Shrouded in Silence (25 page)

"It's me. Michelle!"

"Michelle?"

"I'm your wife."

"Wife? I'm not sure that . . ."

The nurse stepped in behind her. "He's having trouble putting things into perspective. After all, he's been unconscious for a long time."

Michelle pushed the chair up next to the bed. "Jack, I'm your wife. Remember we work together, do research together, do everything together. You've been through a terrible experience. Remember?"

Jack kept looking at her as if he should know her. "Y-yes," he said slowly. "I do remember you. Remember . . . from . . . somewhere." He leaned back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

Her heart was pounding. This wasn't what she had expected at all.

"Jack? Jack, are you with me?"

"We've had a definite breakthrough today," the nurse said. "The doctor will be excited when he comes tonight. The fact that your husband has regained consciousness is a major step forward."

"But he doesn't know me," Michelle protested in a pleading voice.

"Sometimes it takes a while for memory to kick in. Don't worry. He'll be more alert tomorrow. It was important for him to see you today."

Michelle searched the woman's face. She wanted much more of an answer than she'd heard so far, but the professional distance she saw in the woman's eyes made it clear that the nurse wouldn't tell her more.

"It would be best for us to let him rest now," the nurse said. "You'll be able to come back later." She gently tugged on Michelle's arm and kept the trained smile in place.

Michelle walked out of the room and down the hall at a slow, unsteady pace. Many times, she had heard Jack explain to groups that through redemptive suffering, healing could come to the brokenness of the world. He had passionately believed that undeserved pain resulting from the pursuit of good released the power to change the destructive potential of evil situations. Certainly, they had been in just such a violent predicament. Michelle could only hope Jack's ideas were true and good would come out of this horrid mess they were in. Without question, Jack had been plunged into dire straits for no reason other than he was trying to make something positive happen.

But whatever she had hoped for today hadn't happened yet. Jack had come out of the coma and that was important, but if he didn't remember her, he certainly wouldn't remember anything about their work. If his memory did return fully, it would take considerable time before he was fully functional. As the realization sunk in, it seemed as if the autumn had suddenly turned to winter. She had to make him remember her.

Klaus Burchel stood in the shadows across the street from the hospital, watching the front door. During the days that had passed since he first watched the Townsend's office on Via Vittoria Veneto, enough of his hair had grown back that he no longer had a bald-headed appearance, but the scar on his cheek remained. If Michelle Townsend had caught a glimpse of him earlier, he might look somewhat different now.

The Townsend woman came out of the hospital and walked to the street curb where she hailed a cab. Burchel watched her and wondered if anything had improved with her old man. She sped away in a battered clunker with
taxi
painted on the door. Burchel hurried across the street and into the hospital. By this time, he knew exactly where Jack Townsend's room would be found. Stein would want an update, and the best way to get it was to look in the room. He slowed as he came closer to the door. A nurse stood outside making a notation on a metal covered chart.

"Excuse me," Burchel said. "I'm a friend of Dr. Townsend. How's he doing?"

"Oh, much better," the nurse said. "He's awake for the first time. We're making progress."

"Wonderful!" Burchel said. "Glad to hear it."

Klaus kept walking. Not good news at all. Stein would want to know about this turn of events immediately.

33

M
ichelle had awakened often throughout the night, worrying about Jack and praying that Dov had left this world in good stead for his heavenly journey. Dozing off again, the remembrance of a street in the town of Cerignola flooded her mind. Once more, she could see a gasoline truck coming straight toward her. The terror of an imminent collision shook her body. She awoke with perspiration dotting her forehead. Hours passed before she could make herself go back to sleep. Each time old images of destruction returned, and she had to fight them off.

When morning came, Michelle felt like a wrung-out dishrag. She had to shake off fatigue and push herself to get dressed. The trip back to the hospital took forever in the raging morning traffic, but no matter what the obstacles, she needed to be there as quickly as possible. She had to make sure Jack had progressed as the nurse had predicted.

Most of the hospital's regular floor staff knew her and nodded pleasantly as she passed. Michelle appreciated their warmth and reminded herself that no matter what happened, she mustn't allow her churning inner emotional fears to conquer. She had to stop these flashes from the past and keep them from destroying her concentration. Michelle picked up the pace and pushed Jack's door open.

To her surprise, a man was already sitting in the chair, trying to talk to Jack. The diamond merchant Tony Mattei had beaten her to the hospital

"Ah, Signor Mattei!" Michelle said. "How unexpected."

Mattei was on his feet instantly. "I have been dilatory in visiting my injured friend. I see that your husband is awake this morning. Most positive."

"Yes. He's talking to you?"

