by Vicki Hinze
“Instructions call for the left thumbprint, ma’am.”
“Sorry. I remember you mentioning that now. There’s just been a lot to absorb quickly”
“Amen, ma’am.”
She pricked her left thumb, pumped it against her bent fingertip, and then pressed it against the absorbent pad and inserted the key.
“Wait for the green light,” Conlee said.
Sybil watched the device pad. A green light flashed on and stayed lit. Her heart in her throat, she offered up a prayer. Please, God. Please, let this work—and then she turned the key.
The elevator door slid open.
Sybil started to go inside, but Jonathan stopped her. “Security sweeps first.”
Within five minutes, the clear sign had been given, and the medical team had gone in to retrieve Cap, armed with huge syringes of MD-50—massive doses of sugar— and insulin.
They returned with him laid out on a white-sheeted stretcher. He was still alive, but not conscious. His skin pasty-white, his lips blue-tinged, he barely resembled the vibrant man who had been her most fierce opponent on the Hill.
Sybil spoke briefly to the medics, then watched them load Cap into the ambulance and drive away.
Jonathan joined her, sent her a questioning look. “They’re hopeful?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s a cleanup operation now,” Conlee said, then stopped a major walking past him. “Staff in the conference room. Five minutes. Priority shift.”
They had survived the crisis. “We did it, Jonathan.” An almost overwhelming urge to weep washed through her.
Jonathan’s eyes held that secret smile he saved for her. “Yes, ma’am, we did.”
“Ready to celebrate with that pasta dinner I owe you?” She smiled at him.
“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to learn to speak Italian. Eating pasta sounds a lot better than hitting the books.”
Teasing her. Emboldened, she did a little teasing of her own. “It could take more than one dinner to grasp the entire language.” Her heart threatened to stop. Any second it would just stop beating and that would be it.
“I’m willing to go for it.” He slid a hand into his pocket. “Are you?”
Boy, that was a tough one to answer. Just once, couldn’t her heart and head agree? “Yeah, I am.” She pressed her fingertips to her lips, stunned that she’d spoken.
“Commander!” The squad leader came running from the hangar. “We’ve got a major problem, sir.”
Conlee joined Sybil and Jonathan, turned to the soldier. “What now?”
“The inner hub won’t open, sir. It’s on a separate secure-device system.”
Oh, God. Sybil’s elation vanished.
“Is it the same kind of system?” Conlee asked.
“Yes, sir. But the gurus say Vice President Stone’s DNA won’t open it, and neither will Ballast’s key”
“Whose DNA will open it?” Sybil looked at Conlee. “Has anyone else reported receiving a key?”
“No key reports, and we haven’t yet identified whose DNA they used.”
“We have to get that hub open to stop the launch, Commander.” Sybil stated the obvious. “Have you checked Agent Westford’s DNA? He’s been with me since Geneva. Ballast could have used his.”
“They didn’t,” the squad leader said. “We ran everyone in the A-267 need-to-know loop, and none of them matches.”
Sybil caught the time on Conlee’s watch. “We’ve got ten hours, Commander.”
“I know, ma’am.”
The last remnants of joy at their success faded and the pressure returned to Sybil tenfold. “What can I do to help?”
“Give me blanket authorization to breach the Privacy Act and to skate around normal procedures. I need to extend the search, and I don’t have time—”
“I need a phone.”
Conlee unclipped his cellular from its case attached to his belt. “Ma’am, you do know Austin Stone designed this system.”
“Yes.” She had to be careful here. Every word out of her mouth would be received and reviewed under heavy scrutiny. Too harsh, and she would be perceived as a bitter ex; sour grapes. Too soft, and they would think she was protecting him. Sybil wasn’t harsh or soft, and this wasn’t personal. Yes, she knew Austin, and she knew too damn well that he had no loyalty and he was capable of the worst kind of betrayal. But she wasn’t weighing in on this based on a personal perspective. “Have you done a thorough check to see if he was deliberately involved in the corruption?”
