Capitol Betrayal (35 page)

“I think maybe there is,” Ben said.

“And I’ve had about enough of you, too, Kincaid. We put up with your little charade. We jumped through your hoops and took two hours to do what should have been done in five minutes. But the end result was the same. You lost. Kyler is out of power. And I’m withdrawing the troops.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Ben said.

“Can’t let me?” Swinburne said incredulously. “As if there were anything you could do about it. I don’t need your permission! I’m the president of the goddamn United States!”

“But that’s just it,” Ben said. He stood up, steadying himself with a hand on the table. “You’re not.”

Seamus sprang to his feet, even though the sudden movement reminded him how much of a beating his body had endured over the course of this very long day.

He grabbed Scarface by the collar and jerked him to his feet.

“It is too late,” the terrorist said, his face cracked with contempt. “Your people will pay the price for the arrogance of their president.”

Seamus wanted to hit him, wanted to so badly it was like a primordial drive, but he held himself back. He wasn’t going to descend to that level. Instead, he tossed the man into a nearby desk chair. He removed one of the cords still dangling from his wrist and used it to tie the man down.

“Is there any way to stop those missiles?” Seamus asked as he restrained the murderer.

“None. Once the signal is given, the rest of the process is instantaneous. Soon the East Coast will be in flames!”

Seamus tightened the cord around his wrist—probably tighter than was strictly necessary. “Is that right, Arlo?”

“Well, it’s true that once the signal is given, it can’t be countermanded,” Arlo answered. “But the signal can’t be given if the dish is unplugged.”

“Wha—”

Seamus whirled around. About ten feet behind him, he saw Arlo standing with a self-satisfied expression on his face. He was holding an electric cord.

“You unplugged it?”

“Well, it seemed a lot simpler than flinging myself across the room like you did.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried. You seemed to be kinda wrapped up in your own thing.”

Seamus ground his teeth together. “Kid, next time you’ve saved the world from the apocalypse, tell me!”

“Got it, chief.”

A few moments later, the reinforcements arrived—just as soon, Seamus groused silently, as they weren’t needed anymore. They fanned out on foot and in helicopters and managed to catch most of the scattered personnel. The computer handlers were taken away for interrogation.

And a few minutes after that, Zira arrived. In person.

She took care of herself, Seamus gave her credit for that. She had to be fifty if she were a day, but her skin was smooth and wrinkle-free. He didn’t know what kind of skin care products she used, but Seamus would be willing to bet her nighttime ablutions took at least an hour. Her hair was probably dyed—hair just didn’t come in bright yellow at that age—but who cared? If he were dating her, he’d probably think she was swell.

“Did I miss the party?” she asked.

“Pretty much. I’ve got everything under control.”

Her forehead creased. “I would hardly say that.”

“Why?”

“You may have prevented the missile launch, and we’re grateful for that. But several of the men got away, the scarred man appears to have been physically abused, and the computer experts tell me that you interrogated them without Mirandizing them first. We’ll be lucky if we can prosecute anyone.”

“I thought the first order of the day was saving lives.”

“That was part of your job. Not the only part.”

“And if you want to talk about abuse,” he said, “take a look at what that bastard did to my chest.”

She did not appear interested. “I’m sure there will be time for full reports and debriefing later. I want you to head back to Langley immediately.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Zira looked as if talking to him were a chore that required infinite patience. “Please feel free to refresh my memory.”

“The nuclear suitcase.”

“A nuclear device was stolen today and you think I’ve forgotten all about it? I can assure you that I have not forgotten about it, Seamus. But what does it have to do with the matter at hand?”

“Colonel Zuko was behind that, too.”

“You have proof of this?”

“I do. And there’s more. We’ve got a mole somewhere inside the government.”

“I suspected as much. But we had no evidence.”

“Now we do. This computer invasion would have been impossible without inside information. And if you find out who had access to that information, you might be able to figure out who your Benedict Arnold is.”

“I’ll get people right on it.”

“And your other possible source of information,” he said, stopping her, “would be my close personal friend Scarface here.”

