“That’s odd,” Berman said. He was relieved it hadn’t been a cardiac problem, which is what he fully expected. An Achilles tendon rupture was an injury that could happen to any athlete who was pushing the limits, and therefore less worrisome vis-à-vis the Chinese. At the same time, it was a problem, and problems were not something he wanted happening now. Was this another anomalous injury? Did cyclists ever have this kind of injury—wasn’t it more associated with contact sports? Even if it wasn’t a direct result of the program, what was China going to say about this? Shit.

“Mr. Berman?” Klaastens said, unsure if Berman was still on the line.

“A complete rupture, you say.”

“Yes, he was doing some aerobic work on the stationary bike this morning, warming up, when it went. He wasn’t even pushing himself particularly hard. One minute everything was fine, the next minute he said it felt like someone kicked him very hard in the back of the leg. I’m sorry, I know this is not what you want to hear.”

“And Han, what’s happening to him?”

“He was taken to the hospital, of course, but he won’t be there very long. I spoke briefly with one of the doctors. He said that they will wait for the swelling to go down, and then an operation can be done if it is desired, but it can wait a while. It can be treated conservatively as well; it just takes longer to heal.”

“Okay, don’t do anything. I’m coming to Milan for the last stage, on the twenty-seventh, can he wait that long?”

“I am the trainer, not the doctor, I don’t know. It’s a shame, he was performing well, very comfortable. I think he shows more promise than Bo. Next season, he can be back, and stronger.”

“Next season,” said Berman, as much to himself as Klaastens. He knew if the next phase of his master plan wasn’t successful, there would be no next season.

“So I will see you in Milan on the twenty-seventh, Mr. Berman.” Klaastens waited for a reply, but Zach Berman had already ended the call.

Chapter 34

34.

BOULDER MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, AURORA, COLORADO

SUNDAY, MAY 19, 2013, 9:10 A.M.

She knows she’s asleep, but she feels awake at the same time. She feels as though she is looking at the world from the bottom of a swimming pool, and she can breathe, but she can’t move. Sounds are oddly muffled. Some familiar faces come to her, as if people are swimming down to meet with her as she lies down here, looking up. She knows they’re familiar, and they’re friendly, so she is content to see them.