Noble Vision

by LaGreca, Gen

  “What are you thinking of doing, honey? You’re worrying me.”

  “Never mind.”

  Randy had not shared with Beth the plan that had brought him to the governor’s office. His half-closed eyes suddenly sprang open at the sound of Burrow’s secretary approaching. “Dr. Lang, the governor will see you.”

  * * * * *

  Under an historic painting of the Founding Fathers drafting the constitution, Malcolm Burrow sat with his feet up on his antique desk, cutting a hangnail with a nail clipper.

  “Good afternoon, Governor. How nice of you to see me when you seem so busy.”

  “Have a seat, Dr. Lang,” said Burrow. Randy sat on a dainty Victorian chair as Burrow lowered his feet and sat up. “So what brings you here?”

  “I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d drop by.”

  “How nice. Now what topic can we find to discuss, because you apparently didn’t bring one?”

  “How about double-crossing?”

  “You’ll have to talk to your brother about that.”

  “I heard him say to talk to you.”

  “You heard wrong.”

  “That must be it! My hearing’s on the blink. I’d better get my CareFree hearing aid.”

  Burrow smiled pleasantly. “If that’s all, Dr. Lang, you will excuse me.”

  “I came here because I’m concerned about you, Governor.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “If you don’t already know it, my brother is crazy.”

  “So?”

  “So his patient’s eyes are healing. The nerves are doing what everyone says they can’t do; they’re growing. My brother’s going to restore the patient’s sight when he does her second surgery, which will make headlines worldwide. And you, Governor, I’m afraid, will go down in history along with the inquisitors who took pause at the idea of the Earth revolving around the sun and persecuted Galileo.”

  “I appreciate your concern for my place in history, but you’re forgetting one thing, Dr. Lang: Your brother can’t do the second surgery.”

  “I told you he’s crazy. He’ll do it.”

  “But no hospital in the state would—”

  “He doesn’t need a hospital.”

  Burrow paused, as if genuinely surprised at something he had not considered. “But even if that’s true, surgery still requires an operating team, which he doesn’t have.”

  “If he looks hard, he may find a couple of people in medicine who are less than elated with CareFree and willing to help.”

  “If your brother’s success is guaranteed, as you’re suggesting, then what’s your problem, Dr. Lang? Surely a concern about something besides securing my proper standing in history brought you here.”

  “I want my brother to do the surgery legally.”

  “In case he fails?”

  “Yes. And you, I suggest, should want him to do the surgery legally in case he succeeds. So we have a common goal, Governor.”

  “We have so much in common, Dr. Lang.”

  “By the extravagant promises of its charter, CareFree is supposed to support new research and treatments. The best time to establish a research institute would be now. You can name it after my father to pluck at people’s heartstrings. The institute will expand the bandwidth so that CareFree can approve experimental procedures it denied in the past. Because my father bent over backward to avoid favoritism, you can say, he was too harsh with his son. In Warren’s memory, you can lift David’s suspension and allow him to continue his experimental surgery under the auspices of the new institute. Then when David is successful, you can take all the credit. What a perfect media event right before Election Day.”

  Burrow remained stone-faced, to ensure that his visitor would never suspect that he was already considering such a plan. Only Burrow’s eyes showed expression—the intensity of someone stumbling on a mother lode. “I see another matter involved here, Dr. Lang. Because you’re so concerned with securing my reelection and my proper place in history, I should think you’d want to squelch those nasty rumors that your father’s death was anything other than a terrible accident, rumors spread by your brother.”

  “I could possibly make a statement about that.”

  “I should think you’d want to do more than merely make a statement. I should think you’d want to campaign for me to demonstrate publicly your conviction that your father’s death was indeed an accident and not triggered by any double-cross associated with me. I should think you’d want to stand on a platform beside me with your arm around my shoulder.”

  Randy said nothing. His eyes stared at a spot on the rug.

  The governor smiled, leaned back, and locked his hands behind his head in repose. However, his eyes were not relaxed; they displayed more than their usual shrewdness. He noticed the pause, the change in Randy’s demeanor, the subtle signs that he was a master of detecting. Those signs told Burrow how to find the sacred in men, the way a hound sniffs a trail, and how far he could go.

  “You have a strong resemblance to Warren. You’ll look very good on my platform. Don’t you want to campaign for me, Dr. Lang?”

