Shadow of Eden (20 page)

He’s enjoying himself, thought Rhodes. It’s like he’s sneaking off for a cigarette and daring somebody to catch him at it. His earpiece barked at him. “Two agents in the garage now. We’ll have his escort in three minutes.”

“Roger. D’Agostino is with me.”

“Copy. Stay sharp.”

As if
, snorted the agent. He exchanged a worried look with D’Agostino.

Joan pulled out of the White House underground parking lot to the control both and the steel gate it controlled. The frowning face of Bernie Whitaker leaned over and looked in.

“Hello, Mr. President. I’d like to ask you to wait for the Secret Service escort, which will be at most two minutes.”

“No thanks, Bernie, I’ve only got twenty minutes. I’m not going to waste ten percent of it waiting. Please open the gate.”

Bernie’s face became concerned.

“Now, Bernie.” The President asserted firmly, but without harshness.

“Okay, sir. Be careful.” The gate swung open and Joan’s Buick moved forward merging into traffic.

“Ahh,” Dixon said, sliding back into the seat.

Rhodes put his sunglasses on now that they were outside and radioed their position back to the security office. The best-protected man in the world was now exposed to every damn crazy and crackpot in the city.
Shit!

Chapter 41

A
fter another night of hours spent in front of the computer, this time researching prions, Steve groggily rolled out of bed at the alarm and staggered half asleep into the shower. He managed to put on a smile for Johnny as he was leaving for the hospital. Anne knew he had been up late against her express wishes, and she had been a little annoyed with him. Steve promised her he would go to bed earlier tonight.

His first stop, as was now his habit, was Shirley’s room. As he thumbed through her chart at the nurses’ station, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out he saw it was Marty.

“Results? Already?” Steve asked before Marty could speak.

Yesterday, when Steve had told Marty of his suspicions regarding prions, Marty had immediately jumped at the possibility. Even better, Marty knew of an experimental test for prions being developed by a Dr. Breen at the NIH laboratories. It only required a sample of spinal fluid.

After the call, Steve had collected the fluid sample through a slender needle inserted between Shirley’s lumbar vertebrae into her subarachnoid space. Once packaged for shipment, he had Etta drive it to the airport for same day air delivery to Marty’s lab. Marty had taken the package, along with a sample he had collected of Captain Palmer’s spinal fluid, over to Dr. Breen’s lab, delivering them at nearly ten-thirty in the evening.

Marty chuckled at Steve’s impatience. “Normally it takes three days, but Dr. Breen had the staff up working most of the night.”

“And?”

“Positive, I’m afraid.” Marty reported soberly. “Both of them.”

“Damn.” Steve let out the breath he had been holding. It was a death sentence for Shirley and Captain Palmer.

“We also got a repeat EEG on the captain,” Marty continued in somber tones, “and it shows increased disorganization of the background with a definite alternating hemispheric sharpness, like PLEDS and triphasic waves. Steve, this is an outbreak of a new variant prion disease and it scares the hell out of me.”

“But for the love of Pete,” Steve said, “how does Eden cause it?”

“Well, if we had a mechanism, it would make the association easier. I mean, how can something so miniscule bollix up the whole thing?”

Steve cocked his head at Marty’s statement. He had heard something like that recently. “Uh huh,” he mumbled. Where had he heard that phrase before? If only he weren’t so tired. It was causing him trouble at work and home.
Home!
Steve remembered now—Johnnie and the coffee with a little bit of milk in it. What were his words? Steve thought a minute and then it came back to him. ‘Even a tiny bit spoils the whole thing.’

“Steve?”

“Hang on.”

“Hanging on.”

Steve turned the phrase over in his mind. Something small screwing up the whole thing . . . then it hit him. His mouth said it, even as his brain was forming the thought. “A catalyst. Maybe Eden acts as a catalyst.”

“A catalyst? For prions?” Marty responded slowly. “That’s unheard of. At least, no one has ever seen it.”

“But wait. I read a report describing a short-chain polypeptide reversing the prion conversion. Then, why not one that causes the opposite? You know, prion conversion?”

“I’m listening.”

“And it might explain why we have a small epidemic of this thing. If Eden caused transformation into prions, it could be a new disease variant. It fits. Look at how it seems to work its way back into the brain from the nose. That would explain the MRI pattern.”

“Sounds logical, even if wildly speculative. Okay, Sherlock, how do we prove it?”

“Look, I’m just thinking out loud here, but if Eden’s causing this, don’t you think we could reproduce it in the lab?”

“I’d certainly think so, yes.”

“I could get it tested in some nerve cell cultures. A friend of mine, Amos Sheridan, has them laying around his lab.”

“I know Amos,” Marty said. “Sounds like it’s worth a shot.”

Steve looked over at Shirley’s room. Edith, as ever, sat in a chair and watched her daughter. His enthusiasm for the research washed out of him, replaced with dread for what he had to do next.

“Right, I’ll let you know what turns up.” He hung up and trudged into Shirley’s room. Edith stood up as he entered.

“Edith, Shirley, I need to tell you some things.” He sat down next to Shirley’s bed opposite Edith.

