Angelino's eyes remained closed, his composure calm, as he moved his hands and placed them both gently upon Susan's face. He breathed deeply and exhaled slowly. Ray felt a dreamlike disorientation, confronted with an experience totally outside the realm of what he believed to be the limits of possibility as the cuts and bruises on her face began to slowly fade away. After a moment, other than the bandages, which no longer served a purpose, there was no trace of any injury or trauma. Ray felt dizzy, and leaned against Angelino's chair to steady himself.
At that instant, Susan's eyes opened and immediately fell upon the kindly face of Father Angelino.
"Welcome back, my dear,” he smiled at her.
"Father Angelino?” She struggled to sit up, but her bandages restrained her efforts.
"Yes, Ms. Morgan. It's me. Lie still, please. You are still very weak."
"Where am I...? What happened...? Why are you here?” She then noticed Ray, who had not yet regained enough composure to close his gaping jaw. “Ray! What are you doing here? Where am I?"
Angelino patted her hand gently. “Shh. Remain calm. You have just returned from a very special journey."
She sank back onto the pillow. “Yes. I remember now.” Then the full memory of what had happened returned. Excitedly, she said, “Father Angelino. They forced me off the road. They drove up behind me and pushed my car.” Her agitation grew. “Why? Why did they do that?"
Ray was beginning to recover from the shock. “Father Angelino, how...? Wha...?” was all he could manage to sputter.
Angelino's eyes twinkled as he said to Susan, “Has he always been this articulate?"
At that moment, Doctor Mancini and Nurse Masia came running into the room. “What is going on?” Mancini demanded. “Who are you? Who let you in here?” he said to Angelino. Angelino pointed to Susan. Only then did Doctor Mancini become aware that a fully recovered Susan Morgan lay before him. “What the hell?"
"Your patient seems to be doing much better, Doctor Mancini,” Angelino smiled.
Ray was about to blurt out what had just happened, but he was silenced by a sharp glance from Angelino, accompanied by a slight shake of his head.
"I don't believe this,” Mancini said softly.
"Doctor Mancini,” Angelino said gently. “One must never underestimate the power of miracles. They occur much less frequently when you believe them to be impossible. And if you are not willing to believe in them, why should your patients?"
Doctor Mancini barely heard him. Already, he was beginning an examination of Susan. “This is incredible. In all my years of medicine, I have never seen a recovery as remarkable as this.” He looked over the printout of the life support system, listened to her heartbeat, took her blood pressure, and poked and prodded what had once been broken bones and bruised muscle tissue. Thirty minutes later he pronounced her completely recovered. It was impossible but this young woman who had been facing certain death ... who had indeed actually died, as the printout revealed ... showed absolutely no trace of the injuries Doctor Mancini had been absolutely positive would claim her life.
"I would like you to remain so I can conduct a few more tests, Ms. Morgan.” Susan looked to Angelino, who nodded his approval. To have resisted this perfectly reasonable request might have aroused suspicion.
"OK, Doctor, if you think it is best. But I assure you, I feel perfectly fine."
"Yes, Ms. Morgan. My examination shows that you should feel just fine. What I don't understand is how?"
"When can I leave here?"
"I think we can have you out of here in a couple days."
"A couple days?” she protested.
Father Angelino intervened. “Ms. Morgan. It's OK. I will come back and visit you tomorrow. We have much to talk about."
"You can say that again, Father Angelino,” she answered.
"Now, I must ask you both to leave.” Doctor Mancini was once more in command, taking on the authoritative demeanor of the physician he was.
"Come, Mr. Cutler,” Angelino said to Ray, leading him out of the room. “Let us leave the good doctor to do his job."
Ray, still obviously dazed, could only nod his head in agreement.
* * * *
"REFILL YOUR COFFEE, sir?"
