The Miracle Strain (35 page)

Still, as he sat in the interview room on death row, listening to the approaching footsteps, he knew his situation--a man negotiating with his murdered wife's killer for the salvation of his daughter--was far from natural.

When the two guards brought Maria into the room, Tom was struck by two things. The first was how content she looked. This was no normal inmate on death row. No normal person could look this relaxed only days away from death. But then he reminded himself that the Preacher was anything but normal. The second thing that struck him was that she didn't seem particularly surprised to see him. If anything she seemed a little disappointed that he wasn't someone else. For a fleeting instant he wondered who.

He didn't exchange words with her as the guards secured her manacles to the loop on the table. But when they gave him the call-us-if-you-need-anything speech and pointed out the buzzer near the door, Maria smiled at him. It was a conquering, pitying smile.

After the guards had gone Maria still made no move to say anything. Her hair was growing back, and if it wasn't for those eyes, and her unnaturally sculpted bone structure, she would have looked almost cute, even vulnerable, like a newly hatched chick. He had prepared a speech before he'd come, but on seeing her sitting there it seemed suddenly irrelevant. So without bothering with any preliminaries, he told her about Project Cana and how it had succeeded in finding a match. He was surprised by her lack of reaction. Then he revealed that she was the match. Again her calm was shocking.

"What do you think about what I've told you?" he asked eventually, wanting her to say something. But she just shrugged, as if he'd asked her which flavor ice cream she liked.

"Don't you find what I've told you... Interesting?" he pushed. "Not even a little ironic?"

"Sure," she said in that offhand manner of hers. "But what I really find interesting is that you've come here to tell me. I told you it wasn't over yet."

Tom bit his lip. Her attitude made him want to reach across and slap that smug, evil face. What was it Alex would always say after telling him ghost stories as a kid?

"A witch is the only lady you can hit."

"What about a she-devil?"

"Them too. But they're different, son; with them you've got tomake sure you hit them so hard they stay down. Because whenthey come back at you they're as vicious as hell..."

Tom tried to keep himself calm. It was obvious Maria already knew about the genes. Nobody could be this cool. But who could have told her? Then it hit him. Ezekiel must have made contact with her, introducing himself to her to check out his New Messiah. It was the old man who'd told her about the genes. That was how she knew. Tom wondered for a moment what Ezekiel had made of her. The Preacher must have been as big a shock to the Brotherhood's holy plans as she was to his Holly plans.

He took a deep breath and decided that the only way he was going to get through this was to stick to the facts. If she helped, she helped, and if she didn't...

"Miss Benariac," he said, trying to keep his voice as businesslike as possible, "of all the genomes we've searched, which is now well over five hundred million, we have only found three which bear these three mutant genes. Two belong to people who are dead; one was an Indian from Colombia, and the other, of course, was Christ. You are the third. You all have one thing in common apart from the genes. A history of being able to heal at some stage in your life." He paused, waiting for a reaction. There wasn't any. "I believe," he continued, "that you still have that gift and I want to help you unlock it."

The unusual eyes were now studying him, the smile still there. "Why?"

He had lain awake nights thinking of the perfect reply to such a question--the reply that might convince a murderer to save Holly. But when it came down to it he decided that there was only one option--to play it straight. He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a photo of Holly. It was one he'd taken last summer in Bermuda. Holly waving to the camera in her red one-piece suit on the pink-white sands of Horseshoe Bay. He placed the photo in front of Maria, wanting her to connect with Holly--to go beyond him to helping his daughter. After all, she was still a woman...

"I want you to save her," he said.

"Who is she?"

"My daughter, Holly."

Maria nodded and looked closely at the picture. She picked it up in her right manacled hand, and seemed to stroke Holly's likeness with her left. "She's got your jaw," she said with a smile, as if looking through the family photo album. Maria looked up and for a second he saw something vulnerable in her eyes--a yearning.

Then came the questions.

"Do you love her a great deal?"

He nodded. "Very much."

"Does she know how much you love her? Do you tell her?"

"Yes, she knows."

"Does she know what you're doing to help her? Does she know about you coming here?"

"No, I haven't told her about you."

"What's wrong with her?"

"She has brain cancer."

"How long does she have? Longer than me?"

"I don't know. I hope so."

"And you want me to help her?"

"If you can?"

"Oh, I think I can," she said, sitting back in her chair.

