Shadow of Eden (52 page)

Castell’s color deepened. “This is too much science fiction. Really, now. The President has an undetected brain disease?” He spoke too evenly, his voice too controlled. “There’s no way I’ll go barging into the White House and tell the President a doctor saw him on TV and thinks he has a fatal neurological disease. You have no idea what you are asking.” Castell held up the disk. “Dr. James, I’ll have my top men look at this carefully before I do anything.”

Steve’s face was flushed. “Not doing something would be worse.”

Castell thought a moment before speaking. “Dr. James. I don’t have anything else to say about your allegations until my people look at this.” Castell took another handful of cashews and palmed them. “But, if there is anything, how do I contact you?”

Steve wrote on a napkin and slid it across to Castell. “Here is my cell phone number. There’s not much time, sir. The President’s a sick man just like our airplane pilot was. You’ve got to get him to take that medical test.”

Castell stood up and scowled at the arriving waiter who beat a hasty retreat. Pointing at Steve, he admonished, “Dr. James, you keep this crap to yourself. Do not go around spreading this fairy tale.” He then wheeled abruptly and strode off.

Steve sank, defeated, into the deep cushions. “Dammit, Valenti. What just happened?”

“Nothing,” Valenti spat. “Not a goddamn thing. I saw his eyes. He’s a fucking, do-nothing, suck-up Washington bureaucrat. The head on his dick is bigger than the head on his shoulders.”

Steve almost chuckled at Valenti and then shifted uncomfortably. “Let’s get out of here. This thing is hot.”

Steve and Valenti walked out of the Mansion Club and along the damp sidewalk. The drizzle had lifted, but the air was a good bit colder. It felt good after the stuffiness of the bar. Valenti turned his coat collar up and buttoned his overcoat. “Who else can we talk to?”

“Someone who understands medical issues.” Steve said. “It’s got to be someone who gets it.”

“You’d think dickhead who’s an MD would . . . Wait.” Valenti snapped his fingers. “He’s got a doctor, doesn’t he?”

“Of course. That’s a great idea.” Steve paused. “But who is it?”

Down the street, a dark blue Ford Explorer pulled away from the curb and merged with traffic.

Valenti’s eyes reflexively tracked the vehicle. He saw the passenger window roll down and a man aiming a pistol. “Down!” Valenti grabbed Steve’s arm. Multiple automatic weapon shots erupted from the pistol and Steve jerked as the bullets slammed into his chest.

“Doc!” Valenti shouted. He pulled Steve to the ground and rolled on top.

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teve doubled up in agony. “Damn that hurt. What the hell was that?”

“A machine pistol. Get up, let’s go.” Valenti pulled a groaning Steve to his feet. The Mansion Club’s uniformed doormen had dived for cover when the shooting started. A few pedestrians stared at them from a safe distance.

Valenti tugged Steve back towards the Mansion Club. “C’mon, Doc, we gotta move it.”

A Camry jumped the curb aiming right at them.

Valenti shoved Steve out of the way, the car struck Valenti sending him sprawling over the hood. He slid off the passenger’s side and rolled to his feet pulling out his pistol. He grabbed Steve who was staggering to his feet and turned to run down the clear sidewalk past parked cars lined up against the curb.

As the Camry skidded to a stop, Mallis jumped out, pistol in hand. Valenti looked back and saw Mallis. He froze. Mallis grinned as he aimed at Valenti.

Steve grabbed Valenti’s arm and yanked him down between two parked cars just as Mallis fired.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Steve yelled.

“Jerking off,” Valenti mumbled as he looked under the car and saw the cautiously approaching feet of Mallis. He looked around quickly and pointed at the Sticky Fingers Pub fence with its basement landing across the sidewalk from where they hid.

“On three,” Valenti whispered, “jump over that railing and run into the pub. One, two three.” Valenti shot at Mallis through the windows of the car making him duck. Steve jumped over the fence followed by Valenti. Once on the landing, they scrambled through the door.

The Sticky Fingers Bar was smoky and packed. Massive, blown-up pictures of the Rolling Stones hung on the dark wood-paneled walls. Steve followed Valenti as he shoved and elbowed his way towards the back. One huge rugby type blocked their path. “What’s your hurry, mates?” His foul beer breath washed over them.

Valenti looked at the ceiling and pointed up. “Look up there.” The man, despite himself, looked up. Valenti punched him in the throat, crumpling him. “Aww, you missed it.” They stepped over him as the crowd parted.

Over his shoulder, Steve saw a man enter and push towards them. It was the same man he had seen in the Starbucks! That man had known who he was the entire time. The thought made Steve’s skin crawl.

He fled after Valenti through the restaurant kitchen and out the back door. They found themselves in a blind alley facing two other doors, the rear entrances to other stores. Valenti closed the pub door and slid a wooden pallet under the doorknob to hold it closed. They ran towards the open end of the alley, but another man, dressed in a blue denim shirt, came running around the corner holding a pistol.

Valenti fired first, but aimed poorly. It was enough to cause the man to dive behind a dumpster.

Steve heard a sound behind the pub door and it partially opened, cracking the pallet. It would not hold long. Valenti fired at the man peering out from behind the dumpster, and then fired twice at the lock on the nearest door across the alley. He yanked it open and shoved Steve in.

