“Cabin crew: ten minutes to landing.” The stewardess touched his shoulder as she helped him pull his seat forward, and picked up the last remaining glasses from the tables around the cabin. Moments later the familiar thump came as the wheel locked into place, and Alex felt the huge plane slip nervously sideways like a show horse dancing as it approached a jump; it straightened, dropped gently to the ground, and galloped down the runway, until the noise of the reverse thrust broke the spell and he was home.

Given the mass of humanity that spewed from the many overseas flights at this hour of the morning, Passport Control was remarkably cheerful and civilized. “Good morning. Thank you, sir. Welcome home, Dr. Stafford.”

The stewardess found Alex at baggage claim. “You’ll want this. Mightier than the sword, and all that!”

She flew on past him as the pen that had written so much of his history appeared in his palm. He hadn’t time to thank her. Alex switched on his cell phone as he waited for the bags to come through. He had seven messages. With fast-track clearance, a wonderful perk with the superior class of flight, he was wheeling his luggage away as his world froze: “Alex, it’s very serious about Will, I’m afraid. More than I knew in my last message. Please, please call me as soon as you get this. I’ll certainly need your advice.” His father’s voice was hoarse.

He let two more messages play out before he stopped them, taking him deeper back into time as the earlier calls came up after the latest one. His face was gaunt as he ran from the terminal building.

“16:43: DO YOU WANT TO SHUT DOWN?”

“Do I ever!” Jane Cook blurted out. She clicked “Yes” and closed her laptop. She sat at her desk, slowly picked up the phone, then put it back on the cradle. She put off calling her little girl for the moment. She was so late—beyond late—that she couldn’t face another apology just now. Well, at least someone would benefit from the hours of extra time she’d put in, she thought.

Most of this particular job had been set up on the assumption that the donor would not recover. Sometimes the work went for nothing, but it did reduce the time between death and receipt, which was vital. The second phase of the job could now fall into place if everything went according to plan. Poor Lucy had already had one letdown in the last forty-eight hours: everyone marshaled, only to find that the heart wasn’t up to it—a second-tier organ, which had sounded good, but ultimately didn’t make the grade. She didn’t want that to happen again now.