Miracle Drug. Richard L. Mabry, M.D.
sign this, we’ll take possession of Dr. Lambert’s body.”
Chapter 2
2
Josh looked at Rachel, who stood in stunned silence, her mouth forming a tiny O. At this point, he figured the less said, the better. “Mr. Wells, there’s been a mix-up.” He gestured with the business card Wells had given him. “Someone will be in touch.”
Wells said something about “mistakes happen, I guess.” He left, a somewhat puzzled expression on his face.
Rachel looked as though she might throw up right there. “Oh, Josh. What have I done?”
Josh put his hand on her elbow and urged her further inside the terminal. “Obviously you hadn’t been briefed on the hand-off of Lambert’s body. Smith, if that’s what his name was, showed proper identification. There was no reason to suspect the encounter was anything but routine. I don’t think you could have handled it any differently.”
An official waited for her a dozen steps further into the terminal. “Miss Moore? Mr. Madison asked me to meet you.” He nodded toward Rachel’s carry-on bag. “Do you have anything to declare?”
“What? No. No,” Rachel said, in a distracted voice.
“Then you’re free to go.”
“I . . . I have to make a call first,” Rachel said.
The official said, “Follow me. There’s a meeting room down here you can use.”
Once they were inside the room, Josh thanked the man and closed the door behind them. Rachel took one of the swivel chairs arranged around an oval table and pulled out her cell phone. “I have the number of the satellite phone Jerry Lang carries.”
As she punched in the numbers, Josh asked, “Who’s Jerry Lang?”
“The head of the Secret Service detail assigned to guard the former president,” Rachel said. “He’s—” She cocked her head. “Jerry, this is Rachel Moore. I need to speak to Mr. Madison.”
She listened for a moment. “I see. Well, please ask him to call me back at this number ASAP. It’s urgent.” She read off her cell number and ended the conversation. “He’ll get back to me in a few minutes.”
After a moment’s silence, Rachel asked, “Should we notify the police?”
“I suppose,” Josh said. “I guess stealing a body is a crime. Probably Agent Lang or someone on Mr. Madison’s staff will know. I suggest you let them take care of that.” He motioned her to take a seat. “In the meantime, I know you’re concerned about what just happened, but it’s not your fault.”
“That’s what Mr. Madison said about Dr. Lambert’s death, but I still felt bad that none of the medical workers on the trip could save him,” Rachel said.
The ring of her cell phone interrupted her. “Mr. Madison? This is Rachel. Something terrible has happened. It looks as though someone has stolen Dr. Lambert’s body.”
Rachel sketched the details of the bogus mortuary pickup, then listened for a moment. “I see. Thank you. I’m really sorry—”
Josh couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but obviously it was designed to help settle Rachel. Finally, she said, “I see. Yes, I’ll be here. And I’ll give Josh the message.”
“So?” Josh asked.
“Agent Lang will contact the Dallas Police. I’m to wait here for them. And I have a message for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes. When I left, Mr. Madison told me he wanted to meet with you as soon as he got back.” Rachel frowned. “Now he’s changed his plans. The rest of the group will be returning to the U.S. in a few more days, but he’s arriving tomorrow. And he said it’s extremely important that you meet his plane.”
***
“Are you okay this morning,” Josh asked when Rachel answered her phone.
“I didn’t get much rest, but it’s good to be home. I haven’t heard from the police yet about Dr. Lambert’s body.”
“I’m afraid that may take a while,” Josh said. “I need to meet Mr. Madison’s plane this afternoon, but I can come over this morning if you’d like. I don’t have to go into the clinic.”
The silence stretched far too long. Finally, Rachel said, “Josh, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m still processing all that’s happened. Why don’t you call me after your meeting with Mr. Madison?”
Josh spent the morning catching up on reading journal articles he’d brought home for that purpose and then neglected. He wasn’t hungry, but forced himself to eat part of a sandwich for lunch. The day seemed to drag, but at last it was time to leave for the airport.
At Love Field, Josh discovered that access to the former president required being cleared past a number of checkpoints, even if your presence had been requested. “I’m supposed to meet Mr. Madison’s plane,” Josh said for what seemed like the hundredth time. This time he was speaking to a security guard at a door leading to the tarmac. Through the windows that flanked the doors Josh saw private planes sitting in staggered rows like rank upon rank of soldiers awaiting orders. Several hundred yards away he could barely discern the runway on which Madison’s plane would land.
The guard consulted a clipboard. “I don’t see your name.”
“Mr. Madison’s staff was supposed to—”
“Hang on,” the guard said. “Here it is. It was added at the bottom of the list.”
“Thank you,” Josh said. “Shall I wait here?”
“In there with the others.” The guard inclined his head toward a nearby room where several men and women sat waiting. All but one of them were studying their smart phones, scrolling through messages and posts as though the fate of the free world depended on their up-to-date knowledge. The one exception was a man who sat staring quietly into space.
The solitary individual was a husky middle-aged man whose off-the-rack medium brown suit did little to conceal the slight bulge under his left armpit. His thinning hair, mainly brown with some gray at the temples, was combed across his scalp in what was apparently an attempt to cover a bald spot. The man’s thick-soled, brown lace-up shoes were scuffed and slightly run-down at the heels. Josh recognized him as the detective to whom Rachel had talked last evening at the airport—a common name, what was it? Williams? West? Warren. That was it—Detective Stan Warren.
“Mind if I take this seat?” Josh asked.
“Suit yourself,” the detective said, with no hint of recognition.
“We met last night.” Josh offered his hand. “I’m Dr. Josh Pearson. I was with the nurse, Rachel Moore, who reported the . . . whatever you call it when someone steals a body.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m not sure what the legal term is, but I call it body snatching, and we’re investigating it. I’ve heard lawyers called ambulance chasers, but I’ve never before heard of crooks being hearse chasers.” Warren displayed a brief, crooked grin.
The detective reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled pack of gum, and offered it to Josh, who declined. “Trying to quit smoking,” Warren said. “I go through these things faster than I ever smoked cigarettes. But they don’t cause cancer.” He shoved a stick of gum into his mouth and returned the pack to his coat pocket.
The security guard stuck his head into the room and said, “The plane has just arrived.”
Warren pushed to his feet. “Well, I’ve got to report our progress—or, more accurately, our lack of progress—and then get back to work.” He looked toward the men and women who’d been waiting. “Madison will have to speak to these reporters after he deplanes.” He pushed his sleeve