The Miracle Strain (32 page)

Jasmine put her hand on Holly's shoulder. "There's always a way, Hol. Like your dad used to keep telling me. Still does at times. It might not be the obvious, popular, or even correct way. But if you want to do something bad enough, there's always a way."

Nurse Beth Lawrence appeared from the direction of the operating theater. "Dr. Washington, could you see Dr. Carter for a moment? He's in the examination room."

"Sure." She stood and squeezed Holly's arm. "Good luck with level seven."

When she entered the examination room she found Tom standing with Dr. Karl Lambert, looking at a series of Computed Tomographic Scans on the computer screen in front of them. Lambert was a neurosurgeon from the National Institutes of Health in Maryland. He had been assigned to GENIUS to facilitate the sharing of ideas, and to ensure that no patients were abused by GENIUS for pure commercial gain. He was a short, round man with a jovial face, curly red hair, and intelligent eyes. Jasmine knew Tom liked and respected him since they had both studied together at Johns Hopkins.

Karl Lambert pointed at the yellow shadow on the color scan. "I still say an operation is the best chance."

Tom shook his head. "But look where the tumor is, Karl. I wouldn't want to go in there. Would you? The margin of error is too great."

"I know, but at least it gives her a chance..." said Lambert.

"But of what? Delaying the inevitable."

"It'll make her more comfortable, Tom."

"Or kill her." Tom paused; his shoulders seemed to sag. "But I suppose you're right."

She cleared her throat and they both looked up from the scan of Holly's brain. Tom looked pale and drawn. He was clearly wrestling with what was best for Holly, and was losing. "Hi, Jazz, thanks for coming. I just wanted to ask your advice about Holly."

Lambert checked his watch. "I've got to go. I'm due in surgery in ten minutes. I'll leave you two to it." He walked to the door, then turned back to Tom. "I still say keyhole laser surgery is mandatory, Tom. And the sooner the better." He smiled at Jasmine, then left.

"So what do you want to do, Tom?" she asked.

He paced around the room. "I don't know. You heard Karl. And he's right. Drugs and radiotherapy can only slow the growth and manage her pain. Eventually the tumor will have to be removed, just to relieve the pressure on her skull.

But it's in such a goddamned difficult place it's almost inoperable."

"What about Cana? The serum?"

"Cana's finished, Jasmine. The serum does nothing."

She took a deep breath. "What about Maria Benariac then? The Preacher?"

"The Preacher isn't an option," said Tom stiffly.

Since Jasmine had found that the Preacher possessed the genes, she and Tom hadn't once discussed the killer together. Jasmine still hadn't got her mind around the full implications that there were probably nineteen people in the world with Christ's genes, let alone the fact that one of them was a cold-blooded murderer. And since Tom had found it far too painful to talk about, they had just let it hang between them like a death in the family. But it was becoming too important to ignore, and since he'd started the whole damn thing, he might as well face up to it.

"Surely, you've got to at least try?" she said.

"She killed Olivia, Jazz."

"She could also save Holly."

He gave a snort. "Yeah, right."

"Come on, Tom, you might be able to do some sort of deal with her."

"Are you being serious?"

"Deadly serious. I don't exactly see you being over-burdened with options. Don't you even want to find out if this woman could save her?"

He shrugged his shoulders unhappily.

She felt a stab of anger. "Tom, it's not like you to give up."

"I'm not giving up. I'm being realistic, trying to find the best way to make Holly comfortable."

"Bullshit! You once told me that being realistic and giving up were the same thing. You've never been realistic in your life. You're crap at being realistic. Jack's a realist. Even I am to an extent. But you've always gone off and done the impossible. Don't for God's sake stop now!"

Tom gave her a pained look. "But you don't understand, Jazz. How can I--"

"Look, you started this Project Cana thing. I wanted no part of it, because I was terrified where it might lead. But I trusted you and let you talk me into it, believing that however much this screwed up what I believed in, at least I was doing everything to help Holly. All through this I've been trying to square circles with my conscience just to keep sane, and now you're chickening out because you've come across something you find hard to accept. Well, buster, welcome to the land of confusion and doubt. And don't tell me I don't understand. Go tell your daughter. Tell Holly you feel uncomfortable about begging Maria to help her." She took a deep breath; her tirade had made her dizzy. She pointed her finger and jabbed his chest. "And another thing, Tom. You better stop feeling sorry for yourself damn soon, because it's not just Holly whose days are numbered. Maria won't be around for too long either."

With that, she turned and walked out.

Maria woke in a cold sweat. She opened her eyes in the cell on death row but could see nothing. Only blackness. Her fevered, half-awake brain imagined she heard rats scurrying on the floor beneath her bed. She was a six-year-old child again, in the orphanage lock-away for telling lies, or for some other misdemeanor she didn't understand.

The panic pressing down on her chest with the heavy darkness was exactly as she remembered it. She yearned for someone to comfort her and soothe away her terror. But most of all she missed the Father. She felt a sickening doubt deep in her stomach. Not doubt over the killings, because they had been righteous. But doubt for defying Ezekiel and the Brotherhood.

