"So I'd just go to sleep, and when I wake up it might be fifty years down the road, and I wouldn't even know how long I'd been asleep?"
Hench nodded. "Exactly."
Klein scrawled his signature on the contract with Hench's pen. "When will my wife hear?" He felt a wave of heartache from the past.
"As soon as we transfer you to the facility."
Hench patted Klein on the shoulder and walked out.
A few minutes later, a nurse came in and gave Klein an injection. When she left the room, his mind began to drift and he thought about his children, their accomplishments, their dreams: college, weddings, grandchildren. Now itwas possible he could be there. He stared at the dark rectangle of his ceiling. He then stopped thinking about everyone else. He began to think only of himself. He didn't have to die.
He might live. He just might.
Soon, someone came with a gurney and took him away.
Chapter 1
Josh Logan tapped out a
beat on his steering wheel as he drove his silver Land Rover up Interstate 100. The red boulders of the Phoenix foothills rose stark against a crisp March sky, but the peaceful setting did little to calm his excitement.
He couldn't believe it when, after a half-hour telephone interview, the man himself had offered him the job.
Lawrence Bowman's voice sounded just as Josh remembered. Cold, formal, arrogant. The best neurosurgeon in the country, however, could afford to be. As the director of the Ford Medical Institute in Scottsdale, he wielded a powerful position. And anybody lucky enough to be chosen to work with him would find himself at the forefront of medicine.
They had recently featured Ford in the New England Journal of Medicine, for their pioneering work in cryosurgery, and its use in dissecting brain tumors. Bowman and his colleagues found, when they applied a sub-zero solution to the tumor's perimeter, just prior to removal, bleeding became nonexistent. The resulting "cold spot" as they called it, prevented any cancerous cells from migrating from the site. It would save countless patients from more radical surgeries that left many with gross motor deficits or stroke.
Ford would be a great opportunity for Josh to practice his considerable skills in neurosurgery, away from small town America.
His acceptance by Bowman was a blessing in another way as well. He needed to leave the small resort town where he practiced for the last three years. With no immediate family left, there was little to keep him. Josh's wife had died two years earlier, a devastating loss whose emotional scars still raked at his heart. To make the blow doubly painful, she was three months pregnant at the time. Josh's only solace was knowing the death, with ironic compassion, had liberated his wife from a deep despair over a crippling illness.
Josh's cell phone rang, pulling him from his depressing reverie. The incoming message surprised him:
REPORT TO THE MEDICAL INSTITUTE ON ARRIVAL
That's odd!
Josh had planned on meeting Bowman at the Hilton in Scottsdale for an impromptu meeting and lunch. Now suddenly, they were telling him to go directly to Ford. He knew Bowman was busy like most facility directors. Still, he had at least expected to have a couple days to get settled. Then again, it did not surprise him, knowing what he did about the man.
With rising uncertainty, Josh drove to the Scottsdale exit, turned onto the private access road, and rolled to a stop at Ford's entryway.
While the security guard waved him through, Josh gazed out at the mammoth structure in the distance. The building's facade was a bastion of one-way glass, designed to reflect the stifling heat of the Arizona sun.
Two minutes later, Josh parked and crossed the manicured grounds to the main entrance, where a carved sandstone sign announced:
FORD MEDICAL INSTITUTE
An armed security guard flanked the revolving door and nodded as Josh passed by him. He felt an odd sensation as he pushed through the doors ... that he had entered the realm of the future.
Massive plaques and excellence awards from every hospital organization one could name lined the walls. They had celebrated towering achievements within this building.
Josh felt the problems of the outside world fading behind him. Where life and death decisions weighed like lead, and the minds of a few decided the outcomes.
As Josh approached the receptionist, he wondered what problem caused him to be summoned here already.
"Good morning," the receptionist said as Josh approached the desk. She smiled with brilliant white teeth.
Josh returned the smile as the girl held out a clipboard for him to sign.
"If you don't mind," she said.
Josh took the clipboard and filled in his name and reason for the visit. He handed it back to her a minute later.
