"I-I guess not. I can't remember anything."
Guido pulled a chair over by the bed. "They found you outside, lying in the grass. Does that bring anything back to mind?"
Michelle dropped back on the pillow. "In the grass? What was I doing on the ground?"
"There was an explosion. An extremely loud noise. Remember?"
"Explosions frighten me. Actually, they leave me terrified, but I don't remember hearing one."
"A bomb went off under your offices."
"Oh, no! No!"
"Yes, no one is sure why you weren't in the house, but it appeared you were going to your car. Maybe you were leaving."
"Wait! Jack . . . Jack . . . and Dov were in the building?"
"I am afraid so."
"God help us!" Michelle shrieked. "What happened to Jack?"
"The firemen believe the conference table collapsed in front of him and shielded him from the blast. The table probably saved his life."
"He's hurt!" Michelle pushed herself up fully in the bed. "Tell me now, Guido! How badly?"
"Jack is down the hall in Intensive Care, but he is alive."
Michelle felt her heart skip a beat and then beat intensely. A light-headedness settled in and she gasped for air. "H-how b-bad is he?"
"I don't know, but for now they are not letting anybody in to see him."
"Heaven help us!" Michelle could only barely moan. "I-I must see him."
"I'm sorry, but they won't let you in until tomorrow. Moreover, you haven't been out of bed all day. It would take a nurse to help you with a wheelchair."
Michelle clutched the sheets tightly in her fist. "My husband is my life. Do you understand? We are inseparable. I have to be with him."
"I can only tell you what the doctors have told me. It won't be until tomorrow at the earliest."
Michelle wiped her eyes. "Oh, my poor husband." She stopped. "And Dov? Is Dov . . ."
Guido took a deep breath and looked away.
"Tell me!" Michelle demanded.
"Apparently, Dov was standing right over the area where the bomb went off. He never felt a thing."
"H-he's g-gone?" The words barely came out of Michelle's mouth. "Gone?"
Guido nodded his head.
For a moment she couldn't speak. Then she felt emotion arising from within and coming on like an unstoppable freight train. The very depths of her affection and concern erupted in hysterical sobs. Her body shook and her hands trembled. Only after several minutes could she stop crying and lay quietly on the bed.
"Dov is gone," Michelle finally said. "I just can't believe it."
"There is no way that I can express the depth of my condolences," Guido said. "Please know that I am here to walk beside you. You and your husband are not alone."
Michelle nodded her head. "Thank you, friend." She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Please watch over our offices. Possibly you can check to see if anything remains from our research. We had papers and books around the office with important notes in them."
"I will do so in the morning," Guido said. "Is there anything more that I can do for you tonight."
"Thank you. I needed to know what happened and you told me. Thank you for that information as well."
Guido stood up. "I will return in the morning. You remain in our prayers."
"I appreciate the remembrance so much. Pray for Jack. Thank you again for coming."
Guido bowed at the waist, turned and walked out.
Michelle laid back on the pillow. Their offices blown away? How could such a thing happen? And Dov killed? The thought overwhelmed her once again and she cried bitter tears.
She had been wrong about Dov Sharon, terribly wrong. And, now she knew how seriously she had misjudged him. Jack had been right all the time. Realizing how seriously she had misjudged him only added to the weight of his death. Michelle wept into her pillow. How could so much have gone so wrong?
25
Michelle slept later than she expected, but as soon as the nurses came in and helped her to the shower, she was ready to see her husband. The nurse left a terry cloth robe behind for her to put on. No amount of hesitation on the hospital's part would keep her from entering the intensive care unit today.
Someone knocked on the door.
"Just a moment." Michelle finished tying the robe around her and sat down slowly on the bed. "Come in."
The door opened slowly. "Excuse me," a skinny man in a worn sport coat said. "I'm Alfredo Pino, a detective with the police. Might I come in."
"Certainly."
"Mrs. Townsend?"
"Yes."
"We are trying to understand what happened when your offices were blown apart," Pino began and handed her his card. "I guess you know a bomb exploded?"
"That's what I've been told," Michelle studied the card for a moment. "I'm sorry, but I received a concussion. It's hard for me to remember much of anything today.
Pino pulled out a small notebook. "Yes." He scribbled on the page. "I understand that you are Bible scholars. Can you tell me why anyone would want to bomb the offices of such studious people as yourselves?"
Michelle shook her head. "It doesn't make any sense. No. We're about as straight as it's possible to be. No. I don't have any idea why this would have occurred."
"Yes, it is strange," Alfredo Pino said. "You've never been involved in any form of illegal trafficking?"
"Heavens no! What are you suggesting?"
"My job is simply to ask questions," the detective said. "I'm sure I have bothered you long enough. I will be going. The best to you Mrs. Townsend." The skinny detective left the room.
Moments later the door opened again and a nurse wheeled in a chair. "I imagine you are more than ready to see your husband. I believe we can go now."
"I feel like I can walk down the hall by myself," she told the nurse.
"That's good," the older woman said, "but we can't risk falling."
"A wheelchair is a must?"
"We will definitely use one," the nurse said. "I will go with you. Once we're inside intensive care, you can stand alone, but you must remember in your condition you can become dizzy. Take it easy."
