Intervention sam-9

by Robin Cook

  “I have no idea,” Jack said, hoping his tone conveyed that he didn’t know or care.

  “She says she wants to trade. I do the ironing; she does the trash and the shoveling. Can you imagine?”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Jack said vaguely, refusing to be drawn into a discussion of marital difficulties. “What is your address again?” he asked, to change the subject.

  “Forty Morton Street. Do you remember how to get there?”

  “Vaguely,” Jack admitted. He took out a small pad and wrote down the address. “Okay.

  Unless my wife has other plans, I’ll be there at seven. And what about tomorrow? Are you guys planning to work? If you are and you don’t mind, I’d like to stop in and see how things are going.”

  “I’ll let you know what’s up. Sana might like to sleep in. As for me, I’m too psyched, so I’ll be here. Just as soon as I can I’ve got to know what Simon Magus has to say and see if he can redeem himself. I’ve always wondered if he’d just been a whipping boy. The first-century Church had been in such a disarray it needed someone to blame and there was poor Simon Magus and his wish to be a more effective healer, and of course his pals the Gnostics.”

  “You sure you can handle all this glass?” Jack asked again, as he backed away. He was eager to get home to see if he could clear the deck for the evening event, hoping just maybe to convince Laurie to take some time to get out of the house. He knew it was a long shot, but he was going to try just the same.

  “Sana and I will handle it fine,” Shawn said with a wave. “See you tonight.”

  “I hope,” Jack said, giving a thumbs-up sign. Feeling progressively nervous and rather guilty since it was now a little after noon, Jack jogged back to the main OCME building at 30th Street and First Avenue. Resisting heading up to his office, he merely grabbed his Trek, waved to security, and headed uptown.

  Once on his bike, he felt better knowing he’d be home in thirty minutes, where there would at least be a slight chance to assuage at bit of his guilt, provided he could get Laurie out of the house. Of course, if JJ was having a bad day, that probably wouldn’t happen, as Laurie would be reluctant to leave the poor child in Jack’s relatively incapable hands. Above and beyond the personal emotional issues, Jack admitted he was not a natural with sick children, as his rotation in pediatrics in third-year medical school had amply displayed.

  Jack’s mental state progressively improved as the weather was near perfect with a crystal-clear sapphirine sky and a temperature that had risen to be mild for New York in December. There was also a festive feeling in the air, as the city was alive with early Christmas shoppers hoping to beat the crowds.

  Jack’s route home took him past the Central Park Zoo, which was clogged with children and parents. Jack felt a sudden catch in his throat as he wondered if there would be a chance for him to enjoy such an outing with JJ. A little farther on, and coming abreast of a beautiful playground with a slide built of polished granite, Jack stopped for a minute to watch the children squealing, shrieking, and laughing. Their glee was infectious, and it almost brought a smile to Jack’s face, remembering his own exuberant childhood. But a moment later his thoughts were dominated by JJ’s neuroblastoma and the heavy question of which was going to triumph, the mystical power of JJ’s body to heal itself with the help of modern medicine if and when the medicine could be restarted, or the equally mysterious power of the DNA-driven neuroblastoma cells: a classic collision of right and wrong.

  Experiencing another, more powerful catch in his throat, Jack jumped back on his bike and pedaled furiously to clear his mind. Luckily, because of the springlike weather, he quickly found himself enveloped in a mob of other bikers, runners, in-line skaters, roller skaters, and mere walkers such that thinking was difficult to avoid running into someone.

  Jack exited the park at 106th Street. As he pedaled he could clearly see his house, which stood out sharply as the only one on the block that had been totally renovated. Then he caught a glimpse of something he wished he hadn’t: the sight of his neighbors warming up on the outdoor playground’s basketball court. Unable to resist, Jack jumped the curb and glided to a stop at the chain-link fence.

  As soon as Jack had come to a halt, one of the players sauntered over to him. His name was Warren Wilson, and he was by far the best player. Over the course of Jack’s years in the city living in the neighborhood, he and Jack had become the best of friends.

