The Einstein Papers (34 page)

The room was almost empty. “General Benson, I want you to spearhead the work with the Einstein papers. See if you can get me an operational weapon that will stop the Chinese within five days.”

The president and Benson both rose from their chairs and walked toward the door. “Your agent pulled our feet from the fire, Earl. If the Chinese still had those papers our country would be on the defensive, not the offensive. Where’s your agent undergoing surgery?”

“Bethesda Naval Hospital, sir.”

“I’ll call to check on him, you can count on it.”

Martinez leapt to his feet when the surgeon entered the waiting room. The doctors hospital scrubs were spotted with blood and he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I’m Dr. Gundersen,” the surgeon said, motioning to a table away from the others in the waiting room. “Let’s sit over here.”

Martinez’s face showed his concern.

“Don’t freak out on me, Agent Martinez. I just need to rest my feet. I’ve been up most of the night,” the surgeon said as he glanced longingly at the coffee machine in one corner of the waiting room, then decided against another cup. “Your partner is going to be fine. It was a good thing you arrived on the scene just after the shooting, though. The bullet missed his heart but we would have lost him from the hemorrhaging if you hadn’t applied direct pressure to the wound when you did. As it was, it was a clean shot through the shoulder that just bled like hell. We don’t anticipate Agent Taft will suffer any permanent damage.”

“Thanks, Dr. Gundersen, you don’t know how relieved this makes me feel.” Martinez sighed and settled into the chair. “John and I have been partners a few years now. Do you know how soon it will be until he can be released?’

“Hard to say. Agent Taft appears to have some pretty strong recuperative powers. His blood pressure hardly wavered during surgery. He even came out of the anesthesia at one point and winked at a nurse.”

“John’s about as tough as they, come,” Martinez agreed. “How much blood did he lose?”

“We ended up infusing three units, but I had another standing by if we needed it,” Gundersen noted.

That’s some serious blood loss,” Martinez said.

Gundersen nodded and rose to his feet. “Very serious. You can go into the recovery room now if you want,” Gundersen said as he started to leave.

“Which way?’ Martinez asked.

Gundersen pointed down a hall. “I’m just glad it went so well. This is die first time I’ve had a call from the president of the United States checking on a patient of mine,” he said as he walked from the room.

An early snowstorm was blanketing the grounds outside the Advanced Physics Laboratory in Boulder, Colorado. The snow piled up on the trees outside. Some of the trees were still holding the leaves of summer, and the weight of the snow sent the limbs crashing to the ground. Schoolchildren were excused from school early and tow-truck drivers were working overtime.

In a laboratory on the ground floor six archivists from the Smithsonian were preparing to separate and treat Einstein’s papers. Mounted to the workbenches in the laboratory were a series of the type of lighted and magnified scanners used by fly fishermen to tie delicate flies. Chet Hammond, leader of the archivists, was a sixty-year-old man who bore a remarkable resemblance to the famous author Ernest Hemingway.

Hammond carefully removed the stack of papers from the pouch. “Tweezers,” he said to his assistant.

Taking the tweezers in his hand, he delicately peeled off the first page in the stack. He turned the paper two and fro with the tweezers. “Looks like the writing is only on one side. That should help some.”

Motioning for his assistant to line up a Teflon-coated tile on the workbench, Hammond carefully placed the paper on the tile with the writing side visible. Hammond used tiles because paper would not stick to the surface as it dried. Next he rolled a support frame mounted with a camera above the tile. Adjusting the focus, he snapped three photographs.

“This is what we are going to do to each page,” he said to the archivists.

One of the men raised his hand.

“Yes, Andrew, a question?”

“How do you want to dry the pages?”

“We’re still testing methods. For now just separate the pages and place each one on a tile. Make sure that you take three pictures of each page. As you finish a roll of film signal one of the agents over there.” Hammond pointed to two NIA agents dressed in black suits who were seated in a corner of the laboratory. “Do not open the camera or handle the film. The agents will remove the film and reload the camera.”

Slowly and carefully the work began.