“His name is Abdul Minoz. He was a lieutentant in Colonel Zuko’s military when Zuko seized control of Kuraq.”

“Thanks for the trivia. I feel better now.”

“I’ll have my people interrogate him thoroughly.”

Seamus stopped her. “I’d like to do that myself.”

She shook her head. “Sorry. You’re too close to this. I can’t trust you to behave appropriately.”

“Zira. Look at me.”

“No, thank you.”

“Look at me!” He grabbed her arm, spun her around, and forced her to look at his tattered chest.

He was torn in half a dozen places. Dried blood caked his skin. There would be permanent scarring. There was no question about that.

“I think I’ve earned this,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. “Give me a shot.”

“I can’t allow you to hurt him.”

“Understood.”

“I mean—not at all. Not even a tiny bit.”

“Can I scare him a little?”

She tossed her head. “I don’t think that violates any Company protocols.”

“Thanks, Zira.”

“You’ve got ten minutes. Find the suitcase.”

He nodded. “I will.”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?” Swinburne demanded. “Of course I’m the president now. Were you asleep when that verdict came down? Let me send you a memo: you lost.”

“I’m aware of that,” Ben said, stepping right into his airspace. “But the trial was invalid because someone here was tainting the evidence. Someone was engaging in fraud, which invalidates any verdict. I’m demanding a new trial. And until that new trial takes place, President Kyler remains president, because the trial you won was invalid.”

Kyler seemed just as baffled as everyone else in the room. “Ben, what are you doing?”

“And what are you accusing me of?” Swinburne said. “Where are my security people? I want this man arrested!”

A few of the Secret Service men inched forward, but Zimmer held them back.

“I didn’t specifically accuse you of anything,” Ben said. “I just said the trial was fraudulent. Because it was.”

Cartwright stood. “I think you’re going to need to explain yourself, Kincaid. Because as the judge, I think I’m the only one who can set aside the verdict. At least for now.”

“True enough.”

“So tell me what you know.”

“I will. Because you see, we’ve all been proceeding from a false assumption. We assumed that the president’s behavior is an indicator of his sanity. But it isn’t necessarily so.”

“What are you babbling about now?”

“I’m saying it isn’t fair or accurate to condemn President Kyler for his unusual behavior when the fact of the matter is that he’s been drugged. Against his will. For some time now.”

“What?” All eyes focused on Ben. Not for the first time today, he seemed to have the complete attention of everyone in the room. Even Agent Zimmer turned, removing his headset.

Kyler looked at him with eyes wide.

“What are you babbling about, man?” Swinburne demanded. “Is this some pathetic lawyer trick to try to undermine the verdict? Because let me tell you something, now that I’m in charge, I won’t stand—”

“But you’re not in charge,” Ben said firmly. “And you will listen, because you know as well as I do that if someone has been drugging the president—the real one—that invalidates everything.”

Cartwright interrupted the debate. “What proof do you have of this, Kincaid?”

“Well, I’m short on proof, but I’m long on common sense and deductive reasoning, which are the best tools at our disposal so long as we’re trapped in this bunker.” He hesitated. “I’m hoping to collect the evidence as we proceed.”

Swinburne was not placated. “I don’t know what your game is, Kincaid, but I’m not going to have it. We indulged you once and gave you your little trial. We’re not going to waste any more time on you. Don’t you understand that we’re in a crisis?”

“I know that, for whatever reason, the missile was not released. And I know that if I stand by and allow you to take over the government, it could result in a disastrous foreign policy scenario. I speak because I cannot remain silent.”

“That’s very poetic,” Swinburne barked, “but I’ll have you put behind bars before I’ll—”

Cartwright held up a hand. “I think we can hear the man out. If he’s brief.” He glanced at his watch. “Kincaid, I’m giving you five minutes to explain. If you can’t do it in that amount of time, I’ll allow Swinburne to talk to the Joint Chiefs.”

Swinburne was enraged. “You’ll
allow
me? I’m the president.”

