Jezebel's Ladder (33 page)

The man tapped a few keys. “Not a
trace.”

She started to explain about
Crusader and Virus wiping out the evidence, but bit down on her lip. “You think
I’m loony.”

“That’s not a DSM diagnosis,
Miss…uh…do you have any other aliases?”

“I have a credit card under the
name of J. Sorenson.”

He typed ‘fraud’ on the intake
form. “What did you do for living in Las Vegas?”

“Cocktail waitress.”

“And what do you do now?”

“I run a think tank. I make six
figures a year.”

He wrote ‘delusional’ under
diagnosis. “You’re rich and famous. Have you ever been institutionalized
before?”

“I’m an alcoholic,” she admitted.

“I see numerous needle marks on
your arm. Would you like to add any other drugs to that list?”

“Why do you doctors always assume
I’m using drugs you’re missing? The needle marks are from my tests. I have to
have a lot of tests for my job,” she said groggily.

He wrote ‘liar’ on the pad. “Have
you ever thought of suicide?”

“I wrote a note, but that was…” she
began, omitting the part about being a secret agent.

He scribbled ‘suicidal’ on the pad
as well. “Why did you attack the nurse?”

“I need to get out immediately.
It’s a matter of life or death.”

“Whose?” he asked, appending the
word ‘violent’ to the list.

“Everyone’s, the whole world’s.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to be here
for a while, Miss Johnson, under observation. It’s for your own good. Whose
ring is that, really? It’s an heirloom. Someone in your position couldn’t
possibly afford something like that. Who did you steal it from, some poor old
woman?”

“Rebecca gave it to us.”

“And whose blood’s on those
slippers?”

“The guy who tried to kill that FBI
agent.” He mutely added ‘wanted criminal’ to the bottom of his pad. “I demand
my phone call!”

“The police will give you that when
they process you. For now, you should cooperate. Insanity is probably your best
defense.”

After the doctor left, it took her
an hour to work her foot strap loose and another two minutes to toe open the
hand strap. She was undoing the last two restraints when her empathy sensed the
orderly coming. She put her hand and foot back into the loosened straps while
the man wheeled the food cart in.

Food. She’d almost forgotten. He
fed her oatmeal and eggs with a spoon, and juice through a straw. At one point,
she coughed and splattered oatmeal all over. While he was bent over, she picked
the cell phone out of his pocket.

He didn’t bother to feed her the
rest, but wheeled his cart out cursing the extra work.

She phoned Benny’s cell from memory
and got his recording. She left an urgent message, “I’m being held against my
will at a hospital in the Miami area. The doctor may be a Fossil agent. I love
you. I’m going to try to escape. If they catch me, I’m going deep theta.”

The door opened. Lydia came in saying, “What’s this I hear…?”

“Get to Cape Kennedy. Protect your
Quarter…”

“Orderly!” The nurse snatched the
phone away from her, closing it. To Jez she said, “What favors did you perform
on Tyrone to get this?”

“None. I…”

“Then it’s theft. You have no
respect for this institution, and I’m sure no insurance or job. Forget about
rehab, with what the doctor found, we’re sending you to jail. Let them foot the
bill for drying you out.”

Jez’s eyes were already rolled back
in her head.

The aide rode with PJ and Amy in the limousine to a cement,
helicopter pad. He told them, “The FBI is uneasy about the Cape Kennedy
stand-off. Ms. Reese says you may know the people involved in the incident. The
gunman is holding several federal employees hostage in a large area without
windows. They can’t cut power. The satellite and ground-station recon feeds to
the whole space program have been disrupted, and a lot of intelligence folks
are getting itchy trigger fingers. This is going to end bloody unless someone
can talk that guy out. We’ve told the agent in charge that you might be the
right person.”

Then he dropped the other shoe.
“The gunman had an accomplice who electrocuted himself while taking out NASA’s
eyes.”

PJ was speechless for a minute. The
gunman had to be Joe, but Wilkes knew nothing about electronics. What had
possessed him to try that kind of sabotage? Things weren’t making sense.

The aide refused to go with them in
the helicopter. “It’s a machine designed to test whether you’ll throw up or go
deaf first. The Army loses two a year just training in them, usually cracked
rotors.”

“He’s exaggerating,” Amy said,
opening her door. “It’s not much different than driving with me in San Francisco.”

The aide responded, “However, this
is the only way you’ll catch that plane on time. We’ll take care of your rental
car.”

Having no real choice, PJ followed
Amy. The view on the ride was great, but he kept a ninja death-grip on his seat
the whole way.

When he disembarked, weak-kneed, at
the airport, she asked, “How was it?”

“I’m never going to San Francisco,” PJ replied.

His expression didn’t change until
they were twenty minutes away on the commuter jet and he could hold a cold can
of soda against his forehead.

Amy was reading the newspaper.

“I don’t know why you bother,” PJ
groused. “It could be a paper from a hundred other days. Some evangelist got
caught embezzling, and the Chinese are conducting some kind of military
exercises near Taiwan again, sending mortgage rates skyrocketing…”

“What’s wrong?” Amy asked.

