Lady Liberty

by Vicki Hinze

  “Well, someone didn’t obey it. I don’t care why. All I want to know is what are you going to do about it?”

  Patch and his damn Madonna complex? “What do you want me to do, Austin? Take her out in the White House?”

  “How you keep your end of our agreement is irrelevant to me. Just do it. You have exactly eighteen hours and thirty minutes. Fail, and I will make good on every threat I’ve made.” Austin slammed down the phone.

  A dial tone droned in Gregors ear. He rounded the corner into the command center. Adam, compact and feral with rock-ledge features, sat at the station, manning the monitors. “Talk to me.”

  “ET lost communication with Bravo Team while it was in transit. Storm-related,” Adam said. “He located Bravo on the ground and reported in about three minutes ago.”

  Three minutes. That explained why Adam hadn’t briefed Gregor before putting through Austin’s call; he hadn’t yet received ET’s field report. That introduced a new complication. Who had given Austin the information?

  “Bravo hit hostiles on arrival.” Adam reclaimed Gregors attention. “One man down, one missing, and one chopper lost. Confiscated, sir.”

  “By whom?”

  “Widow-maker and Lady Liberty” Adam grimaced. “Those identities have been confirmed and ET is in pursuit.”

  “How much lead time does Liberty have?”

  “ET reported an ETA intercept in under an hour.”

  So Patch hadn’t refused to cancel her, or assisted in her escape, or been involved in the loss of a helicopter. Gregor weighed his choices. He could stick with the original plan, but, at this point, that boiled down to a piss-poor strategy that left him and all of Ballast hunted and blamed for starting a world war. The battle lines were clearly drawn, and the decision was Gregors to make:

  Did he throw his support to Austin Stone or to Lady Liberty?

  Gregor lifted his stress ball and squeezed it flat. Admittedly, they were well-matched adversaries, yet Austin carried the odds for winning. He never issued idle threats, and he had the expertise and ability to carry his threats out. He also had the most intense personal motive: greed.

  Liberty had formidable, proven assets, and a determination to succeed that would carry her places expertise and ability alone couldn’t take her. She also had ethics and values she consistently had refused to violate, which made her more predictable.

  Bottom line, they were selfless and selfish in approach, and that had Gregors instincts humming a warning only a fool would ignore: Austin would protect himself and his personal interests at all costs. Liberty would take higher risks and make greater sacrifices to attain success. And if she succeeded, she would avert a war for which Gregor would be blamed.

  Play the odds, Gregor.

  Still, he hesitated. Austin likely had done all he could do to negate Gregor having any real choice but to support him. Still, there was an interim-measure option. He turned to Adam. “Peris and Abdan are still on-site in Geneva?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  That settled it. “Revoke the cancellation order on Liberty and reverse the lockdown.”

  “Yes, sir.” Adam relayed the orders to the men in the field and lifted the plastic cover on the control panel, revealing the flashing red indicator light and the green button beside it. He depressed the green one.

  Nothing happened.

  The system refused to release the site from the lock-down. “Try it again.”

  Adam again pushed the release button.

  “It’s still not working, sir.” Panic etched his voice.

  “Once more.”

  Adam repeated the procedure a third time, but the red indicator light continued to flash. “Someone’s hacked into our system and taken control.”

  Austin. He would die for that, but right now Gregor had to countermand him and get someone into the inner hub to get the key and stop the launch. He stepped closer to Adam’s back. “Have Systems look for a fail-safe device. Remote activation. And tell them to expect viral consequences for running diagnostics. Search and destroy.”

  Adam relayed the orders to Systems, and Gregor again focused on the flashing red indicator light. His most feared mission risk had now happened. He’d wanted Liberty away from the peace table. He did not want to be blamed for Austin Stone’s war.

  Reviewing precautionary measures taken, Gregor asked, “What’s Marlowe’s status?”

  Adam tapped furiously at the keys, searching frantically for a back door into the system. “He’s in critical condition, sir. Gibson has been on the horn with the flight surgeon, a Dr. Richardson, most of the night.”

