Three days later, Courthouse
Boston
"Will the defendant please rise for the verdict," said Justice Sancha Hernandez, turning from the jury to Maria Benariac. Maria didn't like the justice. She reminded her of the toad back at the orphanage in Corsica. Like Mother Clemenza, Justice Hernandez was a big-bosomed, deep-voiced woman with large spectacles. And like the Mother Superior the justice had hard, flinty eyes that now bored right into hers.
Justice Hernandez had consistently prevented Hugo Myers's attempts to open up the trial and explore the conspiracy theory of Maria being in the pay of some government agency. The media may have bought and sold the story of the vigilante in the pay of the CIA, but not Justice Hernandez. And she had made sure that the jury didn't buy it either. She had stuck rigorously to the core issue and not a day had gone by without her bashing out her guidance with self-righteous zeal:
"This trial is to determine the defendant's guilt or innocence of the forty-two alleged homicides on U. S. soil. It is not to speculate on what may, or may not, have motivated those who may, or may not, have paid the defendant to perform these said murders. That is a subject for another investigation and another trial. Is that clear?"
It had become so crystal clear that the justice had not only eased the District Attorney's job, but made it virtually redundant. As Hugo Myers had warned Maria, the evidence was damning. The match from the DNA found on the roses at Fontana's apartment had been irrefutable. The weapons and folders in her apartment, along with her telltale biblical messages written in the victims' blood, had linked her to the other deaths in the United States. But the real clincher had been the killing of the GENIUS guards, and the testimony from Dr. Carter and Dr. Washington. The argument from the prosecution was barely required. Keeping the excellent, but beleaguered, Hugo Myers to the facts had sufficed to condemn Maria.
When Maria saw the small Oriental-looking man stand in front of his fellow jurors, nervously brandishing a piece of paper, she already knew what verdict the foreman would give.
"On the count of first-degree murder for the killing of Sly Fontana, the jury finds Maria Benariac... Guilty as charged," the foreman said, echoing the words in Maria's own head. Then, one by one, like a rogues' gallery of evil, the names of the other victims were read out: Helmut Kroger, the arms dealer; Santino Luca, the mobster; Bobby Dooley, the corrupt evangelist.
When the foreman reached Olivia Carter's name Maria turned to the gallery and caught the scientist's eye. Carter was sitting between his partner, Jack Nichols, and Dr. Washington. They had been in the court only once before, to testify. Expecting Dr. Carter to gloat, she smiled defiantly at him, but was surprised to see his face tired and gaunt, his blue eyes dulled. It was bizarre how now, when she was about to be sentenced to death, he looked defeated. When she had held a gun to his head, he had been strong and unbowed.
As the verdict was given, a brief stirring raced like wildfire around the reporters and spectators, but it soon burned out. This verdict was no surprise. Hugo Myers, professional to the end, put a hand on Maria's shoulder in a show of support, as if there was something he could have done. But Maria ignored him and said loudly to judge and jury, "I am innocent in the eyes of God."
There was another excited murmur from the spectators before the justice gaveled them into silence and proceeded to read Maria's sentence.
Maria didn't register all of Justice Hernandez's long speech, but key phrases---sadistic killer... Menace to society... Set an example... Crime 2000... Fast-track death penalty--rang out clearly. The only detail she heeded was the time frame. Myers had explained how the Crime 2000 initiative had put an end to the costly and "inhumane" appeal procedures which could see a prisoner languishing on death row for ten to twenty years. But she hoped her execution wouldn't be too soon. She still had God's work to do. She still had to stop Carter and his Project Cana.
When the justice announced the date of execution, it took Maria a second to realize its proximity. And as the two guards stepped forward to return her to her cell, she looked back at Carter.
