Shadow of Eden (42 page)

“Make it fast, okay George?” It was an order delivered as only Dixon could.

Sullivan spoke. “Mr. President, I am hearing concerns from military, political, and commercial interests that your support for Taiwan will have grave consequences.”

“And?”

“I think there are things you can do to mitigate our commitment.”

“I don’t want to mitigate my commitment,” Dixon said. “I want us to move ahead with all the arrangements as soon as possible. Our friends are counting on us and I made a promise.”

Linda knew Dixon would use that reasoning. He had always been a man of his word. His commitment was not always easy to secure, but once given, he was steadfast. Or pigheaded.

Dixon’s right arm twitched. “Besides, I prayed about it all last night and it’s the right thing to do.”

“Politically, it’s going to be a disaster,” Sullivan added.

“Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?” Dixon seemed to sink into his chair somewhat, but his eyes burned their conviction. This wasn’t going well at all, thought Linda.

“I have some very worried Chiefs of Staff,” Painter said. “And a very pissed off admiral who is heading to Taiwan. We need to keep our battle groups away from China’s land-based defenses, behind Taiwan.”

Dixon seemed to consider a moment. “I think it would be important to stand with our Taiwanese allies between China and their homeland like Augie advises.”

Painter let out a long breath from between his teeth. “Sir, all symbolism aside, we have a duty to protect our men and women on those ships. While I don’t think China can take Taiwan, to deliberately put our ships in harm’s way . . .”

Linda thought she saw a moment of confusion cross the President’s features.

“I’ve made up my mind,” Dixon said finally. He stood up. “I leave the rest of the implementation in your capable hands. Good day.” With that, he rose and walked out.

Linda Resnick walked into Bell’s office and closed the door. Inside Jeff Bell and John Sullivan waited for her.

“That didn’t go well,” Sullivan said.

“I’ll say so,” she replied, taking a seat. “And it’s heating up. I just got a call from Forest Garrison at the UN. The Chinese are lambasting our recognition of Taiwan and at the seventh fleet heading for the Straits.”

“We figured that, of course,” Sullivan said.

“Right. Taiwan’s Ambassador Gao was apparently cordial, but clearly enjoyed himself as he told the Chinese there was absolutely no room for negotiating anything short of a complete abdication of Taiwan as a province of China.”

“I bet Ambassador Gong was pretty unhappy.”

“It was, as I said, cordial, but the feelings were apparent. China made it equally clear they had no intention of relinquishing any claim of the Island.”

“I suspect not, but what are their options?”

“Actually quite a few. If they shut off trade with Taiwan, then the Taiwanese economy all but collapses. China gets stung, but it’ll tank Taiwan.”

“I suppose we get stuck with the bailout,” Bell said.

Resnick stood up and walked to Bell’s bar refrigerator and pulled out a Diet Coke. “Would we support Taiwan indefinitely? “

“Can you get me one, too?” Sullivan asked. “In answer to your question, I don’t know, but I’m alarmed at the potential for a quagmire. I don’t want Taiwan to become the American Cuba.”

“Exactly my thoughts.” She handed the cold can to the Vice President. “I don’t like how this is playing out with American interests so intimately tied to the issue.”

“What about the President?” Bell asked. “He’s doing more of those tic things. Worse, he doesn’t seem to remember details like he used to.”

“I see it, too,” Resnick said.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Sullivan said leaning forward. “It depends on Dr. Green’s willingness to cooperate.”

Chapter 88

“O
ver here are the walk-in freezers where we store our brain specimens.” The young man, who had introduced himself as Dr. Pfeiffer, stopped in front of two large doors with heavy handles. “Over the years, we have accumulated over two thousand brains from people with various neurological diseases all banked here for study.”

Joe Branson stood to the back of the twenty or so people in the weekly tour of Sheridan Laboratories. He actually found it interesting, but looked forward to seeing the actual laboratory space. So far, they had seen only offices and electron microscopes.

“These work like an airlock,” The man wearing a long lab coat continued. “These outer doors open into a zero degree freezer. There, the outer doors are closed and any water from the air is frozen and removed by filtration in a procedure that takes about thirty seconds. Then the second door is opened and then you can walk through into the minus seventy degree space.”

Joe looked around restlessly. After a few questions from the mostly senior citizen audience they moved on. Following Pfeiffer, they walked through two swinging doors into a laboratory that matched what he had expected to see.

The room was well lit from a long bank of windows along one wall. It felt bright and airy, not like the dark and smelly basement labs of his freshman chemistry class at Nebraska. Fortunately, the lab was entirely empty, as Joe had hoped it would be on a Friday afternoon.