The dampness and deterioration of the last dozen papers had slowed the restoration process but the originals were now stabilized and copied. For drying the sheets Hammond decided simply to leave the papers on the tiles, turn the heat up in the laboratory, and post a guard. Jeff Scaramelli handed one of the folders filed with the series of photographs to Choi and smiled briefly. “Let’s start combining these equations with what you’ve already completed and see what we have.”

Choi’s hands trembled slightly as he took the folder. “How long do you think it will take??

“At least a couple of days,” Scaramelli said. “Don’t worry, the agents will notify your wife that you need to remain at the laboratory.”

“We’ll work around the clock,” Choi said eagerly.

“That’s the idea,” Scaramelli agreed.

In the recovery room at Bethesda Naval Hospital, Taft regained consciousness. He touched the stitches on his shoulder, then opened his eyes. A nurse standing at the side of the bed was recording his vital signs on a chart.

“Mr. Taft,” she said, “I see you’ve decided to grace us with your presence.”

“Where am I?”

“Bethesda Naval Hospital,” replied the nurse.

“I’m thirsty,” Taft said.

The curtain surrounding Taft moved.

“That’s probably your partner. The doctor just went to the waiting room to update him.” She walked to the slit in the curtain and opened it.

“The doctor said I could visit,” Martinez said, poking his head inside.

“Come on in, Mr. Taft’s awake. I’m leaving to get him some ice water. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” the nurse said as she walked out.

Martinez slid back the curtain and walked over to Taft’s bed.

“How are you feeling?” Martinez asked.

“Not as bad as the last time I was shot. My shoulder’s a little sore, though,” Taft said easily.

Martinez stared down at his partner. “Your color’s good.”

“You always know how to flatter me.”

“The doctor said you’d be fine,” Martinez relayed.

“Good.”

“I just called Marie. The kids were up all night worrying about you. They’ll be glad to hear you’re okay.”

“You have good kids, Larry. Send them my love,” Taft said as he wet his lips with his tongue. “I need some water.”

“You must still be high from the anesthesia. The nurse just went to get you some.”

Taft nodded. “So what happened to the papers?”

“We recovered them. They’re already in Colorado being studied.”

“Good. I hate getting shot for no reason.” Taft straightened up on the bed slightly. “Explain to me everything that happened.”

“When the shots rang out I ran to the river to see if you needed help.”

“I don’t know why I bother to tell you anything, you never listen. I thought we’d agreed you would stay and wait for help.”

“If I’d listened to you I’d be talking to a tombstone now,” Martinez said easily.

Taft nodded slowly. “Okay, you win that round. Just so you know, the guy in the conning tower of the mini-sub was the shooter,” said Taft.

“It turns out the courier had a gun too,” Martinez said. “It appears he was reaching for it when your shot hit him.”

“What’s his condition?”

“Your bullet took off the top of his head; he was dead before he hit the ground. The papers must have fallen at his side. You probably don’t remember this but you grabbed them and clutched them to your chest”

Taft looked away. He never relished the idea of kilhng a man. “I was aiming for his midsection, to try to wound him,” he said quietly.

“You were hit yourself, your aim was off. It couldn’t be helped,” Martinez said. “You didn’t start this war, so don’t start feeling guilty now.” Taft nodded.

“Once I saw you were hit, I started firing at the sub,” Martinez said. “When I’d used up my clip I fired the rounds in your pistol.” “What happened then?”

“You were bleeding quite a bit. I thought I’d better figure out a way to stop the bleeding. I called Central Operations on my cellular phone. One of the dispatchers called for a helicopter and talked me through the first aid until the chopper arrived.” Martinez paused. “The sub managed to slip below the surface but it was tracked from Potomac Beach and it was stopped at the bridge by the navy. The Carondelet, the ship Benson mentioned we had agents watching, was acting as the tender. She remained just off the mouth of the Potomac and was boarded by a team of Navy SEALs.”

“So the Chinese have no way of knowing we have the papers?”

“That’s what we think right now. The SEAL team leader reported they secured the radio before anyone could call out.”

“Good.” Then Taft said slowly, “You saved my life, Larry. Thanks.”