What if Ezekiel really hadn't wanted her to kill Carter? What arrogance had possessed her to believe that she understood his real wishes better than he did himself, the man who had taught and given her everything?

Perhaps Ezekiel was right to listen to Helix and use Carter, before finally finishing him. Had she succeeded in halting the scientist her way? And even if she had been right to try, how did she expect to fulfill God's plans in here?

All of the confidence and conviction that had so buoyed her throughout the trial evaporated. Perhaps God didn't have plans for her at all? Perhaps this imprisonment and death sentence weren't a test, but a punishment? Perhaps God was working through the Father to find the New Messiah and stop Carter. Perhaps Ezekiel and Helix had been completely right, and she completely wrong?

And now she was to be forsaken, forgotten, unforgiven.

As these questions ran around her brain on spiked shoes her nails picked at her right thigh, at the old scabs and scars until the first warm dampness told her fingers that the blood was flowing. But in this darkness she felt no release. It seemed as if no amount of shed blood could drain the anxiety, guilt, and loneliness from her body. Beyond the unseen cell walls, in the light and bustle outside, she had ceased to exist. She had been abandoned in this nine- by fifteen-foot cell on death row--the only marooned inhabitant of a desolate world filled with darkness and despair.

The first tear touched her cheek when she considered that even during her worst moments as a child the dreaded spells in the lock-away would end. But this time she was in a lock-away forever, alone with her doubts and regrets. Only death in twentytwo days would set her free.

She wished she could see the Father once again before then.

Across the world in Damascus Ezekiel De La Croix slept no better. At five thirty-seven he rose and walked from his bedroom onto the balcony, savoring the coolness of the smooth tiles under his bare feet. In the distance the Damascus skyline was gray against the dusty orange sky of early dawn. The sun would not rise fully for at least an hour, but the frangipani-scented air was already warm. Stretching his arms above aching shoulders he yawned twice, thankful for the slight breeze that ruffled his white cotton nightshirt, and cooled his skin.

Last night he had dreamed again of Pontius Pilate. But this time it was Maria into whose hands he had hammered the nails. As he did so the hologram of his younger self had looked on in judgment. The dream had unsettled him, but not as much as the memories--memories of stories told to him years ago in Corsica.

Since Dr. Carter had unveiled the truth that Maria possessed the genes, Ezekiel had been struggling to believe that she could be the one. His first reaction had been to deny it, put it down to the scientist's imperfect technology, or some trick of the devil. How could Nemesis be the New Messiah?

When he had told Helix and Bernard back at the cave the next day, they had both been stunned. Like him, Bernard had scoffed, saying it must be some kind of trick. Helix had responded differently. He had stayed silent for a long while before entertaining the possibility--even probability--that she was indeed chosen. Ezekiel had sent them away to think through the implications and consider what must be done. Then he had summoned all of the Inner Circle to a meeting today, to decide the best course of action.

Ezekiel checked his watch. It would take him some hours to prepare and reach the Cave of the Sacred Light. At least after his restless night he had finally come to a decision.

He remembered the young woman in Mother Clemenza's office, no more than a girl really, confused and betrayed by a religion that had not only failed to protect her but actually abused her. When Maria had finally been nominated as the new Nemesis she had done what no other operative had ever done before. She had changed her appearance to fit the role of the perfect avenger.

He recalled the day she had demanded the radical surgery, when she'd sat down and explained how she felt trapped by her looks. Like a butterfly wanting to be a caterpillar, she longed to lose her bright wings and gain the freedom of anonymity.

At his first meeting with Mother Clemenza he had berated her for allowing girls in her charge to be preyed upon by Father Angelo, holding her directly responsible for Sister Delphine's suicide. She had told him of Maria's early "lies" to explain why she had ignored Maria's claims of having been raped. "She was always lying as a small child," the Mother Superior had said. "They were always lying."

Only now did he realize for the first time that Maria's early "lies" weren't just the fantasies of a lonely child, but were perhaps true. He could still recall them, small miracles in themselves: the big fall, the bee stings, the diabetes, and at least six others. The more he thought about them the more bizarre sense everything seemed to make.

He turned and walked through the bedroom to the bathroom, and as he passed the bureau took a white tablet from the silver box beside the photograph of his wife. Deep in his heart he felt sure that the New Messiah had been found. But how was he going to rescue her before she was crucified again? And how was he going to gain the support of the others, to plan how to save her, so she in turn could save the righteous?

As Tom Carter took one last look at his sleeping daughter and left the ward, he remembered Jasmine's words. She was right; he couldn't afford to feel sorry for himself. His scheduled meeting with Karen Tanner was in just over half an hour. Jack had arranged for her to show him the relevant files at her offices in the JFK Building downtown. And after he'd seen them he planned to do some investigating of his own.

Bob Cooke's shout across the atrium took him by surprise as he walked toward the garage stairs. The usually laid-back Californian was running toward him. "Tom! Wait up!"

He turned, smiling at two rookie GENIUS scientists, who greeted him with a reverential "Morning, Dr. Carter," as they passed.

"I've been... Looking for you... Everywhere," panted Bob, crouching hands on knees, like a spent sprinter.

"Well, you've found me now. What's up?"

"The mice."