by Alton Gansky
Angela shook her head.
“Well, the waters kept right on rising and the man drowned. Suddenly, he was standing before God and he was upset. He said, ‘I don’t understand, God. I had faith that You would save me. Why didn’t You save me from drowning?’ God answered, ‘I tried—three times!’ ”
Angela laughed, and Adam laughed with her. A moment later and in a solemn tone, Adam said, “Angela, you and your baby are on the roof and the water is rising. When you stand before God and He asks you why you let your baby die, what will you say? If you ask, ‘Why didn’t You save me,’ God will reply, ‘I tried, but you refused My help.’ ”
Angela’s eyes filled with tears.
“Angela,” Adam said. “Letting the doctors help you is not a sin. You need to be like Joseph in Egypt; let God pick how He will perform His miracles.”
The three objected again, but Adam held up his free hand. “And you three—what will you tell your God when He asks why you encouraged someone to die?”
“It is our faith,” the man said. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
Adam ignored him, and returned his attention to Angela. “Angela, you won’t be alone. If these folks leave you, then I’ll be here. I’ll visit you every day that you’re in the hospital. You won’t be abandoned, not by me. Angela, there is no reason for you and your baby to die. Choose life, Angela; choose life.”
Nodding her head in agreement, Angela burst into tears of relief. The three visitors silently left the room. Adam leaned over the bed and took the sobbing young woman in his arms and held her while she wept. Rachel stepped from the room and raced down the hall to find Dr. Abrams.
Rachel and Abrams returned a few moments later. Seeing Dr. Abrams enter the room, Angela wiped the tears from her eyes and said, “I’m ready, Doctor. But please call my husband.”
Stepping away from the bed, Adam said, “I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”
Abrams patted Adam on the back and said, “Someday I want to hear all about how you did this.”
“It was nothing really,” Adam whispered. “All I did was tell a joke.”
“You’re amazing,” Rachel said, as she and Adam stepped into the empty elevator.
“Not really. When I first looked into her eyes, I could tell that she was scared. I don’t think she really believed she was doing the right thing. All I did was help her understand that it was all right to accept help.”
“Well, you did what none of the rest of us could do.”
“I’m glad I could help. Now how about some lunch, and then off to Martin’s.”
Rachel and Adam stepped from the elevator into the lobby. Once again the swelling crowds shocked him. Without looking at the crowd around her, Rachel said, “Let’s get going.” Quickly she turned and, with her sight fixed to the ground, she walked out the lobby doors with Adam close behind.
Once outside, Adam said, “They make you uncomfortable, don’t they?”
“Who?” Rachel asked evasively.
“The people in the lobby. The sick.”
“Yes, I suppose they do.” Rachel seemed slightly embarrassed. “I suppose you think it’s silly for a doctor to be so ill at ease with sick people, but there’s nothing in our training to prepare us for such an onslaught. The hospital has some training for emergency care after an earthquake, or some other disaster, but this is different.”
“Well, if it’s any comfort,” Adam said, “they make me uncomfortable too, and helpless. I even dream about them.” Suddenly it occurred to Adam that he had not seen the crooked little boy. Had he just overlooked him, or had his mother given up and taken him home?
Twenty-Eight
Tuesday, March 31, 1992; 2:00 P.M.
ANNA ST. JAMES GREETED ADAM and Rachel as they entered the spacious house. Rachel was still taken aback by the captivating view of the Pacific Ocean. She couldn’t help but wonder about the eccentric genius in whose grand house she stood.
“Come in,” Anna said cheerfully. “Martin is expecting you.”
Adam gave Anna a friendly hug. “You remember Dr. Tremaine, don’t you?”
“Of course. Who could forget a pretty face like hers?”
Rachel felt herself blush.
“Where is Martin?” Adam asked.
“In his study. He wants you to go on down.” Anna led them to a narrow staircase. “Go ahead. I’ll bring something cool to drink.”
As Rachel and Adam started down the stairway, he remarked, “This is an honor. He doesn’t let just anyone come down here. It’s his sanctuary.”
“How many times have you been here?” Rachel asked.
“This is only my second time, even though I’ve been to his house dozens of times.”
At the end of the stairway was a corridor lit by bare fluorescent bulbs. The walls were a plain white. It was obvious that Anna’s decorative skills were confined to the living quarters above. There were two doors in the corridor; one of them swung open.
“Adam, come in,” Martin said, “and bring Dr. Tremaine with you. I have something to show you.”
“I don’t mean to be critical,” Adam said, “but wouldn’t it be a lot more pleasant if you had a few windows?”
“I come here to work,” Martin said, “not to gaze out windows. Now, let me show you what I’ve come up with.”
Stepping to the desk, Martin unfolded a small folder filled with paper. “I haven’t been able to do much to find your Healer. I traced his movements the best I could, but came up with little more than you already had. So, I directed my attention elsewhere—to the kidnappings. First, I compiled the dates of each kidnapping and then correlated those with the dates of the healings. Best I can tell so far, the kidnappings are confined to San Diego. Police records from the other cities fail to show any missing persons whose disappearance coordinates with any healings.