“You were bleeding pretty bad. I just kept my hand over the wound until we could chopper you out. No big deal.”

“It is to me,” Taft said. “I owe you one.”

“Not a problem,” Martinez said. “That’s what partners are for.”

The nurse returned with a plastic cup of ice water and handed it to Taft who downed the entire contents in one gulp. He smiled at the nurse and held out the empty cup.

“When can I eat?”

“Let me check with the doctor, Mr. Taft,” she said as she took back the cup. “I’ll bring you some more water in a couple minutes,” she said and left again.

“Is it the drugs,” Taft asked, “or is that nurse gorgeous?”

“I can see you’re feeling better,” Martinez chuckled. “And it’s not the drugs. You’re thinking clearly, she’s a beauty.”

“So we recovered the Einstein papers. I guess this ends our involvement with this.”

“Looks like it,” Martinez agreed.

“When can I get out of here?”

“The doctor wasn’t sure, a couple of days probably. Do you want to stay with Marie and me while you recuperate?”

“Probably not. It would be nice to just relax at home for a change. It seems like months since I’ve been home.”

“Hard to believe you brought Choi out of China less than two weeks ago,” Martinez agreed. “You probably need to rest. Do you want me to bring you anything next time I visit?”

Taft thought for a moment. “See if you can find me a biography of Albert Einstein at the bookstore. I think I’d find that interesting.”

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours to check on you-I’ll bring it then,” Martinez said as he started to leave.

“Hey, Larry,” Taft said as Martinez began to walk away.

Martinez turned and looked at Taft.

“Thanks again,” Taft said, grinning.

Martinez smiled, then, shaking his head, he walked from the room.

The summer palace of King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia was on top of a small hill overlooking the town of Taif . A stone and brick structure with over 40,000 square feet of space inside, the palace was completely surrounded by a high stone wall. Although the palace was located less than fifty miles from the Red Sea, the area around Taif was dry and desert-like.

The grounds of the palace made sharp contrast with the surrounding terrain. Tons of topsoil had been brought in when the palace was being constructed and the grounds had the appearance of an English garden. Tall trees formed a small forest and a series of hedges forming a maze sat to one side of the grounds. Water pumped from a well on the property kept the immaculately trimmed grounds green. Behind the palace, to the left, was a cricket field, and a swimming pool and tennis courts were hidden from view behind the grove of trees.

The guests arriving at the palace passed through a series of security checks, starting with the gate leading into the compound. At the gate, the identities of the drivers and their passengers were checked. Then the limousines themselves were checked with a sophisticated sniffer that could detect any trace of a bomb. Once the guests arrived at the front door, they walked through a scanner similar to an X-ray machine.

Only then were they allowed to proceed any farther.

The conference room located on the ground floor of the palace was 8,000 square feet-eighty feet wide by one hundred feet long. The floors of the conference room were finished in white Italian marble. Clustered along the walls were rows of couches. The walls were covered in a rich red brocade fabric with intricate designs of gold and silver woven into the cloth. At the end of the room was a slightly elevated couch reserved for King Abdullah.

Behind the king’s couch was the door through which he entered the room. In front of the couches were low, hand-carved mahogany tables. On the tables were crystal ashtrays, silver pots containing dark Arabian coffee, along with plates of delicate pastries, figs, and dates. Rivulets of condensation rolled down the silver pitchers filled with ice water.

Once the last of the guests had arrived, the doors were shut and guards were posted outside. After a wait of several minutes the door behind King Abdullah’s couch was opened by an attendant and the king entered the room. After he made his way to his couch and sat, two bulky guards took positions just behind and to each side of the couch. The guards stood with folded arms, watching the guests.

“Inshallah,” the king began. “Thank you all for coming here today.” He paused and motioned for coffee which an attendant quickly poured and handed to him. “Most of you are unaware of the crisis that has befallen the kingdom. In the last few days a biological weapon was introduced into our oil fields, which, had we not acted in time might have wiped out our oil reserves permanently. A radical Israeli faction has claimed credit for the attack.” The king sipped from his coffee, then motioned to one of his brothers sitting to the side. “You look like you have a question, Amin.”