Shadow of Eden (62 page)

Chapter 139

S
ullivan wore a hole in the carpet next to his chair. He alternately looked at the monitors and his watch. An aide, a young woman, approached Sullivan and whispered, “It’s the President.”

“Dixon? Himself?” Sullivan’s face registered his surprise. “Put him on speaker.”

The President’s voice came through clearly. “John? Are you there? Is the cabinet there?”

“Right here, Sir. We all are. How are you?”

“Could be better. No time for small talk.” He took an audible breath. “John, I resign the office of The President of the United States, effective immediately. I have served with pride and to the best of my ability, but I am no longer capable of carrying out the duties of my office.”

Sullivan’s face registered his concern. “Who is with you, Mr. President?”

“A Dr. James.”

Castell’s face reflected his surprise. “Are you under duress to resign, Sir? As the only doctor present, I feel I must ask.” Sullivan scowled at him.

“Castell?” President Dixon said. “Of course, I’m under duress, you ass. I’m sick and may die and I’m resigning from something I care deeply about. Here’s the verification code: Scissors, DaVinci, Mountain. Now, President Sullivan, cut the crap and get on with it.”

“Yes, sir,” Sullivan said, and then added gently, “Goodbye, Bob.”

Dixon’s reply was husky. “Right. Goodbye.”

The line clicked off. Sullivan looked at the assembled cabinet plus the Speaker of the House and the majority leader of the Senate. “Are we unanimous?” They all nodded although Castell looked nervous. Bingham, observing this, exchanged a puzzled glance with Resnick.

Sullivan looked at the White House counsel. “Art?”

Art shrugged and nodded. “It’s highly irregular, but in view of the circumstances . . .”

“Then it’s agreed. Get me Premier Chow. Judge Hersell, let’s get the swearing in done.”

“Mr. President, Premier Chow is on the line,” an aide said.

“On speaker,” Sullivan said. The aide clicked a button and nodded to the President.

“Premier Chow? This is President Sullivan. I have replaced President Dixon, who resigned moments ago.” They could hear their Chinese interpreter repeating Sullivan’s words in Mandarin. They heard a slight murmur of surprise from the Chinese.

The prompt reply was in Chinese, followed by the translation from the US interpreter, Cassie Avon. “Yes, President Sullivan.”

Sullivan cleared his throat and spoke deliberately. “President Dixon is suffering from a neurological disease that has impaired his ability to think rationally. That irrationality has brought our two countries to the brink of armed conflict. I want to stop this conflict before it starts. I have instructed our armed services not to fire unless first fired upon. Premier Chow, I am making a move for peace. I hope you will act decisively and call back your forces.”

He paused as the Chinese translator repeated his words. Sullivan looked at Avon, who nodded. She then translated Chow’s reply. “I hear your proposal. If we do pull our forces back, what promises can you give us that negotiations will produce fruit?”

Sullivan spoke carefully. “I can assure you that the U.S. will withdraw its unilateral support for the independence of Taiwan. The previous President, due to his illness, erroneously changed our longstanding policy in regards to Taiwan. Because of this, which we will declare publicly, we will resume our previous ‘One China’ policy. This includes our recognition of China’s legitimacy in its non-violent reunification with the province of Taiwan, but only with the consent of the people of Taiwan. It also continues our non-invasion protection for Taiwan.

“Mr. Chow, if you persist in your attack of Taiwan knowing our position, we will defend Taiwan to the fullest of our ability.”

Chow carefully replied. “You understand that we have an overwhelming advantage and have every expectation of succeeding in our initiative to take the island by force.”

“Yes, I do understand. I also know that China does not want to win an unwilling bride, nor make an enemy of the United States if there is a better way to obtain a satisfactory outcome.”

“Let me confer. I will ask that you hold the line.”

The line went dead. Sullivan looked at his watch. “Eight minutes to seven.” Looking at Resnick, he asked, “Comments?”

“I thought you were fine. Frankly, I think Chow shouldn’t have mentioned his forces’ capabilities.”

“Our chances?”

“Depends,” Resnick said. “If he has any power.”

“If your analysis of the CNN scoop is correct, he has more than he did.” Sullivan looked at Crusoe. “Augie?”

“I agree with Linda. The wild card is General Yao, but I agree with Resnick’s assessment. He must have lost considerable influence after Colonel Tanggu’s reported statements.”

“Premier Chow’s back on the line,” Cassie Avon said.

Everyone turned and looked at the speakerphone. “Yes, Mr. Premier.”

“I believe we have just concluded perhaps the fastest negotiations ever between our two nations. I have instructed our armed forces to pull back. They have strict instructions not to engage your forces. I only hope we are in time to avoid any encounters.”

Sullivan’s face broke into a broad grin. “I am very happy to hear that, Premier Chow. You have taken an extraordinary step towards peace. I commend you. With this as a new starting point, I will want to meet you in person and discuss each of our countries’ needs with respect to each other.”

“I, too, agree a meeting would be useful. Goodbye, President Sullivan. I wish you luck in your new office. My country sends its best wishes to President Dixon. We are saddened to hear of his illness.”

“Thank you, Mr. Premier. Goodbye.”

