Frozen Fire

by Evans, Bill; Jameson, Marianna

  “How are you holding up?” she asked quietly as she moved to his side.

  He looked down at her with a hollow expression in his eyes. “I won’t lie to you, Vic. I’m numb.”

  “Why don’t we sit down for a minute?” She urged him toward the small table nestled in a corner of the patio and then stopped short. “Oh.”

  A thin layer of greasy black dust lay on the bamboo furniture, and the broad shafts of sunlight that pierced the canopy of palms and catalpas held particles that spun and swirled but didn’t sparkle as they fell. They were matte and dark, reflecting nothing but the horror that spawned them.

  “I’ve never faced a situation that left me not knowing what to do, Vic. Never. It’s like my brain is paralyzed.”

  She said nothing, just looked at him with an expression she kept as neutral as she could. It was as if she hardly knew the man standing in front of her. Frustration and grief had replaced the adrenaline-fueled anger that had rushed through him at first. She knew it was a natural progression, but it was a dangerous one.

  Neither one of them could afford to let grief take precedence. Not when there were countries interested in more than altruism, with ships and crews at the ready to invade her space. She needed Dennis sharp, decisive, and in command, not frozen.

  Leaving her standing in the dappled sunlight, Dennis turned and walked to the other side of the room where he stood silently in front of open French doors that led to a wide, waving communal lawn of sea oats and sawgrass, and eventually the beach.

  “They almost got me, Vic. Came damned close.”

  She had to bite her lips against the raw emotion in his voice. “Yes, but they failed. That’s the important thing. And they don’t know it yet. That’s important, too.”

  “What will they do when they find out?”

  “That depends on who they are. But whoever they are, they’ll try again if it means that much to them. You know that. This isn’t the first attempt, Dennis.”

  “It was the best so far.”

  Snap out of it, damn you. “What do you want to do?” Victoria made sure her voice was as quiet as it always was, but she could hear evidence of the strain she’d been under for the last few hours. It felt like days since she’d watched the footage of the plane coming down.

  “I want to do the same thing to the bastards who tried to do this to me.”

  Okay, maybe you are coming back online. “I meant now.”

  “I know what you meant.” He let out a long breath. “What did the neighbors say?”

  “They’re providing the assistance we’ve asked for. Keeping them away from the crash site will likely be our biggest challenge.”

  He turned and looked at her. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them had a hand in it just to get in here for a look around.”

  Victoria gave him a hard stare. “State-sponsored terrorism? Too convenient, Dennis, and too ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” He lifted an eyebrow at her. “I’ve been thinking, and for all of our security precautions and background screening, for all of our encryption and double-blind controls on information transfer, for all of your constant surveillance, do you really think we haven’t been infiltrated somehow? I don’t mean electronically, I mean by someone. That we have an enemy in our midst.”

  “Of course I’ve considered it. At the hangar in Miami, yes, perhaps we have been penetrated, but here on the island? No. We’re secure. I know no security system is perfect, but we’ve taken system redundancy to the extreme, as you well know. And only you and I know the extent of that redundancy,” she replied easily, lifting one slim, dark eyebrow of her own. “Other than a few, a very few people in Washington, no one living outside of this island knows about the mining operation, Dennis. They may have their suspicions, but no one can know anything. Half the people living in Atlantis don’t know what the other half are doing.”

  “I’d like to believe that, Vic. I’m glad you’re so confident.” He turned back to look at the beach.

  Victoria crossed her arms and walked to the doors and stood next to him, careful not to lean against the wall. The more she looked around, the more it appeared that everything was covered with the greasy soot.

  “Don’t kid yourself. You’re not glad. You’re horrified. And you don’t pay me to be confident, you pay me to be paranoid, and I’m exceptionally good at it. I won’t deny that this—”

  “Act of terrorism,” he interjected. “That’s what we’re calling it, isn’t it?”