"Sure. How's my husband this morning?"
"I don't know because I don't work on that unit." The hesitation in her voice suggested that she did know and the problem was serious.
"You know he's in bad condition?" Michelle pressed.
"Your husband was in a horrific explosion. The fact that he is alive is significant. I must leave it there."
"But you know what injuries he received?"
"I know his arm is broken, and he has facial contusions." The nurse stopped. "You really need to talk with the doctor attending him. I can't say anymore."
"Certainly." Michelle lowered herself carefully into the wheelchair and adjusted her feet on the rests at the bottom. "I'm ready."
The trip down the long hall turned into a much longer trek than she had expected. After turning several corners and going a significant distance, she found the swinging doors beneath the Intensive Care sign.
"Let's go in," Michelle urged.
"It's not visiting hours, but the staff felt your visit might be important for your husband," the nurse said. "We'll enter now."
"Thank you," Michelle said. "I'm anxious to see Jack."
The nurse pressed the button on the wall and the doors swung open. Cubicles lined the walls around the large room. An antiseptic smell drifted down the corridor and made the area smell sterile. Very little noise drifted in, and the staff seemed to be functioning in an effective, expeditious manner. The nurse pushed her toward a nook with the number six above the cloth drapery.
"You can go in by yourself," the nurse said. "I'll be here waiting."
Michelle hesitantly pulled the curtain back and stopped. A plaster cast ran from Jack's wrist to his shoulder. Bandages covered most of his face with red seepage along the side of his chin. She only saw one eye still closed, the other was covered by bandages. A thi
ck bandage covered the top of his chest with plastic tubes running down the side to bags on the rail. A bag of glucose hung from a rack, dripping into a needle in his good arm now tied to the bed. Michelle felt her knees buckle and thought she might faint.
"I'm here," the nurse said. "Don't worry. I'll catch you. Maybe, you should sit down."
"Definitely."
After a couple of minutes, Michelle felt her stamina returning and stood up slowly. Tenuously, she leaned over the bed. A closer look at Jack didn't encourage her. He remained in a coma, and she could tell his breathing was labored. Nothing looked good.
"Jack?"
He didn't move.
"Jack, it's Michelle." She squeezed his hand.
No movement.
"Jack, I'm here with you."
His breathing continued in an interrupted steady pumping of his chest up and down. Slowly. Struggling. Suffering.
"Jack?"
No sound.
Michelle withdrew from his bedside and looked at the machines around his body monitoring his heart, breathing, and vital signs. A quick glance said the pattern was regular on the low side. She gestured for the nurse to follow her outside the drapery.
"Jack's in serious condition," Michelle said.
The nurse nodded.
"Will he live?" Michelle asked with a firmness in her voice that conveyed she wanted a straight answer.
"No one can say for sure right now," the nurse said soberly. "Obviously, the blast was substantial. The next twenty-four hours is crucial." The woman looked Michelle in the eye. "Jack won't be conscious for a period of time."
Michelle sat down in the wheelchair. "Please take me back to my room," she said. "I need to rest." She closed her eyes and held her face in her hands.
Michelle could feel the tension building as the nurse wheeled her down the hall. Never in a million years would she have imagined her husband dying. Even the hint of such an idea overwhelmed her and started pumping wild emotions through her mind. The longer it took to get to the room, the more anxious she became. An avalanche of hysteria seemed ready to roll down on her, compounded by the absolute terror that Jack might die.
Once inside her room, she insisted she be allowed to sit alone in a chair. The nurse rolled the wheelchair out the door and left. Her knees turned wobbly once more. Flashing visions of the city of Cerignola blipped through her mind. Michelle could feel her emotions shifting and becoming like a child's descending into the darkness of a stormy night. A speeding gasoline truck surged toward her and the room began to shake. The side of the chair started to lift. For an instant, her father's face came out of the darkness and then receded. Her mouth turned dry and her hands became sweaty. A roaring noise erupted in her ears and drops of sweat slowly ran down her cheeks. Her entire body felt clammy and the muscles in her arms became rigid. She was about to be swallowed.
With the deepest breath she could take, Michelle grabbed the chair and clung fiercely. Another thought arose beyond the landslide of fear. She, and she alone, was all they had left at this moment. Jack couldn't do anything for who knows how long, if ever. No matter how difficult it might be, she couldn't allow her childhood experience to control her life. Even if the memory of the car collision had worked its way into the fiber of her very being, she couldn't let it take over her life. The hallucinations had to stop, and that wouldn't be easy. When the trauma surged, it always began in her body before she even grasped it was coming. Michelle had no idea how to control what occurred physically within her, but she couldn't let anxiety win. It might take everything in her, but she would no longer be ruled by the fears from the past. Loud noises, banging, gunshots couldn't be allowed to dominate. Whether she liked it or not, she would have to take control of their eruptions and keep their project moving while Jack recovered . . . if Jack recovered.