Steven Hamilton placed his hand over his cup. “No thank you. Maybe in a bit. I'm waiting for someone.” Yesterday's session with the congressional committee was still churning over in his mind. You didn't have to be a rocket scientist, or a geneticist, he mused to himself, to see the writing on the wall. Congress was determined to stop their research. An oppressive anger boiled up inside him. How dare they presume to control this technology! He took a deep breath. No sense in giving himself a stroke, he thought. Maybe David still had some pull in Washington.
Warrenger walked into the restaurant, looked around, and spotted Steven. He walked over and sat in the booth across the table from him. It was only then that Steven looked up from the table, his thoughts interrupted.
"Hi, David.” He felt he should have more to say, but he was too drained to come up with anything intelligent.
Warrenger let out a long sigh. “They beat us up pretty badly yesterday, Steven. How are you holding up?"
"I'm OK. How about you?"
"I've been better."
The waitress appeared once again. “Can I get you something to drink, sir?” she said to Warrenger.
"Yeah. Some tea, please."
"Would you like to see some menus?"
Warrenger nodded and accepted the menu from the waitress. Steven absentmindedly took one too, although neither was hungry."
"I guess I'll take that coffee refill now, too, please,” Steven said.
"I'll be back in a few minutes to take your order."
They both sat silently for a while, sharing an unspoken understanding that years of research was suddenly coming to an unceremonious end.
"How can they do it, David? I don't mean that they don't have the power, but what gives them the right to do it?
"Steven, when you have the power, it gives you the right."
"Dammit. Don't they understand what they are doing?"
"I think they know exactly what they are doing. They are pandering to fear. It's what politicians do best, next to spending other people's money, that is. That's their real talent."
Steven managed to smile wryly at that remark. “God knows they've spent enough of your money."
"Tell me about it."
Again, they sat in silence. It was interrupted by the waitress again. She placed Warrenger's tea in front of him and chirped, “Have you decided yet, or do you need more time?"
"I think I'm just going to stick with tea this morning,” Warrenger said politely.
"Nothing for me either, thank you,” Steven said, handing the menu back to the waitress.
"OK. Just let me know if I can get you anything else,” she smiled and left them alone in their melancholy.
"What are you going to do with the lab, David?"
"I'm not sure yet. Let's wait and see what Congress decides. It's possible that they may allow us to continue our research in a limited fashion."
"What does that mean ... limited fashion? How do you limit discovery? How do you say to nature, ‘Please, reveal to me your secrets, just not too many today. My government doesn't allow truth in large doses'?"
Warrenger just shrugged. “I don't know, Steven."
Steven noticed an old woman sitting in a booth across the aisle from theirs. She was studying him intently. He nodded at her in acknowledgment. Her stare grew cold. Then she got up and stepped over to their booth.
"You're one of those goddamned freak scientists, aren't you? I saw you on TV yesterday,” she said to him, a little too loudly.
"Excuse me?"
"Yep. You're him all right. If you ask me, you should be shot. Who do you think you are, playing God like that?"
Steven glanced up and noticed that virtually everyone in the restaurant was watching them. Christ. I really need t
his.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, ma'am,” he said, attempting cordiality.
"Yeah, I'll just bet you're sorry. What the hell do you care if you unleash a bunch of monstrous clones on us? What gives you scientists the right to poke around in things we aren't meant to know?"
This was not an argument he could win. Steven attempted to just ignore the woman, returning to sipping his coffee.
"Didn't you hear me?” The woman was standing directly over him now. Her face was contorted by a hateful sneer, which combined with the lines of aging to create an image of ugliness. “I asked you a question."
The disturbance had managed to alert the restaurant manager and he stepped in, attempting to steer the woman away from their table as tactfully as possible. She broke free of him and continued her harangue. “I asked you a question. What gives you the right?” She was practically screaming now. Steven knew she would not stop until she was either escorted from the restaurant or he responded with something.
"Ma'am, I guess I always figured that having a thinking mind gave one the right to use it to ask and answer questions.” He knew it was a lame answer, but he was not exactly in his best forensic form at the moment. “I'm sorry if you do not agree."
