Lady Liberty (25 page)

Cap was blessed a bit by ignorance, but Faust would know that his decisions had set off a chain reaction that couldn’t be reversed or halted or in any way be deemed a proportional response to some manufactured slight. He would know that millions were about to die, and that, for each life lost, the entire world would blame him. And he would know that every government and terrorist organization in the world—including his own—would mark him as a priority target for assassination. Ballast members would blame Gregor for making them targets. They would think that by killing him, they could diffuse heat from themselves and the organization. And Gregor would know he had as much to fear from his own men as from the authorities, competitors, and enemies.

All this and more would happen. It was inevitable now. And no one would know Austin had been involved. PUSH might wonder, but odds were against it. After all, Faust had made this entire mission appear to be PUSH instigated and executed. No, no one would know Austin had been involved.

Provided Sybil died.

Austin smiled. Very soon now Gregor Faust would no longer be indifferent. He and all of Ballast would be jumping through proverbial hoops to see to it that she did not survive.

“Have some nuts.” Sybil passed them to Westford.

He looked down at them, then at her. “They’re hickory nuts, Sybil.”

“Who cares? They’re not bark or roots or—what’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing, if you’re a duck. But they’re inedible for humans.”

“Damn.” Sybil sat down under a roof of low-slung branches that helped block the rain and biting wind, then leaned into the oak and scraped her back against its rough bark. She popped another berry into her mouth and forced herself to chew then swallow it. “When this is over, I may never again eat another huckleberry”

“These are Navaho blackberries,” Westford said from beside her. “But I know what you mean. You know you’re hungry when an armadillo starts looking good.”

Sybil wrinkled her nose. “I’m not
that
hungry” Wildlife
was plentiful here, but cooking presented a problem. Ballast and Search and Rescue would see the smoke from a fire. Westford had made it perfectly clear either group—or both—could be dangerous. It made her sick to hear S&R lumped with Ballast, but Westford was right. Even innocent people in the field were mixed up in this. Their infiltrator was high level and no doubt issuing orders to someone somewhere. Until they determined who the infiltrator was and the extent of that infiltration, everyone was dangerous. Right now Sybil wouldn’t dare to trust even Gabby, though her friend would be devastated to know it. But even Gabby was obligated to follow the orders issued to her.

Westford cupped his ear. Sybil had picked up on his habit of blocking out the rain beating on the leaves and the muddy ground to pick up transmissions from Home Base. It still amazed her how noisy rain could be here. She’d never before been outside during the remnants of a stalled-out tropical storm, and she hoped she never would be again. She waited expectantly for him to decode and relay the message from Home Base.

“Sayelle just confirmed our suspicion. High-level infiltrator.”

Inevitable, but it still infuriated her to hear it. Once she’d believed that all she had to do to raise the bar on expectations was to not be corrupt. To lead by example. She had tried, she really had. But corruption in politics was so pervasive, and its insidious promises of money or power were so seductive and tempting to those seeking personal gain, that sometimes she felt like a salmon swimming upstream. It struggles and struggles and when it finally gets there, it dies.

Stop it, Sybil. What are you doing? You can’t afford to think like this. Okay, so some politicians are corrupt. And most Americans expect them to lie and to be crooked as snakes. But some people actually believe in honest politicians and they’re loyal supporters. Think about them. Raise the bar for them.
You’ve got a job to do. You’ve got to keep these bastards from blowing the heart of America off the map. So knock off the philosophical pining and get your mind in gear. You and West-ford are carrying hope. Don’t forget that. You’re carrying hope.

Sometimes hope was sure heavy. She shoved another berry in her mouth. “Has Home Base pegged them?”

“Not yet.” Westford paused again, and his expression deflated. “Damn it.”

That reaction was so atypical of the unflappable West-ford that it scared her. “What?”

“Intel is convinced PUSH is responsible for all this.”

“Then they must have hard evidence Ballast isn’t involved.”

He gave her a head shake and downed a berry. “Not likely. Intel says field reports indicate significant PUSH movement on known Ballast operatives. Ballast is building a strong case against PUSH.”

That news upset Sybil. “Is Intel relaxing heavy Ballast observation?”

“Not yet, but they will soon. Like everyone else, they’re short-staffed and, with everything pointing to PUSH, they’ll have to give it priority handling.”

“But without intense pressure, Faust will cut loose.” Unable to swallow another bite, Sybil shoved a handful of berries into her pocket. With Gregor Faust, they had better expect the worst. “Why hasn’t Intel made the Ballast connection?”

“Because everyone who knows what we know is dead.”

“Okay, I agree. That’s a major obstacle, and Faust is thorough.”

“It’s all that keeps him alive.”

“Then why is he starting a world war?” Her stomach growled, protesting the lack of food. Resentfully she snagged a berry from her pocket. Had she really once thought their sweet scent smelled good? Right now she’d give an eye tooth for a potato chip—for anything salty.

“I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t make sense. He wanted to stop the peace talks for obvious reasons—his arm sales to Peris and Abdan. But he’s done that. I’m here, not in Geneva negotiating.”

“The leaders are waiting there. Maybe he isn’t convinced the talks have collapsed.”

“No,” she countered. “He’s too sharp for that. Hell, Westford, it took me nearly six months to get those two in the same room. Without me holding their feet to the fire, they’re more apt to assassinate each other than to speak a civil word. The world knows that.”

“Their consciences, not their feet.”