“What is it?” Shirley asked, her face damp with perspiration. She punched the button that raised the head of her bed and put her stuffed otter in her lap, careful to make it comfortable.

“I have a diagnosis,” he began. “It’s caused by something we call prions and, I’m afraid it’s bad.”

“How bad?” Edith’s face reflected her concern. Shirley’s reaction was more difficult to judge, as if she did not fully understand what he had just said.

He pursed his lips. “It’s bad.”

“No!” Edith’s hands flew up to her mouth.

“I’m sorry.” Steve shook his head wishing there was a better way to break the news. “The spinal fluid test confirmed the diagnosis.”

“How did she get it?”

“Well, that’s less certain. I think, and this is very preliminary, but I think Eden gave this to her. At least that’s the best we have to go on.”

“Eden? How?” Shirley asked, her voice small and scared.

“I don’t know yet. If we’re right, this is entirely new. As in never before discovered.”

“Can’t you cure it? I mean, can’t you do surgery or medication or something?” Edith asked.

Steve shook his head. “Not with prions, there isn’t. I’m really sorry.”

Edith’s eyes began watering. “Why would Eden do such a thing? Maybe I don’t understand Eden very well. Isn’t it to lose weight?”

Steve nodded. “Yes.”

“If that’s what it’s for, then why is it causing my Shirley to get sick?”

“I don’t know. I realize that’s unsatisfactory, but that’s all I have to go on at the moment. We’ll be doing more tests to see if we can make sure.”

Shirley’s eyes searched his. “You gave it to me first.” Her tone was not accusatory.

“I did, but I never suspected that this ever could happen. No one did.”

Edith clutched Shirley’s hand, rubbing it fiercely. “What should we have done differently?”

“Nothing. You did the right thing bringing her in when you did.”

“But I should have brought her in when she was getting depressed or had her headaches.” Tears slid down her cheeks and she hastily wiped them with her tissue.

“And you did. Anyway, how would you have known?”

“Please figure out something to do. She’s my only child. She’s all I have left.” She pressed her daughter’s hand to her cheek. “Please find something for her. Please?”

Chapter 42

“B
ut Amos, it’d be easy,” Steve repeated, following Amos Sheridan’s skinny, white-coated figure into the laboratory area. Steve had just driven over to see his friend and founder of the prestigious Sheridan Neuroscience Laboratories, but was surprised at the reaction his suggestion had triggered.

“Sorry, Steve. I can’t. I just can’t.”

“But think of my patient who’s dying. How many more are out there? We have to know.”

Sheridan stopped by some glass apparatus and absently waved a Bunsen burner under a bubbling flask. He was more agitated than Steve could recall, even though he ordinarily moved in a blur.

“I’d like to Steve, I really would, but I’m out of cash. It’s those damn NIH grants. They’re at least three months late renewing them and I’m flat out of money.” He looked at Steve with genuine anguish. “I can’t start laying off people, Steve, but I may have to. I’ve already stopped my own salary.”

“Amos, I had no idea.”

“The staff knows. They’re such a great team, I’m really afraid they’ll start looking for another job. We just keep hoping the mail will bring us our renewal checks.”

“Can’t you spare a few nerve cultures for me? I’d pay for them if you wanted.”

“It’s not the dishes, it’s the personnel time.”

“What are they doing now?” Steve asked, desperately hoping for an opening.

“Not much of anything, actually, since we can’t afford materials anymore.”

“Then why can’t you pull someone and put them to work on this prion thing?”

Amos paced down the aisle between black slate-topped chemistry tables, spotless with everything neatly put away in its place. Amos ran a tight ship.

“But your premise is preposterous,” he objected.

“You’re one to talk.” That got him, thought Steve with some satisfaction, seeing Sheridan stop pacing for a moment. Steve had been a sounding board for Amos for years now and it was unlike Amos to close down intellectually, which told Steve volumes about his friend’s dire financial straits.

Sheridan shook his head, “I can’t see it.”

“Look, Amos,” Steve persisted, almost pleading. The conversation with Edith was still fresh and his own guilt acute. “What if it only takes two weeks to convert? A few days? Think about the ramifications; Eden, the world’s most popular prescription drug, implicated in a fatal brain-eating disease by renowned Sheridan Labs. You know, presentations, talks, TV appearances, plenary addresses at international meetings, and in the process, exposing the cause of a disease that may kill hundreds or more. Plus all the grants you’d get.”

“Publication rights?” Amos got it.

“All the credit. I just want the answer ASAP and anything else you can tell me. I’m pulling my patients off all my Eden studies.”

Sheridan twisted his blonde beard in thought. “Well, I could get Phyllis to set up and Dave could mix the titrations. We could have some preliminary results within days I’d say, depending on how active the agent is.”

Steve had him.

Chapter 43

T
hey’ve got to be here somewhere!
Paul Tobias pawed through his locked file cabinet for the sixth time searching for his animal study files. He slammed the drawer shut and pulled open the one below it and looked through the folders that held his personal papers. He knew they weren’t in there, but he had to look again. Nothing. Slamming it shut, he ran his fingers through his hair trying to think. It was late and he had waited until his family was in bed so that he could work undisturbed.