The Miracle

by Irving Wallace

  "And the International Medical Committee has the last word?"

  "Medically speaking, yes. The process goes as follows—our Medical Bureau in Lourdes confirms a cure, and then passes the dossier on to the International Committee. There are about thirty members on the committee, physicians from ten different countries, all appointed by the bishop of Tarbes and Lourdes, and they meet for one day a year, as they recently did. During the most recent meeting, the dossier of Edith Moore was presented. The member doctors discussed it at length. A vote was taken, with a two-thirds vote usually enough for approval. After that, the dossier was returned to the bishop of Tarbes and

  Lourdes. Since Mrs. Moore's diocese was in London, the approved dossier was sent to the bishop of London. He, in turn, appointed a canonical commission to judge if Mrs. Moore's cure was miraculous. As you know, Mrs. Moore's cure was approved by all hands—"

  "Yes."

  "—but it was not officially announced because the International Committee did not have a sarcoma specialist at their meeting. You were invited, but you were away. Dr. Duval was invited, but he was occupied with his experiments. The International Committee then cast its favorable vote subject to your confirming its judgment. Rather than convene the committee again, it was agreed that if you came to Lourdes and saw Mrs. Moore in person, then the official announcement could be made."

  "Well, here I am, ready, willing, and able," said Kleinberg.

  Dr. Berryer considered the white digital clock on his desk. "I made an appointment for Edith Moore to meet with you. She should be in the examining room in about a half hour." He stood up. "I know you've studied the report on the case, but that was a summary, and you may prefer to see the diagnosis of each doctor involved."

  "That would be useful," said Kleinberg, rising while Dr. Berryer went to the bookcase and removed a handful of manila file folders.

  "I'll take you to the examining room, and leave these with you. You'll have time enough to browse through them before your patient arrives."

  Kleinberg followed Dr. Berryer out of the office to the examining room. In the undecorated room, between the leather examining table and a wooden cabinet against the wall containing medical instruments, Esther Levinson sat in a chair, leafing through a French magazine. As they entered, she came to her feet, and Kleinberg introduced his nurse to the head of the Medical Bureau.

  Inside the door. Dr. Berryer handed the layer of folders over to Kleinberg.

  "For your reading pleasure," he said. "When you've confirmed the reports, please let me know."

  "I certainly will."

  Dr. Berryer had his hand on the knob of the open door, about to leave, when he hesitated and turned back.

  He stared at the folders in Kleinberg's hand and then fixed his gaze on Kleinberg himself. Dr. Berryer gave a short cough. "You understand the importance of this case, doctor. Father Ruland, who represents the bishop and the Vatican itself here in Lourdes, thinks it would be of great value to be able to make the announcement of Mrs. Moore's miraculous

  cure during this exciting Reappearance Time—a confirmed miracle— a lovely present to welcome the return of the Blessed Virgin. So—" He hesitated once more. "Uh, I trust you will judge the reports in your hand -- rather open and shut, I would say—entirely on their scientific merit."

  Kleinberg's eyebrows went up. "But how else would I possibly judge them?"

  Without blinking, Dr. Berryer said, "Well, whatever we say, we are dealing with what my church agrees is a miracle cure. And—I do know that people of your persuasion don't have much belief in miracles. Anyway, I am sure you will adhere to the facts."

  With that, he left the room, closing the door between them.

  Dr. Kleinberg's face had darkened as he glowered at the door. "People of your persuasion," he mimicked. "Did you hear that, Esther?"

  He turned around to see Esther's features flushed. "I heard," she said. "Maybe you should have told him that someone else of your persuasion, a man named Moses, was involved in a few miracles."

  "Never mind. Who gives a damn about a narrow-minded country lout like Berryer? Let's look over these reports, see our Mrs. Moore, and get out of here as soon as we can."

  Then, minutes later, as an afterthought, Kleinberg tried to forgive Berryer slightly, remembering that Dr. Alexis Carrel, while not a bigot, had been an Aryan-lover and a race supremacist as well.