She was about to say something else, when an elderly gentleman, who Steven guessed was her husband, intervened and said gently to her, “Martha ... please. Let's finish our breakfast."
Her husband seemed to calm her a bit, but not so much that she couldn't snort a parting sneer, “Scientists! Hmmmf. Who needs ‘em?” She returned to her seat, apparently satisfied she had won her battle on behalf of whatever god she worshiped.
Many in the restaurant, who had not recognized or noticed them earlier, were now made aware of their presence, and many were pointing in their direction and commenting among themselves excitedly.
"Well,” Warrenger said with a shrug, “there's your ‘voice of the people.’ You can bet there are more where she came from."
Steven could only comment with resignation. “I guess this is my fifteen minutes of fame, David. It's not exactly what I expected."
* * * *
SUSAN STIRRED FROM an active, yet somehow restful sleep, vaguely aware of a familiar presence in the hospital room. Over the past twenty-four hours she had been gradually recalling events. Why didn't the doctor and Ray believe her? They had told her she had lost consciousness, had been in a coma. But they were wrong. Well, not entirely wrong. She had been in a state of disorientation and confusion, peripherally aware of the actions of the rescue team to extract her from her mangled automobile, the helicopter ride to the hospital, the arrival of Ray—how kind he had been at her bedside, she smiled to herself—and then of being swiftly swept down a long, bright tunnel into a place of profound peacefulness ... a place of indescribable sublimity ... how Father Angelino had appeared to her, taken her hand, and gently guided her back through the tunnel into a familiar darkness to which she did not want to return. But her trust in Angelino had caused her to simply follow him back faithfully ... back to ... where...? from ... where?
"Ms. Morgan. Did I disturb your sleep?” It was the gentle voice of Angelino, who emerged from the shadows at the far corner of the room.
"Father Angelino!” she said happily.
Angelino put his finger to his lips, cautioning her to keep her voice low. “Forgive me for intruding at such an inconvenient hour, but more than ever, I must remain cautious, as you must as well, my dear. By now, they will know of their failure to eliminate you, and they will return to finish what they started."
"I know,” she said quietly. “I know I should be frightened, and yet I am not. Why is that, Father?"
"Fear is the absence of knowledge. Although you are not aware of it ... yet ... you have a knowledge that you previously did not have."
"I don't understand."
"You will, in time, my dear."
"It is strange, Father. Is it possible to feel both clarity and confusion at the same time? That's exactly how I feel."
"You are always quite gifted at answering your own questions,” Angelino's eyes twinkled.
Susan sank back in her bed, suddenly sad.
"What is it?"
"I have failed you, Father Angelino."
This seemed to sincerely surprise him. “What? How can you say such a thing?"
"The tape, Father. It is destroyed."
"I see,” he said kindly. “But the tape is not lost."
"What? Of course it is. Ray told me the car was totally destroyed ... and everything in it."
"Ms. Morgan, think. Did you not tell me that you uploaded the video to your station?"
Her face lit up. “Yes! My goodness, I had forgotten all about that.” She started to get out of bed, energized by the realization. “We have to tell Ray. We have to get that tape broadcast."
Angelino placed his hands on her shoulders and gently eased her back down onto the bed. “Easy. You and I have another mission we must accomplish first."
"Another mission?"
"Yes, we are taking you home."
"Father Angelino, no! I can't go back to the hotel. They are sure to be watching for me there."
"No, Ms. Morgan. I mean, home ... back to America."
Chapter 6
THE HEADLINE OF the newspaper that littered Steven Hamilton's desk read “CLONE BILL PASSES IN LANDSLIDE.” The radio playing in the background echoed the news. “The House of Representatives, by a vote of 369 to 55, voted to pass the Archer-Frampton anti-cloning bill today. The Senate passed the bill by a 67 to 33 margin last week. Thus the bill, which makes the cloning of any higher animal form including human beings, illegal, goes to President Crowley for his expected signature early next week."