He stared out Amy’s window at the
clouds. “Wilkes might have unplugged a few monitors before the launch but there
was no reason for him to do it afterward. His death was awfully coincidental,
just like Clarence’s suicide.”

“Murder?”

“The killer would be somebody else
with scientific access to the project. We need a list of the people who worked
on it.”

“All conveniently classified,” Amy
laughed. “Nick might have been able to give us a list, but government agents
are the last people he wants to talk to right now.”

After brooding for a few more
minutes, PJ went back to his original gripe. “It still doesn’t make sense. The
only reason to blind NASA is so they won’t see a launch, and Brazil’s already took place.” The tumblers of the safe clicked into place, and the puzzle opened. He
glanced at his watch.

“We should land in less than an
hour. Want to do a crossword?” she asked.

PJ scanned the seat backs for air
phones but found none. “No time. Can the pilot radio ground control for us?”

“Not without a darn good reason.
Why?” she said.

“Quan and his team are pretty much
the only people who can still stop the disaster. Where would our astronauts be
now if everything went according to plan?”

“On the International Space
Station. Crupkin and the ground team are struggling desperately to install new
software to aim the three telescopes and guide the thrusters. Quan went along
to command the shuttle mission.”

 “Our people are sitting ducks up
there. If someone wanted them dead, we wouldn’t be able to see it in time to
warn them.”

Amy’s face showed a cold fear, reinforcing
his instincts. “Why would anyone want this disaster to happen?”

“Maybe they don’t know the scale.
Maybe it’s really going to hit California or Hawaii. Remember Pearl Harbor?
Since the bases in the Philippines and Okinawa closed, we would have no way to
interfere on the Pacific Rim,” he said, thinking the worst. “Maybe they don’t
want us to save the satellite because they want the only copy. Who knows? There
might be evidence leading back to the culprit.”

“You’re getting paranoid. How could
someone possibly shoot our people down? It took hours for the shuttle to get
there.”

“A rogue missile from the war
exercises off the coast of Taiwan could go a lot faster, but it doesn’t have to
be a ground-based attack. It could just be another satellite veering off
course,” PJ guessed.

Amy considered this as she stood.
His first thought was how planes were built for people her size. His second was
how great she looked in that skirt. She said, “I think we need to bring in the
FBI counter-espionage unit. I’m going to ask the stewardess for a drink to take
some aspirin.”

“Get me a deck of cards!” he said
as she left.

Meanwhile, he rummaged through his
paper sack. Martha had packed them a veritable feast, complete with peach
cobbler and fried chicken that the Colonel would give a fortune for. He was
polishing off a drumstick with gusto when Amy came back. “Every time I turn
around, you’re eating,” she complained.

“It’s a substitute for other carnal
pleasures. What can I say? I get hungry when you’re around. Want some? It’s
great. As far as I’m concerned, this proves her story about the peace
treaties.”

She sighed. “I might as well. We’re
not calling anyone by radio this close to landing. The crew politely explained
that it was against company policy. I want to try some of that corn bread you
were raving about.”

“Settle for peach cobbler?”

“Settle? Give it here!”

Amy tasted the cobbler with an
expression of bliss. She moaned, “Oh, this is wonderful and it’s still warm!”

Given the companionship and the
circumstance, PJ considered it the best meal of his life. To the envy of their
fellow passengers, the two finished and cleaned up just in time for the fasten
seat belts sign. The meal had the unfortunate side effect of reminding PJ of
how tired he was.

At the airport, they were met by
two men carrying signs with their names. The greeters wore reversible blue
jackets with FBI written in yellow on the flip side. One agent was a thirtyish
Hispanic beefcake, and the other looked like an old, Jewish man PJ used to see
at the beach. Both were wearing flak vests and packing heat. In an airport
where they won’t let you carry a hammer or screwdriver onboard, that was
identification enough. Amy made a show of inspecting the badges: Goldberg and
Alvarez.

“So where’s the car?” PJ asked, heading
for the exit.

Agent Goldberg said, “We need some
proof of ID.” Amy showed her badge from work and her credit card. PJ could only
flash his drivers’ license.

“The helicopter pad is over this
way,” said Agent Alvarez.

PJ’s stomach dropped. All that wonderful
food was going to go to waste! Stalling, he said, “Just so we’re clear, what
exactly are your orders concerning me?”

Alvarez waffled, “The Regional
Director said that every cooperation...”

Goldberg cut him off. “We’re
pressed for time, if you don’t mind? We were told you might know the suspect.
Is that true?”

PJ described Joe’s wrinkled
clothing, his fiftyish appearance, and his mannerisms when talking with a gun
in hand. “He’s been up for over two days now, but don’t judge him too harshly.
I think he could have been Sheriff of Mayberry if he hadn’t been drafted.”

Both men nodded. “Who is he?”
Alvarez asked, taking out a note pad and pen.

“Joe. I don’t know his last name.
He works for some general, probably security for a special projects division.”

Alvarez stared at him. “So what
you’re saying is that Joe you-don’t-know-who, working for I-don’t-know, with
military training but no sleep is holding twelve hostages.” PJ considered
adding that his partner Mad Dog could give more details but he didn’t know the
man’s real name or his present location.