26
A cold wind blew down from the top of santa Maria Church sweeping rubbish across the back yard of the church. Workmen had already been separating debris from the foundation of the bomb-scattered house. A few people hung around watching the workers sift through the devastation. Guido Valentino stood on the sidelines talking to a detective and observing several men stacking the ruins of the bombed house in a pile to one side. Windows had been completely blown out and the roof cratered with shingles blasted away. The front porch had sunken and the door completely disintegrated.
"Strange about bombings," detective Alfredo Pino made casual conversation. "They don't explode in a consistent direction. Some of the house was blown away while other parts remained surprisingly intact. I guess the one guy was standing right over the bomb when it went off. Got hit straight on. Horrible." The detective shook his head. "Worst I've ever seen."
"Why would someone bomb these people?" Guido pressed.
"Doesn't make any sense," Pino said. "They're not political. I guess the fact they were Americans with a Jew working for them might be part of it. Just don't know what to think. Confounds me. Everyone is speculating that this group called The Scorpion set it off. Seems they don't like Americans." The detective shook his head. "Bizarre. Don't see any connections between those two explosions, but they might be related."
"I work with the Townsends and, of course, wasn't in the office," Guido said. "I can't see any reason for any of this destruction either. The Townsends have been the best people I've ever been around. Yet, I can't believe this was a random act."
"Like that subway explosion. No good explanation."
Guido noticed a well-dressed figure walking around from the side of the church. The man stayed bent over as if desperately searching for something. Wearing elegant clothes, the man looked completely misplaced wandering through the rubble. Swaggering into the rubble, he started kicking boards around as if he owned the place.
"Who is that guy?" Guido pointed at the figure. "Strange-looking fellow."
"I don't know," Pino said.
"Looks like he's trying to ransack the wreckage." Guido watched him more closely. "I've been around here working with the Townsends for several weeks, and I've never seen the likes of him. He's not somebody you'd forget."
"He's picking up pieces of paper and books," the detective said. "Might be some sort of hack trying to find materials he can sell to a secondhand bookstore. We can't have any of that monkey business." Alfredo Pino started stepping over pieces of board to get to the man.
Guido followed from behind, watching closely.
"What's going on here?" the detective demanded. "Do you have any identification?"
Pushing a few strands of his blond hair aside, the man looked at Guido and the officer suspiciously.
"Why are you asking?" He sat the books down and looked harshly at them.
"I ask the questions," Pino fired back. "If you don't have identification, you will be charged with trespassing as well as stealing and taken into custody."
"I work with the Townsends," the man said indignantly. "I am a PhD from Tübingen, Germany."
"Let's see your paper," Pino said impatiently. "I won't ask again."
"My name is Dr. Albert Stein." He reached for his billfold. "When I heard of the explosion, I volunteered to be of assistance. Opening the billfold, he pulled out a driver's license. "I don't carry my passport when I am doing physical labor."
Guido looked over the policeman's shoulder. "I work with the Townsends," he said dogmatically. "I have never heard your name mentioned once. Not once! Can you explain that?"
Stein leaned forward, studying the face before him. "How long you been there?" he asked skeptically. "A matter of weeks?"
Guido flinched. "Not long," he said. "But I would have expected them to have mentioned you."
"Well, your expectations were wrong," Stein barked.
"Officer, I cannot vouch for this man. I'd suggest you take his information and send him on his way."
"You running the project now?" Stein sneered. "I also have a Permesso di Soggiorno for study purposes, but don't carry the papers on archaeological digs."
&n
bsp; Guido said nothing, but the detective was already copying the information down on his notepad.
"We don't allow anyone in at a crime scene," the officer said. "This certainly is not an archaeological site. You obviously didn't check in with us when you arrived. I'm not going to arrest you, but your information will be examined and better add up. I'd suggest you leave now."
Stein looked back and forth at the two men for a moment with a fierceness that left the impression he might bite one of them. Guido felt his fist tightening and had to force his fingers to relax.
Without saying a word, Stein stomped out of the wreckage and marched away down the path between the church and building next door. In a matter of moments, he was gone.
"Strange-looking individual," the officer said.
"More than strange," Guido said. "I have no idea who that character is, but he obviously was more than a little interested in whatever he could pick up.
Guido Valentino stayed throughout the day, observing the workmen, the detective, making sure nothing was carried away that might have value. Slowly, the wreckage of the broken walls and the dilapidated roof were pulled back. The house looked like it had been over a hundred years old with pieces of molding from around the ceilings that might have antique value. Beyond a few old remains, nothing else had any value. Computers and bookcases had been destroyed. By noon, a truck rolled in with a backhoe and started tearing down the rear of the house. The work went much faster, and the pile of splintered boards continued to grow higher.
The new priest who had been appointed to Santa Maria Church came and went several times, standing quietly watching, saying little. Guido introduced himself to Father Alberto Kajetan and told the priest the name of the hospital where he could find the Townsends. The priest assured him that he would visit this afternoon.
By mid-afternoon, a few shadows had started to fall across the ruins. The roof had been completely torn away, exposing the floor and a few remaining walls. An ugly jagged hole in the middle of the front office exposed the deadly spot where the bomb had gone off and Dov Sharon had been standing. No one said much when they walked around the hole that exposed the dirt beneath the house.
Shrouded In Silence Page 13