“I checked the police records here,” Martin continued, “but to no avail. I’m sorry to say this, Adam, but San Diego’s finest are as baffled as anyone else.”
“Wait a minute,” Rachel interjected. “You mean the police actually let you look at their records?”
“No,” Martin replied simply.
Rachel paused before asking, “Do I want to know how you were able to obtain official police records?”
“No,” Martin replied again. “I don’t think you want to know, and I know Pastor Adam doesn’t.”
Rachel looked to Adam for a response and saw a brief look of concern.
“So, where are we?” Martin asked rhetorically. “We know that the kidnappings are directly related to the healings; that much is obvious. Since the kidnappings occur only in the San Diego area, we may surmise that the kidnapper resides here or near here; this too is obvious. We can also surmise that the kidnapper has hospital connections. Someone in your hospital, Dr. Tremaine, is aiding the kidnappers, or is the kidnapper.”
“That’s a pretty big leap in logic,” Rachel said.
“Not at all,” Martin said flatly. “First, we should note that each abduction occurred in a home or near a home.”
“So?” Rachel said.
“So, it means that the kidnapper knew the address of each family abducted.”
“But,” Adam interrupted, “the Lorayne family wasn’t abducted at home.”
“No,” Martin agreed. “They were abducted on the way home.”
“And from this,” Rachel said, “you assume that someone on the hospital staff is responsible for these people disappearing?”
“Exactly. Or, at the very least, helping the kidnapper. After a little creative research, I can say not only that there is a hospital connection, but also tell you the most likely suspect.”
Martin paused. He was obviously enjoying his lecture.
“Who?” Rachel asked anxiously.
“Not yet, my dear Doctor,” Martin said firmly. “Not yet. First, we must finish the foundation before we build the house.” Pulling another stack of papers from his desk, he said, “Feeling confident that the
hospital had an inside person involved in all this unpleasantness, I did a little more research. I checked the bank statements of all the significant employees.”
“You what?” Rachel interjected. “Are you telling me that you copied private bank information?”
“Of course.” Martin was taken aback by Rachel’s outburst.
“Whose bank records?” Rachel asked.
“Anyone who might have access to personal information on those who were healed.”
“Including me?” Rachel asked.
“Certainly,” Martin replied. “But don’t worry, you’re clean. Which is more than I can say for one of your coworkers.”
“What gives you the right to pry into my private affairs?”
“Not what,” Martin replied evenly, “but who. You gave me the right.”
“I did no such thing!”
“Did you not come to my home and ask for my help?” Martin asked.
“Yes, but I . . .”
“And was it not your concern to gather information on the mysterious happenings at your hospital?”
“Yes, but again, I don’t see how that gives you the right to—”
“When you and Adam came to me to ask my help, you made no restrictions on my activities. You wanted information. I’m attempting to give that to you.”
“But what you’ve done is illegal,” Rachel objected.
“Technically, yes. But let me pose a question for you, Dr. Tremaine. If these families—these eight people—are alive, then shouldn’t we do all we can to rescue them?”
“Well, yes. But—”
“And while I don’t approve of electronic burglary, I don’t approve of leaving people in captivity when it may be in my power to aid their release.” Martin accentuated his message by pointing a bony index finger in staccato fashion. “Am I to understand, Dr. Tremaine, that you would prefer that we allow those hapless people to remain imprisoned—especially considering the great danger they’re in—while we waste days trying to find a more legal avenue?”
“No, I guess not.” Rachel felt confused and angry. Her privacy had been invaded; yet, it had been done for a noble effort. Turning to Adam she said, “Surely you don’t approve of this.”
Adam didn’t reply at first, but after a moment’s silence he said to Martin: “You know that I can’t approve of illegal information gathering.”
“I know. But then again, I didn’t ask for your approval, did I?” Martin’s words were firm but respectful.
“Well, no.”
“You didn’t break the law, Adam; I did. The real question is: Are you going to turn your back on this information and on those who can benefit from it?”
Adam was silent for a moment. He was caught in an ethical conundrum. As a Christian and a pastor, he was spiritually bound to be ethical in all his dealings; but here right and wrong melded into an indistinct whole. He looked at Rachel who merely shrugged her shoulders.
“I suppose,” Adam said, “that I can refuse the information and feel guilty for not acting, or I can use the information and feel guilty about its acquisition. I’ll go with the greater good.” Then turning to Martin, he said, “You mentioned danger.”
“Sure, Adam, think about it. Why would anyone kidnap several families whose only commonality is that they have experienced a miraculous healing?”
Adam shook his head, unable to come up with an answer. He looked to Rachel whose eyes widened in understanding.
She raised a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes and, without opening them, quietly said, “Someone is using them for guinea pigs.”
Adam’s mind was suddenly filled with grotesque images of David Lorayne strapped to a table, while an unseen man with a rusty scalpel slowly cut open his chest.
“Who is the hospital contact?” Adam asked bluntly.
