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.”