Shadow of Eden (50 page)

“I understand your request, although he may best judge if he first has a sense of your government’s position given the new developments.” Resnick had a great reluctance to have President Dixon personally involved in negotiations.

“Am I to conclude that your support is one of convenience and varies depending on the chance of success or failure?”

“Not in the least,” Resnick said smoothly understanding his ploy. “But if your goal of no Chinese domination over your island is to be realized, other strategies may be more productive.”

“Dear Madame Secretary,” Zhou said. “I hear your wish to revoke your commitment. As I recall, your President pledged to defend freedom, democracy, and self-determination. Is it only a firm commitment if no American blood is lost?”

Resnick knew the ambassador was under intense pressure to maintain the American support. “I understand your interest was to avoid the arbitrary and violent treatment Hong Kong suffered at the hands of the People’s Republic. While the previous arrangement seemed suitable enough, now your declaration of independence may provoke the very reaction you sought to avoid.”

“I ask you this question,” Zhou replied. “Was your freedom worth a fight to the last man?”

Resnick wondered at that moment if she had misjudged Taiwan’s motivation for independence. Was it for security from Chinese maltreatment as she had assumed or was it the genuine desire for freedom that drove them? “That is a question we have answered. I think that decision is now yours.”

“It seems you have a predisposition regarding our decision.” Ambassador Zhou couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Of course, I will communicate with Taipei and we will speak more tomorrow. I should be available at ten. Good day.”

Chapter 108

T
he Starbucks overlooked the street diagonally across from the Mansion Club. Steve sat at a counter by the window, nursing a coffee while Valenti walked along the wet street on both sides of the Mansion Club before he entered. It looked expensive, judging by its fancy façade of Southern antebellum décor with white columns supporting the
port cochere
entryway, where uniformed doormen helped the clientele, dressed in pricey designer clothes, out of their fancy cars. It was not his kind of place.

“Can I sit here?” A woman indicated the stool next to him where he had laid his coat. The coffee shop was crowded and seats were scarce.

“I’m sorry, but I’m expecting a friend to join me.”

“Oh,” she said, and looked around for another seat. Steve caught a man staring at him. He had high cheekbones and strikingly clear blue eyes. When Steve looked at him, he averted his eyes, leaving Steve feeling unsettled.

After a moment, Steve glanced back and saw the man watching him, this time with what appeared to him as a sly smile.
Does he know who I am?
Steve averted his gaze. Who was he? He racked his brain to remember the face.

The man paid for his coffee and started walking towards Steve, looking steadily at him before he bent over to pick up a free newspaper from a stand. He turned away, making Steve breathe a little easier. Then the man turned back towards Steve. He puckered up in an air kiss, and blew it at Steve. He then walked out of the coffee shop and past the window in front of Steve, smiling.

Steve felt a cold sweat break out, angry with himself for getting so upset. The man was just playing with him. He took a deep swallow of the hot coffee to settle his nerves.

Across the street, Valenti walked out of the restaurant and nodded at him before heading into a pub next door, which, in an imitation of the Cheer’s bar, required his walking down a half flight of stairs to the entrance. Steve saw its name on a vine-framed sign bolted to the railing above the semi-basement entrance:
The Sticky Fingers Bar
. Probably a pick-up place, Steve figured. A few moments later, Valenti emerged in the gathering dusk and crossed the street and within moments slid onto the stool next to Steve.

“Looks clear. We have a reservation at the Mansion Club under the name of Thorpe.”

“Why not Jones?”

“Why advertise? Say, you don’t look like your usual self. Something happen?”

“No. Somebody just looked funny at me. That’s all.”

Valenti frowned. “What happened?”

Steve described the man in as much detail as he remembered.

Valenti sighed. “I can’t leave you anywhere. So tell me about your library adventure.”

“Here’s my Reader’s Digest version. Between Morloch’s stock and vested stock options, he owns a little over ten percent of the company. At one time he owned almost forty-eight percent, but his share is still enough to maintain control. I looked up today’s stock prices and he’s worth almost ten billion.”

Valenti stuck out his lower lip. “That’s some cool cash.”

“The stock has at least doubled every year since it opened, counting splits.” Steve recited from memory. “Compared to most other pharma companies, it’s overpriced with a p-e ratio of nearly forty-two. The current share price is one hundred eighty-seven dollars. The company has a market valuation over ninety-five billion, higher than Lilly. I looked up the comps.”

“Jesus, that’s serious money, all from fat people,” Valenti marveled.