Steven clicked the radio off and sat back in his chair. Most of his stuff was packed up in boxes. Gracie and Lucy and their “offspring” had been sent to separate zoos around the country. Their locations had been withheld from him for reasons of “national security.” Well, this is the end of the road. There was a light knock on his door. John Barber stuck his head in.
"Steven, okay if I come in?"
"Of course, John.
John entered and looked around. “This really sucks, Steven. All that time we've invested and for what?"
Steven sighed heavily. “Yes. It sure seems like a total waste. I hear David found a position for you at INTELINC.” John nodded. “That's good. I'm glad for you."
"Yeah, but it won't be like this. Dammit! We were on the threshold of something big, of really being able to make a difference, and a bunch of stupid Washington bureaucrats get on their high horses. They are condemning their own descendants to disease and death by their goddamn arrogance."
Steven didn't respond. What can I say?
John continued. “They behaved like a bunch of ... of ... of ... superstitious old women. What fucking cowards they are."
Steven threw his colleague a look that stopped him. Both of them had endured this same tirade countless times. There was nothing to be gained by further repetition.
"I'm sorry, Steven."
He waved his hand in acknowledgment of the apology.
"Well, I guess I'd better get going. I have an early plane to catch. Can I give you a lift home?"
"No, I'm going to finish a few things here. You go ahead.” He stood up and extended his hand to his ex-partner, who took it immediately. “Good luck, John. It's been an honor working with you."
"Same here, Steven. You take care."
"I will. Have a good flight,” he said, as John walked out the door.
As the door closed behind him, Steven sat back down in his chair. The only light in the room was a small table lamp on his desk. He put his feet up on his desk and closed his eyes. So this is what the end of a career feels like.
"Good evening, Doctor Hamilton.” The voice coming out of the darkness of the lab startled him. His feet fell from his desk, nearly throwing him on the floor.
"Who's there?” he said to the two shado
wy figures emerging from the dark shadows.
"Doctor Hamilton, you may call me Angelino. I am here to ask for your help."
Angelino stepped into the light. Beside him stood the figure of a young woman. “Who is that with you?"
"Forgive my bad manners, Doctor Hamilton. This is my...” he paused, searching for the appropriate word, “...associate, Susan Morgan."
Steven's eyes lit up in recognition. “Yes. I know you. You're the reporter from NBS aren't you?"
"Yes, Doctor Hamilton. It is an honor to meet you. I'm sorry for your misfortune."
"How did you get in here?” He was gathering his wits rapidly. “This is a secure facility."
They ignored his question. “Doctor Hamilton,” Angelino said gravely. “We are here on a very serious matter requiring your unique knowledge."
Steven studied the two figures before him intently. The one who called himself Angelino was dressed in a robe-like garment, which he assumed to be of religious design. A priest perhaps. The young woman was dressed in a black pantsuit which hugged her curves suggestively, yet not too tightly. What do a priest and a television reporter want with me? “What is it that you want? I'm not giving any more interviews."
"Please sit down.” Angelino gestured toward Steven's chair. “What we have to show you and ask of you will shock you."
His curiosity overpowering his concern, Steven obediently slipped into his chair. Angelino produced a squarish bundle bound by a string. The bundle was some sort of cloth, folded and tied. “I want to show you something,” Angelino said. He untied the strings holding the bundle in place and removed the outer cloth, which served as a protective covering for the folded cloth within it. Angelino laid the cloth on the floor and proceeded to unfold it.
"Do you know what this is, Doctor Hamilton?” Angelino asked, when he had finished unfolding the cloth.
Steven's eyes grew large. “Isn't that the Shroud of Turin?” he gasped, rising from his chair. “It was you who stole it!"
"'Stole’ is such a ... legal word,” Angelino eyes twinkled. “I have no intention of keeping it. But I require it for a time in order to bring it to you for your help. Once you have agreed to help us, the Shroud will no longer be relevant."
Shrouded Destiny Page 10
