Lady Liberty

by Vicki Hinze

“One who will never lead.” Gregor sipped from his glass of milk. Cap was either demented or damned clever—he couldn’t be certain which, but either way, the man had exceeded his patience.

  Patch cleared his throat. “You better take a look at this.” He motioned to the A-267 monitor.

  Austin stood directly in front of the remote-viewing device. Tilting his head back, he looked straight into the eye of the camera. Gregor stepped closer. “Increase the volume.”

  Patch hit the control.

  “You ruined everything, Gregor. My flight left without me. Now I’m going to die in this cave. But that’s all right, really, because I’m taking Sybil with me. I’ll be here one minute and gone the next. I’ll never know what hit me. You’re going to be around for the real fireworks. Everyone in Ballast will be scurrying around like rats, looking for someplace safe to hide. But there won’t be any safe place, Gregor. I’ve seen to that. You will suffer, and I hope they take a long, long time to kill you. PUSH is eager to help them, of course. Shifting blame is convenient, but it carries consequences.” Austin backed away from the monitor.

  Gregor glared at the image of Stone, now pounding on the office door. “Let me out of here! Conlee! You can’t lock me in this tomb. I’m leaving!”

  “When a genius breaks down, he really breaks down,” Gregor said, fascinated by the process. And when it was complete, knowing he was taking all those he felt had crossed him with him, or leaving them to misery, Austin really would be ready to die.

  “Lady Liberty wouldn’t sit on the DNA report,” Patch said. “She’d do anything to stop the launch. Anything.”

  She would, Gregor agreed. Even if doing so would cripple her professionally and/or personally. “But she’s neither corrupt nor suffering a mental breakdown.”

  The phone rang. Patch answered it, listened for a moment, then hung up and looked back over his shoulder at Gregor. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “What?” Gregor chugged down a swig of milk.

  “Every major network in the U.S. just received packages of evidence that Liberty’s committed treason. Complete with photographs.”

  “Impossible.” Gregor knew the treasonous types— hell, he’d targeted and exploited them all around the world—but Sybil Stone wasn’t one of them.

  “You’re with her in the photograph.”

  The heat drained from Gregors body. For fifteen years he had avoided photographers or avoided being identified in those photos he couldn’t evade. Outside the tight group of his senior staff, he remained anonymous. Even general Ballast members believed he was just another member and had no idea he was Gregor Faust. The CIA and perhaps even Interpol had his picture on film, of course, but they had no way of identifying the man photographed as he. Not until now. Now, when Westford and the SDU were involved. Now, when Gregor was about to be blamed for starting a world war. “Austin?”

  “Not according to our D.C. source. She says that they were released by Sam Sayelle.”

  “Impossible. Sayelle gains nothing and loses everything by releasing that information to his competitors.” Jean had to be wrong about this. Austin must have foisted himself off as Sayelle, the son of a bitch.

  Patch turned his back to the monitors. “Gregor, which command center are we in?”

  “You know that unless I die that information is confidential.”

  “I know that if we’re in Peris or Abdan and that missile launches, we’re screwed. They like Lady Liberty, Gregor. We’ll be dead inside an hour.”

  Gregor snagged his yellow stress ball and squeezed it flat. Patch was right, of course. “Which is why we’re not in either.”

  Relief washed color into Patch’s tense face. “Maybe she can still stop it.”

  “That remains to be seen.” How ironic life was at times. The second-in-command of all of Ballast put his unswerving faith in the actions of the female vice president of his sworn enemy.

  Even more ironic was that his first-in-command happened to agree.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Saturday, August 10 First-Strike Launch: 03:20:02

  Sybil sat in her office at home. She would have preferred to make this call from the office, but with a traitor loose in the White House, her office there couldn’t be deemed safe. Faust would probably know what she said to the premiers before they themselves knew. She couldn’t risk that.

