Lady Liberty

by Vicki Hinze

  “I’ll do my best.” She rubbed at her forehead. “Are Peris and Abdan’s premiers still in Geneva?”

  “Oh, yes. A courtesy call might keep them there until this is resolved and you can get back to them. Ingenious touch—the cookies and milk.”

  “It was a long shot. What about Linda Dean? I’m worried about her and the kids, David.” She soaked a cotton ball in peroxide and dabbed at her foot.

  “No update, but be prepared for the worst. Ballast has targeted families in the past.”

  “I know.” And executed some of them. Both she and David hated negative thinking, but they had to be realistic.

  “Sybil, why would Faust target Ken Dean’s family?”

  “Good question.” She stretched and dropped the cotton ball into the trash. “I wish I had a good answer.” Faust certainly had a reason. He always had a reason. “Jonathan and I are looking into it.”

  “I’ve got to go. Russia this time.” He let out a sigh that created static in the phone line. “Keep me posted—and keep a sharp eye on Sam Sayelle. I know Conlee swears he’s okay and he did the broadcasts for us, but he could cause problems for you on the treason issue.”

  Three things about that warning worried her. In David’s mind, she had a treason issue. She believed to the depths of her soul that if Sam Sayelle could hurt her, he would. And right now, she didn’t have a spare eye to keep on him.

  First-Strike Launch: 08:41:22

  “I found Marlowe.”

  Sam Sayelle swiveled his chair away from the computer terminal to look at Sniffer. Light from the window sliced across his desktop, where someone had placed a thick roast beef sandwich on white butcher paper. Had to be Annie. She was the only staff assistant who bothered with things like this. A paper cup of something hot and steaming sat next to the sandwich. “Where is he?”

  “St. Elizabeth’s. He went into a diabetic coma earlier today. He’s still critical, but they think he’ll survive. He’s definitely out of commission for a while.” Sniffer eyed the sandwich. “Can I have half? I missed lunch.”

  Probably out of commission for the presidential nomination, too. “Help yourself.” Sam motioned for Sniffer to take the sandwich. Why had Cap been taken to St. Elizabeth’s? Why not Bethesda? Strange. “Did he suffer any brain damage?”

  “It’s too soon to tell.” Sniffer took a bite and chewed, his expression noncommittal. “I talked to his nurse. He nearly died, Sam.”

  She talked to you?”

  He grinned. “I told her I was his godson.”

  “You better hope he dies. He’ll take serious exception to your pretending to have a family tie to him.”

  “But I do. I am his godson.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Had Cap placed Sniffer here to watch Sam?

  “I didn’t tell anyone. I like doing things on my own.” Sniffer shrugged.

  Admiring that, Sam turned the conversation back to the topic most pressing. “So what did the nurse say?”

  “After such serious episodes, patients are often mentally scrambled. It takes a few days to determine the long-term impact. He could suffer wicked synapse misfires, lose some gray cells. Or he could zip through it like it was nothing.” Sniffer cocked his head and captured a bit of shredded lettuce clinging to his lip with his tongue. “Until he comes around, they just don’t know. It’s a tossup.”

  Sam thought about that. Where had Cap been when this had happened? He hadn’t been at the office; Jean had cleared his calendar. She could be covering for him, of course. She would do that. But ordinarily she wouldn’t think she needed to lie to Sam to protect the senator. That could mean she was covering for Conlee. To keep Sam from telling Cap he had decoded the broadcast messages and knew more of what was going on than Cap knew.

  “Sam?”

  Sniffer’s tone snagged Sam’s attention, warned him he was repeating something he had already said. “You’ve got a package.” He pointed to a slender man wearing a blue and white uniform, holding a large brown envelope.

  “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” The man extended an electronic tracker. “You have to sign for it.”

  Sam scrawled his name, then took the envelope. Hand-delivered by Ground Serve on a Saturday and marked “Urgent” in huge, red letters? Someone considered it important, and it wasn’t Conlee. “Thanks.”