Flashing her most defiant smile, she raised both manacled arms and pointed at him. "Those that escaped his vengeance have only delayed the inevitable," she shouted through the noise of the crowd, "for they have already been judged in a higher court than this." She wanted him to know that it wasn't over, that she would still be coming for him. But to her genuine surprise Dr. Carter's expression remained impassive: no triumph, no fear, no anger--nothing. She couldn't understand it. He had just heard his wife's killer sentenced to death, with the execution set for less than four weeks' time. But he just stared at her, not a trace of satisfaction showing on his stony face.
At that moment, Maria thought he looked more like the condemned prisoner than she did.
Tom watched Maria's stubbly head as she was led away. Oblivious to the noise and bustle of everyone around him standing to leave, he sat back on the hard wooden chair, two rows behind in the spectators' gallery, and tried to figure it all out.
Over the last week, ever since Jasmine had told him the identity of the match, Tom had been trying to understand what it all meant. And as he thought about it again he ended with the same questions: How the hell am I supposed to understand thatmy wife's killer might be my daughter's savior? Where's the senseor meaning in that? Why couldn't it have been the Indian, or someother obviously good person?
They had searched the world for a person who possessed three of the rarest genes in existence--genes originally found two thousand years ago in a man of unquestionable goodness. Now these genes, which promised to save count less lives, hadn't been found in a person of similar vision and greatness, but in a ruthless killer.
Tom had always accepted the lottery of Nature, but this was too much even by his standards. This looked more like mischievous intent. No wonder the old man, Ezekiel De La Croix, had been so shocked. The Messiah he had devoted his life to finding had been unveiled as a mad fanatic who believed she was put on this earth to kill--not to save.
What was it that Maria had said to him when she was captured? "God tests us all."
He bent his head and stared at the scuff marks on the polished wooden floor: He failed to think of something positive in all this. He had acquired blood samples from Maria's medical examination, and even read her detailed doctor's report, but no clues had been yielded from her genes. And without her cooperation he wasn't going to find any either.
Of course there was still a chance that IGOR would eventually pick up one of the other eighteen or so people in the world who possessed all three Nazareth genes. But the odds of one of them being scanned and picked up in the next few weeks were infinitesimal. Tom had to face facts. As far as helping Holly was concerned, Maria was in effect unique.
"Let's go, Tom," said Jasmine softly beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Jack's arranged for us to go out through the chambers to avoid the press."
He stood and allowed her to lead him to the front of the courtroom. He thought again of the mysterious, but apparently useless serum developed from the combined Nazareth genes, and the risks of the inevitable brain surgery for Holly. The bitter taste of nausea caught in his throat. Short of begging Maria to try to heal his daughter, these were the only options open to him now.
As they passed the witness chair Jack appeared on his left.
"Tom, it's not over yet."
He turned to his friend and shook his head. "Isn't it, Jack?"
Without the distracting glimmer of hope the future seemed clear to him. Project Cana was dead, and soon, surely, Holly would be too.
Chapter Twenty-Four.
GENIUS Hospital Suite, Boston
Holly lost all feeling down her left side on May 12, four days after Maria was sentenced. The seizure lasted over two hours. Tom could see it frightened her more than all the pain and sickness she had endured till then. The pro-drug and radiotherapy had slowed the tumor's growth but it was still growing at a rate that unnerved him. The pressure it exerted on her brain
was now affecting some of her motor functions. Steroids reduced the swelling and seizures, but he knew its effects would only worsen.
The tumor was entering the fourth and final stage of clonal evolution; the key genes on chromosome 9 had long since been lost, as had a whole copy of chromosome 10. The rebel cells were growing unchecked. The pace of growth had been almost three times faster than DAN's most optimistic estimate of one year, and more or less in line with its most pessimistic. Tom had originally ignored the gloomiest prognosis, telling himself he would find a way to buy the maximum time, but now when he considered the breaks he'd been getting it seemed bitterly appropriate that this should have happened.
He was fighting the old enemy, cancer, and it was winning. And this time the battleground was his daughter. He had to consider Holly's comfort above everything, even fighting the disease. The treatment he was giving her now made her feel weak and sick, and it wasn't even going to save her.