The receptionist's eyes lit up. "Dr. Logan, we've been expecting you. I have strict instructions to deliver you to Dr. Bowman, personally."
Josh smiled. "I didn't know I was so important."
As they made their way through the bustling wave of corridors within, the scope of their operation amazed Josh. They employed over two hundred doctors and twice as many ancillary personnel.
In total secrecy, The Ford Institute built and maintained an astonishing array of cutting-edge medical technologies: a new laser neurosurgery lab; video transmission surgery; a nanotechnology lab; even a virtual reality surgery center, known as Surgery Wizard, where doctors could feel what it was like to actually open a body without ever stepping foot in the operating room.
Ford not only helped save lives, but also provided an endless stream of medical data, stored and ready to use at the touch of a computer key, by any medical facility in the world.
Josh would now be working with the best and brightest in his field. Best of all, he would be working side by side with his idol, Lawrence Bowman.
Josh had proved himself a competent brain surgeon at the small hospital he had worked at in Maryland. And when he read an opening was available at Ford, he wrote a ten-page letter to Bowman, outlining why he was the best man for the job.
Although it would require long hours, the position represented an honor badge for Josh, who had lingered in the shadows behind older but less competent neurosurgeons at his previous hospital. He had no intention of becoming beholden to a bunch of old bureaucrats who weren't on the cutting edge of medicine. Ford would offer Josh all the things he craved. Respect, autonomy and, more importantly, to work in a state-of-the-art facility that offered him a real chance to save the most serious cases. The receptionist stopped beside a huge mahogany door. "Okay, right in there. He's waiting on you. Good luck."
Chapter 2
At 10:15 A.M. they rushed
Jim Davis into the emergency room at Ford Medical Institute. Already in ventricular fibrillation, an ominous heart rhythm that could mean certain death, time was running out. Reflexively, like a well-practiced drill team, the cardiac unit sprang into action with their most aggressive protocol.
Thirty minutes later, with all treatment options exhausted, and Davis with no discernable heartbeat, Dr. Arthur Hench walked over to his patient and gazed down.
"That's it," he said. "Call them in.
* * *
Sarah Davis sat stoned faced in the ER waiting area, her thoughts lost in the day's terrifying events. She and Jim had come to Scottsdale, from Maryland, on his doctor's advice. Jim had sold a thriving construction business and Arizona offered the perfect place to retire and leave behind the stress that fueled his health problems. After an episode of seizures, their new doctor in Scottsdale had referred them to Dr. Hench at the Ford Institute. Hench had a stellar reputation and Jim's health improved significantly under his care. Sarah felt certain the worst was behind them.
But today, after returning from a short walk, Jim complained of pain in his head. Sarah thought perhaps a tooth was bothering him. But suddenly and with terrifying swiftness, Jim became drenched in a sweat and turned blue. In what seemed like an instant, his eyes bulged in their sockets and he collapsed at her feet. As he lay gasping for breath, she yanked the phone from the wall and called 911. The mortal fear of death descended on her while she waited for the ambulance.
Now, as she sat and prayed, hoping he'd be all right, a curious thought occurred to her.
Why ...?
Dr. Hench emerged from the ER, a calm veneer on his face. Hench was silver-haired and pudgy, with the face of a peccary, but confident as usual.
Sarah raced from her seat and met him just beyond the doors.
"Doctor Hench, how is he?"
Hench pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Sarah, we did all we coul-"
Sarah Davis felt like it was
her
heart that had just stopped. "No ... no, please tell me he's okay." She buried her head in Hench's shoulder.
"We did everything we could. His heart was just too damaged." Hench hesitated and heaved a sigh. "There's more, Sarah. We need to talk." Hench gently took Sarah's arm and led her to a small private area away from the main waiting room.
"I don't understand," she said, tears streaming down her face. "He seemed fine after his appointment with you this morning."
Hench shook his head. "I know. No one is more surprised than I am, but as I said, there's more."
Sarah's face took a more curious expression.