  The messenger left, and Sam pulled out the contents. He scanned them and felt betrayed to the bone. In decoding the broadcasts, he had come to admire Sybil Stone. But this exposé proved his initial instincts about her had been right after all. Conlee had to be running interference for her. Sam let out a long, low whistle.

  “Hot stuff?” Sniffer asked, clearly curious.

  “Lethal.” Sam grabbed the phone and called his boss, Carl Edison.

  Carl answered, sounding annoyed. “What?”

  “It’s Sam, boss.”

  “This better be good. I’m on the seventh hole for the first time in two weeks, and you just made me bitch up the best game I’ve had going all year.”

  The boss was highly annoyed, but Sam was used to his fits of temper and blew it off. “You need to come in. I just got a package from Austin Stone on our illustrious vice president that’s so hot it’s blistering my fingers.”

  “The treason thing?”

  “Yeah.” Sam’s instincts slipped into high gear. Austin Stone could be setting her up. Sam would have to independently verify everything remotely questionable. Cap liked Austin so Sam tolerated him, but he didn’t like him, and he certainly didn’t trust him. Conversely, he had hated Sybil. But through this crisis he had reluctantly, even be-grudgingly come to admire her. With each new broadcast, she had fed that spark of hope in him of seeing a genuine patriot in office. Yet he still hadn’t trusted her. That conflict had been driving him crazy. At least, it had been until he’d gotten the envelope. Now he held damaging evidence that, not only was she not the real thing, she was as corrupt as politicians come.

  “I’m on my way” Carl said. “I think I’ll bring Marcus in on this, too. Any objections?”

  Marcus Gilbert. If anyone had insight into this, he would. The man had retired, but he was still an icon and hot-wired to the Hill. Frankly, Sam would feel better about this if Marcus did offer an opinion. “None whatsoever.”

  On an otherwise blank page, someone had handwritten a message. “Flip five.”

  What the hell did that mean?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Saturday, August 10 First-Strike Launch: 08:3047

  “I’m having to resist a powerful urge here, Westford.” Sybil stared at the mountain of reports spread across her desktop. She had been studying them intently since finishing the calls David had asked her to make, but all she seemed to be gaining was blurred vision.

  “What urge is that?” He sounded wary.

  She glanced up, wondering if he was hoping the urge was personal, or praying it wasn’t.

  Damn it, Gabby, did you have to plant thoughts of making love with him in my mind?

  Her imagination was working overtime. Aloud, she said, “The urge to toss up my hands, cry ‘uncle,’ and down a bottle of scotch.” They had been through the heap twice and they hadn’t found anything significant not already documented. Commander Conlee had assured them that everything doable was being done and everything checkable had been triple-checked, and yet—

  “Does it help to know I’m feeling it, too?”

  That comment could be personal or professional. She rotated her left ankle, wishing her feet would stop throbbing, got her breathing back under control, and risked a look at him. “Define it.”

  “That niggling feeling that we have the whole puzzle.” Jonathan straightened up and rubbed at the small of his back, rustling his crisp, white-cotton shirt. “We just haven’t recognized all the pieces and slotted them.”

  “That’s the one.” It was, professionally. She sloughed off a wave of disappointment and focused on business. Her mind raced, unwilling to slow down, unwillin
g to accept that the clock was ticking on the launch and they couldn’t stop it.

  “Okay, look,” Jonathan said. “We’re bone-tired and our minds are mired in surface clutter. We’ve been through this a million times. We know how it works. Back off a few minutes, clear our heads, and let things find their proper place.”

  “We don’t have time to back off.” She shuffled reports, working through a maze of tidbits that seemed random and jumbled and disjointed.

  “Take five, gain ten.” He rubbed his palms together. “I’m going to go get us some fresh coffee. Let it rest. When I get back, we’ll tackle it again.”

  “If you insist.” Sybil slumped back in her chair, let her head rock back, and stared at the ceiling, certain he was right. They had been in tight, tense situations a lot of times and had made it through them. Would they make it through this one?

