The 731 Legacy (24 page)

"I'm so relieved. I was afraid you would come up with nothing or wouldn't see the need to follow up."

"Oh, absolutely not."

"Dr. Swan, I have more to tell you. I know it isn't within your jurisdiction, but I think you need to know what you might be looking at here and what it involves."

"I appreciate that."

Cotten revealed everything Ted told her about Unit 731, the Pitcairn, Dr. Chung, and her family. Swan seemed to listen intently with only a few questions.

"What do you think?" Cotten asked when she finished.

"I think it's scary as hell and I'd better do my end of the job quickly. Actually, I think this goes way beyond the CDC. I'm going to get in touch with some friends at Health and Human Services along with the FBI. Homeland Security will probably need to get involved as well. They're all going to have to help carry the ball."

Cotten leaned back in the chair, her hair tumbling over the back. She closed her eyes. "That would be great. I really want to thank you, Dr. Swan."

"No, I want to thankyou. I'll get back in touch as soon as I know where we are with all this. I'll talk to you soon."

"You bet," Cotten said, letting the receiver slide down the side of her cheek and come to rest on her jaw.Thank God, someone is listening to me.

***

"Heard anything?" Ted asked as the elevator door closed and began its journey up the shaft in the SNN building.

Cotten watched their reflections in the polished bronze doors. "No. Three days ago Dr. Swan sounded like she was gung-ho. She seemed to really believe we were onto something more than just a new flu strain."

126

"Have you called her?" Ted asked.

"Twice yesterday afternoon, but her secretary said she wasn't in. I don't want to be a pest. She said she'd get back to me. I guess I should be patient. I did call Pete Hamrick, and he said he would check up on the status, but I haven't heard back from him either."

The elevator stopped on the fifth floor, and a new hire from postproduction got in with them. Cotten couldn't remember his name but offered a greeting as did Ted.

Cotten discontinued her conversation about Charlotte Swan until she and Ted got off on the eighth floor and went into his office.

Ted eased the door closed behind them. Cotten took off her coat and laid it over a chair.

"I simply don't get it," she said. "Swan was so ready for action. She even said she was going to take this to various Washington agencies. I felt relieved, like we had handed it off to people who could take care of it. I mean Washington, for Christ's sake."

Ted chuckled and sat behind his desk. Then his face turned serious. "I think I know all your secrets. Right?"

"Mmm," Cotten said, sitting opposite him.

"I believe you've pushed something important to the back of your mind, like you're trying to ignore it."

Cotten tilted her head and bit away a hang nail.

"Don't forget who and what we believe you're up against. Shit, it freaks the beejesus out of me. I go home every night and check out the sunset, wondering if it's the last one I'll ever see or when I see the next one will I be thrashing on the floor under my window bleeding from every hole in my body like Jeff Calderon. I have frigging nightmares and there's not a damn thing I can really do about it. All this shit is going on in the background of everybody's life like white noise. Who'd believe us if we told them? Who would listen if we got in their faces on our evening newscast and said demons and devils are plotting our demise? Even if we gave specifics, we'd either cause mass hysteria or the FCC

would find a way to revoke our license."

"So what are you trying to tell me, Ted?"

"Okay, I'll say it and lay it out there, but I know it's already stapled to the very front of your brain. Those agencies in Washington may not be the answer at all. Give Director Swan another call and then make a decision. But you're the one who has to make that call. You are the only one. And you know it."

Cotten knew Ted was right. "I'll call Pete Hamrick and see what he knows."

Ted picked up his phone and handed it to her. "Know his number?"

"I've got it in my cell," she said.

"Look it up and use this phone. I want a three-way on speaker."

"What?"

"See if you can get John on the line first."

127

Cotten glanced at her watch and did the math. "He should be available." She opened her list of contacts on her cell and found John's. Then she punched the number into Ted's phone.

After waiting for his secretary to put her through, Cotten heard John's voice. "Hey, any news?"