“Yes, ma’am. He looks clean. He hasn’t been to the site in over six months, and he allowed us full access to his personal and professional records. We went through everything with a fine-tooth comb and found no evidence that he had your DNA.” Conlee’s expression clouded. “I’m not sure how to put this, considering the circumstances, ma’am.”
“Commander, you’re talking to your vice president, not to Austin Stone’s ex-wife. Say what you have to say.”
“My gut tells me he has to be involved. I don’t know to what degree, but it’s his design. Yet he doesn’t have your DNA—no one does except Home Base—so that tells me he can’t be involved, and yet…” Conlee wanted to say more but hesitated.
“Your gut still insists he is?” Sybil finished for him.
“Up to his eyeballs.” He nodded. “I’ll be first to apologize if I’m wrong, but there it is, ma’am.”
“I understand, and if it’s any consolation, I feel it in my gut, too.” Something niggled at Sybil’s memory but stayed just out of her reach. Something from a long, long time ago. “If he isn’t involved, we can use his expertise. If he is involved, then we need him where we can keep an eye on him.”
“Neutralize him,” Jonathan suggested.
Conlee nodded his agreement.
“All right. Pull him in under the umbrella of helping us,” she told Conlee. “If he does help, fine. If not, we know where he is and what he’s doing.”
“It also keeps him from bugging out,” Jonathan added. “If he is involved and the missile launches, then he’ll go down with everyone else. Equal risks.”
“Levels the field,” Conlee said, “but it leaves us wide open to further corruption. Hell, when he starts pounding on that computer keyboard, only he and God know what he’s doing.”
“Which is why the computer you put him on will simulate the network but not be connected to it,” Jonathan said. “Then our engineers can test his every move before it’s made or implemented in the actual system.”
“Okay” Appreciation warmed Conlee’s eyes. “Okay. We’ll need to upgrade his surveillance rating. Monitor all his calls, his every move.”
“In these circumstances,” Sybil said, “I’d consider that prudent.”
“We’ll need authorizations for that, too.”
“Fine.” Sybil held out a hand for his phone, and Conlee passed it to her. She dialed a number and then put the receiver to her ear. “This is Vice President Stone. Get me the attorney general…”
“Austin set up two DNA secure systems.”
“Inside A-267?” Gregor set down his glass of milk. It splashed over the rim and soaked his desktop. Rounding the desk, he joined Patch at the monitors.
Patch glanced at his boss. “Liberty is the first one, but who is the second?”
Damn scientists. Gregor let out a sigh ripe with frustration. “Circumvent and find out. The crazy bastard might have programmed it with mine.”
Horror streaked through Patch’s eyes. “Then how are we going to stop this? We can’t send them your DNA.”
“No, but we can send it to Marlowe.”
“He might not live. He’s still critical, Gregor.”
“Jean will live.”
Patch’s jaw dropped. “You’re trusting Marlowe’s secretary with this?”
“She’s a staffer, not a secretary, and she knows more about the senator’s business than he does.” She also had been working with Gregor for over a decade, keeping him informed
on matters of interest occurring on the Hill and, through Grace, in Lady Liberty’s office. Patch, however, had no need to know that.
Gregor stretched forward, adjusted the contrast on the A-267 monitor. Images of engineers and armed soldiers rushing around in the outer rim filled the screen.
“I don’t understand why Dr. Stone did this.” Patch sipped coffee from a steaming mug. “Why the second key and DNA?”
“Marlowe must have connected with him on the key” Without revealing it as a Jean-relayed fact, that was the only thing that made sense.
“But the DNA?”
“Think about it, Patch. Austin Stone designed the system and he holds the patents. Of course he would be pegged as the initiator in this attack. If all eyes turned from Ballast to him, to protect himself he would have to have someone in position to take the fall. You know Americans. They always have to have someone to blame. Austin is giving them someone other than himself. That person is blamed, and he is free to leave the country—and to launch the missile.”
“His plan has developed a glitch.” Patch spared Gregor a glance. “They’ve called him in to help them. No one has called it a house arrest, but once he’s at A-267, there’s no way Conlee’s going to let him leave.”
