Shadow of Eden (9 page)

Chapter 16

S
teve’s plane pulled up to the gate at Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport. Standing up, he stretched and yawned. Last night had become a blur. He had spent over two hours at the hospital in taped debriefings with the FAA. Upon leaving, he had faced a barrage of reporters and television cameras. Hospital security helped elbow him through the throng shouting questions at him and into a waiting taxi. By the time he had reached his DC hotel room, it was five o’clock in the morning, with only enough time to call his wife, shower, and get back into his old clothes before heading back to the airport.

While he had called Anne right after getting to the hospital, it was brief; just an “I’m okay and I love you.” He did not mention his cockpit experience, but by the time he had reached her from the hotel phone, she had heard the story from the TV news. She pressed him for details, which by then, with time and fatigue, had become indistinct.

Heading home to Phoenix on the first flight out, he had longed to hold Anne and Johnnie again. Little John was seven and would absolutely wiggle with embarrassment. Steve couldn’t wait.

Leaving the gate area, he walked past security and into the terminal where a wall of blinding halogen video lights greeted him, behind which were a crowd of reporters yelling questions. Blinking in the harsh light, he looked around. Where were Anne and Johnnie? Pushing past the cameras and reporters, he heard his shouted name in a voice he instantly recognized.

“Steve!”

It was Anne.
Anne
! He looked over the crowd and spotted her, smiling and tear-streaked, standing on a chair and waving. Next to her stood his son, Johnnie, jumping up and down in his excitement. Steve rushed up and wrapped his arms around her slender body in a tight bear hug, picking her up and swinging her around like any returning sailor. The cameras followed, sucking up every move. He buried his nose in her long black hair and breathed in her familiar fragrance.

“I’m back, honey,” he whispered in her ear.

Anne didn’t talk but held him close. Johnnie pulled at his belt. “Daddy, Daddy!”

Steve, smiling broadly, picked up his son and held him up over his head. “Little John, good to see you, sprout.”

“Daddy, you’re a hero!”

“Miss me?”

“Yeah. Did you bring me a present?”

Chapter 17

T
he television camera framed a very presidential-looking Dixon sitting at his desk in the Oval Office. Pictures of Elise, his wife, and their two grown sons sat on the credenza behind him.

“Ready in ten seconds,” a technician said.

Dixon cleared his throat and looked at the teleprompter just above the camera lens. Already “Good Morning.” was showing, dark blue on a neutral background. The flow of words would start as he began to speak. The technician, sweating in his unaccustomed suit and tie, used his hands for the final three seconds, and then the red broadcast light came on over the camera.

“Good morning,” Dixon began. “Last night in Hong Kong, a large group of religious worshippers gathered to hear from their leaders. It was a peaceful collection of ordinary Chinese citizens, all law abiding except for one thing. They desired to worship in a religion that has been outlawed by the Chinese Government . . .”

Resnick leaned against the back wall of the Oval office and watched him on one of the TV monitors the technicians had set up. Press Secretary Tyrone Grune, standing next to her, read his copy of the speech along with Dixon. The President looked solid, his voice firm and tone right. Robert Dixon was very good on TV.

“. . .This religion, called the Falun Gong, is viewed as a threat by the Chinese Government despite no declared political agenda. Suddenly and without warning, the leaders of the gathering were slain by Chinese army sharpshooters, the lights went out, plunging the park into darkness and tear gas canisters were fired into the crowd. The demonstrators did what you and I would do. They panicked and ran. And as they tried to escape the park, the Chinese army waited for them with machine guns and assault rifles and cut down the peaceful, unarmed Chinese people, murdering them in cold blood.” Dixon paused for effect.

Was he overdoing it a bit? Resnick wondered. His even tones had given way to a rise of emotion she knew was boiling right under the surface.

Grune heard it too. “Easy, easy,” he muttered.

“That’s not all. As many of you know, the government shut down nearly all international and independent news media before their premeditated massacre of the peaceful worshippers. The freedom of the press that we take for granted in our country is not known nor recognized by the Chinese leaders.”

“What?” Grune grunted. “That’s not in there.”

“What’s more, they shot and killed members of the international corps of reporters. In addition, the army under orders, shot and killed . . .”

Grune flipped through the three pages of his large-type speech. “He’s off script.” Grune whispered shaking his head. “He’s off script!”

Linda, having read and approved the speech, listened more carefully.

“ . . . Today on Thanksgiving day, a day we all set aside to thank the Lord for the blessings we enjoy here . . .”

“He’s back on, thank God.”

“ . . . Remember that the Chinese citizens do not have so many things to be thankful for. Our disagreement is not with the Chinese people, for you have seen that the Chinese Government is against its own citizens. And since the government’s massacre of its people, thirty thousand fewer Chinese are home with their families and loved ones to share dinner.”

