Shadow of Eden (22 page)

“All you wonderful students remember that if you work hard like Geoff, and learn what your teachers and parents tell you, you can do anything you want. Even become president like me.” Speaking over the applause, he said, “Now, before we eat lunch, I’d like to say a small prayer of grace.”

“What?” Dixon demanded. He sat in the presidential limousine looking at a fuming Tyrone Grune. “I thought it went off pretty well.”

Their official duties done, they drove through downtown Paducah back to the airport.

Grune stared back. “You don’t get it.”

“What?” Dixon said again. “Get what?”

“You prayed back there.”

“Yeah, so what?”

Grune shook his head in disbelief. “The President of the United States doesn’t say prayers in public schools. The Supreme Court, you know.”

Dixon sat back in the leather seat, realization crossing his countenance. “Oh. I forgot. Habit, you know.”

“Habit?” Grune said incredulously. “In front of three hundred witnesses and scores of reporters, you pray in a public school because you forgot? We’re going to get roasted on national TV.” Grune, a handsome, slender man in his fifties with graying temples, had been Dixon’s chief legal counsel in the Virginia state house and now constituted the official White House worrywart. Anxiety lined his face, replacing his habitual scowl. “Unless you’re deliberately making a policy change. If you were, I’d appreciate your telling me at some—”

“Stop, Ty. Enough.” Dixon sighed. “I really did forget. It seemed so natural.”

“What do I tell the press?” Grune fretted. “That the chief defender of the Constitution had a brain fart?” Grune waved his Manila folder. “We’re screwed.” Nothing in his first aid kit could do anything about presidential stupidity. He dropped his papers on the floor and pulled out his cell phone. “I’ve got to warn the staff.”

Chapter 46

L
arry Calhoun walked into Linda’s office wearing a worried expression. “Bad news.”

Resnick looked up from her desk. “Yeah? Take a number.”

Calhoun collapsed in a chair opposite Resnick. “I just got off the phone with Colonel Jenkins, assistant to Secretary Painter.”

“And?”

“The Chinese stole a new missile design from the Russians.”

“Okay,” she responded, putting her pen down. “Tell me about it.”

“It’s a baddie,” Calhoun continued, “It’s the latest generation air-launched ballistic type. It apparently has TV guidance with random number antimissile evasion programming. It’s nuclear capable, too.”

Resnick absently pulled at her lower lip as she absorbed the information. “That is bad. When did we find this out?”

“That’s the thing. They tested it on Thanksgiving night in China.” Calhoun let that sink in a minute.

Resnick got it. “When we were looking elsewhere.”

“Exactly. We only caught a bit of it on an old bird and that’s only because the Ruskies told us where to look.”

“They’re pissed.”

“You bet. They notified us so it would counter any hope the Chinese had that the launch was undetected. It’s a nasty bird, too. The Russians were particularly proud of it.”

“Perhaps the massacre was partially used as a cover for the tests.”

“Probably because it was a convenient distraction. Best part of it, according to the Russians, is its anti-ship cavitation capability.”

“What’s that?” Resnick asked.

“The missile explodes in the water under the ship, which causes a large air pocket. A ship is designed to have support from the water all along its length so when the water gets blown out from under it, it cracks in two and sinks immediately—with all hands on board. Cute, huh?”

Linda drummed her fingers on the desk. “I need to hammer home the connection between this and DEFCON to Ambassador Tupikov. The Chinese are playing high stakes.”

“By the way,” Calhoun waved a manila folder. “I’m delivering your requested China position paper on the massacre.” He dropped it on her desk.

“The gist?”

He shrugged. “What’s to lose if you’ve already conceded world opinion?”

“Economic. Trade losses. Loss of standing in international affairs.” Linda replied.

“No one of consequence will stop trading with them because they have a new missile or because they are at loggerheads with us over this Hong Kong thing. Remember Tiananmen? The important thing to them is that the right people are in control. This massacre thing was all internal, a show of force by an ascendant hard line. General Yao Wenfu or his clone may be top dog and the rest of world opinion is pretty much irrelevant.”

“How convinced are you?”

“Enough to make policy on it.”

“Hmm.” Linda drummed her fingers.

“FYI, the Taiwanese President will come to call on the President in four days. I just got the word.”

“The Chinese are going to have a fit.”

“No, it’s good. We give them a punch in the nose and let them know we’re able to parley with any government we want to.”

“That’s your position?”

“Yeah.”