Gregor agreed. “He has the Widow-maker and Lady Liberty to thank for that, not Conlee, though I’m sure the commander agrees. Liberty is sharp. Which is one of the reasons—aside from his Secure Environet stock—Austin so adamantly wants her dead.” Gregor lifted a hand. “It’s a solid strategy. Once the second DNA person is identified, Conlee will believe he or she is guilty”
“Liberty won’t buy it.”
“But she’s handicapped. As Stone’s ex-wife, any position she takes invites skepticism.”
“The second person could be the Widow-maker.” Patch swiped at a coffee ring on his station desk.
“Too obvious and not enough venom. Westford threatened to kill Austin. He’ll want more in the way of revenge.”
“Who then?”
“My guess is Barber or Winston. In differing degrees, Austin recruited them both. Or maybe Marlowe.” Gregor tested a deduction and it withstood feasibility. Stone was systematically attacking everyone he believed had crossed him.
“I’ll call the lab and have them run comparison checks.” Patch reached for the phone.
“Put a rush on them.” To protect himself, Gregor was going to have to intercede yet again and help Liberty keep the vindictive Austin Stone from killing them all.
Chapter Eighteen
Saturday, August 10 First-Strike Launch: 9:45:21
Bunches of flowers lined the fence of the Embassy Row mansion. Seeing them stunned Sybil, tugged at her heart, and a lump homesteaded in her throat. They were for her. Because people thought she had died. Would they be as pleased to learn she had lived?
Treason.
Jonathan clapped a hand to the back of her neck and pushed.
She doubled over. Her cheek hit her knees. “What in hell are you doing, Westford?”
“You’re dead, remember?”
“Still?”
“Unless you want to cause heart attacks on your front lawn. People are lined up on both sides of the street.”
Mickey drove through the gate and stopped right outside the front door. “All clear, Agent Westford.” He passed his cap back through the privacy window.
“Okay.” Jonathan looked over at her. “Move fast, straight inside.” He shoved Mickey’s black cap down on her head. “Do not look back toward the street.”
Definitely Westford. She missed Jonathan’s tender touch.
He opened the door, motioned, and they ran into the house.
Though eager to shower, change clothes, and get back to the office, Sybil paused inside the front door and inhaled deeply. Vanilla and eucalyptus scented the air. Her official residence was the people’s house, lovely and brimming with special touches left by former families, but the rotten plumbing and other touching flaws made it just imperfect enough to be a home.
Strange, but since the divorce, she hadn’t thought of anywhere as home. When this crisis was over, she was going to change that. She was going to change a lot of things. Looking down death’s throat changed a person. What had been important simply wasn’t, and what was important she had been ignoring out of fear. Well, no more. Her priorities had shifted and she intended to reclaim her life, and if she was at all lucky—she turned to Jonathan—more.
Certain he would recall her housekeeper’s name, she said, “Emily is visiting her daughter, but she keeps the guest quarters just off this hall prepared all the time.”
“She does.” Jonathan closed the front door. “I know my way around. I’ll be fine. Go on, get to your shower.”
“I need to make a couple of calls, but I’ll hurry” She smiled. “We just ate an hour ago but I’m starving. Are you?”
Guards were stationed all over outside, but Jonathan pulled a security check in the rooms off the hallway anyway. He paused to answer her. “We’ll grab something on the way back.”
“What are you looking for?” She paused midhall. “Is something wrong?”
“Everything’s fine, ma’am.”
She frowned at the formality. “Are we back to ‘ma’am’ again?”
“We’re not in the swamp anymore.”
That hurt, and it shouldn’t. “I see.” They were home now, and for reasons she couldn’t fathom, he wanted distance. She didn’t like it. She could respect it, but it hurt. She had hoped they had come to mean more to each other. “Do you want a robe so you can shower?” He had to itch as much as she did, and a robe was the only thing she owned that could possibly fit.
“I had clothes and a new transmitter sent over. They’re in the guest room.”
“I thought you fixed your transmitter.”