Really? thought Tom. This surprised him. He hadn't expected her to be knowledgeable of her powers and certainly not so confident. He felt the same rush of frustrated excitement he'd experienced yesterday coming off the plane. But he kept his face poker straight. When he mentioned the deal he tried to make it sound as casual and unpleading as possible. "I've spoken with the governor. I can get your death sentence commuted if you do help her."

Maria's smug smile broadened. "Commuted to life? A life for a life. Is that it?"

He shrugged. "If you like."

Maria seemed to think about the offer for a moment, looking from the photo of Holly to Tom and back to the photo again. "Do you think Holly is unlucky?" she asked eventually.

He was somewhat taken aback by her question, but stuck to his policy of answering honestly. "In getting brain cancer at her age, sure. Very unlucky."

"I don't," said Maria quietly, and as she looked at Holly's likeness he fancied he saw a wistfulness in that unnerving face--almost envy. "I think she's very lucky. She has parents who love her..."

"Only one's still alive," said Tom angrily, before he could stop himself.

Maria gave no sign of having heard. "She has been cherished and wanted from the day she was born."

"That is true," said Tom, willing himself to control his feelings, wanting Maria to connect with Holly. "But without help she will be dead in a few months--perhaps even weeks. And she is completely innocent."

Maria smiled at that. "Dr. Carter, no one is completely innocent. But you want me to cure her from her disease? To stop what is ordained because you regard it as unfair? And because you love her?" Her voice sounded reasonable, even sympathetic.

He nodded.

She went on. "And in return you will treat my terminal disease, stopping me from dying prematurely in eleven days?"

Again he nodded, keeping his face as deadpan as possible, not wanting to provoke her in any way.

She looked at him, cocking her head to one side as if she was listening for something. "You are prepared to do this even though you don't think I'm innocent?"

"Yes."

She leaned toward him and he fought the impulse to move away. Instead he inclined his body toward hers until they could have been two lovers whispering intimacies over a candlelit dinner. He could smell coal tar soap on her skin and mint toothpaste on her breath.

"Even though I shot your wife down in cold blood?" she continued, her lips inches from his, "and tried to kill you?"

"Yes."

"You would do all this to save your daughter?"

"Yes, and more. Will you help her?"

Maria paused and her smile returned. Tom tried to read that smile, searching for any signs of magnanimity, but she was unfathomable. Maria looked down at her manacles and seemed to study her hands for a moment, as if they were objects separate from herself. When she looked up again the smile was gone, replaced with a mask of cold dismissal.

"No, Dr. Carter, I will not help your daughter. That is the very last thing I would do."

PART IV

The Miracle Strain

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

A week later, GENIUS Operating Room

Boston

Jasmine Washington sat on one of the blue upholstered chairs in the waiting room outside the GENIUS operating room. Scratching the skin beneath the cast on her broken left arm, she was sure she'd felt more pain in her life, but couldn't remember when. Her left collarbone and radius had been broken in the crash. The whole left side of her body was bruised. Of course she'd been driving too fast--that's the whole point of having a sports car. But no one had ever cut her brake cables before. She was only grateful the grocery van she'd hit outside the 7-Eleven had been stationary, and thank God there'd been no pedestrians around when she'd shunted it onto the sidewalk.

Yeah, all in all, she should count herself lucky. Nora Lutz's funeral had been two days ago in Boston, but Bob Cooke's body had been flown back to California. Just the thought of their deaths, and how close she'd come to joining them, made her shudder. When she considered what was about to happen next door, she realized how really lucky she was.

Much had occurred in the last week, since the Preacher had turned down Tom's deal to help Holly. For a start, Holly's condition had considerably deteriorated. If Bob had unraveled the mystery of why some of the mice had been cured and others hadn't, then he'd taken the knowledge with him to the grave. After Holly's last two seizures Tom had no option but to operate on her, just to relieve the pressure of the tumor, which was one of the most aggressive either Tom or Karl Lambert had ever seen.

Jasmine heard the swinging doors open to her right and saw a tired Alex Carter walk into the waiting room. Tom's father looked much older, and for the first time she thought he looked every one of his sixty-eight years. He appeared lost as he scanned the room and gave a relieved smile when he saw her sitting by the coffee machine. He waved and walked toward her.

"How is she? Have they started yet?" he asked, taking a seat next to her.

