the backseat of the limo and said, “Prestonwood Hospital. And close the partition, please.”
She dialed Jerry Lang. “Okay, I broke the news to Mrs. Lambert.”
“How did she take it?”
“We may have a problem. She insisted that if there was no Texas A&M class ring with the personal effects, she couldn’t be certain the remains were those of her husband.”
“So . . .”
“I told her the police would investigate further and get back to her. Can you take care of talking with them?”
“Sure,” Lang said. “The detective in charge is a guy named Warren. I’ll ask him to keep a lid on it for a few days.”
“Have him contact the funeral director who has the cremains we think are Lambert’s, and tell him to keep his mouth shut until he hears from us.”
“Already did that when he called me,” Lang said.
“Now what else?”
Lang’s sigh came over the phone clearly. “I’ve got a situation here.”
“Tell me about it.” I’ve been back in the U.S. for less than three hours and I’m already solving problems. Maybe one day David will realize how much I do for him.
“President Madison’s doctor needs diphtheria antitoxin to administer to both his patients. He’s talked with the duty officer at the CDC and is due to call him back in a few minutes. Frankly, he’s not sure whether to reveal Madison’s identity. If he does, it may start a rumor about Madison’s health. On the other hand, if he doesn’t, he thinks he risks getting a runaround for what I understand is a vital treatment. He was about to ask Madison, but I suggested he wait until I talked with you.”
“Do you have the name and number of the person he talked with?”
Karen jotted the information down on a small notebook she pulled from her purse. “Tell the doctor I’ll call and straighten this out. And I should be at the hospital soon. Be certain I’m cleared for immediate access to the boss.”
She leaned forward and tapped on the glass partition until the driver opened it. “If I’m still talking when we get to Prestonwood, stop in the emergency room area and keep the motor running so the air conditioner keeps it cool back here.”
“But if the guard asks me to move—”
“If he does, I’ll handle him. Now I have to make a call.” As soon as the glass was closed, Karen dialed the number Lang had given her. Actually, she didn’t mind doing battle like this. She’d had very little of it since leaving DC. It was good to get back into action.
“Dr. James,” came a voice in her ear.
“Doctor, this is Karen Marks. I’m the administrative aide for former president David Madison. I believe you spoke earlier to a doctor who needed diphtheria antitoxin for two patients. I’m calling to get that done—we need it in Dallas ASAP. How are we going to do that?”
“I . . . I was expecting Dr. Pearson to call back.”
“And instead you have a woman calling on behalf of the ex-president. I hope you understand what this means.”
“Is . . . is this for President Madison?”
“Let’s say that Mr. Madison feels it’s very important for this request to be expedited. Now, where is the material, and how do we get it here in the next few hours?”
“Uh, there’s a small supply of DAT at the CDC Quarantine Station in Houston. Their location is actually at Intercontinental Airport there. I can authorize the issuance of the vaccine as an investigational drug to Dr. Pearson.”
“Tell me what you need from this end. I’ll have a plane at Intercontinental Airport in two hours to pick it up.” She spent a few more minutes clearing up details. Her last words to the duty officer were, “Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. James. I’ll make certain your superiors know how you assisted President Madison.”
You’ve still got it, Karen. Ask how “we” are going to get this done, so the person feels they’re part of the solution. And always dangle the carrot once you’ve shown them the stick.
***
Josh sat at the desk in his hospital “office” and wished he could turn back the clock. Three days ago, he’d been like any other doctor, happy with his role in the Preston Medical Clinic’s hierarchy, looking forward to his girlfriend’s return from her travels. Then, as though someone had waved a wand to accomplish the change, he was the personal physician of one of the most important men in the world. And his patient had a real problem.
Now, although he wanted to be at Rachel’s side, to watch over her, to do everything possible to guard her from the consequences of her illness, he knew his primary duty lay with the patient in the room across the hall from Rachel’s. Never before had he so wished he could suspend the laws of physics and be in two places at one time.
Then there were his other patients. Despite Nadeel Kahn’s assurances to him that his patients would be covered, Josh couldn’t shake the obligation he felt toward them. “Just take care of President Madison,” was what Kahn said. What he really meant, of course, was “Give your best efforts to caring for the ex-president. The publicity will be good for Preston Medical Clinic.”
Josh looked at his watch: a bit after four in the afternoon. Lang had suggested he wait to call the CDC duty officer back until the agent could run the situation by Karen Marks and discuss whether to invoke Madison’s name. It seemed Karen was the “get it done” person on the ex-president’s staff. Well, Josh hoped—
His thoughts were interrupted by a brisk knock at his closed door. Josh brought his swivel chair upright and planted his feet squarely on the floor. He shrugged to ease the fit of his white coat—it had never seemed so uncomfortable—and took a deep breath. What now? “Come in,” he called.
The woman who entered was striking, to say the least. Josh’s gaze was immediately drawn to sparkling blue-green eyes accented by a just a hint of mascara. Her pale blonde hair fell to her shoulders in soft waves, framing a beautiful face. A faint amount of make-up was applied to porcelain-like skin.
At