“My best guess is the man who has added $300,000 to his checking account since the first healing—William Sanchez.”
“William Sanchez?” Rachel was nonplused. “Do you mean Bill Sanchez of security?”
“The very one.”
Rachel was surprised. She had not considered the possibility of an “inside” man. The fact that he was the head of security disturbed her all the more.
“Anything else?” Adam asked.
“No,” Martin replied. “I’ll keep working on finding your Healer, but, to be honest, I don’t have a great deal of information to work with.”
“Thanks, Martin.” Adam shook his hand and then, to Rachel, said, “I think we had better be going.”
“Oh, no,” Anna said as she appeared in the door. “I’ve just made some refreshments. Please stay and visit a while. We so seldom have friends in our home.”
Rachel thanked her and numbly ascended the stairs.
“NOW WHAT?” Rachel asked Adam as they drove away from the St. James home two hours, four cups of coffee, and half a cake later. “Should we go to the police?”
Adam took Ardath Road to the I-52 on-ramp. “Perhaps, but I don’t think it would do much good. The only evidence we have is that someone has been paying him large amounts of money. The police can question him, but without evidence of his involvement in a crime, they can’t hold him. Let’s not forget what you’ve said, that he’s a former police officer himself—wounded in the line of duty at that. How about confronting Dr. Morgan with the information?”
“I don’t know,” Rachel said reluctantly. “He can be pretty irascible. Besides, Sanchez isn’t the one we’re after. We want the guy who’s paying him. Still, we need to tell someone. What’s that FBI agent’s name?”
“Special Agent Norman Greene.”
“Let’s go to my place and call him. I’m sure he could do something.”
“Okay, but then I have to go.” Adam said. “I’ve got a big day on television tomorrow.”
Adam felt uncomfortable being alone in Rachel’s home. He had long ago established a policy of never being alone in a woman’s quarters. Not so much because he feared temptation, but that he feared misunderstanding. Churches often attract hurting people who sometimes transfer affection to a kind authority figure like a pastor. Adam knew of several ministers whose careers had been hampered or even destroyed by unfounded allegations.
However, Adam trusted Rachel. She displayed no neurosis that might make a visit to her home professionally dangerous. After all, he was there only to make a phone call.
The interior of Rachel’s apartment was far different than Adam expected. What it lacked in furniture, it made up for in plants. There were scores of them throughout the unit. Some hung from the ceiling, others sat on shelves, or on the floor.
Noticing Adam’s distraction with the plants, Rachel said, “Plants make the perfect companions: they don’t talk too much, eat too much, or get their feelings hurt.”
“Do you mean I need to sprout roots to be your friend?”
“Not at all,” Rachel said smiling. “You’re different. You’re not like anyone else I’ve ever known. There’s a quality about you that I find . . . attractive.”
“Please, you’re making me blush.”
“I’m serious.” Rachel sat on the couch and motioned for Adam to sit next to her. “Not only are you intelligent, but you seem to care for those around you. Take that Jehovah’s Witness woman today. We doctors tried everything we could to change her mind. You managed it in less than fifteen minutes. You really amaze me.”
“Thanks for the kudos, but shouldn’t we be making a phone call?” Adam was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“In a minute,” Rachel said. “I wanted to say first that, well, I’m sorry for blowing up at Martin’s house. He was doing what he thought was right, and I shouldn’t have spoken to him that way.”
“Your privacy had been invaded. Anyone would have felt the same way; I know I would have.”
“Perhaps, but I’d like to apologize anyway.”
Adam looked at the woman on the couch with him. Each time he saw her he was more attracted to her. He suspected
that he was falling in love. For most people that would be good news; for Adam it presented a problem. It wasn’t that he feared a relationship with a woman—he had very nearly married twice—but Rachel was different. She was outside the faith. He was attracted to her, but she was an unbeliever; his life was dedicated to belief and those who believe. Yet, he couldn’t dismiss her; she had touched his soul. The bottom line was that Adam was confused. He needed time to think. And pray.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, Rachel moved closer. Magnetically they brought their lips together. They kissed, slowly and gently. Adam’s heart throbbed so hard he was sure it was audible to Rachel.
Breaking the embrace, Rachel stood and said, “The phone is on the end table. I’ll be back in a few moments.”
Numb from the unexpected kiss, Adam merely nodded his head. Pulling Agent Greene’s card from his wallet, Adam dialed the number. After identifying himself to a receptionist, his call was forwarded. Adam glanced at his watch: it was 4:50.
“This is Agent Greene,” a resonant voice said over the phone. “What can I do for you, Reverend?”
“I have some information that you may find interesting. However, I’m a little embarrassed to say that I can’t tell you how I obtained the information.”
“Well, let’s hear it.”
Adam repeated the information about Sanchez’s bank account and the correlation between his deposits and the abductions.
“That’s a pretty incredible accusation, Reverend. I’m not supposed to ask you how you got it?”
“That’s right,” Adam said. “I’m trying to protect a friend who may, for a noble purpose, have bent the rules a little.”
