A Heartbeat Away (22 page)

CHAPTER 40

DAY 5
10:30 P.M. (CST)

Would it be worth it?
Griff asked himself.

Not surprisingly, he began thinking about his sister, Louisa, and the promise he made to himself after her death. He knew from the moment the meningitis claimed her that he would dedicate his life to hunting cures for deadly microbes. He would become the Orion of the CDC or NIH, or whatever lab would have him—a one-man crusader against death. At the time, he never considered animal testing taboo.
How many primates or sheep or cats or canines or purebred white rats would equal his sister’s life?
But then, Louisa’s dog—a spirited mixed breed named Moonshine—forever altered his thinking.

At Louisa’s funeral, Moonshine, probably more golden retriever than anything else, sat vigil on the stairs outside the church. With the unexpectedness of her mistress’s death, no preparations had been made for the three-year-old’s care. But Griff knew the animal was happy, well trained, and his sister’s greatest love.

“My future husband will simply have to share me,”
Louisa would joke whenever questions arose regarding her devotion to Moonshine.

After the funeral, there was no question Griff would take the dog as his own.

From almost the moment Moonshine and Griff returned home, she was different. Her appetite diminished, then soon all but vanished. She drank only minimally, became lethargic, and never wanted to play for long. Eventually, when her weight loss became obvious and alarming, Griff took her to a respected, highly recommended veterinarian. The vet’s diagnosis of depressive disorder both shocked and saddened him. At the time, Griff had no idea canine depression was a real condition. But even more distressing, it hurt him to realize that Moonshine missed Louisa as much as he did, and that there seemed to be absolutely nothing he could do about it.

“What can I do to help?” he had asked the specialist on a return visit.

“The danger of death is very real,” the doctor explained. “You’ve got to find a way to make life fun for her again.”

And so Griff tried. He bought her toys. He took her to the dog park near his house every night. He hand-prepared gourmet food and even tried antidepressants prescribed by the vet. But nothing he did slowed Moonshine’s dramatic deterioration. More and more he feared for the dog’s life. That was when he called Andrea Bargnani—Louisa’s best friend, who had moved away a year or so before.

“I don’t know what I can do,” Andrea, a teacher, had said. “I saw Moonshine almost every day when I was living here, but since I moved, I’ve only seen her every couple of months.”

“You were Louisa’s closest friend. Maybe if you just came by for a day or so. Andrea, Moonshine’s going to die from this. I’m certain of it.”

When the teacher showed up at the house, the dog reacted almost immediately. She picked her head up and barked—once, and then again. It was the first bark that Griff had heard since the funeral, and the joy in the sound was apparent. Within minutes, the Shiner, as Louisa called her, was up on all fours, her tail flicking wildly. She nuzzled against Andrea’s legs and tried to climb into her arms, as though she could not get close enough. Griff had no doubt at all that Louisa was somehow alive in the animal.

Andrea felt the same thing. Even though, at the time, she was living in a small apartment, she gladly agreed to take the dog.

And so, Andrea Bargnani adopted Moonshine. Were it not for the holiday cards that reached Griff every year after that, regardless of where in the world he was working, he might have lost contact with the two of them. But reach him they did. For the first two years, the picture on the front of the card showed only the woman and the dog. Soon after that, a man named Jack debuted in the photo—a tall, broad-shouldered man with kind eyes and a wonderful smile. Not long after that came a card with a baby boy. Then one with a girl. But the Shiner remained the star of every mailing, her coal-black eyes sparkling for the camera, her rich, tawny coat glowing, and her mouth open in what had to be a smile.

Griff began what became a tradition. Every year, on the anniversary of Louisa’s death, he would sit with those cards and two glasses of red wine. One glass he would drink. The other he would cast into the sky of wherever he happened to be. With the ritual came the renewal of his vow to respect the connection between man and vertebrates.

Griff looked over lamentably at Melvin.
Is it time to break that vow?

“I’ve spent my entire career believing I could battle any virus without killing animals in the process,” Griff said.

“Do you think sacrificing primates will help us identify that missing piece?”

Griff hesitated before he answered.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“If it were guaranteed to make a difference?”

Griff cringed at the question and looked away.

“Given the situation, how could I not?” he asked. “It’s tantamount to murder either way. But I’d feel too great a responsibility not to do everything possible to save those people.”