“Maybe,” Cartwright said. “Well revisit that question in five minutes. Kincaid, go.”

“I’ve suspected for some time that the president might be drugged,” Ben began cautiously. “How else do you explain these sudden bursts of bizarre behavior that come and go without explanation? I come from a medical family, and I’ve been exposed to mental illness, but nothing I’ve witnessed looks anything like what we saw in here today. I’ve represented people with mental illnesses before, including those suffering from schizophrenia or bipolar disorder, conditions that might cause sudden irrational episodes. But I’ve never seen anything like this, certainly not from someone who otherwise seemed so sane. More than that—highly competent. And productive. It just didn’t make any sense. But when I heard Sarie talking about the president up on the roof, longing to be free, talking about flying, it occurred to me that that sounded like nothing so much as someone under the influence of a hallucinogenic drug.”

“Hallucinogenic?” Secretary Ruiz said aloud, but Ben noticed that he didn’t say it in a way that suggested he was rejecting the idea out of hand.

“Yes. Mind-altering.”

“What drug did you have in mind?” Cartwright asked.

“I’m not a doctor,” Ben replied. “Or a pharmacist. But my suspicion would be that someone’s been slipping the president something.”

Ben was pleased to find there was no immediate reaction. No one screamed “Of course!” but then, no one reached for the hanging rope, either. But Roland Kyler looked intrigued. What Ben said evidently made a lot of sense to him.

Dr. Albertson was batting a finger against his lips. “I suppose you’re suggesting a mild dose—to explain why these episodes come and go without ever lasting too long.”

“Exactly. It’s as if he gets a little jolt to his system, he runs amok for a few minutes, and then it wears off. Not a major acid trip. Just enough to affect his behavior for a brief time.”

Albertson looked more concerned than anyone, which Ben supposed was understandable under the circumstances. “Just one minute, Mr. Kincaid. I monitor everything that goes in and out of the president’s bloodstream. There’s no way he could be infused with something.” He hesitated for a moment. “At least not without the president’s participation.”

“Or yours,” Ben said pointedly.

“What the Sam Hill does that mean?”

“I’m just making a point,” Ben said. “There’s always a way to tamper, but it would require the participation of someone very close to the president. Like, basically, anyone in this room.”

“Okay, Sherlock,” Ruiz said, “explain to us how it was done.”

“There are several ways it could have been done. Believe me, I’ve been taking notes. I just didn’t think any of them were really workable—until I finally figured it out a few minutes ago.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Cartwright said. “You’ve only got five—” He made a check, then corrected himself. “Three and a half more minutes.”

“I noticed right away that the president was using an inhaler, as I’m sure you all did. So he was ingesting whatever was in it. That could have been tampered with. Could’ve been infused with a hallucinogen.”

“I keep that inhaler on me at all times!” Albertson cried.

“Exactly. So that wasn’t a possibility—unless you’re the traitor.”

Albertson looked as if he were staring into the headlights of an oncoming car.

“The same is true,” Ben continued, “of the insulin injections. How easy would it be to fill that syringe with a little something extra? Easy as pie. But once again, since Dr. Albertson keeps close watch over that operation, he’s really the only one who could be the poisoner.”

Dr. Albertson’s lips clamped close together. “Kincaid, I have not betrayed my president. Or my country.”

“And I haven’t said you have. Yet. Please let me continue.”

Albertson’s face was red and he was breathing noisily, but he held his tongue.

“There was at least one other possibility,” Ben continued. “Twice today I’ve watched Agent Zimmer bring the president his coffee.”

Over at the door, Agent Zimmer slowly removed his headset.

“And I get the impression it’s something he does fairly often. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s just convenient, since he’s almost always around and not participating in the policy decisions. Maybe it’s a standard protocol to make sure no one else has the opportunity to tamper with it. At any rate, I’m sure I don’t have to explain to this august body how easy it would be to lace someone’s drink. Particularly something as strong as coffee. The harsh, bitter taste of hot black coffee could mask any number of additives.”