  An hour and a half had passed, and Dr. Paul Kleinberg was still seated in the examining room alone, once more studying the before-and-after medical reports on Edith Moore's malignant tumor while she was finishing her new work-up and X rays next door.

  Fascinated, Kleinberg studied the diagnostic reports on Mrs. Moore's osteosarcoma of the left ilium. It was all there in the seemingly countless microphotographs, the blood tests, the biopsies, the X rays. There was the destructive sarcoma—and then it wasn't there, a total disappearance of the infiltration of the marrow, and reconstruction of the bone elements.

  Definitely amazing. In his years of practice, Kleinberg had never seen a self-cure such as this one.

  Absolutely miraculous—even to a person of his persuasion.

  He laid aside the evidence, pleased for the nice, dull English lady. Well, there was nothing left, except for the latest examination and a final new set of X rays and then he would be done. He would be able to confirm to Dr. Berryer and the clergyman called Father Ruland that

  God was on their side, after all, and that they could announce their miracle with fanfare to the entire world. With that publicity, and the presumed return of the Virgin Mary to Lourdes, they would have not five million faithful pouring into Lourdes next year, but six or seven million, at least.

  The door opened, and Kleinberg came to his feet as Mrs. Moore entered, pushing her belt through a last loop on the waistband of her skirt and fastening the buckle.

  "All done, and I'll bet you're glad," said Kleinberg, not knowing what else to say to a miracle recipient.

  "I'm pleased it's over with," she said with a happy heave and a sigh. Her bland countenance had color in it and she was definitely repressing considerable inner emotion. "Miss Levinson told me to tell you she'll have all the X rays for you in five or ten minutes."

  "Good. I'll just have a look, and then I'll inform Dr. Berryer and prepare my final report. You needn't wait aroimd any longer. I'm sure the Medical Bureau will be in immediate touch with you. Thank you, Mrs. Moore, for enduring all this discomfort one last time."

  She took her summer jacket off a wall hanger. "My pleasure, believe me. I appreciate everything. Good-bye, Dr. Kleinberg."

  Esther Levinson arrived with the fresh X rays, turned on the lights in the view box on the wall and pinned up the four X rays for his scrutiny. Kleinberg rose, and with a practiced eye he studied the negatives, while Esther hovered nearby awaiting his approval.

  "Umm, this one," Kleinberg said pointing to the third negative, "it's a bad shot, unclear, somewhat blurred. She must have moved."

  "She did not move at all," Esther countered. "She's very professional. She's been through a million X rays. Mrs. Moore was in position, perfectly rigid."

  "Well, I don't know—" Kleinberg murmured. 'Tell you what. Remove all of the negatives except this poor one. Pin up two of the other X rays, the previous ones, taken of this area of the iliac bone after her cure. You'll find them in the dated folders."

  As his nurse went to rummage through the folders, Kleinberg continued to inspect the new X rays. Presently, Esther was beside him, taking down three of the negatives and replacing them with previous shots for comparative purposes.

  When she had finished, and stepped aside, Kleinberg bent closer to the illiuninated X rays. He studied them in silence, clucking his tongue several times.

  Straightening his back at last, he said, "I'm sure it's all right, but I'd still like to get a better picture from this particular angle. Maybe Vm

  being too much of a perfectionist, but when you're dealing with a so-called miracle, you want to se
e the results of the miracle one final time."

  "We can shoot her again, if that's what you wish."

  Kleinberg nodded. 'That's what I wish, Esther. Just to do it right. We'll get a better picture, and then we can honestly crown our patient as a miracle woman. Tell you what. Go and see Berryer's secretary. She'll know where to locate our patient. Have her call Mrs. Moore and bring her back for another X ray at two o'clock. Will you do that?"

  "On my way," said Esther.

  "I'll meet you in the anteroom in a few minutes. Let's take a look at the town, and I'll treat you to lunch. Then we'll come back and finish with Mrs. Moore and head for Paris. How's that?"

  "That's great," said Esther with a rare smile.

