January twenty-ninth, nineteen ninety. The time is four twenty-two in the morning. Inside the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, the cardiology ward is quiet. In room four twelve, fifty-eight-year-old Richard Holm, a former farmer recovering from a heart attack, floats in a half-conscious delirium. Through the haze of pain, he sees a figure emerge. A tall man in a tweed suit and glasses, look...