  “What’s the prognosis?”

  “They figure he’ll be lucky to last another couple hours.”

  With Marlowe’s survival in jeopardy, Liberty’s return to D.C. became vital to everyone, especially to Gregor.

  “They still haven’t located Mendoza,” Adam said. “But when they do, they’ll bust him.”

  Gregor frowned. “Odds are good they’ll have to go to hell to do it.”

  Mendoza had to be working with Austin, which meant he now was dead. But why hadn’t the murder been observed on the A-267 monitor? “Adam, we need to review the tapes of Marlowe inside the inner hub.”

  “What are we looking for?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. But I doubt Mendoza left his station under his own steam or by divine intervention.” There had to be something on the tape. “Did we run a chemical check after the lockdown?”

  “No, sir.” Adam shrugged. “It didn’t seem necessary since we caused it.”

  “Run one now.”

  Adam keyed in the order, then glanced back at Gregor.

  “The inner hub being empty during lockdown wasn’t in the plan, was it, sir?”

  “No, it wasn’t.” In six months of observations, the inner hub had never been unoccupied. Gregor wasn’t sure which man he wanted to see dead most, Austin Stone or Cap Marlowe. Both had caused him unnecessary challenges.

  “Systems is coming up empty, sir,” Adam said. “They’re pulling a hundred percent cross-check now. And I bombed out. There is no evidence of a back door.”

  “That is not what I want to hear.”

  “I don’t much like saying it either, sir, but there it is.” He looked back at Gregor. “We can’t reverse the lockdown without Liberty. Dr. Stone has reconfigured A-267’s security system. By the time her engineers figure out how to intervene and resume control, it’ll be too late.”

  Rubbing the bristle on his jaw, Gregor stared at the countdown board. Fifteen hours, thirty-two minutes, seven seconds.

  “What do you want me to do, sir?” Adam asked.

  Gregor wished he knew. Adam expected to hear their exit strategy. Gregor always included a strong exit strategy in his mission plans. But he couldn’t exit this mission. Austin had seen to that. And Adam’s blind trust weighed down on Gregor. The mission logistics were a nightmare, the timing critical, and—hell, not even a strong strategist could predict exactly what Austin had done or what he intended to do next. “Have the Marlowe tape readied for review—in here, not my office. And keep looking for a way to reverse the lockdown.”

  Adam blinked hard three times. “Sir, if we don’t pull assets and abort the mission—”

  “I understand the ramifications, Adam.”

  “With all due respect, sir, you can’t start World War III. There’s no profit in it.”

  More important, there was no safe haven. Gregors stomach threatened to heave. He thought of John Kennedy during the Bay of Pigs crisis and felt a pang of sympathy. He didn’t want a war on that scale any more than anyone else did, except for Austin Stone. “If World War III starts, technically it will be the esteemed President of the United States who fires the first-strike missile. Not I. I’ll just be blamed for it.”

  “After the rest of the world bombs the hell out of the U.S.”

  And it retaliated. “Exactly” Gregor set the stress ball down on his desk.

  “Tape’s r
eady for review.”

  Gregor sat down and began watching it. Austin had gone over the edge. Even if Liberty died, he had too many other grievances with too many people to end this reasonably. Gregor had no choice now but to nail the genius doctor’s ass to the proverbial wall and help Liberty stop the launch. He didn’t have to like it, and he damn sure didn’t have to advertise it, particularly since he wasn’t convinced he could pull it off, but he had to do it. It wouldn’t be easy; this was Stone’s system, and no doubt he had covered himself well.

  An unexpected frame shift caught Gregors eye. He halted the tape, reversed it, and then viewed it a second time. Well, well. He rocked back in his chair. It appeared the good doctor hadn’t covered himself well enough.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  Gregor shot his gaze to Adam. “What is it?”

  “The inner hub, sir. It’s contaminated. Carbon monoxide level is off the charts.”

  Mendoza hadn’t left the inner hub.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Saturday, August 10 First-Strike Launch: 11:00:00

  “What time is it?”