Amy interrupted, “What’s Joe want?”

Goldberg answered in confidential
tones. “He says someone there is a traitor, and no one gets to leave until
someone confesses.”

“Actually, that’s not so crazy,” PJ
countered.

“The shrink says he’s
paranoid-delusional with a hair trigger. We left the air conditioning on
because we didn’t want him to get worse,” Goldberg said. “When we tried to get
him to let hostages go, he said that the world will blow up if he does. The guy
is a fruitcake.”

PJ decided to bluff in order to
speed things along. “I work with the NSA. I’m not anybody important, just the
only one with clearance that they could get here. Joe and Wilkes work for NASA
and were our contacts inside. I don’t have a badge, but you can call Paulson
directly on this thing to confirm it.” He tried to hand the older agent the
spook phone.

Goldberg waved it off and said,
“Paulson’s out of reach right now.”

“Joe’s a crack agent who’s right
about the leak. If you can let me talk to him for two minutes and guarantee
that you will have counter-espionage agents detain and question everyone in
that room, I can end this thing before anyone gets hurt. I’d bet next month’s
paycheck that one of those people killed Wilkes to cover his or her own tracks.
Call now, and we can even spare the taxpayers the cost of a helicopter ride.”
And the cost of scrubbing the interior, he added silently.

Goldberg put PJ through to Joe on
his phone.

As soon as he recognized the voice,
Joe blurted, “Am I glad to hear from you. We have a bloody mess here. I was
suckered in by a call from Wilkes.”

“Save it. I know all that. Things
just got worse. I need you to do me a favor and then let the counter-espionage
team take over the interrogation.” PJ paused to let things sink in. “This whole
thing was a diversion. China is going after the space station; they blinded you
so there would be no warning.”

“Jesus,” Joe said.

PJ let the ‘J’ word pass, because
it could have been construed as a prayer for help. Since God has a tendency to
help those who are already working as hard as they can, he added, “Warn them
and get out of there alive. You’ve done your job.”

“Roger that,” Joe said, and hung
up.

Alvarez blurted out more profanity.

“Will that be all?” PJ asked.

Goldberg, who looked at Smith like
he’d just found a glowing meteor in his back yard, said, “We’ll have to keep
you around until this is all straightened out. We can drive back to the Cape, I guess.”

By the time they arrived at Mission
Control, the snipers were off the rooftops and the sun was going down. The
folks in charge swarmed the car on arrival. They buzzed around the escorts for
a moment and then headed straight for PJ. A woman with close-cropped hair said,
“I’m Agent Bell, a psychologist with the Hostage Team. Do you mind if we ask
you a few questions, Mr. Smith?”

Alvarez pried Amy away and insisted
on allowing his superiors to question them separately.

“How’s Joe doing?” he asked.

“He surrendered. We have guards on
him as well as the hostages. From what you’ve been saying to these agents,
we’re not sure who needs guarding more. Your friend is asleep now, refusing to
speak until a lawyer arrives,” said Bell.

“When he wakes up, tell him I
brought a deck of cards for him this time.” That puzzled them.

“If he hadn’t surrendered at your
request, you’d be held as an accomplice. We’re still not sure whom to charge
with what,” said Bell. “You showed up in the NSA database with an astronomical
clearance, but your file is missing. No one at the main office knows you. Care to
explain?”

PJ smiled. Someone had been busy.
“There’s no reason for them to know me; I’m small potatoes. All that’s
important is that I have a clearance and I’m the only man alive that’s talked
to Paulson, Nick Cassavettis, Wilkes, Commander Quan, and Joe in the last day.
It makes me uniquely qualified to assist you.”

“How did you know Wilkes was
murdered?” she demanded.

“Do you know for sure?”

Bell nodded. “Our forensic team had
to really dig to find that. The only way you would know is if you had a part in
it.”

PJ said, “I was having lunch at an
ex-president’s mansion at the time. How’s that for an alibi? I know Wilkes was
killed for three reasons. One, he only knows one way to physically subvert a
computer; I showed it to him. It doesn’t involve electrical cable. Two, he
already had all the access he needed by the time the Brazilians launched. This
meant he had no reason to go into the machine room afterward. Three, there is
definitely a security leak on the Icarus team. Wilkes could have plugged the leak
after the launch was done, once he had time to think. The period immediately
after the launch would also be the only window of time where Wilkes might have
let his guard down and gotten suckered into some trap. So we have all the
ingredients for a murder: motive, method, and opportunity.”

She had a dozen new questions
already. “What’s Icarus?”

“That’s classified,” PJ replied. Bell’s face clouded up and he could see an objection forming. “Trust me when I say that you
don’t want to know the details. I will tell you that Icarus is highly
dangerous, and it was on the satellite launched earlier this week. Someone
here, one of the people Joe held hostage, sabotaged it. That’s another reason
we need your people.”

Bell asked, “What’s going on with
the space station? Joe, as you call him, made a call there via the Fortune
Aerospace.”

“I don’t know for sure. We suspect
a hostile power is about to launch an assault to stop the mission. Certain
people don’t want Project Phoenix to succeed. We think it’s the Chinese,” PJ
said.