Robin Cook - Seizure

Time dragged. Michael’s muscles began to ache, particularly in his legs. Fearing he might get a cramp, which he knew would surely give him away, he shifted his weight, then held his breath in case his movement was noticed. Thankfully, it wasn’t, but the pain came back within minutes. Yet worse than the physical discomfort was the torture of hearing the sounds of intimacy between a man and a woman leading to the rhythmic and unmistakable noise of actual lovemaking. Michael was being forced by circumstance to be an auditory voyeur, and despite his attempts at silently reciting by rote selections from his breviary, he found himself titillated to mock his vows of celibacy.

After a few moans of pleasure, the room fell silent for a few minutes. Then there were whispers Michael could not make out, followed by laughter and giggles. Finally, to Michael’s relief, the couple went into the bathroom. He could tell by the muffled sounds of their voices over the sound of the shower.

Michael allowed himself to rotate his head, flex his stiff shoulders, raise his arms, and even walk briefly in place. After less than a minute, he returned to his frozen position, unsure when one of the couple would choose to return to the room proper. He didn’t have long to wait and soon heard one of them at the suitcases.

Unfortunately for Michael, it took Stephanie and Daniel another three quarters of an hour to dress, don their coats, and find their remaining room key before they finally left for dinner. At first, the silence seemed deafening, as he strained to hear any noises that would suggest they were returning for some forgotten item. Five minutes crept by. Finally, Michael warily reached around the edge of the drape and slowly drew it aside, revealing progressively more of the now-darkened room. The couple had left the light on in the bathroom, and it spilled out into the room to puddle alongside the bed.

Michael eyed the door to the hall and tried to estimate how quickly he could get to it, through it, and get it closed behind himself. It wouldn’t take long, but it made him nervous he’d be completely exposed before putting some distance between himself and room 408. At this point, being caught would be significantly more problematic than when Stephanie and Daniel had first come home.

As Michael tried to build his courage to leave the relative safety of the drapes, his eyes roamed around the room. A glint off a shining object on the bureau next to the flower arrangement caught his eye. He blinked, not believing what he was looking at. “Praise be to God!” he whispered. It was the silver case.

Marveling at his luck after all, Michael took a deep breath and emerged from his hiding place. For another second he hesitated, listening before rushing to the bureau, snapping up the silver case, slipping it into his pocket, and dashing out the door. To his relief, the corridor was empty. He quickly moved away from room 408, afraid to look back and terrified someone would accost him. It wasn’t until he reached the elevators that he allowed himself to glance back down the hallway. It was still empty.

A few minutes later, Michael passed through the hotel’s revolving door and stepped out into the night. Never had the chill of a midwinter evening felt so good against his flushed face. He walked quickly away from the door, each step a bit more buoyant than the previous. With his right hand thrust into his jacket pocket, clutching the silver case as a reminder of what he’d been able to accomplish, an exhilaration spread through him not unlike the euphoria of absolution he’d occasionally felt after particularly difficult visits as a supplicant to the confessional. It was as if the stressful trials and tribulations of resaving his Savior’s blood sample had made the experience that much more poignant.

Michael took a taxi from the hotel’s cabstand and gave the address of the Chancery of the Archdiocese to the driver. He sat back and tried to relax. He looked at his watch. It was almost six-thirty. He’d been caught behind the couple’s curtain for more than two hours! But it was a nightmare with a happy ending, as evidenced by the cold feel of the silver case in his pocket.

Michael closed his eyes and reveled in thinking about the best time to call James Cardinal O’Rourke to explain the unfortunate development concerning the identities of the so-called couriers, followed by the problem’s ultimate resolution. Now that he was safe, he found himself smiling at what he’d had to endure. Hiding behind drapes in a hotel room while the couple made love was so preposterous as to defy belief. In some ways, he wished he could tell the cardinal, but he knew he couldn’t. The only person he would ultimately tell would be his confessor, and even that was not going to be easy.

Knowing the cardinal’s schedule, Michael thought it best to wait until ten-thirty P.M. Italian time to make the call. It was during the predinner hour that the cardinal was the most accessible. During the call, what Michael was going to enjoy particularly was implying rather than directly telling the cardinal that it had been he who had by his own ingenuity single-handedly salvaged what could have been an embarrassment for the church in general and the cardinal in particular.

By the time the taxi pulled up in front of the chancery, Michael felt almost back to normal. Although his pulse was still rapid, he was no longer perspiring, and his breathing was entirely regular. The only problem was that his shirt and underclothes were damp from the ordeal, making him feel chilled.

Michael first went to see Valerio Garibaldi, whom he had befriended back when he’d attended the North American College in Rome, but he was informed that his friend had left the building on an official errand. Michael then walked down to Luigi Mansoni’s office. He knocked on the open door, and the monsignor motioned for him to come in and sit down. The cleric was on the phone. He quickly terminated the call and directed his full attention to Michael. Switching from Italian to English, he asked how Michael had fared. From his unblinking stare, it was apparent he was intensely interested.

“Quite well, considering,” Michael said obliquely.

“Considering what?”

“Considering what I had to go through.” Triumphantly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the embossed silver case. Carefully, he placed it on Luigi’s desk before pushing it toward the monsignor. He sat back with a self-satisfied smile on his thin face.

Luigi’s eyebrows arched. He reached out, carefully lifted the case, and held it between both his palms. “I’m surprised they were willing to give it up,” he said. “They seemed like two very passionate people.”

“Your assessment is more accurate than you know,” Michael said. “But they are not yet aware that they have surrendered the sample back to the church. And to be honest, I did not so much as talk with them.”

A slight smile dimpled Luigi’s puffy face. “I’m thinking perhaps I shouldn’t ask how you have managed to get it.”

“You shouldn’t,” Michael advised.

“Well, then, that’s how we will proceed. For my part, I will merely return the sample to Professor Ballasari, and that will be it.” Luigi released the latch and lifted the case’s cover. He then started while staring into its bare innards. After a few quick glances back and forth between Michael and the case, he said: “I’m confused. The sample is not in here!”

“No! Don’t say that!” Michael sat bolt upright.

“I’m afraid I must,” Luigi responded. He turned the empty case around and held it up so Michael could see.

“Oh, no!” Michael cried. He grabbed his head with both hands and slumped forward until his elbows rested on his knees. “I don’t believe it!”