Inside, the room was dark. A small trickle of light through a doorway just ahead drew them towards it. Steve took a quick look around and saw they were in a dusty back room filled with cardboard boxes.

They followed the dim night-light down a narrow hallway and entered a showroom floor. As they sprinted towards the front entrance, they passed faintly lit mannequins dressed in S&M leather. Valenti marveled, “Your buddy Castell sure hangs out in classy neighborhoods. This is top quality stuff.”

Crashing noises came from the back. Valenti grabbed a mannequin off a display case and heaved it back at the storeroom door. Someone stitched it with a spray of bullets.

The front door was firmly dead-bolted shut. Steve seized a heavy leather chair and heaved it through the front window, shattering it. Alarms screamed. As Valenti fired several covering shots behind them, Steve dove through the broken window and onto the sidewalk. Valenti leaped through, tripping on one of the display mannequins, landing heavily. Gunfire from inside the shop followed him.

“Run!” Valenti huffed, rolling to his feet and they sprinted down the street.

“What now?” Steve shouted running after him.

A black Capital taxi turned the corner and headed down the street towards them.

“Follow me.” Valenti jumped in front of the taxi, a beat-up Crown Victoria, forcing it to slam on its brakes. Steve piled into the back seat and Valenti, brandishing his gun, pulled the driver out of his seat. “Sorry bud. Hop out.” Valenti jumped in as Mallis and Joe leaped through the shop window.

A shot shattered the taxi windshield forcing Steve and Valenti to duck. Valenti jammed on the accelerator, the wheels spun on the wet pavement before grabbing traction, when they did, the taxi roared off, fishtailing down the street.

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astell sat in the back seat of his black Lincoln limousine and dialed his cell phone.

“Morloch.”

“Hello, Vicktor.”

“Jacob, how did it go?”

“You’re right; he’s a nut case. Totally out there, babbling something about Eden causing prion diseases.”

“That’s him all right. I hope we can get him to back off soon. If he gets the ear of the press, well, we’ll just have to deal with it.”

“He seemed so convinced,” Castell added.

“Those are the most dangerous kind; absolutely the worst. Anything else?”

Castell knitted his brows. “He told me the President has this prion disease from Eden. He actually gave me a CD with so called proof of his allegations.”

Castell did not hear any response from Morloch. He looked at his cell phone display to see if he had lost the connection. “Vicktor?”

“I’m here. Uh, why don’t I send someone over to your place tonight to pick up the disk? I’d like my guys to have a look at what he’s saying about our favorite product.”

“Fine with me. I’ll be home in about twenty minutes,” Castell answered, thinking that would give him time to copy the disk before handing it over.

“Great, Jacob. I’m glad you called.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. He gave me his cell phone number.”

“He did?” Morloch sounded surprised. “What is it?”

Castell read him a string of numbers from the napkin. “By the way, I made a few calls and I think I have everything lined up for you. You know, the matter we discussed yesterday.”

“Right, right. That’s great. When will you know?”

“In a couple of days, but it’s really only a formality at this point.”

“Excellent. That’s really good news.”

A taxi screamed past Castell’s limo, cutting them off. The limousine driver slammed on his brakes, throwing Castell to the floor. “What the fuck?”

A moment later, a dark blue Explorer sped past Castell’s limousine on the wrong side of the street and turned after the taxi. Castell climbed back into the seat, and felt for his cell phone on the dark carpeted floor. “Goddamn idiots.”

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alenti weaved through traffic, honking his horn. Oncoming cars swerved to avoid the black Capital Taxi.

“Where are we going?” Steve yelled through the Plexiglas barrier between the seats.

“Somewhere they ain’t.” Valenti saw Mallis’s SUV behind him and turned a fishtailing corner. “Damn, I think he saw us.”

Valenti suddenly confronted a knot of cars stopped at a traffic light blocking his path. He looked back through the rear view mirror. “Shit!”

The blue SUV had turned the corner and narrowed the distance. Gunshots shattered the taxi’s rear window. Steve dived to the floor. Valenti hit reverse and backed, tires spinning, straight towards the front of the SUV. The massive Crown Vic’s rear-end slammed the front of Mallis’s SUV, demolition-derby style, shoving it into a parked car.

“Yee ha!” Valenti shouted, shifting back into forward and spinning his tires.

Steve stayed hunkered down, stiff with fright, as he heard more shots, his world reduced to ticking seconds and the dirty black vinyl flooring beneath his face.

Valenti jumped a curb and sped down a sidewalk, scattering newspaper machines and pedestrians. The SUV freed itself from the smashed car and raced down the sidewalk in pursuit.

At the corner, Valenti turned right on 10th Street and floored it.

Steve cautiously sat up and looked out. Ahead, on Pennsylvania Avenue, he saw a large Washington Metrobus crossing their path, making a slow, wide left turn into their lane. Valenti leaned on his horn, but didn’t slow down.

The bus driver registered an astonished look as the honking taxi bore down on him. He swerved out of their lane and overshot, hitting a parked Volkswagen Beetle. The front wheel rolled up and over it, flipping the bus onto its side—dead ahead of the speeding taxi.