Tears formed in Rachel Moore’s eyes as she stood on the
tarmac of El Dorado airport in Bogotá, Colombia, watching
the special metal coffin holding the earthly remains of
Dr. Ben Lambert disappear into the cargo hold of the
private jet. Dr. Lambert, I’m so sorry. I wish I could
have done more.
An older man, the silver waves of his hair blowing
slightly in the wind, stood beside her. As though he
could read her thoughts, he said, “Don’t beat yourself
up, Rachel. No one could have predicted this. And you and
the others did everything humanly possible. Ben was
probably already dead when you found him.” Then David W.
Madison, immediate past President of the United States,
put his arm gently around her shoulders and hugged her.
“I guess I know that,” she said. “But no one expected it.
I mean, we all had physicals along with our immunizations
before leaving, and he told me he was in tip-top shape
for a man of over sixty. Then, when we were eating lunch
at the church, he was in the bathroom...”
“I know. It’s a shock. Ben Lambert was an old friend. We
grew up together. And now he’s gone.” Madison took his
arm away and looked down at the nurse. “You know you
don’t have to be the one to accompany his body back to
Dallas. One of the other members of the party could do
it.”
“No, I think I need this to achieve some closure. You’ll
be coming back in a couple more days, and if there’s a
medical problem after I leave, you still have Dr. Dietz
and Linda Gaston.”
The door to the cargo hold closed with a thud, and Rachel
shivered despite the tropic heat. She lifted her carry-on
bag and started to turn away, but Madison stopped her.
“Ben must have sensed something like this might happen,
because before we left he spoke to me about another
physician he thought should take care of me if he
couldn’t.” Madison hesitated. “I think you know him.
Matter of fact, I imagine he’s the one meeting you at the
airport after you land.”
“You mean Josh?”
“When you see him, please tell Dr. Pearson I need to see
him as soon as I return.”