“What about not marginalizing the moderates in their government. This policy virtually hands the hard liners the power they seek and we’ll have to deal with them for the next decade—not to mention the anti-U.S. activities they’ll support. We jeopardize a renewal of their weapons technology exports and the moderating pressure they’ve exerted on North Korea.”

Calhoun shrugged. “Those are things we care about. Taiwan is something they care about. If Beijing’s already conceded world opinion, then they will take advantage of those opportunities despite our reaction. We should let them know we have options, too, and letting Taiwan’s president come visit is one of our options. Let them stew about it.” He dropped a folder on her desk. “The position paper. We just discussed the highlights.”

The Secretary of State leaned back in her chair evaluating the merits of Calhoun’s reasoning. There wasn’t much choice, really, since the President had locked them into inviting President Lee.

“Okay, Larry, let’s go with it. Since they started this, let’s see if they can stand the heat.”

Chapter 47

“W
e’re screwed without getting to enjoy it.” Tyrone Grune sat in Jeff Bell’s office loudly and anxiously chewing his gum. “If we say he forgot,” he said between chews, “the press asks us if he’s that stupid and what other things does he do that are stupid.”

Bell sat back in his swivel chair, fingertips together, listening carefully.

“And if we say it was deliberate, then he just flagrantly violated the Supreme Court ruling on school prayer. Why? He just did. No, it’s not a policy change or a new initiative. See? Either way, we’re screwed.”

Bell nodded. “Let me think. Is there any way we can say he was misunderstood. Maybe he said . . . lettuce weigh?” Bell hadn’t intended to say exactly that, but it brought a smile to the corners of his mouth.

Grune looked at Bell in disbelief. “Are you making a joke? If so, it’s not funny.”

“Okay, but the point remains. Can we say he was misunderstood?”

Grune sighed heavily. “Perhaps,” he muttered. “At least he didn’t say the Lords prayer or something out loud. Problem is, we can’t just ask the networks for samples of their recordings, they’ll want to know why and that effectively undercuts any claim we make about his not saying a ‘small prayer of grace.’”

“Maybe we can say he was criticizing the cooks and he said, ‘let’s have a small platter of grease.’” Bell was genuinely concerned, but he couldn’t resist bugging Grune.

“Are you taking any of this seriously?” He popped his gum loudly.

“What’s worse,” Bell replied reasonably. “The president mumbling something unintelligible or saying a prayer?”

“Prayer, of course. But do you think it’ll fly? What if they pick it up clearly on the audio?”

“We just say he really didn’t say that and, if he did, it was a mistake, since he didn’t intend to say anything like that. By this time, the President doesn’t remember his exact words since they were unscripted.”

Grune looked hopeful. “It might work. Deny, deny, deny. I think it might work. I’ll tell the staff.” He jumped to his feet, almost smiling. “It just might work.”

“There’s a long tradition of that here,” Bell remarked dryly. The observation was lost on Grune.

Chapter 48

“D
r. Perera.”

“Hi, Dr. Perera,” Steve said into his phone. “I’m Dr. Steve James, one of your investigators for Eden.”

Steve was calling Trident in response to a suggestion Anne had made late last night. She had marched into his office while he was glued to the computer and demanded to know what was so damn important to keep him out of bed. After Steve had explained about Eden, Anne correctly pointed out that it was probably a coincidence that all three patients had been taking it. To drive home the point, she recommended he call the company and ask them directly.

“Well, hello, Dr. James. I have heard nothing but good things about your work on our clinical trials. I’m sorry we haven’t met.”

“Thanks. I called to ask a question about Eden.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Do you have any cases of unexplained encephalitis related to Eden?”

Steve heard a rustle though the phone like Perera was holding his hand over the mouthpiece. Steve had been connected to Perera by asking Trident’s operator to connect him to the Chief Safety Officer.

Perera spoke again. “Sorry Dr. James, I was distracted there for a minute. Now, what were you saying?”

“Do you have any reported cases of encephalitis associated with taking Eden?”

“That’s a very unusual question. Certainly, as one of our investigators, you are familiar with Trident’s confidential materials.”

“Well, sure, but I wondered if there were any recent information that had not made it out yet.”

“Perhaps if you tell me why you inquire, I can be more informative.”

“Well, we have three cases of a progressive brain condition associated with twitches and strong delusions bordering on hallucinations.”

“Yes . . .” Perera sounded like a bored butler.

“Well, they have this unique MRI signature and all were taking Eden.”

“I see,” said Perera, although Steve could tell he didn’t get it. He may as well be reading Perera the phone book.