  “This incident,” she continued, “is highly suspicious as well as tragic. The consequences are already rippling across the world literally at the speed of light. Or the speed of tele vision, anyway. Charlie has been fencing with the press for hours,” she said, referring to Charlie Deen, Dennis’s oldest friend and his Georgetown-based ambassador to the United States. “But I’m not entirely convinced that a real insider is involved.”

  “Humor me. Who inside this organization could have been involved?”

  She shrugged tightly and wondered what he would say if she told him he topped Micki’s list of suspects. “That’s the question of the day, isn’t it? I’ve already requested all the work records associated with the plane from the day its components started being fabricated until the day we took delivery. We need far more basic information about the aircraft and what happened to it before we can start making conjectures. The first batch of—” She’d been about to say “debris” when the realization that the remains of fifteen people were mingled with the wreckage of the plane flashed into her mind. She stopped and swallowed hard, waving a hand in dismissal as she collected herself.

  “The first batch of recovered material has already been brought ashore and is being labeled and packed for delivery to the NTSB in Miami. It should be on its way in a matter of hours. Charlie has arranged for a private hangar to be used as the staging area for reconstruction and . . . and as a morgue,” she finished, stumbling over the last words and hating herself for it.

  Be cold.

  “We’ve arranged for the families of the victims to stay at Kamelame Cay on Andros if they would like to come down for . . . whatever. To see the site. We’ve arranged with the captain of the Ma Belle to have it available to them—”

  “What’s that?”

  “A yacht. With a helipad, so they can be closer to the site if they’d prefer.”

  A soft tap on the door preceded its opening, and Dennis watched as Victoria’s assistant poked her head into the cottage.

  “Excuse me, Victoria.” Gemma shifted her red-rimmed eyes to Dennis. “I have the office of the American secretary of state on the phone, sir. She’s patched through the embassy in Washington. She’d like to speak with you.”

  “I’ll bet she would,” Dennis said with a hard laugh. “Unfortunately, we haven’t decided yet whether I’m still alive.”

  “I understand that, sir. But I was told to convey to you that it’s urgent,” she added softly, her eyes flicking between her boss and her boss’s boss.

  “Gemma, please tell the secretary that I will return her call when my current meeting ends,” Victoria interjected smoothly, pleased that Hurricane Dennis was regaining some force, if only in fits and starts.

  Gemma nodded and shut the door, leaving them alone once again.

  Dennis watched the door as it closed. “I’m sure the old tart is frothing at the mouth because we won’t let them in.”

  “No doubt. And she’s not the only one. The British have a carrier group doing exercises in the Central Atlantic and have offered assistance.”

  “Well, they can just bugger off, as they’re so fond of saying.” He let out a hard breath and closed his eyes. “I need to go on television, Vic, and let them know they missed.”

  “I know. And you will. Just not now.”

  “I want to tell them that they killed close friends of mine, Vic. And that I won’t forget that.”

  “Unfortunately, you’re not allowed to have friends at a time like this. You have to
think beyond that,” she said coldly.

  “The world financial markets will be in chaos by the opening bell Monday and dozens, if not hundreds, of companies are already. And you want me to hide in my tree house and flip off the world.” He glared at her. “I need to get my presidential ass out there for the world to see.”

  She gave him the hardest look he’d ever gotten from her. “I’m glad you’re back from the edge, Dennis, but if your presidential ass is known to be intact, we may lose our best chance at finding out who did this. I want you to stay here and stay out of sight.” She paused. “I’ve decided to send Micki up to Washington. I think it will be better for everyone if she’s up there. That way Charlie will have someone—”

  “Fuck that.” He glared back at her. “Micki is a pain in the ass. She can’t think and talk at the same time. I’m not going to have her talking to anyone who matters. You go up there. She can handle things here for a day or two. That way she can’t screw anything up. You’ve got everything locked down, anyway. You go.”

  Victoria’s eyes widened. “I can’t go. I need to be here.”