Steve continued, “The analysts are convinced Trident has a lock on this thing. Their patent doesn’t run out for another seven years and the manufacturing patents run for another ten after that. It’s a difficult molecule to package and formulate. That alone may keep them exclusive for seventeen years, although the money involved creates a huge incentive for another company to make a run at it.”

“Anything about the prions in the reports?”

“Nothing. I even got a copy of the FDA’s report approving Eden for marketing. There’s nothing.”

“What about the officers of the old company?”

“I have a complete list back at the library,” Steve said, “but I ran across one thing that I think is interesting.”

“What’s that?”

“The company founder, Dr. Samuel Blumenthal, subsequently demoted to Chief Scientist, retired last week.”

Valenti sat up. “Really? What else?”

“It was a press release. None of the papers picked it up except for a one-paragraph blurb in the Philadelphia Inquirer. Anyway, the press release said he had moved back to his old home in Baltimore and wanted to re-join the faculty at Johns Hopkins.”

“Not too far from here, either . . .” Valenti’s voice trailed off and they sat in silence looking through the darkness and the rain sprinkled pavement toward the Mansion Club. “Yep,” he said, “You’ve vanished into thin air and Trident hasn’t a clue where you are, which is pissing them off to no end. We’re on the offensive now, Doc.” Valenti rubbed his palms together. “They’ve got to be throwing a conniption.”

Steve smiled at Valenti’s enthusiasm. Why had he left the FBI for a pedestrian life as a private investigator? He clearly loved the cloak and dagger. The occasional allusions to Valenti’s unhappy experiences with the FBI and Washington, DC had Steve guessing, but it hadn’t been the work that had driven Valenti away. He was much too animated and excited. It must have been something else that led him to Phoenix and a different life.

“Steve? Are you in dream world?” Valenti nudged his arm.

“Huh?”

“I said, ‘let’s go.’”

Steve checked his watch. It read six fifty-five. “Right.” He stood up and pulled off his sweatshirt and slipped on his navy wool suit jacket. Wearing a dark suit in Washington was almost like camouflage.

As he followed Valenti out of the coffee shop and into the cold drizzle, he wondered how he should address the Secretary? Secretary Castell, probably. Saying it that way rang a bell. Steve frowned.
Jacob Castell.
He had seen it recently at the library, but among all the articles and briefs he had read, he couldn’t remember where. He pondered it while they waited for a break in the traffic before walking across the wet street and into the bright entrance of the Mansion Club.

From a sedan down the street, Kirk Mallis watched the pair walk out of the Starbucks and cross the street. He lowered the pair of night-vision binoculars, his blue eyes sparkling. “Fanelli, you fucking asshole,” he exclaimed with undisguised glee. “I finally found you.”

Chapter 109

L
inda hung up the phone, her stomach roiling. How could it have happened so fast? She had just gotten home to catch a rare meal with her husband when Chinese Ambassador Gung had called with Beijing’s ultimatum.
My God.
They weren’t ready for this; it was inconceivable. Her hands shaking, she dialed Jeff Bell.

“Bell.”

“Jeff. Call the morning crew for a meeting with the President.”

“Now?”

“It’s China. I just spoke with Ambassador Gung. They launch in twelve hours.”

“How in the hell—?” She heard Bell take a long breath. “Okay, right. I’ll get on it. Meet in half an hour?”

Resnick squinted at her microwave clock. “Okay, that’s seven-thirty.”

Hanging up, her mind whirled as she tried to prioritize her next actions. First, she would call Ambassador Zhou. She had to do what she could to avoid the conflict. She would inform him of the ultimatum and China’s offer of a last minute compromise. If the Taiwanese didn’t change their stance, she knew President Dixon would not alter his support for Taiwan.

Even if Taiwan agreed to a compromise, she wasn’t sure President Dixon would agree to negotiate. She felt as if a noose were tightening around her neck.

Chapter 110

S
teve and Valenti slid into a posh booth with a good view of the bar and entrance.

The Mansion Club continued the Deep South motif inside, complete with dark wood floors, a large fireplace with a white painted wood mantelpiece and white marble countertops. Candelabras on the walls and oil lamps on the tables lit up the room with a soft glow, enhanced by the dimmed overhead halogen lighting.

A waiter dressed in a starched white cotton jacket took their drink orders. Steve tried to relax, hoping that Castell had not forgotten the meeting. He and Valenti passed the minutes quietly looking at the people mingling at the bar.

A movement across the room caught Steve’s eye. He stared, not believing what he saw.