  He stepped toward the door, stopped, then turned back and walked over to her, his mouth lined with grim determination. He kissed her breathless and muttered, “Maybe now I can think,” then walked out the door.

  Smiling like an idiot, she closed her eyes and ordered herself to ditch the static in her mind and let her thoughts drift. Jonathan was right. Surface and sensual clutter clogged the brain. And she had tons of both to ditch.

  Mentally she tossed the clutter into a huge, rusty Dumpster. Almost immediately her thoughts quieted. Images from the last few days drifted in and out. Images of Jonathan, tending to her feet, holding her at the edge of the quicksand pit, clasping her hand in the helicopter and smiling that special smile he saved only for her, and telling her he would need to hear her voice. Whether she liked it or not, wanted to or not, she cared about him. A lot.

  I told you it wasn’t swamp fever.

  Go away. Now isn’t the time to settle that battle. The crisis…

  Determined, she focused on images of Harrison and Cramer, of Julie, Mark, and Captain Ken Dean, letting them flow freely through her mind. And then unexpectedly older images replaced them: her mom and dad’s last anniversary party, her sixteenth birthday, rooming with Gabby at college. The night she had met Austin. He had been irresistibly charming back then—except when he was around Gabby.

  From the moment they’d met, it had been instant hatred, and nothing she had been able to say had swayed either of them. The two had kept Sybil caught between a rock and a hard place, but unwilling to lose either of them, she had played the peacemaker, run interference, and, at times, barely managed to keep them from killing each other. She should have paid more attention to that instant hatred. Instead, she had loved them both, and in goodwill gestures to her, her best friend and her husband had tolerated each other with unspoken hostility.

  Mr. Snip It is up to his nasty nostrils in this crisis, Sybil. Think about it.

  Not surprised to hear that declaration in Gabby’s sassy voice, Sybil let her thoughts drift where they would and memories of the early years with Austin came back to her. He had been so young and alive and full of ambition then. So charming and mysterious.

  Get real. The man was secretive. Secretive, Sybil.

  He was. Especially about his work. In all their years together, only once had he confided in her, and then only because he needed something from her.

  That need and the current crisis collided, slammed into her, and she sat straight up in her chair. “Oh, God.”

  Jonathan. She had to tell Jonathan. She scrambled from her desk, her office, and into the hall, pain shooting from her feet up to her knees. Hurrying toward the kitchen, she saw him come out, carrying two cups of coffee.

  He took one look at her and rushed his steps. “What’s wrong? Did you find something?”

  “Not exactly.” Her stomach lurched. She put a hand over it to calm it down.

  “This is no time to be cryptic. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “In a way, I did.” How could she have forgotten this? How?

  Press Secretary Winston walked by. Jonathan stared him down, led Sybil back into her office, and then closed the door. “Talk to me, Sybil.”

  She licked at her lips, uncertain where to begin. “I remembered something that happened a long time ago. Something with Austin.”

  “Okay” Jonathan set the coffee cups down on a table near a sofa.

  “He could have my DNA. It’s possible, Jonathan.”

  “Intel didn’t find any evidence of it.”

  “Just hear me out.” Chilled, she rubbed at her blue silk sleeve. The smooth fabric felt good, calming against her palm and fingertips. “When Conlee told me about the DNA secure system, I got that intuitive feeling. You know the one I mean.”

  Jonathan nodded, reached for his coffee cup, and downed a steaming sip.

  “I couldn’t peg it then, but a minute ago I remembered.”

  “Remembered what, exactly?”

  “What it was he needed.” That comment earned her a vacant look, so she went on to explain. “Sorry. I’m not a hundred percent,” she said, stating the obvious. “This happened a long time ago. We weren’t married yet.”

  “Ah.” Jonathan settled on the sofa with his coffee and motioned her to join him.

  “Austin came over one night really excited.” She slid onto the sofa beside him, absently tucked her feet up under her. “He had this new device—I’m nearly positive it’s the same one, though he didn’t describe it in detail. He never told anyone specifics on his designs.” She nodded toward her coffee cup. When Jonathan reached for it, she resumed talking. “At any rate, both systems work essentially the same way.”