“But at this point there are no guarantees.”

“That’s the problem. So we have to choose where to put our faith. Computers, or innocent animals.”

“I wish I could help with the decision,” Forbush said. “It would be easy if we had unlimited time. As it is, setting up another Hell’s Kitchen animal facility, even a partial one, will take at least three or four days.”

Griff’s insides were knotted. He still desperately wanted to rub at his eyes, and to have his thoughts focus. He stared at his gloved hands, his teeth clenched.

“Do you want me to get the chimpanzee order going?” Forbush asked.

“No,” Griff said with sudden, renewed determination. “I still believe my computer program is the fastest and most accurate way forward.”

“I believe you’re right.”

“So we work,” Griff said, “and we keep at it until we figure out why Orion’s not doing the job I’ve programmed it to do.”

CHAPTER 41

DAY 5
11:45 P.M. (EST)

Residents on the sixth floor of the Riverside Nursing Home eased open their doors and shuffled out into the dimly lit hallway. Their collective chatter began as a murmur, but soon escalated into loud, rapid-fire exchanges. More room doors opened in response to the heightening racket. More elderly men and women milled into the corridor. Some carried canes. Some made their way with walkers.

Angie, emotionally and physically spent, sank onto the freight elevator’s unsteady wood floor. Her head was beginning to throb—a pounding bass drum behind her eyes, monitoring each heartbeat. Chen Su braced herself against the car wall opposite her. The older woman’s expression was unrevealing. Her eyes seemed vacant. Angie wondered how far the terrible events of just minutes ago had already slipped from her consciousness.

Mei Wu came racing through the crowd. Two male orderlies followed her into the elevator, carrying flashlights, which they directed down into the shaft. They said something in Chinese, and Mei let out a gasp, which she quickly cut short, her hand over her mouth. The response to death at Riverside, Angie assumed, was seldom louder than a sheet drawn over a face.

“Are you okay?” Mei asked.

Angie managed a nod, although her vision was drifting in and out of focus.

“You’re covered with blood. Are you cut?”

“Just my nose. I think it’s broken.”

“Oh, my. I will check you over, but I think we should get an ambulance. You don’t look well.”

With the orderlies’ help, Angie rose unsteadily to her feet, and used their shoulders for balance.

“We’ve already called the police,” Mei said. “Do you think you can speak to them about what happened here?”

“I’ll try my best.… And Mei, I’ll also do my best to see to it there are no repercussions from that gap in your elevator. After all, it did save my life.”

Before tonight, Angie felt secrecy was her best hope for safety. But Genesis had found her despite all her precautions. She needed to speak with Griff and possibly with the president as well. Would it help in any way to keep Sylvia Chen’s murder a secret? If so, the FBI had to contact the NYPD quickly. Without any notes from the former head of the Veritas project, Angie’s mission to New York had been worse than a failure. How much should the police be told now?

Griff or Allaire would arrange a military escort for her back to Kalvesta. But first, she had to do something that she dreaded.

“Mei, I need a moment with Ms.… Mrs.…”

“Ms. Li? You need to speak to Ms. Li?”

“Yes. Can you join us? I may need you to interpret.”

“Ms. Li speaks perfect English.”

“I will still need you.”

Once back in room 603, blotting blood with a hand towel Mei had brought her, Angie closed the window. Then she took hold of the frail, veined hand of the woman known there as Ms. Li, and motioned her to sit next to her on the bed.

“Thank you for saving our lives,” Angie began, squinting against the now unremitting pounding behind her forehead. “That was a very bad man, who has hurt and killed many people. You acted bravely.”

“A very bad man,” Chen Su echoed.

“I have terrible news,” Angie said.

“Terrible … news.”

Angie studied the woman’s face and could see the transformation more clearly now. There was natural aging of course, where fibers had weakened and skin given way to gravity. But the ravages of late-stage Alzheimer’s were hauntingly evident. There were abrasions on her elbows. The skin of her fine face clung to her bones like translucent paper. The disease was progressing her life the way fast-forward speeds through a DVD. The woman looked ninety, though she was probably twenty years younger than that.

“You have a daughter.”

The woman gave no response.

“Sylvia,” Angie said.

“Are you Sylvia?”

Angie breathed deeply.

“Mrs. Chen, Sylvia, your daughter, is dead.”

Again Mei Wu stifled a gasp.