  Mikel Hurtado awakened with a start. Something had brushed his cheek, touched his lips, and startled him out of a deep sleep. When he opened his eyes, he saw that it was Natale kneeling over him, kissing him a third time.

  Reaching for her, to bring her closer, he saw that she instinctively knew that he would do so, and had pulled away. She retreated to her side of the bed, feeling her way to the far edge, groping for her dark glasses on the bedside table. When she found the glasses, and had slipped them on, she swung off the bed and stood up.

  "Are you up, Mikel?" she called.

  "You bet I'm up."

  "I just wanted to be sure, because I wanted to tellyou—I love you."

  He was sitting now, staring at her. She presented an incongruous sight. She was totdly nude from her head to her knees -- the rest hidden by the bed—her firm, unblemished being seemed to glow. And she was wearing sun-glasses.

  "I love you, too," he said softly.

  She was groping and finding a fresh brassiere and panty briefs on the chair. "You are the most marvelous lover on earth," she said.

  "How would you know?" he asked chidingly.

  "I just know," she replied. "I know how I enjoyed you. I know when I'm happy."

  The sight of her jiggling breasts and brown nipples, the navel in her flat belly, the triangle of pubic hair between the generous thighs, was beginning to arouse him. "Natale, come back to bed."

  "Oh, I want to darling, but I can't, not yet. Later, but not now. First things first—"

  "What comes before us?"

  "Mikel, I've got to bathe and dress and go to the grotto to pray. What time is it?"

  He picked up his watch. "Just past ten-thirty, morning."

  "I'll have to hurry. Rosa takes me to the grotto at eleven-fifteen every day."

  "Rosa?"

  "She's that friend of my family in Rome who comes to Lourdes every summer as a handmaid. She's been taking care of me."

  That instant, Hurtado remembered what had last been on his mind before falling asleep.

  First things first. He, too, had a priority and an idea of how to pull it off.

  "I'll take you to the grotto," he said. "Let's go together."

  "I'd like to but—Mikel, what about the pohce? Maybe you should stay away from them or go out of town."

  "The pohce," he said. "They're mistaken. I should tell you what's going on." He couldn't tell her the truth, that he was here to destroy what meant so much to her. Yet, he rationalized, she didn't need the grotto to achieve her hopes. She had faith. That was enough. Nor need she ever know his role in what was soon to happen. He was prepared to make up some fanciful story for her, a mistake in identity, a false lead from an enemy, something. "Let me explain—"

  "You don't have to explain anything to me," she said firmly. "I told you that before. I don't need it. I trust you. You still want to take me to the grotto? You think it's safe?"

  "Of course it is. Yesterday I didn't want to be questioned in my room. But it's safe now." And he believed it was. He was positive that whatever Lopez had done, he had not given the Lourdes pohce a description of the terrorist. Obviously, Lopez wanted to frighten him off, not get him caught.

  "Then we'll go. We can leave Rosa a note on the door—"

  "I can write it for you."

  "Yes. Write, 'Dear Rosa, a friend has taken me to the grotto. You can find me there. Natale.' Now I'd better have my bath and dress."

  He watched her making her way to the bathroom.

  First things first, he reminded himself.

  "Natale, is there anything else I can do for you? I see your flight bag, your carry-on, sitting on the table. There are some plastic bottles and a candle in front of it. Are they going to the grotto?"

  She was at the bathroom door. "Yes, I meant to pack them in the

  flight bag. I want to light my candle. And fill the bottles with water to take back to my relatives."

  His heart skipped. "Fd be glad to pack them."

  "Would you?"

  "Right away. Write a note to Rosa, and pack your flight bag. Have I got it all?"

  "And love me," she said lightly, and she closed herself in the bathroom.

  Tempted as he was to go after her, carry her back to the bed, love her as he had never loved anyone before, he restrained himself

  After he heard the tub water running, he crawled out of bed. He scribbled the note to leave behind for the woman named Rosa. He knelt, pulled his suitcase out from under the bed, and unlocked it. Tenderly, he lifted the packages containing the sticks of dynamite, detonator, timepiece, wiring and carried them to the table. As he had planned— rather hoped was possible—he laid his wrapped explosives inside Natale's flight bag. Then, he stuffed in a folded shopping bag, and he covered his packages with her large candle and plastic bottles. He drew the zipper on the flight bag.

