Tunnel Vision

15

The death notice of Thomas Pomeroy was on the obituary pages in the form of a lengthy article about the man and his life. And Roman read it with interest.

Pomeroy had been found dead on his living room couch by a housekeeper. The autopsy report claimed that he had died from “cardiac arrest”—words that filled Roman with pride.

According to the paper, Pomeroy had been lauded for his role in the “development of high resolution of magnetic resonance imaging, or MRI. Although MRI instruments have been available since the early 1980s, Dr. Pomeroy’s contribution greatly enhanced the imaging capabilities for viewing individual clusters of brain cells, which aided the monitoring of the progress of brain tumors.…”

Colleagues and family members went on to say that his contribution to medical physics and the practice of radiological diagnostics was invaluable. All his fancy schools and awards were listed among his accomplishments and how he left a daughter and three grandchildren in Phoenix, blah, blah, blah.

Roman took a sip of Red Bull, thinking how good he was at his trade and how he hadn’t lost the touch after all these years. He could still dispatch a subject without qualms or mercy, made all the more resolute now that he was working for a higher cause. The highest, in fact. Like St. Michael himself.

In the past, Roman maintained professional respect for client privacy. He rarely knew those he was working for. Likewise, he never inquired into the lives of those he dispatched. Not only was he disinterested, he understood that it was not a good idea to know his targets. Curiosity might weaken his resolve about putting a bullet through the brain of some guy who was a Little League coach and had a bunch of kids. Likewise, asking about a target’s background could endanger his own life. So he had plied his trade with total anonymity.

But the Pomeroy assignment began to eat at him. Why would someone want to assassinate a famous medical physicist?

And why someone in the service of God?