Tom gave 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.
M
aria 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.
What if Ezekiel really hadn't wanted her to kill Carter? What arrogance had possessed her to believe that she understood his real wishes better than he did himself, the man who had taught and given her everything?
Perhaps Ezekiel was right to listen to Helix and use Carter, before finally finishing him. Had she succeeded in halting the scientist her way? And even if she had been right to try, how did she expect to fulfill God's plans in here?
All of the confidence and conviction that had so buoyed her throughout the trial evaporated. Perhaps God
didn't
have plans for her at all? Perhaps this imprisonment and death sentence weren't a test, but a punishment? Perhaps God was working through the Father to find the New Messiah
and
stop Carter. Perhaps Ezekiel and Helix had been completely right, and she completely wrong?
And now she was to be forsaken, forgotten, unforgiven.
As these questions ran around her brain on spiked shoes her nails picked at her right thigh, at the old scabs and scars until the first warm dampness told her fingers that the blood was flowing. But in this darkness she felt no release. It seemed as if no amount of shed blood could drain the anxiety, guilt, and loneliness from her body. Beyond the unseen cell walls, in the light and bustle outside, she had ceased to exist. She had been abandoned in this nine- by fifteen-foot cell on death row--the only marooned inhabitant of a desolate world filled with darkness and despair.
The first tear touched her cheek when she considered that even during her worst moments as a child the dreaded spells in the lock-away would end. But this time she was in a lock-away forever, alone with her doubts and regrets. Only death in twentytwo days would set her free.
She wished she could see the Father once again before then.
A
cross the world in Damascus Ezekiel De La Croix slept no better. At five thirty-seven he rose and walked from his bedroom onto the balcony, savoring the coolness of the smooth tiles under his bare feet. In the distance the Damascus skyline was gray against the dusty orange sky of early dawn. The sun would not rise fully for at least an hour, but the frangipani-scented air was already warm. Stretching his arms above aching shoulders he yawned twice, thankful for the slight breeze that ruffled his white cotton nightshirt, and cooled his skin.
Last night he had dreamed again of Pontius Pilate. But this time it was Maria into whose hands he had hammered the nails. As he did so the hologram of his younger self had looked on in judgment. The dream had unsettled him,
but not as much as the memories--memories of stories told to him years ago in Corsica.
Since Dr. Carter had unveiled the truth that Maria possessed the genes, Ezekiel had been struggling to believe that she could be the one. His first reaction had been to deny it, put it down to the scientist's imperfect technology, or some trick of the devil. How could Nemesis be the New Messiah?
When he had told Helix and Bernard back at the cave the next day, they had both been stunned. Like him, Bernard had scoffed, saying it must be some kind of trick. Helix had responded differently. He had stayed silent for a long while before entertaining the possibility--even probability--that she was indeed chosen. Ezekiel had sent them away to think through the implications and consider what must be done. Then he had summoned all of the Inner Circle to a meeting today, to decide the best course of action.
Ezekiel checked his watch. It would take him some hours to prepare and reach the Cave of the Sacred Light. At least after his restless night he had finally come to a decision.
He remembered the young woman in Mother Clemenza's office, no more than a girl really, confused and betrayed by a religion that had not only failed to protect her but actually abused her. When Maria had finally been nominated as the new Nemesis she had done what no other operative had ever done before. She had changed her appearance to fit the role of the perfect avenger.
He recalled the day she had demanded the radical surgery, when she'd sat down and explained how she felt trapped by her looks. Like a butterfly wanting to be a caterpillar, she longed to lose her bright wings and gain the freedom of anonymity.
At his first meeting with Mother Clemenza he had berated her for allowing girls in her charge to be preyed upon by Father Angelo, holding her directly responsible for Sister Delphine's suicide. She had told him of Maria's early "lies" to explain why she had ignored Maria's claims of having been raped. "She was always lying as a small
child," the Mother Superior had said. "They were always lying."
Only now did he realize for the first time that Maria's early "lies" weren't just the fantasies of a lonely child, but were perhaps true. He could still recall them, small miracles in themselves: the big fall, the bee stings, the diabetes, and at least six others. The more he thought about them the more bizarre sense everything seemed to make.
He turned and walked through the bedroom to the bathroom, and as he passed the bureau took a white tablet from the silver box beside the photograph of his wife. Deep in his heart he felt sure that the New Messiah had been found. But how was he going to rescue her before she was crucified again? And how was he going to gain the support of the others, to plan how to save her, so she in turn could save the righteous?
A
s Tom Carter took one last look at his sleeping daughter and left the ward, he remembered Jasmine's words. She was right; he couldn't afford to feel sorry for himself. His scheduled meeting with Karen Tanner was in just over half an hour. Jack had arranged for her to show him the relevant files at her offices in the JFK Building downtown. And after he'd seen them he planned to do some investigating of his own.
Bob Cooke's shout across the atrium took him by surprise as he walked toward the garage stairs. The usually laid-back Californian was running toward him. "Tom! Wait up!"
He turned, smiling at two rookie GENIUS scientists, who greeted him with a reverential "Morning, Dr. Carter," as they passed.
"I've been...looking for you...everywhere," panted Bob, crouching hands on knees, like a spent sprinter.
