Shadow of Eden (61 page)

Mallis’s fist slammed into Steve’s mouth, knocking him to the cold limestone floor. Steve tasted blood from his split lip. He held up his handcuffs. “Hardly sporting is it?”

Mallis kicked him hard in the side making Steve crumple into a ball. He struggled to breathe.

“Hey, stop that.” President Dixon stood up, but Mallis pushed him back, causing him to fall backwards over several chairs, spilling their hymnals.

Steve struggled to his feet, breathing in shallow gasps. He cursed the handcuffs as he tried to pick up a chair, but they were roped together. Realizing the futility, he backed away but failed to duck in time.

Mallis punched Steve again, slamming a fist into his nose. Steve dropped to the floor, tasting the blood that poured down his upper lip into his mouth. He felt strong hands grab his jacket and yank him to his feet. He quickly threw his hands in front of his face.

Mallis, instead, punched him in the solar plexus. Steve doubled over unable to breathe. A knee slammed into Steve’s face and he collapsed in unbearable pain and fighting the darkness that crept in around him.

The assassin knelt behind Steve and pulled the handcuff chain hard against Steve’s throat, cutting off his windpipe. In a massive effort, he twisted and tried to buck Mallis off his back. No use. Panic drove his last attempts to breathe as blackness closed in.

Dimly, he heard a thud somewhere behind him and the pressure on his neck released. Steve’s lungs sucked in huge gulps of cool air. He raised his head.
What happened?

Mallis was on his knees holding his head, blood flowing from his scalp. President Dixon was standing over him with a heavy candelabrum tightly gripped in his hand.

Mallis’s thick arm snaked out and swept Dixon’s ankles out from under, throwing the President to the floor. Grimacing, he pulled his pistol and pointed it at Dixon.

Steve snatched a hymnal off the floor and with both hands awkwardly threw it at Mallis hoping it would distract him from the president. He then jumped up and ran as fast as he could on his wobbly knees and turned a corner out of sight.

He had to find a place to hide—or a weapon. But where? Darting through the alderman pit, he spotted the pulpit. He dashed up the stairs and dropped to the floor. Crouching on his hands and knees, the solid stone balustrade hid him from view.

Within seconds, he heard footsteps directly below.

Steve’s cell phone rang, a deafening noise in the stillness of the cathedral.
Damn it!
Looking down over the balustrade, he saw Mallis below turning his head trying to locate the sound of the phone. Steve quickly climbed onto the balustrade and dropped, landing his knees on Mallis’s shoulders, driving him to the ground.

Steve searched the floor.
Where’s the gun?

Mallis groaned and started to rise. In desperation, Steve grabbed his short hair and tried to pound his face into the floor, but Mallis’s neck was too strong. His solid, muscular body slowly got up on its hands and knees.

Steve reached around to gouge his eyes, but clawed only skin. Mallis bellowed and grabbed at Steve’s hands. Steve jerked free and jumped to his feet. Mallis was like a goddamn bull. He was just too fucking strong. Steve kicked Mallis in the side as hard as he could. He kicked again, but Mallis rolled away and scooped up his gun where it had lain beneath him.

“Gotcha, asshole,” Mallis said, breathing hard and pointing the gun at Steve.

Steve held up his hands. Mallis wiped his bloody face on his sleeve where Steve’s fingernails had left red marks across his eyelids and cheeks. Motioning with his gun, he pointed back in the direction of the children’s chapel. “Move.”

When they turned the corner to the chapel, Steve gasped. The President was gone.

“Goddamn it,” Mallis cursed, whirling around.

Steve heard a noise like a bench scraping on the floor. It came from above. Mallis heard it too and cocked his head. “Up there,” he said, pointing with his gun. “Move.”

Steve walked up the stone staircase leading to the choir loft above the south transept. They stepped onto a balcony overlooking the Church interior. There, on the balcony sat President Dixon on a wooden choir bench, once again in prayer, his shoulders and face intermittently twitching.

“Pitiful, isn’t it?” Mallis snarled.

“It’s your boss’s drug that did this to him.” Steve retorted.

“And you making it your business will cost you.” Mallis poked Steve with his gun. “Sit down.” Mallis wiped his face again. “We’re going to erase any trace of your stupid theory about Eden.”

“Eden?” President Dixon looked over at them, his jerks having abated. “Is that causing my problem?”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve said. “Eden did this to you. Our friend here is killing everyone who knows about it.”

“Is this true?” The President looked up at Mallis.

“Irrelevant,” Mallis snapped.

“You can’t kill everybody—” Steve snapped back.

“Of course we can.” Mallis grinned, “For example, we located your lovely wife in Oregon.”

“No!” Steve lunged at Mallis.

Mallis pistol-whipped Steve across the temple, knocking him backwards. He collapsed, landing face down.

Chapter 137

R
ows of manned computer terminals filled the dimly lit Eisenhower flag bridge monitoring the battle theatre as it unfolded in real time.