“Whatever,” she said, agitated and swiping at a clod of mud clinging to her skirt. “They’re not going to negotiate in good faith. You can count on it.”

“So what does Faust want now?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out,” she said. “There’s just no motive where he gains anything from a world war. Not one damn thing. Not that I can see, anyway”

Westford scanned the area, then glanced back at her. “Maybe it’s not him.”

“We know it is.”

“Do we?”

Westford wasn’t blowing smoke. He was on to something. “What do you mean?”

“Ballast is tagging PUSH. What if PUSH is guilty and it set us up to tag Ballast?”

Sybil pondered the possibility, hoping this scenario had occurred to Commander Conlee and those in his think tank. “Low probability. Not impossible, but low. PUSH doesn’t have the kind of connections it would need. It wouldn’t just launch into Ballast-assets attack. First, it would have to build a base.” That had her thinking again. “Okay in the States, that’s possible. But not in Eastern Europe.”

“You’re right. There’s no way PUSH could muscle in on Ballast’s stronghold and Ballast not know it.” Westford
dragged his hands through his hair. “Damn it, my mind is like sludge.”

They were both exhausted, but they had to get back on their toes.

“Maybe Faust isn’t the sole instigator of this mission,” he said. “Maybe someone else—someone inside or outside of Ballast—that he recruited has different objectives Faust doesn’t know about or want?”

“It’s possible.” Sybil hated this with a passion. “That gives us another unidentified enemy”

“Yes.” Westford’s serious expression turned to a silent rage. “One inside President Lance’s administration. Nobody else would have access to everything.”

Sybil swallowed a bitter knot in her throat and asked a question she wasn’t at all sure she wanted answered. “What are the odds of Faust figuring this out and somehow counteracting before the launch?”

“About as good as ours of getting back to D.C. in time.” Jonathan hauled himself to his feet and held out a hand.

Sybil clasped it. “I never thought I’d pray for the most feared terrorist in the world to be sharp and successful. But I’m praying exactly that for Faust.”

The Ballast field team was doing its best to test his patience.

Convinced of it, Gregor Faust sat at the operations desk in the command center, scanned the monitors, and spoke into his headset lip mike. “You’ve been out there fourteen hours, ET.” Typically, Patch needed less time to track able-bodied, noncrash victims. “Alpha’s been there nearly twenty-four hours. What the hell do you mean you can’t find anything?”

“I mean, there’s nothing in this grid to find.” Frustrated, Gregor swept a hand over his eyes. Already
they burned from the recycled air. Search and Rescue teams were too far south, and the grid Mark had radioed in was empty. Westford or Dean must have screwed with the coordinates. “Sweep it twice and then head north.” If Westford and Liberty had survived, Gregor would bet his arsenal they were on the move.

“Yes, sir. Any chance of me getting another team out here?”

The only other tactical team available was the one guarding Linda Dean and her children. Gregor had considered killing them and moving the Bravo team to the swamp but had decided to hold them in reserve. A few hostages to counter backup collateral generally proved an asset. “I’ll work on it.”

The phone rang—Gregors private line. He answered with a curt “Yes?”

“You blew it. She’s not dead.”

Austin Stone. Terrific. “We haven’t yet verified that.”

“I just left a briefing. From the inferences I heard, she’s alive.”

“But still in the Everglades without transport, correct?”

“Purportedly”

Austin’s tone hardened with a bitterness Gregor had long since associated with the man, but there was something new in it, too. Something discomfiting: authority. “Tactical has been out there since the explosion. They’ve swept the grid twice. We’ve lost two men, but—”

“She’s not dead.”

“I said we’re on it, Austin.” Gregor chilled his tone.

“Let me make this simple. Unless you want to be held accountable for starting a world war, you’d better make sure the only way she leaves that swamp is toes up in a body bag.”

A cold rage snaked through Gregor. “Do not threaten—”

“Threaten?” Austin interrupted. “You can bet your arms sales to Peris and Abdan it’s no threat. I’ll do it, Gregor. I’ll blow it all straight to hell.”

The crazy bastard had convinced him. “There’s a wide gap between threatening a disaster and creating one, Austin.” Gregor stared at the swamp monitor. “If you actually launch the missile, World War III is inevitable. Need I remind you that what you’re proposing to do will have severe long-term consequences? The responses will be immediate and proportional. The majority of life on this planet will be eradicated. In a war of this magnitude, there is no refuge, Doctor, and no one wins. I strongly recommend you harness your emotions and—”

“You’re almost right. I have refuge. You, however, do not.”

Damn scientists. He would never again,
never again
, team up with one of them on a campaign. “Unless you’ve arranged for a space-shuttle ride, you don’t have refuge. Launch that missile, and you’ll be killing yourself, too.”

“Will I?”

Cold chills crept up Gregors spine. “What have you done?”

Austin ignored the question. “I want her dead. Do you hear me, Gregor? I want her dead.” He slammed down the phone.

What Austin had done, Gregor wasn’t sure, but he felt certain of two things: He wouldn’t like it, and he’d be blamed for it.

He flipped down the lip mike and radioed Patch. “ET, do you copy?”

“Yes, sir.”

A few lives, or many? Gregor had no option but to choose—though really there was no choice to make. Austin’s call had determined fate. ET needed a backup team in the swamp. The only team Gregor could free up and get on-scene quickly was the one holding Linda Dean and her two kids. To do that, the Deans would have to die. “A backup tactical team will be en route shortly”