  “Hey, man, you coming out? I still got room for one.”

  “I’d love to,” Jack said, “but Laurie’s been cooped up in the house with JJ, and I’ve got to go and relieve her. You know what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah, I know. Catch you later, then.”

  Struggling with his conscience, Jack watched Warren rejoin the group. Reluctantly, he turned his bike and headed across the street, hoisting it onto his shoulder to carry it up the front stone steps.

  After unlocking the door, Jack poked his head in and listened. No crying. Carrying the bike inside, he placed it in its designated closet and started up the stairs.

  As Jack climbed the stairs he began to hear some telltale sounds from the kitchen. By the time he arrived there he assumed he would find the baby in the playpen and Laurie at the sink, as he had the previous evening. “Hello, dearest!” he called out, seeing Laurie out of the corner of his eye as he stepped over to take a peek at JJ in the playpen. At that point he did a double take, because JJ was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where’s the boy?” Jack questioned with mild concern, since the situation was so unique.

  “The little guy is sleeping,” Laurie announced with pleasure. “And since I had a reasonable night’s sleep last night, I thought I’d get a jump on dinner. It’s quite a luxury.”

  Some luxury, Jack thought but didn’t express. He walked directly up to her, got his two hands around her waist from behind, and directed her forcibly out of the kitchen, down the short hall, and into the family room. He made her sit on one of the love seats, which was upholstered in a bright-yellow-and-light-green-checked fabric. Jack took the seat opposite.

  “I need to talk,” Jack said in an authoritarian voice.

  “Okay,” Laurie said, looking at Jack askance. The situation seemed mildly out of character, and she didn’t know whether or not to be concerned. She couldn’t read Jack’s emotions, although she could sense he was not entirely himself. “Is everything all right at the office?”

  Jack hesitated a moment, not knowing where to start. He hadn’t given any thought to what he specifically wanted to say. Unfortunately for Laurie, every minute of silence on Jack’s part fanned her concerns about what he was struggling to bring up.

  “I need to ask you something,” Jack said. “Something that makes me feel quite guilty.” Laurie took in a sudden breath and felt her extremities go cold. “Wait!” she said with a touch of desperation, her mind reflexively drudging up the curious cell-phone-in-the-bathroom episode the night before. “If you are about to tell me you are having an affair, I don’t want to hear it. That’s something I cannot deal with! I’ve got about as much on my plate right now as I can handle, and sometimes I’m not even sure I’ve got what it takes to handle this much.” The words tumbled out in a rush of emotion as Laurie fought to avoid tears. Quickly, Jack leaped up to sit next to her. He put his arm around her shoulder.

  “I am absolutely not having an affair,” Jack said, shocked at the suggestion. “What I wanted to ask you is whether you would mind if I went out to dinner tonight with two college friends. One you’ve met, Shawn Daughtry.”

  “The archaeologist?” Laurie questioned with relief, as tears brimmed in her eyes. “The archaeologist with the fawning wife.”

  “Exactly,” Jack said. Stunned by Laurie’s idea that he might be having an affair, his mind went to his promise to James. He’d sworn not to mention the possibility of finding the bones of the Virgin Mary, not about the existence of the ossuary itself. There’d been no concern about letting Alex Jaszek in on the ex
istence of the relic. Jack wanted something significant to share with Laurie to totally eliminate her concern about his having an affair.

  “Last night I told you that I was giving up on my crusade about alternative medicine, even though I’m in sorry need of a diversion. Well, as luck would have it, a diversion has literally dropped into my lap.”

  “Wonderful,” Laurie said, still struggling to recover her composure. “I’m glad to hear it.

  What is it?”

  Jack told the story about the ossuary from the beginning, and as he knew it would, it totally captivated and fascinated Laurie, even without the possible association with the Virgin Mary.

  “I had no idea you even knew the archbishop of New York,” Laurie said, truly shocked.