  “Austin designing the system isn’t in dispute.” Jonathan passed her the cup.

  She clasped it, relishing its warmth against her hands. Her insides felt like they’d been squeezed inside a block of ice. She was freezing. “No, but his not having a record of my DNA is a significant part of the reason so few feel he’s behind this missile launch.”

  “I’m missing the significance in this.”

  “That’s because I haven’t gotten to it yet.” She swallowed a sip of coffee. It tasted fresh and strong. “He was ready to do trial studies on an experimental system he had designed. But he didn’t want to bring in anyone from the outside to be a subject—Austin didn’t just get paranoid about corporate espionage, he’s always been that way—and he couldn’t use his own DNA without sacrificing credibility in his test results. But requesting a subject would have created a major challenge.”

  “Why?”

  “He was employed by Divetal then. It would hold the patent on any design he created.”

  “Austin wanted to keep the patent on this device himself.” Jonathan set down his cup.

  Sybil nodded. “He worked on the design at home and held it privately until after we founded Secure Environet.”

  “You were the subject in his trial studies?” Jonathan asked, clearly getting the picture.

  She nodded. “He needed my blood. That’s what I remembered.”

  Understanding brought dread to Jonathan’s eyes. Then confusion. “So why didn’t Intel find your DNA in his records?”

  “I don’t know. But doesn’t the fact that it’s not showing up tell you something? Only two people in the world knew I was the subject in that study: Austin and me.”

  Jonathan snagged his jacket, which was draped over a wingback chair, pulled it on, and then smoothed down an upturned lapel. “If you had died in the swamp, then there wouldn’t be anything or anyone left to link the A-267 corruption back to him.”

  “Exactly.”

  Worry clouded Jonathan’s eyes. “Are you going to tell Conlee?”

  “Of course.” She forced a strength she didn’t feel into her voice.

  Jonathan’s lips flattened to a slash. “You know he could consider this proof you’ve been working with Austin all along. He could name you as a co-conspirator.”

  Especially since she hadn’t reported the blood incident until now. “I understand the risks. Some will think I’m a bitter ex-wife, others will think I�
�m protecting him. But regardless of what anyone thinks, I can’t not tell Conlee this, Jonathan.” She smoothed a hand over her hair. “Austin is supposedly neutralized, but I’m not comfortable banking on it. Actually, I’d like to confront him myself but, considering the circumstances, that would be less than wise.”

  “I have to agree.”

  She hated revisiting his betrayal even in the abstract, but she had to be specific and honest. The stakes were too high to hide behind pride. “Austin is brilliant. He’s a genius, Jonathan. And I’ve had the unfortunate experience of learning firsthand that, when it comes to getting what he wants, he has a diabolical mind and no conscience.”

  Jonathan mulled over her comments, worrying at his lip with his teeth. “I guess there’s no point in delaying, then. We’d better go talk with Conlee.”

  She clasped Jonathan’s arm and looked him right in the eye. “I won’t be as blunt with the others, but I want you to know where I stand.”

  “All right.”

  “Inside, I know Austin hooked up with Faust. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s also hooked up with PUSH and a half-dozen other groups. The man covers his assets. Regardless of what we find, I know he’s responsible for this crisis, Jonathan, and I know he’ll carry it through to the bitter end. He hates me, and he resents everyone in D.C. because they didn’t force me to resign over the divorce. Not even when I dropped into the gutter in the polls.”

  “There’s no love lost between him and me, either,” Jonathan admitted.

  Sybil had to choose. Did she address the question that had kept her tossing and turning nights, or did she seal it away forever and always wonder? “Why did you threaten to kill him?”

  “How did you know I had?”

  “David mentioned it recently. He assumed I already knew.”

  Her hand on his arm was shaking. Jonathan rubbed the back of it, warming her fingertips on his palm. “Remember the night you argued in the Blue Room and you told him to leave?”