Nor did the kid strike him as a high roller. He had unremarkable clothes, lived in a university-owned apartment, and took his bike or public transportation everywhere.
Unless it was the foxy girlfriend. She had arrived separately but came out of the hotel with him, all decked out in shiny green. The Town Car was waiting for them. Maybe it was a wedding. Maybe some other kind of celebration. But it didn’t look like a date, coming separately like that.
Roman had parked just down Arlington Street, so he followed the Town Car for Storrow Drive and westward until it crossed over the Larz Anderson Bridge to Harvard Square. The limo pulled up in front of her place on Harvard Street, and the two of them got out and went into her three-decker.
Roman checked his BlackBerry for the time. Five hours of surveillance, and all he had learned was that the kid and the girl had attended some fancy event and then shacked up at her place. A friggin’ waste of time, he thought as he looked at the small screen.
Or maybe not.
47
Sarah’s apartment was on the second floor. They walked into the living room, which was done in white and beige with accents of color, and nothing was out of place. Against the bank of windows overlooking Harvard Street sat a deep, cushiony sofa with a coffee table supporting a vase of fresh tulips. Two white-and-gold lamps sat on end tables, filling the room with a warm glow. Across from the sofa were two white French chairs. On the opposite wall were posters of French café scenes. It looked like a space Sarah would occupy.
“How come your place looks like it was just attacked by Architectural Digest and my place looks bombed out?”
“Maybe because I was expecting company.”
“Tell me I’m it.”
She smiled. “Besides, you’re a guy.”
“And I’ve never been more grateful.”
On the fireplace mantel were photos of her parents and a graduation shot of her in cap and gown with a smiling Morris Stern beside her. He followed her into the kitchen, her sensuous body making the emerald sheath look liquid as she walked.
“Red or white?” She directed him to a small wine rack on top of the refrigerator.
He removed a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and opened it while she got the glasses from a cabinet. Then he filled the glasses and they clinked. “Lovely, dark, and deep.”
“The wine?”
“Your eyes.”
“You’re sweet.” She took his arm and walked him to the couch. “So, what did you think of Reverend Mr. Gladstone?”
Zack settled beside her. “Besides his capacity for wind, he seems to carry a lot of weight.”
“Without him, there’d be no lab.”
“He also believes he’s about to find the Promised Land.”
“I suppose that’s the televangelist in him.”
“Except he expects me to point the way,” Zack said. “Just what kind of NDEs does he hope for me to have?”
“I don’t think anything in particular.”
“I mean, I’ve been suspended four times, and all I can remember is crawling out of a sand hole and playing ball with my father, then following him into some woods. Not exactly a life review and angels of light.”
“Except each run yields new data about what goes on in NDEs.”
“That’s my point: if I had bona fide NDEs. I mean, I didn’t feel separated from my body, looking down at myself like a seagull. And I didn’t pass through any tunnels toward godlight.”
“You also said that they didn’t feel like regular dreams.”
“Yeah, I still wouldn’t say they were supernatural. Just very realistic dreams.”
“Elizabeth thinks you experienced transcendence.”
“But everything I’ve read, including Gladstone’s book, talks about unconditional love and tranquillity. I didn’t get that. Plus I was younger and so was my father, and he wasn’t any being of light.”
“So what are you saying?”
“That maybe Dr. Stern’s right. Maybe it’s all from inside my own head, and nothing else.” His only explanation for the root beer logo thing was sheer coincidence—that the image had been buried in his brain, tweaked while in suspension, so that he came out thirsty and craving a frosty A&W. As for the nightmares of being buried in sand, he blamed that on the anesthetic—that and how his brain had suffered trauma from the bike accident, followed by weeks in a chemically induced coma.
“That’s entirely possible, which is why she wants more tests, if you’re still willing.”
“I’ve got bills up to here, so I’m willing.” But he still felt torn. Despite the wide-eyed speculations about the afterlife and cosmic sentience, he couldn’t help thinking that he was part of a very expensive exercise in pseudoscience. It reminded him of those Discovery Channel shows about alien visitations, with scientists holding forth with sweet-smelling endorsements. Of course, he didn’t say that. Nor did he mention how he’d like to get back to those woods and find out what his dream “father” wanted to tell him.
“Let’s see how you do on Thursday.”
After a second glass of wine, Sarah lowered her head onto his shoulder. In a few moments, they were kissing and fondling each other. After a spell, she began to unbutton his shirt and kiss his chest. “You know what?” he whispered.
“What?”
“I’m starting to believe in transcendence.”
48
At six P.M. on Thursday, Sarah pulled up in front of Zack’s apartment to drive him to the lab. “Bruce, you never looked better,” he said, getting in.
Sarah smiled. “He’s got the night off.”
She headed down Huntington toward the MassPike. But instead of the usual turn off Route 109, Sarah proceeded to the next right and then another, cutting behind the lab building where construction was being done. Because of the high evergreens, Zack had not noticed the large white church on the other side of the woods behind the lab. A sign in front read, “The GodLight Tabernacle.” As they passed the church, construction crews were finishing a security fence around the lab. “It’s on the same property as the church.”
“Yes. Gladstone owns all the acreage around here, including the lab.”
She continued past a low white parish house through more hemlocks to a new security gate at the entrance of the lab. Because of the trees, the fence was not visible from the church, and it was topped with razor wire. Also new was a guard shack with an armed uniformed man. Sarah showed her ID and guest pass for Zack. The guard looked at Zack and let them go through. “Is there something I should know?”
“Just that a lot of crazies don’t like what we’re doing.”
“Any actual threats?”
“Just some nasty communications,” she said. “As you can see, the guards are new.”
“Guards, plural?”
“There are others around the compound.”
They parked against the building, then moved through the front entrance, where a barricade had been erected and where a technician scanned them for metal and checked Zack’s backpack. All this in just a few days. “Just how serious are these communications?” he said as they walked down the hall to the lab office.
“It’s more precautionary than defensive.”
Dr. Luria was talking to Dr. Stern and a technician when they entered her office. They greeted Zack, then walked him down the hall to the MRI room, where he changed and got hooked up on the gurney.
Sarah patted his arm. “Ready?”
“If you don’t bring me back, the Discover people will be really upset.”
She smiled. “So will I.”