Sullivan made a small victory fist. There was a round of applause from the cabinet. Then Bingham shouted in his native drawl, “Yee ha!” The place broke up in shouts and cheers.

Sullivan looked at the situation screen. “Any movement?”

Valenzuela answered before the Colonel. “Not yet. It’ll take a little time for the orders to go through the various levels of command. Wait. Some have begun turning back. Yes, they’re definitely turning.”

“Good,” Sullivan said, finally sitting down. “Damn good.”

Chapter 140

“S
ir,” The Eisenhower radar operator announced, “The Chinese aircraft are turning around. It appears . . . yes, the hostiles are turning around.”

Longly looked at Havelind “What the hell?”

“Sir,” an aide said, handing Havelind a handset. “The President.”

“The President?” Havelind put the handset to his ear. “Yes, sir. This is Rear Admiral Havelind.”

As he listened, a look of amazement spread across his lined face.

“Yes Sir . . . Of course, Sir. I will tell them myself . . . You’re welcome, Sir. And, may I add, congratulations. We are all very pleased at the turn of events.”

Havelind put down the handset with a look of amazement. Turning to Longly, he said, “Well, first off, we now have a new President—President Sullivan. He’s apparently negotiated the pull-back of the Chinese forces.”

Longly glanced at him from the situation board. “They’re still pulling back, nearly all of them. It looks like you got your goddamn diplomatic breakthrough.”

“Not soon enough for my ulcers,” Havelind snorted. “Anyway, President Sullivan says, ‘good job’ and to express his appreciation to everyone.”

He stared at the screen and the blips getting farther apart wondering to himself,
just what in hell happened back in Washington to get us into this situation in the first place?
”

Chapter 141

D
ixon, sitting on a wooden choir bench, handed the phone back to Steve. “What have I got?”

“Something in your brain. I’m sorry, but it’s pretty bad.” The sirens were very close now.

“Eden?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Damn vanity.” Dixon sighed. “It isn’t curable, is it?”

“If that’s really what you’ve got, then no.”

The sirens stopped and Steve heard muffled shouts outside. A series of sharp pops made him jump—gunshots!

Suddenly, the voices were much louder. “Mr. President, Mr. President!” It was Rhodes.

Steve stood up and shouted over the balcony rail, “Up here.”

“Where?”

“In the choir loft.”

“The President?” Rhodes yelled.

“He’s fine.” Looking back, Steve saw Dixon praying again, his shoulders and face twitching in an irregular myoclonic pattern. The stooped man hardly resembled the President he knew from television. “He’s just fine.”

Rhodes and a crowd of Secret Service agents pushed their way onto the balcony. Several agents spotted Mallis and surrounded him.

Dr. Green emerged at the top of the stairs and walked quickly over to Dixon. “Wait, let me look at him,” he ordered the agents who surrounded Dixon. “I want to make sure he’s OK.”

Valenti, his hands now free of cuffs, ran over to Steve. Appraising Steve’s bloody face with evident concern, he said pointing, “He missed a spot, right there. Lordy, what a mess.” Nodding towards Mallis, he shook his head. “Not Rambo, huh? Looks like dad kicked some ass.”

The day-breaking sun hit the Cathedral’s stained glass windows, splashing a dazzling array of colors across the floors and walls. Steve gazed with amazement at the incandescent windows filled with the fresh morning light.

“Look at that,” President Dixon exclaimed. He started to stand.

“Here, let me help you,” Dr. Green said, grasping Dixon’s arm.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dixon made his way to the balcony rail. “One of my favorite sights.”

Steve joined him, steadying himself at the rail, and they shared the view. The cathedral spread out before them in its immense grandeur, its piers sweeping up towards the vaulted roof while colored lights played across the worked stones and carvings.

Two agents pulled Kirk Mallis, groaning and clutching his face, to his feet. His foot stepped on something heavy. From between his fingers, with his one good eye, he looked down and saw his gun.

“Wait. I’m dizzy,” he said, bending over.

Mallis suddenly pulled his left arm towards him and leaned towards his right. As the agent pulled back, the one holding his right arm instinctively loosened his grip. Mallis yanked his right arm free and pushed the agent still holding his arm off the balcony. In a fluid move, he swung around and delivered a hard palm thrust to the second agent’s nose, fracturing the cartilage and snapping back his head. The agent sagged and Mallis slid behind using the agent as a shield. Mallis scooped up his pistol and grinning, stared straight at Steve.

Shouts filled the air as agents scrambled to aim their guns at Mallis without hitting their fellow agent. As Mallis raised his gun, Steve grabbed Dixon, pushing him to the floor.

As they fell, Steve stared at the sneering, disfigured face of Kirk Mallis. He wanted revenge. For thwarting his plans too many times, for injuring him, for persisting and ultimately prevailing, Mallis hated him and now Mallis would kill him. In the periphery, Steve was aware of agents in motion, but he knew they would be too late to prevent Mallis from firing at least one shot.

The steady black hole of the barrel found his head and followed him as he fell on top of the President. Mallis squinted in concentration, oblivious to everybody rushing towards him, like a quarterback back to pass, deep in the pocket with goal to go and time expired on the clock. He had one opportunity and wasn’t going to miss.