mankind ever. Can you appreciate that?”
“Probably not.”
“Well, who really can? But if subsequent tests are as encouraging, we have an obligation to share this with the world. Don’t you agree—to let the world know that science has confirmed the continuation of the spirit?”
Zack was beginning to feel uncomfortable. “I guess.”
“You guess? Zack, we’re talking about singular evidence for the existence of the afterlife and, by extension, the Lord God Almighty.”
Zack sensed a lecture coming.
“Zack, the Bible tells us that ‘faith is the assurance of things hoped for, a conviction of things not seen.’ But the reality is that for thousands of years people have believed in the Lord by putting faith not in things unseen, but in the trust of others, people who claim to know God—family, friends, ministers, priests, rabbis, imams—you name it. For Christians, it’s trust in the character and teachings of Jesus Christ.
“But that’s not the same as belief based on hard evidence. And that’s the bugaboo—the reason why faith is considered nonrational. And the heart of the age-old debates between science and religion. Also the reason why atheists rant against religion: There’s nothing to stand on but faith in the faithful.”
His face swelled. “But you’re changing all that. You’re giving us hard evidence that your mind transcended your body and passed through the tunnel into the realm of spirit.”
Zack saw himself crawl out of a sand pit in the middle of the night and end up on a sunlit sandbar. But he was dead certain that was some kind of hyperdream, the result of all the electrical and chemical juicing of his brain. “Okay,” he said to humor the guy.
Gladstone clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. After the introductory fanfare, I see video interviews of people proclaiming how their passage into God’s light changed their lives forever. One testimony after the next, all climaxing with footage of your own remarkable journey.”
Zack had forgotten about the release agreement on recording his suspensions.
“But videos alone can’t convey the enormity of the truth. I’m saying that I would like you to bear personal testimony before the GodLight congregation—nay, the world.”
“You mean you want me to go on your show?”
“Precisely, and I’d be honored to share the pulpit with you.”
Zack felt a prickly discomfort. Gladstone had invested millions of dollars to prove the existence of the afterlife and now wanted Zack as his pitchman. “But I’ve got nothing to tell.”
“Not just yet, but you will.” Then Gladstone took Zack’s arm, pushing his face so close that he could taste his bourbon fumes. “I’m just setting the stage.”
Zack didn’t like this at all. An alleged out-of-the-body experience, and Gladstone was setting him up to sell books, his ministry, and himself as the second coming. “I’ll think about it.”
“Fine, and remember that it’s more than a privilege. It’s a moral obligation to share our success with a world that’s suffered thousands of years of uncertain belief in things unseen.”
Zack made another noncommittal nod, thinking that the only unseen thing he believed in was the next thousand-dollar check.
“In the meantime, live in light, go in faith,” Gladstone said.
Zack walked away to join Sarah, thinking how he had heard those words before but couldn’t recall where. Nor did he bother to rummage for a connection because Sarah held another glass of champagne for him; and with her back to the afterglow of the sun and her emerald sheath hugging her like spring, she looked like a beatific vision.
46
The kid was climbing the social ladder. A two-hour stop-off at the Taj and a chauffeured limo. Roman never graduated from college, but even he knew that students didn’t meet with their professors in the fanciest hotel in town.
Nor did the kid strike him as a high roller. He had unremarkable clothes, lived in a university-owned apartment, and took his bike or public transportation everywhere.
Unless it was the foxy girlfriend. She had arrived separately but came out of the hotel with him, all decked out in shiny green. The Town Car was waiting for them. Maybe it was a wedding. Maybe some other kind of celebration. But it didn’t look like a date, coming separately like that.
Roman had parked just down Arlington Street, so he followed the Town Car for Storrow Drive and westward until it crossed over the Larz Anderson Bridge to Harvard Square. The limo pulled up in front of her place on Harvard Street, and the two of them got out and went into her three-decker.
Roman checked his BlackBerry for the time. Five hours of surveillance, and all he had learned was that the kid and the girl had attended some fancy event and then shacked up at her place.
Or maybe not.
47
Sarah’s apartment was on the second floor. They walked into the living room, which was done in white and beige with accents of color, and nothing was out of place. Against the bank of windows overlooking Harvard Street sat a deep, cushiony sofa with a coffee table supporting a vase of fresh tulips. Two white-and-gold lamps sat on end tables, filling the room with a warm glow. Across from the sofa were two white French chairs. On the opposite wall were posters of French cafe scenes. It looked like a space Sarah would occupy.
“How come your place looks like it was just attacked by
“Maybe because I was expecting company.”
“Tell me I’m it.”
She smiled. “Besides, you’re a guy.”
“And I’ve never been more grateful.”
On the fireplace mantel were photos of her parents and a graduation shot of her in cap and gown with a smiling Morris Stern beside her. He followed her into the kitchen, her sensuous body making the emerald sheath look liquid as she walked.
“Red or white?” She directed him to a small wine rack on top of the refrigerator.
He removed a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and opened it while she got the glasses from a cabinet. Then he filled the glasses and they clinked. “Lovely, dark, and deep.”
“The wine?”
“Your eyes.”
“You’re sweet.” She took his arm and walked him to the couch. “So, what did you think of Reverend Mr. Gladstone?”
Zack settled beside her. “Besides his capacity for wind, he seems to carry a lot of weight.”
“Without him, there’d be no lab.”
“He also believes he’s about to find the Promised Land.”
“I suppose that’s the televangelist in him.”
“Except he expects me to point the way,” Zack said. “Just what kind of NDEs does he hope for me to have?”
“I don’t think anything in particular.”
“I mean, I’ve been suspended four times, and all I can remember is crawling out of a sand hole and playing ball with my father, then following him into some woods. Not exactly a life review and angels of light.”
“Except each run yields new data about what goes on in NDEs.”
“That’s my point: if I had bona fide NDEs. I mean, I didn’t feel separated from my body, looking down at myself like a seagull. And I didn’t pass through any tunnels toward godlight.”