The conflict between Tom as her father and as a surgeon had become agonizingly simple. He had to either help her to live or help her to die, and forget everything in between.
"Yuch. Great graphics." Jasmine leaned from her chair next to Holly's bed to look at the computer on her god-daughter's lap. The warrior queen on screen was being eaten by a twoheaded troll. "So you can't get beyond level six, eh?"
Two days had passed since the last seizure and Holly was sitting up in bed, enjoying one of her rare good days. "I can get into the castle, kill all the orcs and the blue dragon. But when I come out again I always get got by the troll or the huge sea snake in the moat. Every time."
"Have you picked up all medical creds in the secret compartments?"
"I think so. And the hidden weapons and the extra armor. But what I need is invulnerability. And there's no magic potion in the castle."
"You've looked everywhere?"
"Everywhere."
"And you've tried everything?"
"Yup."
Jasmine smiled. "How about cheating?"
Holly gave a resigned shrug. "Impossible. Everyone knows that Wrath of Zarg is the one computer game with no cheat codes."
"You mean no published cheat codes." Jasmine knew that every games programmer put in shortcuts that allowed him to have unlimited firepower, lives, or invulnerability at the press of a particular combination of keys. With most games like Doom or Dark Forces these cheat codes were discovered by hardened gamers and passed around on the Internet. But according to Holly no one had yet been able to crack the Wrath of Zarg cheat codes. "Hey, move up, will you? And pass the laptop."
Holly scooted up on the bed and Jasmine sat next to her. Holly smiled when she gave her the computer. "You think you can find 'em?"
"Uh-huh. I might not be a fairy godmother, but I'm the next best thing: a cyber godmother."
Holly giggled. "Okay, bet you can't find them in an hour."
Razor Buzz's fingers were already dancing on the keys. "Hey, don't insult me. We're talking minutes here."
Holly cocked her head to one side for a moment, as if thinking. "Okay. How about ten minutes? Bet you can't find them in ten minutes."
Jasmine's fingers stopped their tapping. "Right, what do you want?"
Holly looked at her and then at the screen. Her eyes were round with disbelief. "You've done it already?"
Jasmine gave a modest shrug and handed back the laptop. "Sure, no big deal. For invulnerability you need to press N-starPAIN. Try it."
Holly entered the code and found that her warrior queen was indeed troll-proof. "Wow. Awesome." Within three minutes she was looking up with a triumphant grin on her face. "Level seven. Wait till Jennifer and Megan hear about this."
Jasmine laughed. "Just don't use it all the time; otherwise it'll get boring. To turn it off just press control P. Okay?"
"Yeah, thanks, Jazz. This is great. But how did you do it?"
Jasmine put her hand on Holly's shoulder. "There's always a way, Hol. Like your dad used to keep telling me. Still does at times. It might not be the obvious, popular, or even correct way. But if you want to do something bad enough, there's always a way."
Nurse Beth Lawrence appeared from the direction of the operating theater. "Dr. Washington, could you see Dr. Carter for a moment? He's in the examination room."
"Sure." She stood and squeezed Holly's arm. "Good luck with level seven."
When she entered the examination room she found Tom standing with Dr. Karl Lambert, looking at a series of Computed Tomographic Scans on the computer screen in front of them. Lambert was a neurosurgeon from the National Institutes of Health in Maryland. He had been assigned to GENIUS to facilitate the sharing of ideas, and to ensure that no patients were abused by GENIUS for pure commercial gain. He was a short, round man with a jovial face, curly red hair, and intelligent eyes. Jasmine knew Tom liked and respected him since they had both studied together at Johns Hopkins.
Karl Lambert pointed at the yellow shadow on the color scan. "I still say an operation is the best chance."
Tom shook his head. "But look where the tumor is, Karl. I wouldn't want to go in there. Would you? The margin of error is too great."
"I know, but at least it gives her a chance..." said Lambert.