  Jonathan had been in and out of the room, talking constantly between a digital phone and his Home Base transmitter—at times, on both. She liked watching him move, his resolute stride, his sure-footed step. He had to be as afraid as she was, and yet he didn’t appear panicked.

  For once, even the soothing peach and cream decor in her office didn’t soothe her. Neither did the sweet vanilla-scented potpourri that Emily kept fresh, in strategically located bowls. Actually, considering the circumstances, Sybil supposed it was idiotic to expect anything would calm her down. No one in her right mind would be calm now.

  Cap would claim her uneasiness was because she was a woman cast in a traditionally male role, but it was rooted in common sense and logic. And fear.

  The conference call with Peris and Abdan had started with greetings. Once comments on her death and the successive reclaiming of her life had been dispensed with, peace between the two of them became the topic of hot debate. While both leaders had remained in Geneva, neither seemed inclined to give much ground on their mineral-rich land-dispute issue. And she was just weary enough, and scared enough about what would happen in a little over three hours, to say screw diplomacy and get blunt.

  The ceiling-fan paddles whirled above her head in the middle of the room, casting striped shadows over her desk, over the thick rug in front of her desk. “Gentlemen, please,” she interrupted their heated exchange. When both fell quiet, she went on. “I know President Lance has been in touch with you and explained our current challenge.”

  “He has.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I hope you will walk in my shoes for a moment and be circumspect in sharing with anyone what I am about to say.”

  “You have my word, Vice President Stone.”

  “Mine, as well.”

  “In about two hours President Lance is going to evacuate and I’m going to be at the site where the explosion will occur. At midnight, I’m going to die, and frankly, I’d like to die knowing that the two of you will be at peace.”

  Sybil’s eyes stung. She blinked hard. “Don’t you see that Faust wants war between the two of you? He’s manipulating you for money and power. If you’re at war, you need his weapons—either of you. Both of you. So long as you two are fighting, Ballast can’t lose.”

  “On what do you base this judgment?”

  Sybil frowned at the receiver, picturing the Abdan leader in her mind. “Based on the fact that both of you are buying arms from Ballast.”

  Silence.

  More silence.

  At least they spared her from refuting hollow denials. “Listen to me, please. Faust doesn’t lose, but your countries do. And your people lose, too. Alone, both of you are vulnerable—economically and strategically” She paused to let that remark claim its rightful weight. “I’ve gotten to know you both, and I believe you’re honorable men and strong leaders. Your countries are full of loyal people. If you order them to fight, then they will. But what good will come of it? War is destructive. It prohibits growth, and nothing good and lasting can come from it. Instead, I beg you to use your honor and their loyalty more wisely. Revere the blessing of your people, and each other’s people. You each have strengths the other needs.”

  Too emotional. Far too emotional. She reined in her passion. “Because what happens to you is so important to me, the terrorist might well cycle the target yet again. He could target one of you. I don’t know that this is going to happen, but it would cause me pain, and he seems to gain great pleasure in that.”

  “If that occurs, I have no choice but to protect my country.”

  “Indeed.”


  “No, you don’t understand. It’s a simulation. If the missile detonates, it’s going to detonate here. It isn’t going anywhere else, it just appears to be launching.”

  “What guarantee do we have of this?”

  “My word.” She paused a moment, let the declaration settle between them. “I’m asking you not to launch a preemptive strike. I’m asking you to wait until the simulation shows the missile’s impact. Then you’ll know the truth.”

  “Then we will have sustained the strike. We won’t be able to respond.”

  “You’ll be able to respond, but you’ll have no reason to. Please, trust me.”

  “I will take this request under advisement.”

  “As will I,” the Peris premier said. “But this I cannot vow to you, Mrs. Stone. I must give the matter due thought.”

  She didn’t dare press further. “I appreciate your willingness to consider my request.” A hard knot formed in her throat. “I have to focus on my country’s needs now. I must do all I can in the time I have left. But I’m asking the two of you to please keep working toward peace.” She debated, deduced she had nothing to lose, and added, “And I’m asking you to make a promise I can take with me.”

