A Heartbeat Away - Michael Palmer [92]
“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.
CHAPTER 42
DAY 6
1:00 A.M. (EST)
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