Shadow of Eden (57 page)

Steve and Valenti looked at each other in alarm.

“. . . Anthony Fanelli also known as Anthony Valenti also of Phoenix. Police are actively searching for them.”

“Dr. Green’s number—now,” Steve said.

“All right, all right.” Valenti fished in his shirt pocket. “I just wanted to savor the moment.”

He read off the numbers as Steve punched them into his cell phone. The phone rang until a coarse voice growled into the earpiece, “Yeah?”

“I’m Dr. Steven James. The President’s sick and I know what’s wrong with him.”

“What?” The voice changed to surprise. “Who the hell are you?”

“Steve James, a neurologist. I think I know what’s causing the President’s myoclonus and failing cognition. You’re Dr. Green, right?”

“Yeah. Now tell me what you think you know.”

A computer monitor beeped in Mallis and Associates computer room. In response, the technician donned a set of headphones and tapped on the keyboard, muttering at the computer. He heard a voice say, “. . . Do you know anything about prion diseases?”

Another voice replied. “Shit. Do you think that’s what he’s got?”

“Yes, but it’s a new variant that—”

The technician dropped his headphones back around his neck and picked up a telephone. Punching a speed dial number, he listened to the ring three times.

“Mallis.”

“Another priority, Mr. Mallis. It’s a Dr. James on his cell phone. It’s from that number you gave me earlier. Busy night, sir.”

“Just play the damn call,” Mallis snapped.

“Certainly,” the technician said pleasantly and punched a few buttons. “From the top.”

Mallis lowered his cell phone thoughtfully.
The White House?
That raised the stakes tremendously. He itched at the prospect of killing Dr. James under the Feds’ noses, especially in revenge for Joe. He stuck his head into Blumenthal’s plush, wood paneled study. “We’re done here.” Doug looked up from Dr. Blumenthal’s computer and nodded.

Back in the kitchen, Mallis checked Blumenthal’s body one last time before they left. In five minutes the house would go up in a gas explosion that would consume any hidden evidence Blumenthal might have kept on Eden. Dr. James’s gun was back in it’s Zip-loc, but would be deposited in a dumpster or garbage can about a block away to be found if the police were doing their job. Doug joined him and they left through the front door. Getting into their Explorer, they drove off, back towards Washington and the White House.

Chapter 125

D
r. Green absently hung up the phone, reeling from Dr. James’s fantastic story. The call initially had sounded like a crank, but the more Dr. James had explained the details of this strange disease, the more it made sense—and it pulled most of the pieces together. A prion disease, from Eden yet! He had never prescribed Eden for the President, nor would he. And Robert knew he would never prescribe it. That would be a key piece of evidence and a test of Dr. James’s story. The clock radio dial glowed 4:01 and with the Chinese ultimatum due to expire at seven . . .

Dr. Green felt a chill run through him. An incapacitated man was possibly leading the country.

Wrapping himself in a bathrobe, he went to his study and looked up a number in his Rolodex. He dialed the White House Secret Service.

“Davenport.”

“Aaron, it’s me, Tom Green.”

“Dr. Green, what’s up at this time of the morning?”

“I need a piece of information and I believe you or Elise can tell me.”

“What is it?” Davenport sounded cautious.

“I need to know if the President is taking a drug called Eden. I’m not prescribing it for him, but he might be getting it from someone else. I need to know this immediately, please.”

“Hmm. I don’t know, but one of his personal detail might.”

“Can you find out right away?”

“I sure can. I’ll get one on the horn now.”

“Thanks.” Dr. Green was placed on hold listening to a military band play lively, irritatingly upbeat marches. He mentally reviewed Robert’s last office visit. It had been normal, excellent really, with the cholesterol back to normal. Then it hit him—the weight. Robert had lost almost thirty pounds. He remembered asking Robert about it. What was his answer? Oh, right. He said he was running for re-election. No answer at all. He had let it pass at the time but now . . . If Robert were on Eden and if his myoclonic twitching were the same as the others, then Dr. James was probably right. Robert might actually have a prion disease. Shit.

Dr. Green was startled by Davenport’s voice. “I spoke to the detail. They don’t really go through his personal effects, so they don’t know.”

“I’ve got to find out, Aaron.”

“I figured. I sent a maid up to the First Lady’s drawing room to get her on the phone. I presume you can’t ask the boss himself.”

Dr. Green felt like Benedict Arnold. “No, I can’t.”

“I think I understand.”

“Have you noticed anything?”

“I can’t really speak about that, Dr. Green. Sorry.”