  “No you don’t,” Dennis stated. “I’m here. You just tell Micki what to do and she can run things. We’re not going to have any answers for at least twenty-four hours anyway. The crews on the water have their orders and the security is tighter than it’s ever been. It will be okay.”

  “But—”

  “Why are you arguing? That was an order.”

  Speechless at the imperiousness of his tone, Victoria could only stare at him, his set jaw, his furious eyes. Her mind was frozen with the thought that her belief in Dennis all these years might have been misplaced, that Micki might actually be right.

  She nodded, feeling almost sick to her stomach. “I’ll have Gemma get it organized right away. If it’s all right with you, I’ll return that call to the secretary of state.”

  CHAPTER

  9

  4:45 P.M., Saturday, October 25, Gainesville, Florida

  The phone rang and Sam immediately lowered the television’s volume as CYNTHIA DAVISON appeared on the pop-up banner shadowing the Georgia Tech sidelines. “Hey, darlin’.”

  “Hi.” Her voice betrayed her excitement.

  “What’s up? You on the boat yet?”

  “We’ve been on the boat for a few hours already. We’re about thirty miles south-southeast of the tip of Miami.” Her voice dropped in a conspirator-ial rush. “Sam, guess what? I’ve already been in touch with the station and they want me to try to cover the crash. The captain is—”

  “Now just hang on a minute, Cyn. What do you mean you’re goin’ to cover the crash? You can’t be anywhere near that plane crash yet.”

  “Oh, sorry, Sam. I’m just really excited. No, we’re not near it. Not yet. But we will be. Soon.”

  He took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. “I hate to rain on your picnic, sweetheart, but they said on the news they’re not lettin’ anyone near it. I know you were supposed to be allowed into Taino’s waters for a dive, but a friend of mine was invited down there for next week and his trip just got canceled, so I don’t think you’re goin’ to get anywhere near it. They’ve sealed the area.”

  There was a pause in their conversation that let Sam know a storm was imminent. He stood up and walked toward the kitchen. Turning his back on the TV was a painful decision, because the ’Jackets were on the fifteen-yard line, but he couldn’t pay attention to Cyn and the game, and Cyn would kill him if she realized she was the second horse in that race. Under the circumstances.

  “Well, you are raining on my parade, Sam. And we are heading over to Taino,” she snapped. “I mean, it’s the ocean, Sam. No one can ‘seal the area.’”

  The tone in her voice was the one he hated most: her bossy, determined, just-watch-me tone. The attitude that went with it had propelled her to the level of senior producer in a growing market in just a few years, and Sam was sure it would end up causing her big trouble one day. Maybe today.

  “The crash site is inside Taino’s territorial waters, Cyn, and they’re not lettin’ anyone in. They’re not even lettin’ coast guard or navy rescue teams in. It’s all over the news. You’re not goin’ to get in there, darlin’,” he insisted. “Just back off. Head over to one of the Bahama islands. Just enjoy your vacation.”

  “Back off? Are you crazy? We’ve already been granted permission to get into the area,” she hissed.

  “That was before the accident. Taino’s security force is out in spades, darlin’, and I don’t care if y’all are hanging off the masts in your bikinis and passin’ out piña coladas, y’all are not goin’ to get past those guys. Those Taino people aren’t even lettin’ helicopters cross their airspace, for cryin’ out loud. CNN and FOX are talking about tryin’ to get live satellite footage from the military or NOAA. Cyn, darlin’, you won’t get in,” he repeated.

  Her pause was ominous, and when she spoke, her voice was cold. “I’m sorry I called.”

  Hell’s bells. Sam took a deep breath.

  “Cyn, don’t be like that,” he said, his easy voice belying the effort it took to make it that way. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble or get hurt. Taino’s security guys aren’t a bunch of retiree rent-a-cops. CNN is saying they’re all former SEALs, with a few candy-asses from the Mossad in the mix for good mea sure.”