  “If I can, I will.”

  “She wouldn’t ask if it were unreasonable.”

  The Peris leader’s comment made her smile. “Promise me you will approach your negotiations, pledging to yourselves, your people, and to me that you will act in good faith.” She swallowed hard. “I know you both have the courage to die for your countries. I want your promise that you have the courage to live for them.”

  Jonathan leaned against the wall just outside her office, watching her and listening intently. Somewhere between the request not to launch a preemptive strike and the promise to negotiate in good faith, she had toed off both shoes. That always upped her odds to 100 percent in Jonathan’s book, and he wondered how long it would take for the premiers to know they were goners.

  She had faced so many challenges and trials in such a short time, Jonathan wouldn’t be surprised to see her knocked flat on the floor, or huddled in a fetal position, screaming “uncle.” Instead, Lady Liberty absorbed the hits and kept fighting passionately for peace between others— and not just to protect U.S. interests. Sybil fought passionately for them, for their people. For all of them.

  Her respect for human beings, all human beings, came first, Jonathan realized. David sensed it. The Peris and Abdan leaders sensed it. And it was for exactly that reason they all had trusted her to handle these negotiations. She had earned their respect and, undoubtedly, their admiration. She had earned his trust, but had she earned theirs? Enough for them to risk eating a Peacekeeper missile?

  Trust.

  That’s what Austin destroyed in her. That’s what she didn’t have that Jonathan could give her.

  It didn’t matter what the request happened to be—it could be as simple as getting me a cup of tea—but he took great pleasure in refusing.

  Austin. Sybil knew Jonathan was different, but reminding her couldn’t hurt. He mattered. When a man mattered, plans could be modified. He went to the kitchen, filled a kettle with water, then put it on the stove to heat. Just as the burner coils glowed red, Sybil’s second phone line rang.

  He lifted the receiver. “Westford.”

  “Westford, what the hell is going on up there?”

  Recognizing the woman’s voice, he frowned. “Not now, Gabby”

  “I see you left your sweet disposition in the swamp.”

  “I don’t have a sweet disposition.” He leaned a hip against the cabinet, stared at the hot coil. “You want anything in particular, or did you just call to annoy me?”

  “I live to annoy you.” She laughed. “I’m checking on Sybil. Is she really okay?”

  How did he answer that? “She’s tied up at the moment.”

  “Jonathan.” The teasing lilt left her voice. “Is she still in denial?”

  Man, how he wished he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Most of the time, we both are. But now and then, the shields slip.” He pulled out a tray and a box of Earl Grey tea. It was Sybil’s favorite. “I don’t fit into her plans.”

  “What plans?”

  “She didn’t say.” He unwrapped the teabags and tossed the papers into the trashcan under the sink.

  “And you didn’t ask?”

  “No, Gabby, I didn’t ask.” He listened for the kettle to whistle, hoping it would rescue him soon as a legitimate reason to end the call.

  “Uh-huh. And you’re giving her time to get used to you. Kind of letting it sneak up on her that she loves you— covert-cupid style.”

  From her tone, Gabby didn’t care much for his tactical approach. Hell, if she had a better one, he’d welcome it. “Well, yeah.”

  “Jeez, Westford. Years of carefully orchestrated phone calls, and you blow it. Did I teach you nothing about her?”

  Torn between being ticked and seeking advice, he gave the phone receiver a glare hard enough to draw static. “You orchestrated your phone calls to us?”

  “Sybil didn’t tell you she calls me the matchmaker from hell? Never mind. It’s true, I am—but I only get involved when I know I’m totally on target.”

  “Well, you picked a hell of a time to miss.” He stuffed a hand in his pocket. “She doesn’t trust me, Gabby”

  “Of course she doesn’t trust you. She was married to a man who lied to her for fifteen years, Westford. The only way she’ll ever move off the dime and trust is if you blast her off.”

