Seizure by Robin Cook

source of the blood is what has captured my interest. My father was a Baptist minister, but my mother, rest her soul, was an Irish Catholic. She taught me a few things that have stayed with me all my life. Let me ask you a question: Are you acquainted with the Shroud of Turin?”
    Daniel glanced at Stephanie. A wry smile of disbelief had appeared on his face.
    â€œI was raised a Catholic,” Stephanie offered. “I’m familiar with the Shroud of Turin.”
    â€œI know what it is as well,” Daniel said. “It’s a religious relic purported to be the burial shroud of Jesus Christ, which was proven a fake about five years ago.”
    â€œTrue,” Stephanie said. “But it was more than ten years ago. It was carbon-dated to the mid-thirteenth century.”
    â€œI have no interest in the carbon-dating report,” Ashley said. “Especially since it was debunked by several eminentscientists. Even if the report had not been challenged, my interest would be the same. The shroud held a special place in my mama’s heart, and some of the devotion rubbed off on me when she took me and my two older brothers to Turin to be in its presence when I was no more than an impressionable moppet. Concerns about its authenticity aside, what is incontrovertible is that there are bloodstains on the cloth. Most everyone agrees about that. I want the little section of DNA needed for HTSR to come from the Shroud of Turin. That is my demand and my offer.”
    Daniel laughed derisively. “This is more than preposterous. It’s crazy. Besides, how would I get a blood sample from the Shroud of Turin?”
    â€œThat is your responsibility, Doctor,” Ashley said. “But I am willing and able to help. I am certain I can get details about access to the shroud from one of my archbishop acquaintances, who are always willing to exchange favors for special political consideration. I happen to know there are samples of the shroud containing bloodstains that had been taken, given out, then recalled by the church. Perhaps one of those could be made available, but you would have to go and get it.”
    â€œI’m speechless,” Daniel admitted, trying to suppress his amusement.
    â€œThat is entirely understandable,” Ashley said. “I am certain this opportunity I have proposed has caught you unawares. I do not expect you to respond immediately. As a thoughtful man, I was confident you would like to mull it over. My suggestion is that you call me, and I will give you a special number to call. But I would like to say that if I do not hear from you by ten o’clock tomorrow morning, I will assume you have decided not to take advantage of my offer. At ten o’clock, I will order my staff to schedule a subcommittee vote on S.1103 as soon as possible so that it can be moved on to the full committee and on to the Senate. And I already know the BIO lobby has informed you that S.1103 will pass with ease.”

five
    10:05 P . M ., Thursday, February 21, 2002
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    The taillights of Carol Manning’s Suburban faded as the vehicle moved down Louisiana Avenue and then merged with the other traffic before disappearing into the general gloom of the night. Stephanie and Daniel had watched them until the point that they were no longer discernable, then looked into each other’s faces. Their noses were mere inches apart, since their bodies were pressed together beneath their umbrella. They were once again standing motionless at the curb in front of Union Station, just as they had been an hour earlier when they were waiting to be picked up. Then they had been curious with anticipation. Now they were dumbfounded.
    â€œTomorrow morning, I’m going to swear this was all a delusion,” Stephanie said, with a shake of her head.
    â€œThere’s definitely a dreamlike unreality to it all,” Daniel admitted.
    â€œ Bizarre is a better adjective.”
    Daniel lowered his eyes to