She shook her head. "Holly's still being prepped in the ward." Jasmine used her good hand to point her thumb over her shoulder at the wall behind her. "For the last hour Tom and Karl Lambert have been in the OR planning the op. It should happen soon."

"Right, right," Alex said, clasping and unclasping his hands in his lap. He looked terrified, and Jasmine suddenly remembered that he had been through all this before. Watching his wife suffer from the same disease.

"Karl Lambert's an excellent surgeon," she said, resting a hand on his shoulder, "and you know how good Tom is. She couldn't be in better hands."

The old man turned his head toward her and tried to smile. But in his eyes she could see that he knew this was the end--or at least the beginning of the end. Jasmine blinked back a sudden rush of tears--tears of frustration and anger as much as anything. After all they had been through, after all the lives that had been lost, Cana and the real chance of saving Holly had been stopped by a murderer, the same murderer who had set the whole ball rolling in the first place. She could find no consolation in the knowledge that Maria would be executed in four days. It seemed a sad, stupid waste.

Alex got up and moved to the coffee machine. "Do you want anything?" he asked, clearly needing to do something.

"Yeah, thanks. Black decaf, no sugar."

The swinging doors opened again and both their heads snapped around, expecting to see Holly coming through. But it was Jack Nichols. The big man stroked his scar self-consciously, as if he wasn't sure he should be here. "Just thought I'd see what was happening. Couldn't get much work done and kept on thinking of Tom and Holly..." He trailed off.

"Yeah, I know," said Jasmine.

"Coffee?" asked Alex, still standing by the machine.

Jack gave a crooked smile that seemed to say, Wouldn't it be great if a cup of coffee could make everything right again? "Thanks. Light. Four sugars."

Alex was about to comment on his choice when the doors were suddenly swung open again, revealing Holly on a gurney. Two people in green scrubs stood over her. Holly lay on her back with her hairless head held in place by a clamp. One slipof the laser, thought Jasmine, remembering what Tom had said about the risks: paralysis or worse. But when she saw her goddaughter's frightened eyes darting from left to right she wondered if death was worse. If anything was worse than this.

Jasmine and Alex stood and approached the gurney as it stopped outside the doors to the operating room. Jasmine extended her hand and Holly gripped her index finger like a newborn baby. Her other hand did the same with Alex. Jack Nichols walked over and joined them.

"See you soon," Jack said, making the circular okay sign with his finger and thumb.

Holly tried to smile, and released Jasmine's finger to return the sign.

"Good luck, Hol," said Jasmine, keeping her voice bright.

"You'll be fine," smiled Alex sadly, stroking Holly's cheek. "Your dad'll see to that."

The operating room doors opened and Tom Carter stepped out. Karl Lambert followed close behind. Both were gowned in surgical greens. Tom's mask was hanging from his neck, and Jasmine could see the pain in his eyes as he leaned over and kissed his daughter's forehead. When he spoke his voice was unbearably gentle. "Don't be frightened, Holly, okay? I'll be right beside you all the time. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Dad," Holly whispered, as her face relaxed and the fear dimmed in her eyes.

Tom kissed her once more, then straightened up. "Well then, let's get started, shall we?"

Jasmine watched as the gurney was wheeled into the brilliant white of the operating room. The last vision she had before the doors swung shut in front of her was of her small goddaughter being flanked by four guardians in green. As she stood there, the lapsed Baptist crossed herself and prayed to her God.

Fifteen miles away Ezekiel De La Croix paced around the interview room of the Massachusetts State Penitentiary, while his Messiah, Maria Benariac, sat manacled to the table.

"I'm sorry I didn't return sooner. There were things to arrange," he tried to explain, "people to put in place to get you out."

"But I've already told you," said Maria, drumming the fingers of a manacled hand on the steel table. "I have a better plan and I need your help with it."

Ezekiel was still not used to taking orders from the woman who for so long had taken orders from him. His last week had been spent urging the Inner Circle to perfect their escape plan. He even had to contend with the still-skeptical Brother Bernard requesting that Maria provide some proof that she really was the chosen one. Now, when he had finally reassured Bernard, and they had pulled together the bare bones of a working scheme, Maria was telling him to abort it. She could at least have listened to it, and he doubted if her plan was any better. Still, the Messiah had to feel confident with what was proposed. Once she was free and had been anointed in the flame, then he could stand down--his task done. Just the thought of that moment, when the responsibility would be lifted off his shoulders, made him sigh.