“You are certain?” she asked.

“I am positive, Mei. I will tell you the details later.”

There was no recognition from Chen Su. Not a twitch or any hint of tears to come.

“The man who died in the elevator is the one who killed her,” Angie went on. “I am very sorry about Sylvia.”

In fact, there was much else Angie was sorry about, starting with the papers Sylvia promised but could now never deliver. Would they have helped find the cure for WRX3883? Would Sylvia’s knowledge of Genesis have been the key to stopping them?

One of the orderlies appeared at the door and spoke to Mei.

“The police are here,” she said to Angie. “They want to speak to you.”

Angie stood unsteadily. Then she sat back down and embraced the older woman.

“You and your daughter will be in my thoughts and in my prayers, Chen Wu.”

She again rose awkwardly, but managed to stay upright.

Then, without warning, Sylvia’s mother got up from her bed. Her body trembled as she crossed to her scarred maple dresser. With some effort, she pulled open the top drawer. From inside it, beneath some clothes, she extracted a fine, wooden box, inlaid with mother of pearl cut in ornate patterns.

She handed the box over to Angie and said a single word.

“Sylvia.”

Angie thought momentarily about explaining her daughter’s death again. The vacant look in the old woman’s eyes told her not to bother. Instead, Angie opened the box. Inside was an envelope.

There were four words penned on the envelope in neat, almost calligraphic printing. Angie stared at the writing, uncomprehending. The delay was longer than it might have been had she not taken such a battering to her face and head, but half a minute passed. Then, all at once, she knew. Unseen by the others, her lips tightened in a ferocious grin.

Yes!
she thought.
Oh, God, yes!

She gazed down at the writing once more.

Recipes from the Kitchen.

CHAPTER 42

DAY 6
1:00 A.M. (EST)

The situation was getting more chaotic and more dangerous. The virus had been responsible for two deaths in Statuary Hall, and word was, several more people were on the brink. Throughout the Capitol, morale was in terrible shape. Tempers were fraying, and confidence in the leadership of James Allaire was slipping away by the hour. Ellis was putting as much pressure on the man as she could manage. She had landed some decent punches, but she knew she hadn’t done enough to put him down for the count.

She needed to get the Genesis bill through Congress, and she needed to put both Allaire and Tilden out of office. There was a way, she was thinking—a piece of film that would sway the masses. Time was slipping away for all of them. No more waiting.

Leland Gladstone’s hands were shaking as he scanned the Genesis document and then handed it back to his boss. He and the speaker of the house were seated in a quiet corner of the gallery level. For a time, Gladstone remained silent, his mouth slightly agape, and his gaze fixed on the floor.

“So, what are you struggling with the most, Leland,” Ellis asked patiently, “my being in direct contact with the terrorists? Or are you having trouble coming to grips with being the aide and possibly the chief of staff of the next president of the United States?”

“It’s all seeming like a dream. One minute it’s business as usual. We’re all dressed up, preparing for the president’s State of the Union Address. And the next, we’re locked in here, working to get him out of office and take over.”

Ellis grinned.

“Well, certainly this is no worse of a nightmare than when we lost the election.”

“Hardly—especially when we were coming so close. Please don’t get me wrong, Madam Speaker. I believe in you, and I am on your side. All the way. I have been since the day you hired me. Surely you know that.”

“Of course I do, Leland. This is the ultimate lesson I could possibly teach you—true politics in action. It’s all about flexibility, about being ready to change course if necessary—being prepared to reach out at any moment and snatch the brass ring. These new developments of representing Genesis and their demands will in no way impact the work of our special committee. In fact, they make our efforts that much more important.”

Gladstone still had a forlorn look.

“How so?” he asked, his voice muted.

“Have you lost faith, my Leland?”

“No … it’s just … these demands Genesis wants you to support. You’ll be disgraced if we try to introduce this bill to Congress.”

Ellis smiled once more. Suddenly, her brilliant young aide looked very much his age.

“I’m sure,” she said, “when Congress learns that if they don’t vote for this bill they’ll all die, mocking me will be the furthest thing from their minds.”

“I’m still not completely certain I understand,” Gladstone said, averting his eyes. “With all due respect, Madam Speaker, are you sure you know what you’re doing here?”