“Target accretion is accelerating,” Captain Clint Longly reported, watching the larger command screen, which displayed all friendly and hostile contacts in the area. He pointed to several groups of Chinese blips. “We got J-elevens and J-eights here and here, followed by some SU-thirties. CAG’s planning to engage at fifty miles.” CAG, the commander of the carrier air group, based on the Eisenhower, controlled the air battle.

Havelind watched the screen as more fighter and bomber contacts developed from multiple places along the southern coast of China. “They’re coming from non-military locations just as the intel said they would.” He felt the familiar tension building up in his chest that he got whenever he confronted an enemy. “And they have nukes. Let’s hope they left them at home.”

As Havelind and Longly watched the screen, more enemy blips appeared, categorized by the computers into identifiable shapes and colors.

“I’m seeing a pattern here,” Longley reported. “They’re starting with a combination of their more advanced fighters and their less capable ones in a first wave. I now count about four hundred contacts. A second wave, here,” Longly pointed to several areas on the screen, “is developing from the established air bases farther away, a mixture, it looks of bombers and fighters.”

Havelind had already pictured this scenario. It was exactly how he would have attacked given China’s armaments and resources. It was effective and, in all likelihood, overwhelming. “CAG’s response?”

“The vortex. They want to engage our surface vessels. From the mainland, they can only fly directly to us one way. While they will engage at different angles and altitudes, they’re over there and we’re here. Basically, to get to us they have to fly across the straits right at us.”

“So your outermost units are the most widely deployed,” Havelind summarized. “It’s good, assuming they fly right into it. From what I’ve seen, they prefer diversion and subterfuge. Fall back options?”

“Scramble. There’s no room for anything else. By then, it’s one on one.”

Havelind knew the American pilots and machinery easily outclassed their Chinese counterparts, but they were far outnumbered. Each fighter was carrying their maximum load, but once spent, they would have to land to re-arm. By that time, the Chinese would have penetrated the fighter perimeter to attack the surface vessels.

Havelind watched the growing Chinese formations with dismay. The Parthians were gathering to do battle.

Chapter 138

N
ot Anne!

“We might spare your son, if you behave.”

Steve wasn’t sure he had heard Mallis. “What?” As he lay on the floor, head throbbing, he became aware of something in his jacket’s breast pocket pushing against his chest. “Save Johnnie?” His mind grasped at Mallis’s offer.

“Now, Dr. James,” Mallis growled.

Steve felt the cold pressure of Mallis’s gun at the back of his neck. Steve got slowly to his feet, facing away from Mallis, his chest tingling. “My son? You would spare my son?”

The chest tingling triggered a recognition.

“I said, I might,” Mallis continued, “but you have to earn it.”

Steve’s mind, now crystal clear, began formulating a plan. “What do I have to do?”
Stall!
Just a few moments was all he needed.

“You kill the President, then commit suicide. It’s beautiful. You go down in history as the man who assassinated the President on the eve of war with China.”

“That’ll spare my son?” He kept his back to Mallis. “Let me think.” His right hand slipped into his suit coat’s breast pocket where he pulled out and palmed the small red plastic bottle from the museum—what was it, only twelve hours before? He had completely forgotten about it until now. Steve unsnapped the plastic squirt cap.

“You must do exactly as I say.” The triumphant tone in Mallis’s voice was unmistakable.

“Okay,” Steve said carefully, “what, exactly, do you want me to do?”

“Surely you’re not going to shoot me?” President Dixon asked, showing fear for the first time.

“My son and my wife mean everything to me, but . . .” he jerked his head toward Mallis, “I think he’s going to do the dirty work himself.”
Timing—it’s got to be just right.

“Bravo, Doc. I’ll kill you first, of course. Here’s where you earn your son’s life. Kneel down, neurosurgeon scumbag.”

Steve knelt on one knee. His hand kept the plastic bottle in his hand turned away from Mallis who placed his gun against Steve’s temple.

Steve twisted his face up at Mallis. “You know, asshole, your man at the museum was the last person who called me a neurosurgeon and he died with a piece of steel sticking out of his brain.”

Anger seared Mallis’s features. He lifted his gun to strike Steve.

Steve’s hands shot up. He sprayed a stream of concentrated potassium chloride into Mallis’s eyes and face. Mallis screamed, clutching his sizzling skin. Steve stood and swung both cuffed fists as hard as he could at Mallis, knocking him to the stone floor. Mallis swiped at his face with his shirtsleeves. Steve jumped on him and pounded him again and again, his handcuffed fists moving in determined unison. He then grabbed Mallis’s head and slammed it repeatedly into the floor until Mallis lay still.

“I think he’s done with, Dr. James,” he heard President Dixon say.

Exhausted, he slid off Mallis and leaned up against the pew, breathing hard.

Distant sirens approached. Steve looked at his watch. Shit! Eighteen minutes left. “Mr. President, I came here with the intention of declaring you unfit for office. I’m sorry, but it—”

Dixon nodded. “I understand. And I agree. It’s time.”

“But it takes two doctors and we don’t have time to do it. China’s going to—”

President Dixon held up his hand. “I’ve been praying for an answer. May I suggest a simple expedient?”