Angels & Demons полностью

"Yes, sir!" One of the guards ran off in the direction of the camerlegno’s office. The others stood their ground. They studied Rocher, looking uneasy. "Just one moment, captain. We will announce your guest."

Kohler, however, did not stop. He turned sharply and maneuvered his chair around the sentinels.

The guards spun and broke into a jog beside him. "Fermati! Sir! Stop!"

Kohler felt repugnance for them. Not even the most elite security force in the world was immune to the pity everyone felt for cripples. Had Kohler been a healthy man, the guards would have tackled him. Cripples are powerless, Kohler thought. Or so the world believes.

Kohler knew he had very little time to accomplish what he had come for. He also knew he might die here tonight. He was surprised how little he cared. Death was a price he was ready to pay. He had endured too much in his life to have his work destroyed by someone like Camerlegno Ventresca.

"Signore!" the guards shouted, running ahead and forming a line across the hallway. "You must stop!" One of them pulled a sidearm and aimed it at Kohler.

Kohler stopped.

Rocher stepped in, looking contrite. "Mr. Kohler, please. It will only be a moment. No one enters the Office of the Pope unannounced."

Kohler could see in Rocher’s eyes that he had no choice but to wait. Fine, Kohler thought. We wait.

The guards, cruelly it seemed, had stopped Kohler next to a full-length gilded mirror. The sight of his own twisted form repulsed Kohler. The ancient rage brimmed yet again to the surface. It empowered him. He was among the enemy now. These were the people who had robbed him of his dignity. These were the people. Because of them he had never felt the touch of a woman… had never stood tall to accept an award. What truth do these people possess? What proof, damn it! A book of ancient fables? Promises of miracles to come? Science creates miracles every day!

Kohler stared a moment into his own stony eyes. Tonight I may die at the hands of religion, he thought. But it will not be the first time.

For a moment, he was eleven years old again, lying in his bed in his parents’ Frankfurt mansion. The sheets beneath him were Europe’s finest linen, but they were soaked with sweat. Young Max felt like he was on fire, the pain wracking his body unimaginable. Kneeling beside his bed, where they had been for two days, were his mother and father. They were praying.

In the shadows stood three of Frankfurt’s best doctors.

"I urge you to reconsider!" one of the doctors said. "Look at the boy! His fever is increasing. He is in terrible pain. And danger!"

But Max knew his mother’s reply before she even said it. "Gott wird ihn beschuetzen."

Yes, Max thought. God will protect me. The conviction in his mother’s voice gave him strength. God will protect me.

An hour later, Max felt like his whole body was being crushed beneath a car. He could not even breathe to cry.

"Your son is in great suffering," another doctor said. "Let me at least ease his pain. I have in my bag a simple injection of—"

"Ruhe, bitte!" Max’s father silenced the doctor without ever opening his eyes. He simply kept praying.

"Father, please!" Max wanted to scream. "Let them stop the pain!" But his words were lost in a spasm of coughing.

An hour later, the pain had worsened.

"Your son could become paralyzed," one of the doctors scolded. "Or even die! We have medicines that will help!"

Frau and Herr Kohler would not allow it. They did not believe in medicine. Who were they to interfere with God’s master plan? They prayed harder. After all, God had blessed them with this boy, why would God take the child away? His mother whispered to Max to be strong. She explained that God was testing him… like the Bible story of Abraham… a test of his faith.

Max tried to have faith, but the pain was excruciating.

"I cannot watch this!" one of the doctors finally said, running from the room.

By dawn, Max was barely conscious. Every muscle in his body spasmed in agony. Where is Jesus? he wondered. Doesn’t he love me? Max felt the life slipping from his body.

His mother had fallen asleep at the bedside, her hands still clasped over him. Max’s father stood across the room at the window staring out at the dawn. He seemed to be in a trance. Max could hear the low mumble of his ceaseless prayers for mercy.