"Doesn't seem to recognize me, but I am offering him good cheer." Mattei immediately backed toward the door. "Now that you are here, I leave him in your care." He bowed at the waist. "Good to see you, my dear. Yes, good indeed." Tony Mattei disappeared through the door.

Perplexed by his rapid departure, Michelle turned to her husband. "Jack? Jack? Are you awake?"

Jack blinked several times. "Where . . . where am I?"

"You're in the hospital."

"Yes . . . yes . . . the hospital."

"Do you know me?"

Jack stared at her for a moment. "You're my wife. Michelle."

She wanted to shout for joy. If nothing else, he remembered her. Thank God for that discovery. Michelle grabbed his hand.

"My arm . . . I can't move it."

"Yes," she said. "You received a severe injury in the explosion. Your arm is in a plaster cast."

"I don't remember any explosion," Jack said. "When did that happen?"

"Several weeks ago."

"I don't recall anything about an explosion. No, nothing."

"You and Dov were in our offices when it occurred."

"Dov? Who is Dov?"

"You don't remember our associate Dov Sharon?"

"The name is familiar. Was he a friend?"

"A good friend," Michelle said.

"Oh . . . oh."

"You and Dov were working on finding a lost book from the first century,
The Prologue of James.
Remember that quest?"

Jack shook his head. "No. I do recall that we were searching for the original ending to Mark's Gospel. Right?"

"Definitely."

Jack laid his head back on the pillow. "So much seems vague, miles away. I can't seem to get my hands around it." He sat up again. "Yes, you are my Michelle. My wife. I love you very much."

"Oh, Jack, those are the sweetest words that I've heard in ten years." Michelle kissed him. "Oh, yes. I love you passionately."

Jack laid back on the pillow and closed his eyes. "So hard to remember." He fell asleep again.

Michelle sat next to the bed holding his good hand firmly for what seemed like an hour. Finally the door opened behind her and Guido Valentino tiptoed in.

"Any improvement?" Guido whispered.

"Much," Michelle said in her normal voice. "Yes, some of Jack's memory has returned. I am highly encouraged."

"Good," Guido said. "Excellent."

Jack stirred and opened his eyes. "You are the doctor?"

"No, no. Remember me? I am Guido Valentino. I work with you on the project on Mark's Gospel."

Jack stared blankly and shook his head. "No, I'm afraid I don't, but there is so much I can't seem to recall. All I remember is working on finding the ending to Mark's Gospel," his voice trailed away. "Trying to find an ending . . ."

"You are much better," Guido said. "Yes, we are going forward."

"I am sorry that I left so abruptly yesterday," Michelle said. "When news came that there had been a change, I had to get up here at once. That's just the way I'm put together."

"No problem," Guido said, "but you did leave at the most inopportune moment. I was almost about to tell you something important."

"Please forgive me," Michelle said. "I'm afraid any change in Jack's condition takes precedence over everything else."

Jack raised up in bed and looked at Guido again. "Yes. I do vaguely remember your helping me with some translation. Yes, you were demonstrating some characteristics of first-century Koine Greek. Something of that order."

Guido smiled. "My friend, you are making excellent progress. Your sentences are coming together much better. Your mind's starting to work."

"I can't tell you how relieved I am," Michelle said.

"I believe I have come at a fortuitous moment," Guido said. "I actually wanted to talk to both of you. I believe now is the right time."

"You might have to repeat this information to make sure we all get the meaning. I hope Jack is up to it."

Guido took a deep breath and began. "My family and I haven't shared this information with anyone for fear of how local citizens might react. My family name could create problems with the Roman Catholic Church, and we don't want any of those issues to erupt. My actual name is Jonas De Lateran."

"Lateran?" Michelle said. "That name came up in our studies." Michelle said.

"Until the 'i' was dropped, our name was Laterani. We are direct descendants of the Plautius Laterani family that extends back to the first century."

"Yes! The Laterani name kept appearing here and there in our search," Michelle said.

"My ancient ancestors owned property that was on the edge of Rome. Eventually this land was sold to Fausta, the wife of Constantine. On that piece of land in A.D. 311 Constantine built the first church in Rome that became the center of Christian life. Not the Vatican, but San Giovanni in Laterano was primary. San Giovanni was Rome's first actual church building. San Giovanni was the original seat of the Pope and remained so until the papacy moved to Avignon in the fourteenth century. Encased in the center of the high altar is a table that is reputed to have been used by St. Peter himself. Needless to say, San Giovanni remains one of the greatest relics of the Christian faith."

"Your family donated that property to the church?" Jack mumbled slowly. "Amazing."