  “I’m not blasting her anywhere. You, of all people, should understand why” Sybil had been blasted more than enough for one lifetime. “She doesn’t want to love me.”

  Gabby sighed. “For a smart guy, you’re being really stupid. She doesn’t want to love anyone again ever. But she does love you. Think about it. Why would she say she doesn’t want to love unless she does love?”

  “No, she doesn’t love me. For a little while, I deluded myself into thinking she did, but she doesn’t. I matter, but I’m not loved. I don’t know if she could love me and won’t let herself, or if she just doesn’t love me because I don’t push the right buttons for her. Either way, she doesn’t love me.”

  “Dirt dumb.”

  “Gabby, you’re ticking me off.”

  “Good. Maybe then you’ll have enough sense to take a risk. She loves you, okay? If you can screw up the guts to go for it, you’ll both be glad you did.”

  “Glad, or banned from her life forever. Damn high risk.”

  “Damn high potential. How much is love worth to you, Westford? How much is she worth to you?”

  Everything. He dropped the teabags into the pot. Poured in the hot water. “I’ve got a plan.”

  “Make it a good one. I’d like to live long enough to see her really happy just once in her life. At least once in her life. And you, too.”

  So would he. “I’ll try”

  “I’m pulling for both of you.”

  “Thanks.” He hung up the phone, not sure how to feel about Gabby’s orchestrating their phone calls. Though tempted to be angry, he couldn’t do it with a clean conscience. Gabby loved Sybil, and she wanted them both happy. How could he fault Gabby for that when he wanted the same thing?

  He set up the tea tray and then returned to Sybil’s office. Wondering if she would even notice, he filled a cup for her and then set it near her elbow.

  Austin had pushed her into asking and then had refused to give.

  Jonathan would give before she thought to ask.

  Sybil hung up the phone, ending the conference call, stared at the teacup a long moment, and then walked around her desk to Jonathan.

  He set his cup down on the edge of her desk. “Were you successful?”

  She stopped in front of him, tilted her head back, and looked up, into his eyes. “No promises, but they’re talking, and if David’s right and the target cycles to one of them, they’re considering not launching a preemptive
strike.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Maybe.”

  “It’s good.” He glanced down, and the hint of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. For better or worse, his plan was working. She noticed. “You forgot your shoes.”

  She looked down at her bare feet, cut and bruised and swollen. “So I did.” Lifting her gaze to his, she gave him a lazy smile. “Thanks for the tea.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She stepped closer. “It meant what I think it meant, right?”

  “Depends.” Arms hanging limp at his sides, he didn’t move. “What do you think it meant?”

  Doubt slithered through Sybil. Maybe she had misunderstood. Maybe him bringing her tea had been a kind gesture and nothing more. She blinked hard and fast. “I—I’m sorry, Jonathan. I—I thought—” She stepped away.

  He blocked her retreat. “I promised I’d stay”

  “Until the crisis is over.” For the veep, not for her.

  He lifted a hand, dragged his knuckles along the line of her jaw, and the look in his eyes softened. “I promised I’d never leave you again.”

  He had. At the A-267 hangar, when they’d been about to open the briefcase. But… no. No, he had been talking to her, not to Conlee. Her heart beat hard and fast and she trembled. “We’d have to be crazy to even think about—”

  “We’d be insane. But we’re going to do it anyway”

  “We are?”

  He nodded.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s right. Because the idea of not doing it is more painful than anything that could happen by taking the plunge.” He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her, long and hard and deep, then reared back and looked down into her eyes. “Resignation is a wonderful thing, Sybil. Defeat has its upside, too.”

  One of her hands at his chest and the other at his waist, she felt as dazed as he looked. This was insane. He could hurt her. She didn’t think she could take being hurt again. The pain cut too deep, the suffering lasted too long. She had barely recovered the first time, and she had sworn to never again put her heart on the line. “I don’t think—”