"Very well," he said, putting his pill box on the table and popping one of the white antacid tablets into his mouth. He hoped her scheme was at least workable. "Tell me of your plan."

Maria beckoned him over to sit opposite her. She looked to her left and right, as if others might overhear, then leaned toward him. When she spoke it was in a whisper, so low that he had to put his head to within an inch of hers to catch what she was saying. Quelling his impatience, he listened while she outlined her idea. At first more out of duty than genuine interest, but as her measured whispers explained her proposal in greater detail he found himself listening more and more intently. When she finally finished his mouth was open in disbelief. Her plan was brilliant. But the risks were phenomenal.

He stayed silent for a while, just staring back at her bi-colored eyes.

"But how do you know it will happen?" he managed at last. "How can you be so sure?"

Maria smiled at him, her face a beacon of confidence. "Have faith in me!"

"I do, but..."

"Am I not the New Messiah?"

"Yes, but--"

Maria shook her manacles and gestured for him to come closer to her. "Hold my hand."

He hesitated.

"Don't be afraid."

Tentatively, he did as she asked. He felt her fingers close around his, gripping him tightly. He watched as she closed her eyes and appeared to go pale, as if in pain. Then a strange warmth suffused his hand before traveling up the arm to his torso. It was as if his skin had been rubbed with liniment. Suddenly she released her hold, and a thin smile curled her lips.

"I don't understand," he said, reaching for the box of pills he'd left on the table near her manacled hands.

"Leave them," she said quietly.

"What?"

"The tablets. You no longer need them."

He froze and just looked at her. It wasn't possible. And yet the pain in his stomach had gone--not just lessened as it did normally--it was gone completely.

She smiled at his shock, but beneath her smile he could see she was almost as stunned as he was.

She asked, "Now do you believe my plan can work?"

He managed a mute nod. He could give the doubting Brother Bernard his proof.

"Good--then go," she said. "You have much to arrange."

Tom watched Karl Lambert's hands direct the laser scalpel, trying to remove the black diseased tissue without damaging the rest of the brain--his daughter's brain.

Half of him desperately wanted to be holding the laser, rather than just assisting with the operation. But the more rational half of him knew he would be a liability--even without an injured left hand. He'd always believed that he should be able to perform any surgical procedure with clinical detachment, but he now knew this wasn't true. However much he tried to see Holly as the patient, and nothing else, he couldn't. She was his precious, vulnerable daughter and just the thought of operating on her made his hands shake.

Around the table were four monitors. Three tracked Holly's life signs, the middle one with the insistent, reassuringly regular Beep--Beep--Beep was an ECG tracking her heartbeat. The fourth screen showed a close-up of Holly's brain with Karl Lambert's micro-laser cutting away the dark tumor cells. These screens were monitored by Staff Nurse Lawrence and the younger nurse Fran Huckleberry. Tim Fuller, the anesthetist, stood at the head of the table about four feet away from Karl Lambert and Tom.

Although Tom was technically assisting Karl, there wasn't much he could do except watch. The surgery was so delicate that even one pair of hands seemed too many. He tried to console himself with the knowledge that Karl Lambert was an excellent surgeon, one of the best. Still, he was only too aware that even if Holly did survive the op eration, it would buy her only a few more months at most. Once again he wondered whether it was really worth it, just to extend the suffering and sadness?

He still found it hard to accept that Maria Benariac would rather die than save Holly. It was so vindictive, so pointless. What did she hope her execution in four days' time would achieve? He remembered all the stories Mother Clemenza had told him about the young Maria. He also recalled Maria's confident acknowledgment that she could help Holly--if she wanted to. What a terrible waste.

Beep, Beeeep, Beee... Eep, Bee... Eeee... Eeee... Eep.

He turned to the ECG and felt his heart stop beating. The line was flat. Holly's heart had stopped beating.

Suddenly time seemed to pause. He saw Karl Lambert look up from his hands, his normally calm eyes worried. Lambert must have cut into healthy tissue--vital brain tissue--which had thrown Holly's system into shock. As Tom charged up the paddles to jumpstart Holly's heart, Nurse Lawrence applied the conducting gel. Holly's left leg began to twitch violently and soon her whole left side was in spasm. It took all Tom's strength to press the paddles to her chest and administer the necessary shock to her heart. He tried to forget that this was his daughter beneath him, tried not to think of the trauma going through her small body. He concentrated only on what needed to be done to keep her alive.