The workspace consisted of about fifteen rows of long black stone countertops above white laminate drawers and cabinets. Each counter had, at intervals, three pointed valves clearly marked
air
,
vacuum
, and
gas
. Above each were glass-fronted cabinets containing various bottled chemicals. Most counters had tabletop lab equipment, including centrifuges and racks of automated pipettes and on several counter-tops were stands of crowded metal glassware racks. Some things never change, thought Joe. It was exactly what he was looking for.

As Dr. Pfeiffer worked through the lab pointing out the electronic scales, the refrigerated centrifuge and the warm boxes full of cell cultures, Joe hung back. Eventually they walked out the other side of the lab and out of view. Joe knelt in front of a counter and opened the cabinet doors. In front of him were stacks of filter paper and plastic funnels. Behind those were the three metal tubes leading up to the valves on the countertop.

Pulling a self-tapping valve out of his coat pocket, he kissed it, and quickly screwed it to the pipe marked
gas
. To the valve’s spigot, he attached a timed valve pre-set to open at midnight. Onto that he attached a sparking device timed to go off at one thirty-seven AM. He opened the self-tapping valve with the gas flow halted by the timed valve. Satisfied, he closed the doors and stood up.

Turning, he saw Dr. Pfeiffer entering the room. “Please,” he said, “you must stay with the group.”

Joe held up his cell phone and grinned. “Sorry, my wife wanted me to pick some things up at the store on the way home.”

Dr. Pfeiffer smiled. “Come on, we’re almost done. At least you didn’t get lost.”

“Thanks for coming to look for me. I sure might have.”

Outside, Joe’s last act was to drop a leather work glove from a plastic bag onto the pavement adjacent to his car before he started it up and drove away.

It was one taken from Steve’s garage.

Chapter 89

“O
kay, Mr. Morloch, we’ve just completed the revisions.”

“Fine, let’s see, Ken.”

Morloch sat in a folding chair in the cavernous ballroom of Philadelphia’s Four Seasons Hotel and watched as the first of his slides jumped up onto the huge dual projection screens. The lowered lights made the images on the screens bright and dramatic. From habit, Morloch glanced at his script as the slides flashed by in sequence, but he already knew it cold.

Morloch was preparing his presentation to Trident’s principal stockholders and analysts for his annual stockholders’ meeting, a media and analyst feeding frenzy now that Trident was the brightest star in the pharmaceutical heavens. And because of his company’s legendary secrecy, most everything was fresh and new.

Karen, his administrative assistant, walked up and whispered in his ear.

“Not now,” he said.

She whispered in his ear again.

“Okay, okay.” He stood up and began walking to the back of the ballroom. “Ken, hold it for a minute, will you? I’ve got to take a phone call.”

“Right, Mr. Morloch.”

Outside in the lobby, Karen, a tall blonde with green eyes handed him a cell phone.

Morloch walked outside to the courtyard before he spoke. “Well?”

“He’s still scarce,” Kirk Mallis’s voice informed him.

“I see,” Morloch responded, watching the low waterfall cascade into a pool.

“I’m going to fly in and head him off at the pass.”

“I expected this,” Morloch said. “And I think we should allow this meeting to take place as scheduled.”

“Why?”

“I think I shall have a little social chit-chat with the Secretary first. Then, after the meeting, he’s all yours.”

Mallis chuckled as he realized what Morloch had in mind. “We’ll be ready.”

Morloch walked back into the ballroom lobby where Karen patiently waited. He handed her the phone on his way into the ballroom. “Confirm Castell’s attendance at the meeting tomorrow.”

Chapter 90

S
teve pulled on a rowing machine, chasing a video opponent that, after he had raised the level to maximum, always seemed a just a bit ahead. Valenti had been right. The exertion had him sweating buckets and more grounded than he had felt in days. He had been shut away like a plant in the dark in frustrating inaction and investigative dead-ends for far too long. He looked forward to the meeting with Castell in two more days, and the prospect of getting out and moving again.

Next to him, Valenti jogged on a treadmill, six-pound weights in both hands. He had converted his garage into a plush, carpeted and sky-lit home exercise room with a multi-station weight machine, in addition to the treadmill and rower. Valenti had dragged a restive but eager Steve over to the house for a little R&R.

Valenti was in better shape than Steve had guessed. Despite a potbelly, Valenti was well muscled and had decent endurance. He was exercising like a madman—even on his second fifteen minute run at six and a half miles per hour. Steve would not have been able to easily outpace him—at least not this week. He longed for his mountain bike and a steep and rocky trail in front of him, his definition of a relaxing day.