  “It was part of my old life which I’ve tried to forget,” Jack explained. “Actually I was surprised Shawn didn’t mention it when we had dinner with him and his wife.”

  “I wonder,” Laurie said. “But no matter. I just find it astonishing, as is the whole story of the ossuary and the scrolls. I can’t wait to hear more.”

  “I feel the same. As a diversion, I couldn’t have asked for anything more engaging. If I believed in a merciful God, I’d think it heaven-sent.” Jack smiled inwardly, realizing how true this really was.

  “I apologize for even thinking about you having an affair,” Laurie murmured. “I’m not myself these days.”

  “No need to apologize,” Jack said. “Neither of us are ourselves, me in particular.”

  “Of course you can go to dinner tonight,” Laurie said, “with my blessing.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said. “But it makes me feel more guilty than I already feel. Can you understand that?”

  “I do.”

  “And can you understand that I would prefer you were coming along,” Jack said, while suppressing the thought about wishing they’d not had the child, especially since it had required in vitro fertilization assistance.

  “Of course I can understand, and under different circumstances I would love to come, if not just to meet the archbishop.”

  “You’ll meet the archbishop,” Jack said. “Especially since he said he specifically is looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Now, with the dinner issue out of the way, there’s one more point I want to make. It’s a beautiful day, and since JJ is asleep, why don’t you head outside for a while for some air?”

  A broad smile spread across Laurie’s face. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m okay.”

  “Oh, come on. You haven’t been out for days. The sun is out and it has warmed up considerably.”

  “Where would I go?” Laurie questioned with a shrug.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Jack encouraged. “Take a walk in the park, go Christmas shopping, visit your mother. Just enjoy some freedom.”

  “JJ will know I’m gone the second I walk out the door. I’ll be worried sick.”

  “You don’t have much confidence in me.”

  “As a pediatrician? No, I don’t. Look, I feel lucky to be able to be home with JJ full-time. It would be a lot tougher if I had to go back to work and entrust his care to someone else. Think of it more like that. You are making it possible for me to do what I want to do, rather than me being stuck.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “I do. It’s not easy right now, but we’ll be able to start treatment again soon. And the more effort I make, the more confident I am about the ultimate outcome.”

  “Okay,” Jack said. He wished he shared her optimism. Giving her a squeeze, he got to his feet and walked to the window. Warren and the others were in the midst of their first game, running up and down the basketball court.

  “I think I’ll head out for a little b-ball,” Jack said.

  “Good idea, provided you don’t get hurt,” Laurie said. “I’d rather not have another patient in the house.”

  “I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Jack said before heading upstairs to change.

  23

  6:30 P.M., SATURDAY, DECEMBER 6, 2008

  NEW YORK CITY

  James had Father Maloney bring James’s beloved Range Rover around from the garage and park it momentarily on the 51st Street side of the residence. A 1995 model, it was hardly a new car, but to James it represented freedom. In the fall and winter months, he used the car to drive to Morris County, New Jersey, to a small lake called Green Pond to spend random solitary weekends at his cottage. It was a heavenly sanctuary from the weekly blur of his endless official responsibilities.

  James climbed up into the driver’s seat, heading west, then south along the Hudson River on the West Side Highway.

  The drive was scenic, and he allowed himself to relax and think about the upcoming evening, which he hoped would not be quite as ghastly as he’d originally feared, especially with Jack present. His mind also drifted back to his major problem: how to talk Shawn out of publishing anything about the possibility the bones in the ossuary belonged to the Blessed Virgin. He shuddered anew at the thought of the consequences if he were unsuccessful. With the Church still reeling from loss of clerical authority due to the molestation crisis, the news would be devastating to the Church. It would be crushing to him personally as he believed the Holy See would be forced to sacrifice him as a scapegoat, thanks to Shawn’s machinations. With a profound sense of sadness, James found himself reminiscing over his journey of achieving his current position and his hopes for higher office.