"But of what? Delaying the inevitable."
"It'll make her more comfortable, Tom."
"Or kill her." Tom paused; his shoulders seemed to sag. "But I suppose you're right."
She cleared her throat and they both looked up from the scan of Holly's brain. Tom looked pale and drawn. He was clearly wrestling with what was best for Holly, and was losing. "Hi, Jazz, thanks for coming. I just wanted to ask your advice about Holly."
Lambert checked his watch. "I've got to go. I'm due in surgery in ten minutes. I'll leave you two to it." He walked to the door, then turned back to Tom. "I still say keyhole laser surgery is mandatory, Tom. And the sooner the better." He smiled at Jasmine, then left.
"So what do you want to do, Tom?" she asked.
He paced around the room. "I don't know. You heard Karl. And he's right. Drugs and radiotherapy can only slow the growth and manage her pain. Eventually the tumor will have to be removed, just to relieve the pressure on her skull.
But it's in such a goddamned difficult place it's almost inoperable."
"What about Cana? The serum?"
"Cana's finished, Jasmine. The serum does nothing."
She took a deep breath. "What about Maria Benariac then? The Preacher?"
"The Preacher isn't an option," said Tom stiffly.
Since Jasmine had found that the Preacher possessed the genes, she and Tom hadn't once discussed the killer together. Jasmine still hadn't got her mind around the full implications that there were probably nineteen people in the world with Christ's genes, let alone the fact that one of them was a cold-blooded murderer. And since Tom had found it far too painful to talk about, they had just let it hang between them like a death in the family. But it was becoming too important to ignore, and since he'd started the whole damn thing, he might as well face up to it.
"Surely, you've got to at least try?" she said.
"She killed Olivia, Jazz."
"She could also save Holly."
He gave a snort. "Yeah, right."
"Come on, Tom, you might be able to do some sort of deal with her."
"Are you being serious?"
"Deadly serious. I don't exactly see you being over-burdened with options. Don't you even want to find out if this woman could save her?"
He shrugged his shoulders unhappily.
She felt a stab of anger. "Tom, it's not like you to give up."
"I'm not giving up. I'm being realistic, trying to find the best way to make Holly comfortable."
"Bullshit! You once told me that being realistic and giving up were the same thing. You've never been realistic in your life. You're crap at being realistic. Jack's a realist. Even I am to an extent. But you've always gone off and done the impossible. Don't for God's sake stop now!"
Tom g
ave her a pained look. "But you don't understand, Jazz. How can I--"
"Look, you started this Project Cana thing. I wanted no part of it, because I was terrified where it might lead. But I trusted you and let you talk me into it, believing that however much this screwed up what I believed in, at least I was doing everything to help Holly. All through this I've been trying to square circles with my conscience just to keep sane, and now you're chickening out because you've come across something you find hard to accept. Well, buster, welcome to the land of confusion and doubt. And don't tell me I don't understand. Go tell your daughter. Tell Holly you feel uncomfortable about begging Maria to help her." She took a deep breath; her tirade had made her dizzy. She pointed her finger and jabbed his chest. "And another thing, Tom. You better stop feeling sorry for yourself damn soon, because it's not just Holly whose days are numbered. Maria won't be around for too long either."
With that, she turned and walked out.
Maria woke in a cold sweat. She opened her eyes in the cell on death row but could see nothing. Only blackness. Her fevered, half-awake brain imagined she heard rats scurrying on the floor beneath her bed. She was a six-year-old child again, in the orphanage lock-away for telling lies, or for some other misdemeanor she didn't understand.
The panic pressing down on her chest with the heavy darkness was exactly as she remembered it. She yearned for someone to comfort her and soothe away her terror. But most of all she missed the Father. She felt a sickening doubt deep in her stomach. Not doubt over the killings, because they had been righteous. But doubt for defying Ezekiel and the Brotherhood.
the Miracle Strain (aka The Messiah Code) (1997) Page 28
