Now, though, fatigue was starting to show in both men—mostly about their eyes. But soon, they hoped, their exhaustion would have proved worthwhile. Over the days before Kazimi’s return, since the moment he entered the lab with a skilled assistant to begin his experiments, Humphrey had gotten the attention and encouragement lavished upon him that a lifetime of living on the fringes had failed to provide. And Lou was more than pleased to see him finally getting the recognition he deserved.

Thankfully, at least according to Humphrey, a live antibacterial treatment could be put together and tested in a matter of days. In a show of unprecedented solidarity, standing by waiting were the chiefs of antibiotic research at most of the largest pharmaceutical houses in the country, all of which had pledged to speed any breakthrough into production.

“You seem nervous, Lou,” Humphrey said.

“Aren’t you?”

“Little, I suppose. Been working years for this test. Phage Banks brought were in excellent condition. I’ve always believed myself. This first time others believe in me, too.”

“I understand. I’m sure glad I believed in you, Humphrey. Cap will be excited, too. So will a lot of people for that matter.”

Humphrey looked beside himself with glee. “Scupman from CDC called. He’s on way here later today. Says he has place in lab for me.”

“That’s wonderful, Humphrey,” Lou said. “Really terrific.”

Before Humphrey could respond, Lou’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the number and his chest tightened when he saw it was Win Carter from Arbor General. They had spoken once this morning and Cap was still listed in critical, but stable condition. Something must have changed.

Lou cleared his throat, took an anxious swallow, and answered the call.

“Win, what’s going on?”

“Lou, I’m afraid I’ve got bad news to share.”

Lou’s knee-jerk reaction was that Cap was dead, but he quickly realized there was another possibility.

“Go on,” he said, bracing himself against the back of a leather chair.

“Hank’s temp shot up a few hours ago, and his pressure began to drop. Ninety systolic, then eighty. Clearly he was septic. Lou, there was nothing his surgeons could do but amputate. They tried everything they could to forestall this, but time just ran out. I’m sorry, Lou. I’m so terribly sorry, for Hank and for you.”

Lou’s knees became Jell-O. He braced himself more firmly against the chair.

“How is he doing now?” he asked.

“Actually, that’s the good news. I just heard from his surgeon, and for the moment at least, his temp is down, his pressure is up, and his kidneys are functioning well.”

Lou could barely speak. He had failed. He had let down his best friend and there was nothing he could do to change that fact.

“How high up?” he managed to ask.

The hesitation from Atlanta all but answered his question.