Dixon’s tone sharpened. “I, and all the free people from around the world, condemn the actions of the Chinese government in the strongest terms and . . .”

“He’s off again.” Grune whispered, helplessly waving the script in frustration. “I have no idea where he’s going.”

“ . . . I call on the Chinese government to stop lying to its people and apologize to the victim’s families at the very least . . .”

Jesus
, thought Resnick.
Stop—now.

“ . . . and better yet, embrace the freedoms that are fundamental to a moral government—freedom of the press, freedom of religion, freedom of peaceful assembly and freedom of petition.”

Dixon stared into the camera a long moment. “God bless America and the freedoms we all enjoy. Never, ever should we take that for granted. Thank you for listening.”

Chapter 18

S
tanding in front of her bathroom mirror wearing a simple white chemise, Anne pulled her hairbrush through her straight hair, mentally reviewing the day’s events. The press had been relentless, chasing after the hero
du jour
. Steve had given countless interviews to the local TV stations, several newspapers, and radio stations. The national news outlets interviewed him at their local affiliates for broadcast during their evening segments. The day had dissolved into a sea of faces and microphones. She and Johnnie had also gotten their fair share of attention and even some of the neighbors were interviewed.

Steve, Anne knew, disliked the attention and hubbub, consenting only because he viewed it as a way to get them off his back as soon as possible. “This’ll kill me if it goes on more than a day,” he had told her as they were driven to ABC’s local affiliate, Channel 10, in a network chartered limousine. Johnnie, however, loved every minute. The thought made her smile. He couldn’t wait to get back to school to brag about his dad.

When she walked in to the bedroom she found Steve lying on his side, covers down to his waist. Anne stood at the side of the bed for a while and watched him breathe in the dim moonlight that slipped in from the window. The sight eased her anxiety. She examined the sutures and bruises all over his back. He had made her pull off his bandages as soon as he had gotten home.

His body looked so peaceful as it lay there, lean and angular from regular mountain biking in the desert hills. She smiled at his shaggy auburn hair. He never seemed to have time for a haircut. She would call Monday to make him an appointment.

She slid into bed next to him and gently touched his shoulder. “Are you asleep?” she whispered.

“Nope.” He sounded fully awake.

“You must be exhausted.”

Steve rolled onto his back and stretched, grimacing at what must have been the pressure on his injuries. “A little wound up.”

“Can’t blame you. Did you take anything for the pain?”

“Tylenol.”

“Terrific,” she said sarcastically. “That’ll knock it right out. Come here, let me rub your neck.”

Steve rolled over onto his side facing her and laid his head on her chest sliding his legs alongside hers. She loved his touch and his closeness aroused her. She kissed the top of his head, smelling his freshly washed hair. She had anticipated his return for a week, but with all that had happened, she knew he must be too tired to make love to her.

“The best place in the world,” he said snuggling in. His left hand sought out hers and the wedding bands clinked softly as they touched. Steve pressed his ring against hers and she returned the pressure in a custom they had been doing for years. Steve once explained that it came from the Green Lantern cartoon hero, who had to recharge his power ring every twenty-four hours. He was such a weird romantic, she had thought, but immediately adopted the gesture.

Steve’s hand then found its usual place on her right breast, cupping it. Anne treasured the secure feeling of his hands and never slept well when he was gone. She craved the physical touch of his body during the night and would move towards him until she felt his warm skin. “Bed Buffalo,” he teased her from the way she gradually bulldozed her way onto his side of the bed.

She stroked the back of his neck and hair softly. “It must feel good to have saved all those people.”

Steve did not answer immediately. “I’m glad I’m here with you and Johnnie.” A moment later he added, “Yeah.”

“Were you scared?” She had wanted to ask that ever since he had landed. She was afraid of what he must have endured.

“Not really. Too busy to be scared, I guess.”

“Later? After it was all over?”

“A little but I was still pretty busy up until I called you.”

Anne cradled his head, thankful he was safe and afraid to imagine what might have happened.

“Funny thing,” Steve continued. “I thought about this during one of the interviews today. You know how neurology is full of grey areas and choices? Like when to take someone off an anti-seizure med knowing if you do they may have another seizure. Or when to take a driver’s license away from someone who has early dementia. The sort of things I do all day.”

Anne just listened, happy to hear him talk. “Mmm, yes.”

“Well on the jet, it was clear. No choice. I knew what I had to do.”

“I see what you’re driving at. It was you and no one else.”

“That’s true, but I was actually driving at something different.” He leaned up on an elbow and looked at her. “We rarely have that kind of clarity in our lives. We have so much choice. Like, what am I going to do in life, what am I going to wear, what color am I going to paint my house, you know? We are always faced with choices. But on the plane, there was no choice.”