"I have you on speaker. I'm here with Ted. This whole T-Kup thing has blown up. Like I told you earlier, I've been in contact with the CDC, but haven't heard back. Director Swan was going to get a number of government agencies involved, but now Ted and I are wondering if that's the right course. You know what I'm getting at? I'm going to call Pete Hamrick again and see what he knows. Ted thought you should be on the line." She paused a moment, then said. "I'm glad I called. It's so good to hear your voice."

"Yours too."

"Hold on." She pressed the flash button, dialed Hamrick's number, and when it started to ring she brought John back on line.

"Pete Hamrick," the voice answered.

"Hi, Pete. It's Cotten Stone. I have you on speaker with Ted Casselman, SNN news director." She didn't see any reason to mention John and have to go into a long explanation. "I was wondering if you have heard anything from Director Swan?"

There was a long pause.

"Cotten, I'm not sure how to tell you this. I didn't call you earlier because I've been wrestling with it."

"Spit it out, Pete. What is it?"

"I talked at length with Dr. Swan this morning, and she says they are dropping the investigation, that there is not enough evidence to go on, that it's only conjecture at this point."

Cotten smoothed the hair from her face, feeling the dampness of perspiration breaking out at her hairline. "What do you mean? She said there was possible evidence of pathogens from the coffin forensics. She was sending a team to West Virginia and calling authorities in Washington. She definitely thought it more than conjecture."

"I don't know what to say, Cotten. To put it bluntly, she said the whole thing sounded like a crock, concocted by you and your network to boost your ratings." There was a long silence. Then he said, "I'm really sorry. I gotta go." The line clicked off.

"John, you still there?" Cotten asked.

"Yes."

"What are your thoughts?"

"Sounds dubious to me. Very suspicious."

"I agree," Ted said.

"Dr. Swan was anxious to move ahead with the investigation when I last spoke to her," Cotten said. "Something happened. Somebody shut her down. Why?"

128

"Had to have something to do with her Washington connections," Ted said. "As soon as she started singing to somebody over there, the roadblocks went up."

"But why?" Cotten said.

"It doesn't matter," John said. "The CDC isn't going to do anything."

"So where does that leave us?" Cotten said.

"I have an idea," John said. "It's a long shot, but I'm going to call in some favors. Plan on me flying out of Rome late tonight or first thing in the morning. I'll call you with my flight info as soon as I know."

"To New York?" Cotten asked.

"No, Washington."

CAMP DAVID

When Cotten first caught sight of John coming through customs at Dulles, the compelling desire to run to him whirred within her, starting deep inside, then prickling its way across every nerve and out to her fingertips.

Instead, she smiled and waved.

Cotten realized she had stopped walking and was glued in place, watching him approach. Finally, within touching distance, John stood his rolling Travelpro on end and hugged her. "Hello, Cotten Stone."

She felt his breath on her cheek. "Hello, John Tyler," she whispered into his shoulder.

Then his arms released her, and the bite of cold air replaced the warmth of his embrace. "How was your flight?" she asked, tossing back her hair and tying to regroup her emotions.

John grasped the handle and towed his bag behind as they walked. "Not bad. It actually gave me some undisturbed time to think and prepare for what I'm going to say."

"Do you think you can persuade President Brennan to get involved?"

"I think so. We know his background. He ran his campaign on moral and religious platforms. An evangelical Catholic is in the White House."

"But you can't just blurt out that the legions of evil are behind a couple of mysterious deaths—" She corrected herself. "No, considering the number of bodies on thePitcairn, it would be a whole host of deaths and their unobtainable or disappearing bodies. No matter, he would still think you're nuts."

"Yes, he would," John said. "But I believe I've come up with a convincing argument. Scary, but convincing."

"You're not going to tell him about me, are you?"

John turned to look at her. "No. He'd definitely have us both sent to the funny farm if I did that."

"Sometimes it doesn't seem real. Even to me it sounds ridiculous. There are moments I wonder if this is all a weird dream and any minute I'll wake up

129

and my life will be normal. No more Nephilim or Fallen Angels. The next moment I realize it's no dream, and my stomach churns. Thank God for you and Ted. You two keep me sane."

"Somebody has to," John said.