Ellis understood why the question had been so difficult for him to ask. The child who loses faith in the parent also loses hope. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Leland, I have never been more sure of anything in my life. Why do you think it was me whom Genesis singled out? Of all the members of Congress and the Cabinet locked in here, why was I the chosen one?”

“I don’t know—because you’re the speaker of the house, I suppose.”

“Nonsense.”

Ellis glanced cautiously about the vast chamber, aware of the danger should they be overheard. In every direction, she saw only idleness, helplessness, and ennui. People fidgeted in their seats, frustrated, bored, and restless. Some had converted blankets into makeshift pillows and were leaning against the person next to them. Clusters of dignitaries congregated together, but fatigue and mounting fear had sapped much of their energy and dampened what had once been animated chatter into nothing more than scattered whispers. To Ellis they looked like the living dead. Which, according to Genesis, they were.

“They picked me because it’s my destiny to lead,” she responded finally. “And with your help, the world will soon see the mistake they made by not choosing me over Allaire in the first place.”

“By my help, you mean by my drafting this bill?”

“That is precisely what I mean, Leland. As soon as you have completed that task, I’ll introduce it to Congress and we’ll get it voted on and passed.”

“But … but even if you get the bill through Congress, Allaire will never sign it into law,” Gladstone said. “Isn’t that a prerequisite for Genesis giving you the antidote?”

Ellis patted her aide on the knee. His political acumen was, in many respects, far beyond his years, but in other aspects, he was still a babe in the woods.

“Thanks to the power Genesis is about to give us, our special committee work is going to be fast-tracked. Soon we’ll have enough proof to impeach Allaire.”

“Even assuming you can get Allaire out of the picture, Vice President Tilden will step in and veto the bill just the same.”

“Well, you just leave the little stumbling block of Henry Tilden to me,” Ellis said. “I assure you, he will be an impediment easily overcome.”

“So you plan to impeach Allaire for Mackey’s murder?”

Ellis grinned.

“That I do, my friend. Mackey’s death, and how about seven hundred plus counts of attempted murder.”

“And you believe the threat from this virus is as grave as Genesis claims it is?”

Ellis pointed a finger at Gladstone to emphasize that the issue he had hit upon was a significant one.

“I’ve been pondering that very question myself,” she said. “Let me ask you something: Why do you think Allaire had us all separated into groups?”

“To help manage the distribution of resources during the quarantine period,” Gladstone replied quickly.

“Ah, dear Leland. That explanation sounded lame to me when Allaire tried to foist it on us in the first place, and it sounds as lame as a three-legged hog now. Assuming it is just another one of his lies, I ask you to reason out why we were sent to different rooms.”

Gladstone had to think only briefly.

“Assuming the threat is real, and Allaire knows how deadly it is, then he might be attempting to control the spread of the virus.”

“Now you’re cooking, Leland. And how would that best be done?”

For the first time, Gladstone firmly met Ellis’s gaze with his own.

“By separating out the most severely infected.”

Ellis’s expression was that of a proud teacher toward her star pupil.

“Do you recall,” she said, “how I asked you to map out where the explosions had occurred, and who was sitting in each area?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s look at that list.”

Gladstone stretched his long legs to extract several folded pieces of paper from the front pocket of his tuxedo pants. Then he handed the sheets to Ellis. The speaker carefully read them over, folded them again, and returned the stack to him.

“You have about forty names here,” she said.

“Those are the ones I could get. People at the center of the blasts, including those seated next to, in front of, or in back of each ground zero.”

“And tell me, do you know the present location of Archibald Jakes, or Senator Cogan?”

Ellis picked two names from Gladstone’s list that she had personally seen take a hit.

“I believe they’re in C Group.”

“Have you had any contact with C Group?”

“No,” Gladstone said.

“And do you know where Group C is currently residing?”

“From what I’ve heard, they’re in the Senate Chamber, but that’s just rumor and not something I’ve confirmed.”

“In that case, I think I should go and confirm it for myself. Is your BlackBerry charged?”

“It is,” Gladstone said. “Thanks to your standing up to Allaire, I still have it.”

“You look troubled, Leland. What is it?”

“You’re not allowed to leave this chamber. How do you plan to get across the Capitol complex to the Senate?”

Ellis favored Gladstone with a mischievous smile.

“Because of Sean O’Neil’s … um … not so minor transgressions, I still have my hand cupped around his balls. I think it’s about time I gave them a good, hard squeeze.”