"King Of The Universe"

  “Nine—Eleven. Thanks for mentioning that Jason.”

They exited the boardroom, and headed down the white, brightly lit hallway, side by side.

Dr. Hermann Friedman shut the power down on his laptop. Even though he was mentally fatigued, Friedman was pleased with himself. He managed to have just enough time to squeeze in an analysis of a proposed surgical procedure initially drafted by one of the young doctors on staff. He was convinced the patient would have died on the operating table. What fired him up was not the fact that he may have saved a life, and likely extended it via a revised procedure. Instead, Friedman couldn’t wait to pummel the young surgeon in front of all of his peers. In the process his own ego would be fed like a black hole devouring everything in sight, as he showed even the more experienced surgeons the correct way to proceed. Putting in as many as eighteen hours a day had become a necessity, if his goal of worldwide recognition among his colleagues could ever be realized. His strides in the field of neurosurgery intertwined with his interest in the science of cryogenics had consumed almost all of his time. It had now become his obsession. The wheels of the commercial airliner softly touched down at Philadelphia International Airport.

“Doctor Friedman, here is your briefcase,” the stewardess said, as she looked upward to make eye contact with him.

“Thank you young lady,” he answered with a forced smile.

Though he sat in a first class seat as usual, it didn’t seem to make him feel anymore relaxed. At six foot six, and weighing two hundred and seventy pounds, he looked forward to the moment when he could eradicate himself from the tight quarters within the 737.

During his collegiate days at Ohio State, he played offensive guard for the varsity football team. In fact, he was so good that