  Jonathan checked his watch. “One P.M.” “We lost a lot of time parked in that clearing.” They had. Conlee had maintained his stay-put order for hours. Finally an Apache Longbow had shown up, carrying sixteen Hellfire missiles under its wings. Four men wearing Special Operations gear had jumped out and retrieved the two Ballast bodies. Finally the Apache and the Ballast aircrafts had departed, heading in opposite directions. Fifteen minutes later Conlee had transmitted the “all clear” and Jonathan had taken off. “We’re still eleven hours out from the deadline.”

  A frown creased Sybil’s brow. “I have a feeling this crisis won’t resolve easily.”

  Jonathan’s neck tingled, warning him that she was right. Tensing, he set the chopper down on the White House lawn.

  President Lance, Winston, and Richard Barber stood waiting for them, Barber shielding his eyes from the bright afternoon sun and the wind kicked up by the whipping prop blades.

  Mud-crusted and bedraggled, Sybil and Jonathan left the aircraft and walked over the cool grass, the brisk wind tugging at their hair, eyes, and clothes, at the briefcase. They’d made it. Sybil’s relief weakened her knees.

  David stepped forward, clasped her shoulders and squeezed. “Your socks are drooping.”

  Sybil looked down, saw Westford’s socks scrunched at her ankles—and the welts of bug bites and deep scratches from her run-ins with the catbrier that covered her legs, ankles to thighs. “Terrible flaw. I’ll work on it,” she said, borrowing a bit of Jonathan’s sarcasm.

  He smiled, but genuine concern shone in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.”

  David glanced at Jonathan, his gratitude radiating from him. “Thank you for getting back to us.”

  Jonathan nodded but didn’t step away.

  “Welcome home, Vice President Stone.” Barber extended a hand.

  Sybil shook it and smiled. “Thank you.”

  Winston didn’t offer to shake. No surprise there—he had always been cool toward her—but she nodded a greeting to him anyway. He ignored it.

  “I know you’re eager to shower and rest, but we don’t have a minute to spare. You need to get to A-267 immediately” David led her from the lawn to a waiting limo. “This opens the case.” He pressed a small gold key into her hand.

  A horrible feeling suffused her, and Sybil couldn’t shake it. Something significant had changed. “What’s happened, David?”

  “New developments. Barber will brief you en route.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sybil slid into the car.

  David leaned forward, filling the crack between the car and the door. “Don’t open that case now. It has a sensor. If you’re not within ten feet of the hangar, it will detonate. A bomb squad is waiting at the site. They’ll give you detailed instructions.” David backed away, and Barber got into the car.

  Barber sat facing her, Jonathan at her side. When the door closed, Barber raised the privacy glass between them and the driver. “What’s your security clearance, Westford?”

  “It’s higher than yours.”

  Sybil nodded that it was, and a surprised Barber launched into the briefing. “An outside source has control of A-267. They’ve locked down the facility and we can’t override them without risking a launch. Senator Marlowe is trapped in the outer rim.”

  “What was he doing there?” Sybil asked. Her nemesis was at A-267? It seemed bizarre that Cap Marlowe, the demon hunter himself, would be trapped.

  “Pulling a no-notice inspection. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but he’s a diabetic. He’s way overdue on his insulin injections. His condition is critical, ma’am. An ambulance is on-site but can’t get to him. The inner hub isn’t manned.”

  “What?” She couldn’t believe her ears. From his expression, neither could Jonathan.

  “Captain Mendoza was on duty when the facility locked down. But he’s vanished. The inner hub is empty.”

  “Did we confirm that?”

  “Yes, ma’am. With heat-seeking sensors.”

  Sybil’s stomach growled again.

  “Excuse me,” Jonathan interrupted, looking at Sybil. “McDonald’s or Burger King?”

  “McDonald’s. Bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit, hash browns, and a large—the largest they have—orange juice.”

  Barber’s eyes stretched wide. “You’re stopping to eat in the middle of a crisis? There are MREs in the car.”

  “You want us to eat emergency rations?” Sybil nearly snapped.