  James sighed as he wistfully recalled all the twists and turns of his career and now its possible end at the hands of a friend. It seemed the ultimate betrayal, a thought that suddenly gave him an idea. He realized it was the personal angle that would most likely affect Shawn’s decision to publish. James was well aware of Shawn’s negative attitude toward organized religion, such that any appeal in that arena would fall on deaf ears.

  James was also aware that Shawn was not particularly moral, but he was definitely a com mited friend. With a modicum of new optimism, James decided that his approach with Shawn was going to emphasize that his actions would injure him, James, and more or less downplay what they might do for the Church in general and its laity.

  James exited the highway into the West Village and made his way to Morton Street, taking the first parking place he found. As an admittedly poor parallel parker, it took him ten minutes to get the Range Rover into the spot, and even though it ended up two feet away from the curb, he considered it parked well enough.

  Five minutes later James turned into the walkway that led to the Daughtrys’ wood-frame house and stopped. He’d visited before but had forgotten how charming it was. Nothing about it was square or plumb for its entire four floors. All the window frames and even the front-door casing were leaning slightly to the right, suggesting that if the door was inadvertently slammed shut, the entire building might fall to the right against its more solid-appearing brick neighbor. The clapboard siding was stained a light gray, while the trim was painted a pale yellow. The roof, although hard to see except for just the corners of the fourth-floor dormers, was a medium-gray slate. The front door with several bottle-bottom windows was dark green, almost the same color as James’s Range Rover. In the middle of the door was a brass door knocker in the shape of a human hand holding a ball. Just to the left of the door was a sign that said CAPTAIN HORATIO FROBER

  HOUSE, 1784.

  James found himself inwardly smiling. He recognized it was just the kind of off-the-wall residence Shawn would choose. There was no doubt Shawn liked to stand out from the rest of the crowd, a thought that gave James another idea. Perhaps he could arrange to have Shawn given some kind of high award if he promised not to publish anything about the Blessed Virgin’s relics, something like being inducted as a modern Knight of Malta.

  With the comforting sense of having come up with something of a plan, even if of dubious efficacy, James reached up and used the brass knocker to announce himself with a few healthy clangs against its brass base. After doing so he cringed, r
emembering the entire house’s precarious lean to the right.

  Within seconds the door was yanked open by a euphoric Shawn with a scotch on the rocks in one hand and a smile to beat the band on his face. “The guest of honor has arrived!” he shouted over his shoulder back into the house from whence a most delightful aroma of grilled meat wafted. A Beethoven piano concerto was playing as background music. Both Sana and Jack materialized out of the smoky, candlelit background on either side of Shawn. There was a buzz of voices, hugs, and slaps on the back as James was welcomed into the living room. A small fire was comfortably crackling in the fieldstone fireplace behind an appropriate-size screen.

  “My word,” James said, pressing a palm against his chest in a gesture of being overwhelmed. “I’d forgotten how very cozy you have it. My highest compliment is that it out-cozies, if that’s a word, my lakeside retreat in Jersey.”

  “Well, sit down and enjoy, birthday boy!” Shawn said, guiding James gently by the elbow to a club chair and hassock situated just to the side of the fireplace. The light from both the fireplace and the candles made his chronically red cheeks look almost like bruises. “What is your preference? We have a terrific vintage Pétrus that’s been breathing for several hours or your usual favorite, single-malt scotch.”

  “My word,” James repeated, taken aback. Such extravagance immediately caused him concern about a possible breakthrough with the ossuary. “Pétrus! This is a celebration!”

  “You bet your life it is!” Shawn confirmed. “What will it be?”

  “Pétrus is a rare pleasure, and provided I’m not taking it away from dinner, I would love a glass.”

  “No problem, old friend,” Shawn said, scuttling off after Sana to the kitchen.

  Suddenly becalmed after the tsunami of the welcome, James and Jack exchanged glances. “Thank you for coming,” James said pianissimo. “Although I really need to be here to start my campaign, I’m not sure I would have been able to force myself without your presence.”