  He was waiting, smoking, when she emerged, clad in her brassiere and panties. He intercepted her on the way to the closet, to embrace and kiss her fervently.

  "Oh, Mikel, I want you so," she breathed, but drew away. "Later. After. I'd better get dressed."

  "Later," he agreed. "I'd better get ready, too."

  He sought his travel kit in the suitcase and brought it into the bathroom. After brushing his teeth, he shaved, then quickly bathed, dried himself, combed his hair, and dressed.

  "Ready, Mikel?" he heard her call.

  "Be right with you."

  In seconds he emerged, and saw her ftmibling at the table.

  He snatched up the packed bag before she reached it. "I have your bag," he said. "And I have the note for Rosa."

  With his free hand, he took her arm. "Now, to the grotto," he said.

  Ten minutes later, as they neared the ramp leading to the domain, Hurtado had his plan formulated.

  The police had their cordon across the top of the ramp, again, and they were stopping only the pilgrims and tourists carrying anything, and were searching through each package or bag before passing the visitors through.

  Crossing the street, Hurtado said to Natale, "We'll have to get in line here and go through a police inspection."

  "Will it be all right?" Natale whispered.

  "No problem," he said.

  He hoped.

  They were inching ahead, and getting close to two of the policemen. This was the moment to make his move as he had planned it.

  He took Natale's arm once more. "Querida, do you mind if I leave you for a few seconds? I forgot my cigarettes -- and even if they don't like smoking down there—I'd feel better to have a pack handy. Here, you take your bag for the moment. I'll run across the street to the cafe. Catch up with you along the ramp." He handed her the bag. "You've got just ten steps to take before you reach the police."

  "All right, Mikel," she said, grasping the handle of the flight bag.

  Quickly, he stepped away from her, and retreated to the back of the line of visitors, making sure to fall in where he had a fiill view of the police inspection. If something went wrong, he wasn't certain what he'd be able to do for her. But he felt nothing would go wrong. Police, like most authorities, had a weakness for a number of human afflictions.

  He craned his neck to keep Natale in view, and then he saw her standing with the bag before two uniformed pohcemen. He saw her han
d groping in front of her, trying to find out if she had arrived at the police guards. He saw the two policemen observing her, looking down at her bag, then up at her face. He saw one pohceman make a gesture toward his eyes, plainly indicating that she was blind. He saw the other policeman nod understandingly, and put his hand on Natale's shoulder, sending her on her way down the ramp uninspected.

  Hurtado exhaled, and breathed easily once more.

  In a few minutes, he was before the officers, empty-handed. They glanced at him, and one waved him through. Despite the pebble in his shoe, and the limp that resulted, Hurtado went swiftly down the ramp, and near the bottom he caught up with Natale.

  "Here I am," he said. He took the flight bag from her. "Everything all right?"

  "Thanks for taking the bag," she said. "I didn't know it would be so heavy."

  "My fault," he said cheerfully. "I stuffed a camera and a pair of large binoculars under your things. Wanted to get a picture and closeup view of the domain area from a distance. Natale, one day you'll be able to look through both of them yourself."

  "If the Blessed Virgin takes notice of my prayer," she said uncertainly. "Anyway, you must tell me what you see."

  "I will," he promised.

  Now that they had managed to get his explosives through, he felt

  elated. He was closer to his goal and success. Guiding Natale toward the grotto, he saw that it was swarming with worshippers. There were even police spotted about. He would be able to ascend the hill next to the grotto and secrete the explosives, of that he was sure, but setting the explosives in place behind the statue of the Virgin Mary, and wiring it to the detonator, would be impossible in the daylight. He would have to return when it was dark, around midnight, and the worshippers were asleep and the police guards had gone off duty.