"This morning, when Jim came in," Hench started, "we had a long talk. About your future. More precisely ... your distant future."
Sarah's eyes hardened. "Doctor Hench, I don't want to seem ungrateful here for your efforts, but you tell me my husband is dead, and in the next breath, talk about my future? Is this your idea of a joke? He
was
my future."
"On the contrary, it's no joke at all." Hench's eyes flashed. "Did Jim ever talk to you about cryogenic freezing?"
Sarah felt the directness of his gaze. "Heavens, no. I don't even know what it means."
Hench sat forward and lowered his voice. "It means, after his death, clinical death, that is ... when his heart stops, they inject a special fluid into him to preserve the body. Indefinitely. He gets transferred to a facility where he's kept frozen in liquid nitrogen until we find a cure for his heart disease."
Sarah Davis sat in stunned silence for a moment, then looked up. "Doctor. Jim Davis was a devout Catholic. He would never in a million years, subject himself to such a thing as that."
"I know this comes as a surprise, Sarah, but I have all the documents to go ahead, signed by Jim. He wanted this. He wanted to see you again, someday. Here." Hench reached into his breast pocket. "I brought the papers he left with me. He wanted to tell you tonight."
Sarah Davis stared in disbelief at the documents. Emblazoned across the top of the obscure contract in bold blue letters was: AURORA LIFE EXTENSION FOUNDATION. She skimmed over it, then her eyes fell to the lower right-hand corner. It was unmistakable. Jim's signature. Still, she couldn't believe he wanted this.
"No, this is all wrong," she said. "My husband is not being frozen like some popsicle. How could you even think such a thing?"
Hench stood up. "I had nothing to do with the decision. I'm only carrying out his wishes."
Sarah vaulted from her seat and bore down on Hench. "I want to see my husband, now!"
Hench's expression hardened. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid it's not possible. Jim's body has been placed in ice. He's already on his way to Aurora Life Extension."
* * *
Five miles away from Ford Institute, a white van roceted down Route 101, heading away from Scottsdale. In the rear compartment, Jim Davis' corpse lay wrapped in plastic.
It wasn't on ice.
And it wasn't going to Aurora Life Extension.
Chapter 3
The two men sat in
silence inside the white van. Outside, a sandstorm buffeted the vehicle, threatening to tip it over. Neither of them took notice: they were both fearless.
The van was stark white, parked in a shallow ravine, out of sight. They traveled light: just a couple of shovels, a cell phone each, and a cache of small arms and ammunition-just in case.
The one in charge was Diego. He glanced at himself in the sun-visor mirror. A human bulldozer with a pockmarked face.
A few minutes later, the rain stopped. "Let's go," Diego said.
It was time.
Again.
The two stepped outside into the pounding wind. An isolated thunderstorm that seemed to be nowhere but right over them, ended as quickly as it started. Diego scanned the horizon and went to the rear doors. His partner had already retrieved the shovels and handed one to Diego.
Diego extended a powerful arm and jerked the body from the van's floor. He slid it out and let it drop to the sand.
Instinctively, his partner was already digging the six-foot deep hole. When he finished, they tossed the body in and covered it with gasoline. Diego fished a cigarette from his shirt and lit it. After a couple puffs he tossed it in the hole. Soon, the body was burned beyond recognition and they covered it with sand.
Diego looked at his partner and smiled. "Another one bites the dust."
The man nodded. This was a drill they knew well.
After all, they'd done it dozens of times.
Chapter 4
To call Lawrence Bowman,
gangly would be a gross overstatement. His limbs looked as though they could have been constructed from an erector set. But that didn't detract from his face, anointed with the features of a soap opera doctor, and hazel eyes that appeared as two shallow pools.
Nonetheless, to those who worked with him, he was anything but shallow. And despite his frankness, his generous personality and unadorned philosophies were legendary in the medical community.
When Josh Logan arrived in his office, Bowman was on the phone. The sight of him surprised Josh. He looked as though he'd aged ten years since they'd last met.