  Before she cut loose, Jonathan intervened. “We haven’t eaten a decent meal since Wednesday.” He pressed the intercom button to talk with the driver. “Mickey hit the McDonald’s drive-through. Three bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits, two hash browns, and a couple gallons of OJ.”

  “You’ve got it, Agent Westford.”

  “You want a fast-food breakfast at one in the afternoon?” Barber looked mortified.

  “He’s right, Jonathan,” Sybil said. “People rushing through on their lunch hours would have to wait.”

  “Mickey, cancel that McDonald’s run. Hit Burger King. Three Whoppers. No ketchup, add mustard. A cherry pie and two gallons of iced tea.”

  “I’m on it.” He whipped over two lanes and hung a right into Burger King’s parking lot.

  Sybil looked at Jonathan and felt a rush of warmth. He had remembered that she hated ketchup and liked mustard. What else had he noticed about her that she hadn’t realized?

  When the food was ready, Mickey passed the bags through the divider. Sybil thought she might faint from the wonderful smells. Food. Hot food. Her stomach twisted and churned.

  “I can’t believe it,” Barber groused. “Vice President of the United States, and you haul a limo bearing the seal through a fast-food restaurant’s drive-through window”

  “Have you ever been hungry, Barber?” Sybil hardened her voice, clipped her tone. “So hungry your stomach feels like it’s glued to your spine?”

  “No, ma’am, I haven’t.”

  “Then be grateful because you’ve been blessed and shut up about it. Starving people eat, and I happen to like fast food—even when I’m not starving.” She unwrapped the Whopper. Its paper crinkled, and her mouth watered in anticipation. “I’m a little tired and testy, so I’d advise you to drop the elitist attitude and get back to the briefing.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He took the criticism in stride. “Referencing your plane crash. It’s connected to the A-267 security breach. That’s confirmed.”

  “Did anyone else on the plane survive?”

  “Two possibles.” Barber told her about the chuters. “We haven’t identified either of them, but we have reason to believe one was Captain Dean.”

  “What reason?” Sybil pulled a long swallow of tea down her throat. She couldn’t remember any meal ever tasting so good. Tomato. God, tomato exploded in your mouth and it tasted wonderful.

  “His wife a
nd two children were abducted. Sam Sayelle checked out an anonymous tip and reported it to the police. They’re cooperating fully with us. When the abduction was designated a professional assault—because of Captain Dean’s connection to the crisis—we took over the investigation. We don’t know yet if the abduction was genuine or staged.”

  Sybil bit down on a crunchy pickle. Its tangy juice squirted inside her mouth. “Why would anyone consider it a staged abduction?”

  “It’s possible Captain Dean had an agreement with Ballast or PUSH.”

  “Ballast is behind this crisis. I assume the Dean case is related to this crisis, correct?”

  “Correct.” Barber went on. “If Dean had an agreement, then Mrs. Dean might have voluntarily taken their kids and hooked up with the captain outside of the U.S.”

  “Jonathan, what do you think of that scenario?” Sybil asked.

  “Whoever came up with it is looking under the wrong rock.”

  “I think so, too.” She looked back to Barber. “Linda Dean would never put her kids in danger, and Ken is no traitor. You can take that to the bank.”

  “Intel analysts are investigating all possibilities.” Barber avoided a direct response. “It’s the responsible thing to do.”

  “Well, I hope they’re not wasting too much time on this one. Anyone who knows the Deans will agree it’s a ridiculous theory” She took a bite of tomato, rolled it around inside her mouth, and just savored it. When she swallowed, she added, “Actually, it’s an asinine theory. Ken Dean routinely sheds light on America’s underbelly”

  “Two more developments, ma’am.” Barber’s expression turned sheepish, then veiled. “Both are going to be difficult for you to hear.”

  “After the events of the past several days, you’re going to play hell shocking me, Barber. Things can’t get much worse than they’ve been.”

  “I’m afraid they can, ma’am.” He glanced in Jonathan’s direction, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere in the world but within the agent’s striking distance. “Commander Con-lee has some … concerns.”

  It was like pulling teeth. “What kind of concerns?”