  Randy closed his eyes for an imperceptible instant. “I could possibly make a few appearances,” he said, the casual shrug of his shoulders negating an inner pain.

  “I think we may have a deal, Dr. Lang.”

  Randy nodded, rising from his chair. “When my brother sees me waving your campaign banner at the same time his suspension is lifted and his research approved, he’s going to fling your presents back in your face.”

  “Why would he be such a fool?” said the governor sincerely.

  “For an odd thing called integrity. But because so few of us possess it, it’s not worth worrying about. When David storms into my office to accuse me of colluding with you, I’ll need to call you on my phone’s loudspeaker, so he can hear, and demand that you not reinstate him for reasons I’ll give and he’ll understand. You just have to take his side against me. And you need to act as if we’re close friends, Mack.”

  “It’s done, Randy.” The governor scribbled a number on notepaper and passed it to Randy as pleasantly as a shopkeeper closing a sale. “Here’s my private cell phone number. You can reach me there any time.”

  Randy slipped the paper into his jacket. “Okay. And there’s also the matter of getting my brother’s staff privileges reinstated by Riverview’s board of directors.”

  Burrow beamed. “I’m sure I can do something for you there.” He rose to face Randy across the desk. “Your brother will be hearing from us soon. And you’ll be hearing from my campaign manager to schedule your public appearances on my behalf.”

  Randy nodded somberly and his friend Mack smiled as they ended the meeting with a handshake.

  * * * * *

  The next day Mack Burrow stood on a podium outside the governor’s mansion with his newly appointed secretary of medicine, Dr. Henrietta Richards. He had summoned the press to make an announcement: “Secretary Lang and I frequently discussed ways of stimulating medical research through the Bureau of Medicine. Just days before he passed away, we were finalizing plans for an institute to streamline the regulatory process, so scientists could work more productively and devote themselves to cutting-edge research. Today I feel tremendous personal satisfaction at announcing the culmination of our plans.” The governor paused, lowered his eyes, and softened his voice in sadness. “I only wish Warren were alive today to see his vision become a reality.” He slowly raised his head, as if recovering from his grief. “I hereby announce the establishment of the Warren Lang Institute for Medical Research.”

  No one knew what the institute was, where it was, or what it did; however, everyone was moved by a grand gesture to a fine man.

  The following day the Burrow administration issued a press release:

  In view of Warren Lang’s distinguished public service, the governor reviewed the recent judgment of CareFree against the secretary’s son, David Lang. Governor Burrow bel
ieves the verdict to be excessive in levying both the maximum fine and the maximum suspension, as the secretary was obviously trying to avoid partiality. In honor of Warren Lang’s memory, the governor has asked Dr. Henrietta Richards, the new secretary of medicine, to consider lessening the suspension so that Dr. David Lang can once again serve his community.

  That evening Randy appeared at a political rally in Manhattan with the governor. “The age of unbridled individualism is past,” said Randy. “The man best suited to grab the reins on the new stagecoach of humanity is Mack Burrow.”

  The next day a letter and a visitor appeared in David’s office, both from the Bureau of Medicine. The letter notified David that CareFree was lifting his suspension. The visitor was the first to enter David’s office in two months, except for Nicole, whose perceptions of light, motion, and color he measured and recorded there. A thin man with a pale, oblong face introduced himself as Dr. Harold Wabash, the director of the Warren Lang Institute for Medical Research, a new department within CareFree. He sat on a dusty chair.

  “Dr. Lang,” he said, opening his briefcase and producing a document, “I would like to give you an application for admission to our institute. If after careful review we find your proposal acceptable, CareFree will permit you to continue your nerve-repair research by conducting animal experiments and completing the human trial you started.”

  “Why the change of heart?”

  “CareFree is committed to supporting medical research. With the new institute, we can now do that.”

  “Why choose me?”

  “Why not choose you? Your research is in the public interest.”

  “Why is it in the public interest this week, when last week it wasn’t?”

  “CareFree is a dynamic program. Its priorities change frequently.”

  “You mean it contradicts itself left and right.”

  “You may think what you wish, Dr. Lang, but I’m offering you a golden opportunity.”

  “Do you mean that if I’m approved, CareFree will let me perform the second surgery on my patient, Nicole Hudson?”

  “Precisely.”

  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.

  * * * * *

  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.