Roman lowered his face and pressed the barrel into her temple. “Tell me the truth.”
“I’m telling you the truth, I swear. Please don’t hurt my daughter.”
Roman said nothing for a moment. “The project. What were you trying to do?”
“Trying to get better control over atoms for quantum computing.”
“In fucking English.”
“To get precise images of active brain cells.”
“Someone murdered Tom Pomeroy and I want to know why.”
“Murdered?”
“What were you doing to get him knocked off? Tell me and I’ll spare you and your daughter. And no mumbo- jumbo bullshit.”
The woman nodded, and Roman pulled back the gun. In spurts she told him things that he had difficulty processing, but not because of the scientific jargon. “And that’s the truth?”
“I swear to God.” She whimpered not to hurt them.
“You believe in God?”
“What?”
“Do you believe in God? You just swore to Him.”
“I—I don’t know.”
“How can you not know if you believe or not? It’s yes or no.”
“I—I … no.”
“Do you believe in Satan?”
“Satan?” Her eyes filled with terror. She shook her head.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m going to tie you up, and in half an hour I’ll call 911.”
“Okay, but please don’t hurt my daughter. I beg you.”
“I’m not going to touch her.”
He rolled her onto her side, then put loose cords around her ankles and hands. When she was in place, he slipped a sleep mask over her eyes. “Okay, open your mouth. For a gag.”
She opened wide. And in a flash, he pulled from his jacket an aerosol can of methane gas used to test gas leak alarms, and he jammed the nozzle into her mouth and released a continuous spray. She tried to snap her head away, but he clamped down on her face with his other hand and continued to force-fill her lungs until she passed out. It took less than half a minute. When she was still, he removed the tethers and gag, positioned her on the pillow, then turned off the AC and left the room with the door ajar.
He returned to the daughter’s room. She was still asleep. As he stared at her darkened form, he rehearsed how he’d dispatch her without a clue. Before she knew what hit her, he’d straddle her body, lock her with his knees, then with his gloved hands clamp her carotid arteries, stopping the blood flow to her brain. In under a minute, she’d pass out. Then he’d close her eyelids and while her lungs still functioned fill them with gas from the aerosol.
But something held him back. His mission was Satan’s handmaid, not her kid.
He closed the door, then slipped down the stairs and into the cellar, leaving the door wide open. With a penlight, he found the furnace and extinguished the pilot light. He removed the batteries from a fire-and-gas alarm and disconnected a contact wire from the alarm at the top of the second landing. In the kitchen, he extinguished the stove pilot light to prevent an explosion. By morning, the place would be full of methane gas, including the master bedroom, but not the daughter’s room with the AC.
Perfect, and another fifteen thousand in the green.
If true, he also had incredible information that could be worth a king’s ransom to the right buyer. Although he knew nothing about those who bankrolled him, what the woman revealed had explosive implications.
In fact, by the time he arrived at his condo, Roman was so wired over the possibilities that he needed a double hit of vodka to compose his mind to rest. But as he dozed off, like a closed loop in the back of his brain, he heard the lulling whispers of Father X’s promise play over and over again:
19
Miracle? Coma Victim “Resurrected from the Dead”
A 24-year-old Northeastern graduate student who had spent 12 weeks in a coma regained consciousness yesterday at the Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center.
The case is being described by some as “a miracle.” Zachary Kashian, who lost control of his bicycle the evening of January 28, sustained serious head trauma and remained in a “persistent vegetative state” until Sunday. According to Dr. Seth Andrew, head of neurology at MGH, he was completely unresponsive to stimulation efforts by the medical staff. “The sudden awakening of coma patients sometimes happens,” said Andrew. “But given the severity of his trauma and coma level, the odds were slim.” He added, “I’m not sure if his waking up is a bona fide miracle, but it’s as close as it gets.”
Others, however, are convinced. “Of course it’s a miracle,” claimed Richard Rossi, one of several people who had earlier flocked to Kashian’s bedside. “He remained comatose for 3 months. Then on Good Friday he speaks the words of Jesus in Aramaic and wakes up on Easter. If that’s not a sign the Lord’s working through him, I don’t know what is.…”
Kashian gained notoriety three days before his emergence when he allegedly recited passages in the ancient language. According to Arthur Avedisian, Harvard professor of Near Eastern languages, his recorded words came from the Sermon on the Mount, a compilation of the sayings of Jesus from the biblical Book of Matthew.…
Although dialects of Aramaic are still spoken by a small number of speakers in the Middle East, it is not known how Kashian could have recalled those passages.…
Maggie stuffed the paper into her briefcase and headed up the elevator to the seventh-floor ward. He had woken up two days ago and had remained alert as the doctors made mental and physical assessments. But he had not been told about the religious fanatics crashing his room, claiming that God was speaking through him.
“He’s doing well,” said Dr. Andrew. “His cognitive functions look normal. We’ve done memory tests as well as verbal, analytical, and visual tests, and he passed them all with flying colors.”
“Thank you,” Maggie said. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all you and your staff have done.…” She trailed off, to keep from breaking down.
The doctor gave her a hug. “Of course, he’ll need physical therapy. The PT people were pretty vigorous keeping his muscles exercised. They’re setting up a schedule.”
Because of their efforts, rehab would be no more than a few weeks. And he could be released in a couple of days.
“We’d like to observe him a little more up here before sending him to PT.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Well, we’re not sure.”
Maggie’s heart froze. “What?”
“The MRI shows that he suffered some trauma to his parietal lobe. That’s the area associated with physical orientation. Usually, patients with posterior superior parietal injuries have some difficulty determining their spatial limits—where they end and the external world begins, so to speak. In preliminary tests, he seems fine. But we’d like to make sure he’s a hundred percent—that he can navigate on his own. We’ll be working in conjunction with PT, of course.”
“But you don’t see a problem.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“No, but we want to be certain there’s nothing we aren’t aware of. It’ll be only a few days.”
“Okay.” But she sensed something in the doctor’s hedging.
“I do have a question,” he said. “On the admittance form, it says Zack’s father had passed away. When was that?”
“Three years ago. Why?”
“Well, when he emerged from the coma, he looked at the aide and said, ‘Dad.’ Apparently he’d been dreaming about him when he woke up.”
“He told me. Is that a problem?” She tried not to sound defensive.