"Well, you've found me now. What's up?"
"The mice."
"What about them?"
The winded Bob began to try and speak again, then shook his head and grabbed Tom's elbow. "Come up!" he said, steering Tom toward the elevator. "I'll show you."
Upstairs in the Mouse House Tom found Nora Lutz standing over two cages. She kept looking at the notes on the clipboard in front of her, then looking back at the cages and shaking her head.
"What's happening, Nora?" asked Tom, pointing at Bob behind him. "Surf boy here can barely talk."
"It's the mice," said Nora.
"What about them?"
Nora pointed at the three cages in front of her. "They're clear."
Tom did a double take. "What? You mean cured?"
Nora shrugged, as if she couldn't believe it herself. "It seems that the Trinity serum has cured them of all their cancers."
"All the mice have been cured?" Tom repeated, not trusting his ears.
"No, not all of them. That's the weird thing. You remember how the first tests used single isolated mice, and every time we tried the Trinity serum it showed no benefit?"
Tom nodded impatiently.
"Well, for the most recent trial we used some batches of two and three mice to a cage. And in these batches the treated mice were all cured of their cancers."
"And the single mice?"
"No better than the control batches. Still diseased."
"What's the difference between the two batches?"
Again the shrug of incomprehension from Nora. "None. Except for the fact that the deceased were solos and the cured were in pairs or groups of three."
"So we don't know why they've been cured?"
Bob said, "No, not yet. But we do know it's not a fluke. The numbers are too consistent."
Tom walked over to the cage nearest Nora and stared at the three healthy mice, which only days ago had been visibly ill. "This is great. But it's only useful if we can understand how it happened."
Bob smiled and said, "We're investigating that now."
Tom checked his watch. For a moment he considered
calling Karen Tanner and postponing their meeting. But there wasn't much he could do here over and above what Nora and Bob would do anyway. He turned to leave. "I've got to go now, but I'll lend you a hand when I come back."
"Where are you going?" asked Bob.
"To do some investigating of my own."
T
he Inner Circle was already seated around the vast table when Ezekiel De La Croix arrived at the Cave of the Sacred Light. He felt the tension as their hushed whispering ceased. All rose as he approached the table. The incandescent flame in front of the altar was at least a foot taller than usual and burned whiter and brighter than before.
He greeted Brother Haddad first. "May he be saved."
"So he may save the righteous," responded the Regional Head of the Holy Lands. His heavy eyelids were darker than usual as his hands clasped Ezekiel's in the ritual crossed handshake.
Next Ezekiel greeted the rest of the circle: the tall, silver-haired Brother Luciano, Head of the Brotherhood in Christendom; the sallow-skinned Brother Olazabal, Head of the Brotherhood in the New World; and finally the Champions of the Primary and Secondary Imperatives. All looked grim, and none, save Brother Helix, would meet his eye.
He began by recapping the key points. He outlined Project Cana and the deal with Dr. Carter; Maria's attempt to kill the scientist; her subsequent capture and sentence. Finally he reminded them of Dr. Carter's crucial discovery that Maria Benariac, known to them as Nemesis, possessed the three genes of Christ, in effect implying that she was the New Messiah. Ezekiel stated this last point as a fact. It was at this stage that the objections started.
Not surprisingly Brother Bernard led them.
"It must be a mistake," the stout Brother said bluntly. "Or a trick. Nemesis can't be the one. You and I have known her for twenty years. We would have known."
"Why?" asked Ezekiel calmly.
"Father, she's a killer, not a savior. She was an excellent
tool of the Secondary Imperative, but certainly not the subject of the Primary."
"Why not?" Ezekiel probed again.
"She's an assassin."
"A trained killer," endorsed Haddad from the other end of the table.
"Trained by
us
," reminded Ezekiel. "And all her kills were righteous, sanctioned by
us
. Who shall say that the New Messiah should be a meek evangelist, and not a scourge of evil sent by God to avenge his son's death?"
"But she doesn't meet the ancient signs," objected Brother Olazabal.
Ezekiel scowled at that. It was clear that they had already agreed on a policy in his absence, no doubt led by Bernard. "What signs? Do you mean the three guidelines laid down by our founder?"
The usually quiet Luciano answered, "Yes. The signs clearly state the New Messiah will be righteous, of the correct age and
male
."
"But they were never anything but guidelines. She isn't male, but Maria is certainly righteous; so righteous she defied our expedient deal with the scientist. And as for the age, I don't know her precise birth date, but it's very close to the same day the flame changed color thirty-five years ago. And don't forget she possesses the rare genes of our Lord. Plus I know of abilities she had as a young child."
"But we have no proof of those abilities," exclaimed Bernard. "And I say again, I have known her for twenty years. I cannot believe she's the one. I'd have known."
Ezekiel sighed. He could order them all to do his bidding, but that would be highly unsatisfactory. This issue was fundamental to the Brotherhood; ultimately they had to
believe
in the need to save Maria.
It was then that the Champion of the Primary Imperative spoke.
"Brother Bernard," said Helix casually. "Do you have any proof that Maria
isn't
the chosen one?"
Until now Helix had been silent, his bald head turning from speaker to speaker, his eyes magnified behind the round wirerimmed glasses, watching the proceedings. He