“Of course.” He impatiently drummed his fingers on the desk while he waited.

“Dr. Green,” Davenport presently announced, “Mrs. Dixon is on the line. I’ll patch you in.”

There were a couple of clicks and then Elise Dixon said, “Hello?”

“Elise, it’s me, Tom Green.”

“Tom, what’s going on?”

“Elise, I’m so sorry to bother you at this time of the night, but do you know if Robert is using Eden?”

“Of course he is. Why wouldn’t you know? Didn’t you give it to him?”

Dr. Green’s throat tightened. “No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t, not the President.”

Elise didn’t say anything for a minute. “Well, I don’t know where he got it then. He told me you gave it to him.”

“How long has he been taking it?”

“At least a year, possibly more. I really haven’t paid much attention. Why is it so important?”

“He hasn’t been himself, has he?”

“No,” she said slowly, “he hasn’t. I thought it was stress. Is it something else?” Her voice now worried. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure, but I think there is a possibility Eden is causing a problem. Has he been complaining of headaches?”

“Yes, bad ones.”

“And his appetite? Taste?”

“Vanished. I thought it all was from stress.”

“Has he been having delusions or nightmares? Is there anything he is particularly afraid of?”

Elise didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Yes, and it’s getting worse. What is it? Can you help him?”

He’s got it
, Dr. Green concluded. His old friend had all the symptoms Dr. James said he would. “I’m sorry, Elise. I just spoke with a doctor who has more experience with this than me. I want him to see Robert, tonight, you know, with this China thing.”

Dr. Green next called two other hospitals, names he had gotten from Dr. James, and spoke to the nurses taking care of Captain Palmer and Shirley Rosenwell. The descriptions of their symptoms were exactly the same as Dr. James had described. The nurse taking care of Rosenwell also knew Dr. James personally and answered questions about him to Dr. Green’s satisfaction. As a final check, he called a neurologist friend, an expert on Cruetzfeld-Jacob, and asked her a series of questions.

Finally assured that Dr. James was right, he picked up the phone and dialed Vice President Sullivan.

Chapter 126

T
he Secretary of State sat at the oversized mahogany conference table in the White House situation room. It was crowded with the Security Council members, the remaining cabinet members, and assorted VIPs. Their aides crowded the side-tables lining the walls, many with laptops glowing and fingers flying over keyboards. Dominating the room was a massive projection TV screen flanked by other flat screen monitors.

Joint Chief’s Chairman, General Valenzuela was accompanied by a contingent of military experts and technicians, further crowding the space. He walked around introducing Captain Kroller, who had commanded the USS Eisenhower during its last tour. Kroller would explain the details of carrier operations to the Security Council and President. Others would help decipher the events on the projected displays of the theatre for the President and his advisors. President Dixon was not in attendance and Resnick did not know where he was. She had expected him to be here and felt a little miffed that he was not.

An intern walked over to Vice-President Sullivan and whispered in his ear. Sullivan stood up and walked out.

Resnick had personally appealed to Ambassador Gung for a delay in the attack. Gung had curtly informed her that if there were an immediate and substantive movement away from support of Taiwan’s independence they might consider a change in their attack plans. In China, Pierre Justice was still unable to get an audience with Premier Chow, General Yao, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, or any senior Chinese official. Even the Swiss ambassador, who tried to make a last minute plea for restraint, could not make any headway.

The United Nations Security Council had met in an emergency session and the US ambassador had endured a blistering attack from China’s UN ambassador for unacceptable meddling in the internal affairs of a sovereign nation. This was an internal civil matter, he had said, and called for the U.S. to withdraw its forces immediately. A certain veto from China stymied the Security Council from considering a resolution against initiation of hostilities. China had the momentum and was not going to squander it.

Taiwan’s Ambassador Zhou had told Resnick that his country had been similarly informed and that internal discussions were underway. So far, Taiwan had not reacted to the new intelligence the U.S. had provided them regarding China’s attack strategy and its likelihood of success. Taiwan must believe the U.S. would somehow triumph in the defense of their island—or that China was bluffing. Even so, and perhaps belying their own testaments, Taiwan’s military was scrambling up to full readiness, marshalling their reserves, and mobilizing their own Civil Defense.

Following the ultimatum, Congress passed a resolution supporting the men in uniform, but in a blow to the President, they passed another resolution against the deployment and a warning that funding would be cut off in twenty days if the fleet were still in the straits. Congressmen from both sides of the aisle gave impassioned speeches against the President’s actions, with only a few willing to publicly defend him.