“I don’t trust it.” He toed off a sneaker. “I’ve told Conlee not to assign a new guard detail just yet. I’m on twenty-four seven until this is resolved. We need mobility and a little more stealth than we can get with a detail of agents tagging along, so they’re stationary here until further notice.”
Honoring his promise not to leave her. But that was professional, not personal. She wanted him with her because he wanted to be there, not out of a sense of duty. “I should have thought of it. Thanks, Jonathan.” Feeling somber, she turned to walk away.
“Sybil?”
She stopped near the staircase, secretly thrilled that he had called her by name. Not that it meant anything. But it could mean something, couldn’t it?
Good God, you’re neurotic. Clutching at straws.
She looked back over the slope of her shoulder at him.
“When you can, give Gabby a call. I’m sure word that you’re alive will be all over the news soon, if it isn’t already—the president might even have called her—but she probably needs to hear your voice.” Longing lit in his eyes. “I would.”
If their positions were reversed, so would she. “I will.” Gabby would be obsessing, but how did Jonathan know it? “Jonathan, how often do you and Gabby chat?”
“Every couple weeks.” He leaned against the door frame. “Being a judge is hard on her.”
“It is,” Sybil agreed. “She’s used to a far more active life.”
“She’s hooked on danger,” he amended, putting it more bluntly. “So we talk, she gets it out of her system, and then she goes back to her courtroom, grateful for her quiet life.”
Jealousy and envy streaked through Sybil. It stunned her—that she felt it at all, much less so intensely, and—of all people—toward Gabby. “You two are close then?” He clearly knew she was assigned to covert ops.
“We’re friends.” Jonathan grunted. “Frankly, the woman’s a pain in the ass.”
“She’s my best friend, Westford.” Sybil gave him a warning glare. “The closest thing to family I have.”
“True, but she’s still a pain in the ass.” He didn’t seem fazed by her tone or her glare. Actually, he seemed t
o find both amusing.
“Excuse me?” Was he teasing her? Unable to tell for sure, she followed a hunch. “You like her.”
“About as much as an aching tooth.”
An aching tooth? Totally lost, Sybil searched for an explanation, and hoped his next remark wouldn’t be as confusing as his last one. “She annoys the hell out of you, asking questions you don’t want to answer?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Ah, now she had it. “But when she stops nagging you, you miss her.”
He nodded. “Yourself aside, have you ever met anyone else as opinionated or bossy? Or as full of spit and vinegar?”
Since he’d put Sybil in the same category, she resented that remark. Or she would, if she understood it. Yet coming on the heels of an aching tooth, it didn’t sound like the words of a man toward any woman he considered a romantic interest. That lifted her spirits. “Spit and vinegar?”
“Sorry. Parental influence,” he said. “She’s sassy”
Gabby was sassy. “And sloppy.” Sybil smiled. “I used to hate wading through her clutter. Wherever she took something off, that’s where it fell and stayed until I read her the riot act.” Now Sybil lived alone, and nothing was ever out of place. She hated that, too.
“She’s not happy”
“She hasn’t mentioned being unhappy. I’d understand her hating Florida’s humidity. Honestly, Jonathan, the weather there is miserable. But I thought she loved being a judge.” Sybil stuck to Gabby’s cover.
“She does. She’s damn good at it, too.” He said it too quickly for it to be anything except an innate reaction.
“You sound shocked.”
“I was,” he admitted. “She’s as opinionated as a bullet, Sybil.”
She was, and always had been. So had Sybil.
“But, to tell you the truth, I’ve been a little worried about her.” He leaned a shoulder against the wall. “She really is unhappy”
He definitely knew Gabby was a covert operative under Conlee’s command. But they hadn’t ever worked together. Sybil knew that as fact. Gabby was kept separate from everyone in and outside the system and only worked special projects. How had Jonathan found…? Ah, of course, Conlee would have shared her bio. Jonathan was ready to step in for Conlee, should the need arise, and Gabby had spent time with Sybil and Austin while Jonathan had been assigned to her detail. “When I call her, would you like to say hi?”