Cotten elbowed him. They exited the terminal and boarded the car rental shuttle. A half hour later, they were on I-270, heading northwest toward Maryland.

The hour-long ride took them through Frederick, north to the Catoctin Mountain Park which surrounds the Presidential retreat at Camp David. The drive gave them plenty of time to plan their strategy. The rustic 125-acre mountain retreat was colder than it had been at Dulles, and the rental's heater didn't seem to be able to keep the car warm.

Cotten kept one hand on the steering wheel and banged the dash with her free hand, hoping to jar the heater into cranking out more warm air. "My feet are freezing," she said. "And my nose feels like if I flicked it, it would shatter."

John leaned forward and fiddled with the temperature controls. He held a hand in front of the center vent testing for any change. "At least we're almost there. Enjoy the scenery and try to take your mind off the cold. If you want to stop for a minute, I'll get you a heavier jacket out of my bag in the trunk."

"It's okay. I want to hurry up and be there. Besides I don't want you to open the door and let in more cold air." Cotten watched the snow-powdered hardwood forest flow by. "You're right. The scenery is lovely. Even in the winter, the mountains are beautiful. So you've been here before?"

"Twice, once with Brennan, the time before that with his predecessor. The last time was to brief the President on secret talks between the Holy Father, the Israelis, and the Palestinians."

"I wasn't aware that the Vatican was involved with Middle East peace negotiations."

"That's why they're called secret talks."

She glared at him then smiled. "Touché."

Up ahead, she spotted the sign marking the turnoff to the main entrance of Camp David. It read,Camp #3. Cotten made the turn, and a short way down the road passed the first of three black SUVs. Next, they drove by two fully armed Humvees parked on each side of the forest road, their .50 cal machine guns aimed at the approaching car. Finally, a high metal gate and fence resembling the entrance to a maximum security prison emerged out of the forest. A U.S. Marine dressed in full combat gear held his hand up as Cotten slowed the car to a halt. Additional Marines, all carrying assault rifles approached from both sides.

Cotten lowered the driver's side window and the officers leaned down.

"Identification, please."

She removed her license and SNN press ID from her purse and handed it to the Marine. At the same time, John handed his Vatican City passport to Cotten

130

who gave it to the officer.

The Marine scrutinized the documents while he spoke into a tiny microphone that protruded from an earpiece. A moment later, he gave the IDs back to Cotten. "Please proceed through the gate and follow that vehicle." He pointed to a Humvee that had just positioned itself onto the entrance road up ahead. "Welcome to Camp David."

***

President Brennan sat in front of the fireplace in Aspen Lodge. His old friend, John Tyler, had been intentionally vague when he called and said it was urgent that they meet. Brennan and his advisors had discussed the upcoming visit from the cardinal, and the President prayed it had nothing to do with the dropping of the CDC's investigation of the death in West Virginia. But, he was well aware of John's association with Cotten Stone, so he anticipated the worst. Shutting down Charlotte Swan had been difficult enough. This would be even harder.

An aide opened the door. "Mr. President, Cardinal Tyler and Ms. Stone are here."

Brennan closed the file folder markedTop Secret, stood and went to a decorative secretary desk. He slipped the folder into a drawer, then laced his fingers, cracked his knuckles, and rocked his head from side to side to loosen his neck. Finally, he glanced at the aide. "Show them in."

The man left, reappearing in a moment with Cotten and John.

"John," Brennan said, striding toward him and extending his hand. "So good to see you again." They shook hands. "Sorry, I have a hard time calling you anything but John, though I know it should be Your Eminence."

"I'm honored that you still call me John, Mr. President. And that you've agreed to see us."

Smiling, Brennan turned his attention to Cotten. "Ms. Stone, your reputation precedes you. I'm glad to finally have the pleasure."

"Thank you, Mr. President," Cotten said, shaking his hand.

"Please have a seat and enjoy the fire. I find when I'm out here at the retreat, it's one of the most soothing things I can do. Staring into the fire is mesmerizing, almost primeval."

Cotten and John chose two armchairs that formed a semi-circle grouping in front of the fire.