Lady Liberty (36 page)

“What’s this bet about?” Sybil rifled through her closet, looking for shoes, though the thought of putting them on her tender feet made her sick to her stomach.

“You on a secure phone?”

“Yes.”

“He bet there’d be a terrorist attack in Switzerland. I bet it would happen after you got back to the States.”

It appeared they both had been right. “Hold that check.” None of her shoes fit. Her feet were too swollen. She snagged her sneakers as a last option before slippers.

“One last bit of advice.” Gabby’s voice went serious. “You’ve never been a coward. Don’t start now. Tell Jonathan the truth. Trust him.” Gabby cleared her throat to signal the matter was officially closed. “And tell me one more time you’re really okay. You being in denial makes it hard to believe.”

Trust. The one thing hardest for her to give.
“I’m fine.

Honest. My feet took a serious hit—just with bruises and cuts—and my ribs ache like hell, but otherwise, I really am all right.”

“One more question. Have you slept with him?”

“Gabby. That’s none of your business.”

“Have you?”

Sybil glared at the ceiling. “No.”

“Are you going to?”

Frowning at the receiver, she let out a huff she meant for Gabby to hear. “That’s your second question, and I’m not answering it, either.”

“God, you’re a prude. I’m not pleading Westford’s case, but consider it, Sybil. He’s gorgeous, and he has a body to die for. If he’s as good at sex as he is at everything else—”

“I’m hanging up now,” Sybil said in a singsong voice. She cradled the receiver to the sounds of Gabby’s laughter.

Westford as a lover. That was enough to conjure a batch of raw nerves. She hadn’t been with a man since Austin. What if she’d forgotten how to—no, no. This was definitely not the time to think about this.

Thanks to Mr. Snip It, there might not be a later time…

Sybil shot the clock a pleading look. Nearly two-thirty Nine and a half hours until impact. She sent up a quick prayer that she would be all right one minute after midnight, too.

And once again her thoughts zeroed in on the crisis.
Austin, what have you done? What have you done?

Austin Stone couldn’t get over it.

Faust had routinely masterminded the most devastating terrorist attacks on the planet and yet he had failed to kill one unarmed woman—even after he had eliminated
her plane and her people, and had isolated her with no resources.

Sitting behind a computer desk in a spartan A-267 office, Austin glared at the white walls and floors. Not only was Sybil alive, she had ordered Commander Conlee to make Austin part of the crisis-intervention team. How the hell was he supposed to leave D.C. before the launch when he was restricted to the building?

Oh, Conlee hadn’t told Austin he couldn’t leave, but he had no illusions. If he tried, Conlee would stop him. Would he place him under formal arrest?

Don’t panic, Austin. Without a resolution to the DNA mystery, they have no evidence. Without Sybil, they have no resolution. So she’s not dead. So what? Just discredit her. A whacked hornet’s nest creates a swarm, and swarming hornets sting.

“We appreciate your helping us with this, Dr. Stone.” Conlee stood near the door and sipped from a can of cola, holding an unlit stub of a smelly cigar between his fingers.

“Certainly” Austin peeled his lips from his teeth and forced himself to smile. “I’m glad you asked. I resent anyone corrupting my designs.”

“I’m sure you do.” Conlee nodded, then returned to the outer rim.

Dozens of engineers in offices all along the corridor were hacking through the complex computer system, looking for a way to stop the countdown. But they wouldn’t find one, and neither would Austin. What he would find was a way to get out of this hangar. His plane left at eight, and he intended to be on it.

A swarm would scatter their focus. He could let them find Mendoza’s body, he supposed. The man had had to die, of course. Recruited to assist Austin, he had known too much to not be a threat. But verifying his death wouldn’t create a diversion substantial enough to allow Austin to get out of A-267. It was the right time, he supposed, to whack
the hornet’s nest. While everyone was dodging the swarm and being stung, he could escape.

He reached for the phone, carefully debating his words. Home Base would be listening to his every word.

Patrice answered on the second ring. “Dr. Stone’s office.”

“I’m going to be tied up a while. There’s a stack of correspondence on my desk that needs to go out today” It wasn’t necessary to get specific. The brown envelopes were the only things he had left on his desk. Everything else had already been shipped to what would become his new home and country. PUSH had been extremely accommodating. Patrice would know to contact Ground Serve and have the envelopes delivered.

“I’ll take care of it now, sir.”

“Thank you. And you might as well take the rest of the weekend off. Looks as if I’m going to be busy here for at least that long.”

“Thank you, Dr. Stone. I’ll see you on Monday”

On Monday she would be dead. “Be prepared to stay late. We’ll have a lot of catching up to do.”

“I will, sir.”

Austin hung up the phone. Sam Sayelle would get a jump on the others. Austin’s instructions to Ground Serve had been explicit on that. Sayelle would break the story of Sybil’s treason, and, in a matter of minutes, it would be a hot topic on every network. With her credibility shot, her orders would fail, and Austin would be free to move at will.

He hoped it happened before the bitch realized that only she held the key to the DNA mystery.

Sybil couldn’t believe it. Mere minutes, and already West-ford was rushing her.

She grabbed the ringing phone from the bathroom vanity, returned to her perch on the side of the tub, then
crooked the receiver between her shoulder and ear and returned to doctoring her feet. “I’m hurrying, Jonathan. I can’t get the damn Band-Aids to stick. I put Neosporin on the cuts, and now the bandages just won’t stay put. How did you make them work?”

“Put the sticky part where there is no salve.”

It wasn’t Jonathan.

Oh, damn. Heat rushed up her neck, flooded her face. “David?”

He let out a little chuckle. “Hi. Sorry to interrupt your first-aid session, but we need to touch base, and I’ve only got a second. I’m still in teleconferences, soothing tempers at the UN, but I wanted to make sure Barber had briefed you on this treason rumor.”

“Yes, he did.” She sat up and rubbed at her forehead with her fingertips. A dull pain throbbed in her temples. “I guess I should explain.”

“I know you haven’t committed treason.”

“No, I haven’t.” It took a pretty paranoid bastard to perceive Gil or what went on at the Wall as a threat, and Sayelle should know she wasn’t stupid enough to commit treason right under the Secret Service’s collective noses. The notion was ridiculous.

“You can explain later. Right now, Pakistan is on the line. Hang with this domestically, Sybil. Every leader in the world is outraged and gnawing on my ass. I’m counting on you to make things right at home.”

“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.

“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?”