Michael Palmer - A Heartbeat Away

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.

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.”