  “Oh, get real. You know what their day-to-day job is? They zip around on Wave Runners keeping sailboats away from a bunch of fish and a few coral reefs,” she snapped. “Taino doesn’t have a navy. That ‘private security force’ is a collection of burned-out surfers armed with bullhorns and spotlights. They won’t bother us. We’re on a clipper cruise. We’re tourists.”

  “Well, the rest of your girlfriends might be, but you just told me that you’re the press now, and if I know you as well as I think I do, you took your cameras with you, with all those fancy lenses. They’ll know what you’re up to, Cyn.”

  “As far as they’re concerned, we’re harmless. And we’re expected.”

  Sam rolled his eyes again at her bullheadedness, and knew it was ridiculous to argue further, especially at international cell phone rates. “Whatever you say, Cyn. How was your flight?”

  “Fine,” she replied. “Having a great time. Wish you were here.”

  He winced at the acid in her tone. “Sounds like it. Well, darlin’, call me again when you’ve had your adventures on the high seas. Tell me where to wire the bail money.”

  “Not funny.” A short pause was followed by a heavy sigh. “I don’t want to hang up mad at you, Sam.”

  “I know. That’s ’cause you love me and you can’t wait to marry me. So just say you’re sorry and promise me you won’t do anything stupid. Call me a wuss, darlin’, but I don’t want you telling our grandchildren any stories about the time silly ol’ granny got harpooned by a cop on a Jet Ski.”

  Another short pause ensued. “I have to go now. Bye, Sam.”

  “I love you, Cyn.”

  He waited until he heard the click that disconnected the call, then, shaking his head with annoyance, he placed the handset in its dock and walked out to his pool to do a few dozen laps. It was a nationally televised game. He’d be back on the couch before the fourth quarter started.

  4:45 P.M., Saturday, October 25, Taino

  Fresh from seeing Victoria take off in one of the Gulfstreams, Micki parked her golf cart outside the small, low-slung building that housed the security group and went straight to her office. Shutting the door, she walked to her desk, brought up her secure e-mail, and created a new message to an internal address. With all communications to the outside world shut down except for their one ultrasecure link, she knew every incoming and outgoing message was being scrutinized by several levels of her staff. There was no point in trying to send a message to any address that didn’t end in Taino’s identifier; it would never make it past the perimeter she and Victoria had so carefully set up.

  On the address line, Micki hurriedly typed the
in-house e-mail alias she’d set up for Garner months ago, and then put Thanks! in the message line. Moving to the text area, she began typing rapidly.

  Hi

  Thanks for your message. Everyone on the island is okay. Devastated but pulling ourselves together.

  Dennis was supposed to be on the plane, but thankfully wasn’t. Swamped right now—VC is on her way to DC and will be back tomorrow.

  I hope you are okay.

  I’ll be in touch.

  Micki

  The message would be read by someone on her staff, but she knew nobody would pay too much attention to it. After all, the message was innocuous, it was being sent to an internal address, and it was coming from the person who, now that Victoria was in midair, was in charge of security for the island.

  Not that anyone would recognize the recipient’s name. Dennis’s reach was extensive, with small pockets of people working around the globe on various pet projects. No one but Dennis, Victoria, and Micki knew exactly who was working where or on what, so creating a ghost employee hadn’t been difficult.

  The e-mail would leave Micki’s computer and almost instantly enter the mailbox for the alias account on the Washington-based network of the Climate Research Institute. That network was distinct from the one on the island, and would be functioning at a different level of security. The arrival of the message in the dummy mailbox would execute code that would hide the message from the security filters before sending it out to a series of e-mail dead-drops. The message would bounce around the world twice, arriving in Garner’s e-mail application with an untraceable return address within minutes.

  Micki knew that Garner wouldn’t be pleased with what she had to say; he’d wanted Dennis dead. But the situation as it now stood had defaulted to the best possible option. Instead of having to neutralize Victoria, Micki would have to neutralize Dennis, and once she did, she’d be in control and the second phase of the operation could commence.

  Micki clicked SEND and then sat back in her chair with a smile. It felt so good to be doing a job she could be proud of.