Lady Liberty (32 page)

President Lance, Winston, and Richard Barber stood waiting for them, Barber shielding his eyes from the bright afternoon sun and the wind kicked up by the whipping prop blades.

Mud-crusted and bedraggled, Sybil and Jonathan left the aircraft and walked over the cool grass, the brisk wind tugging at their hair, eyes, and clothes, at the briefcase. They’d made it. Sybil’s relief weakened her knees.

David stepped forward, clasped her shoulders and squeezed. “Your socks are drooping.”

Sybil looked down, saw Westford’s socks scrunched at her ankles—and the welts of bug bites and deep scratches from her run-ins with the catbrier that covered her legs, ankles to thighs. “Terrible flaw. I’ll work on it,” she said, borrowing a bit of Jonathan’s sarcasm.

He smiled, but genuine concern shone in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

David glanced at Jonathan, his gratitude radiating from him. “Thank you for getting back to us.”

Jonathan nodded but didn’t step away.

“Welcome home, Vice President Stone.” Barber extended a hand.

Sybil shook it and smiled. “Thank you.”

Winston didn’t offer to shake. No surprise there—he had always been cool toward her—but she nodded a greeting to him anyway. He ignored it.

“I know you’re eager to shower and rest, but we don’t have a minute to spare. You need to get to A-267 immediately” David led her from the lawn to a waiting limo. “This opens the case.” He pressed a small gold key into her hand.

A horrible feeling suffused her, and Sybil couldn’t shake it. Something significant had changed. “What’s happened, David?”

“New developments. Barber will brief you en route.”

“Yes, sir.” Sybil slid into the car.

David leaned forward, filling the crack between the car and the door. “Don’t open that case now. It has a sensor. If you’re not within ten feet of the hangar, it will detonate. A bomb squad is waiting at the site. They’ll give you detailed instructions.” David backed away, and Barber got into the car.

Barber sat facing her, Jonathan at her side. When the door closed, Barber raised the privacy glass between them and the driver. “What’s your security clearance, Westford?”

“It’s higher than yours.”

Sybil nodded that it was, and a surprised Barber launched into the briefing. “An outside source has control of A-267. They’ve locked down the facility and we can’t override them without risking a launch. Senator Marlowe is trapped in the outer rim.”

“What was he doing there?” Sybil asked. Her nemesis was at A-267? It seemed bizarre that Cap Marlowe, the demon hunter himself, would be trapped.

“Pulling a no-notice inspection. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but he’s a diabetic. He’s way overdue on his insulin injections. His condition is critical, ma’am. An ambulance is on-site but can’t get to him. The inner hub isn’t manned.”

“What?” She couldn’t believe her ears. From his expression, neither could Jonathan.

“Captain Mendoza was on duty when the facility locked down. But he’s vanished. The inner hub is empty.”

“Did we confirm that?”

“Yes, ma’am. With heat-seeking sensors.”

Sybil’s stomach growled again.

“Excuse me,” Jonathan interrupted, looking at Sybil. “McDonald’s or Burger King?”

“McDonald’s. Bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit, hash browns, and a large—the largest they have—orange juice.”

Barber’s eyes stretched wide. “You’re stopping to eat in the middle of a crisis? There are MREs in the car.”

“You want us to eat emergency rations?” Sybil nearly snapped.

Before she cut loose, Jonathan intervened. “We haven’t eaten a decent meal since Wednesday.” He pressed the intercom button to talk with the driver. “Mickey hit the McDonald’s drive-through. Three bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits, two hash browns, and a couple gallons of OJ.”

“You’ve got it, Agent Westford.”

“You want a fast-food breakfast at one in the afternoon?” Barber looked mortified.

“He’s right, Jonathan,” Sybil said. “People rushing through on their lunch hours would have to wait.”

“Mickey, cancel that McDonald’s run. Hit Burger King. Three Whoppers. No ketchup, add mustard. A cherry pie and two gallons of iced tea.”

“I’m on it.” He whipped over two lanes and hung a right into Burger King’s parking lot.

Sybil looked at Jonathan and felt a rush of warmth. He had remembered that she hated ketchup and liked mustard. What else had he noticed about her that she hadn’t realized?

When the food was ready, Mickey passed the bags through the divider. Sybil thought she might faint from the wonderful smells. Food.
Hot food.
Her stomach twisted and churned.

“I can’t believe it,” Barber groused. “Vice President of the United States, and you haul a limo bearing the seal through a fast-food restaurant’s drive-through window”

“Have you ever been hungry, Barber?” Sybil hardened her voice, clipped her tone. “So hungry your stomach feels like it’s glued to your spine?”

“No, ma’am, I haven’t.”

“Then be grateful because you’ve been blessed and shut up about it. Starving people eat, and I happen to like fast food—even when I’m not starving.” She unwrapped the Whopper. Its paper crinkled, and her mouth watered in
anticipation. “I’m a little tired and testy, so I’d advise you to drop the elitist attitude and get back to the briefing.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He took the criticism in stride. “Referencing your plane crash. It’s connected to the A-267 security breach. That’s confirmed.”

“Did anyone else on the plane survive?”

“Two possibles.” Barber told her about the chuters. “We haven’t identified either of them, but we have reason to believe one was Captain Dean.”

“What reason?” Sybil pulled a long swallow of tea down her throat. She couldn’t remember any meal ever tasting so good. Tomato. God, tomato exploded in your mouth and it tasted wonderful.

“His wife and two children were abducted. Sam Sayelle checked out an anonymous tip and reported it to the police. They’re cooperating fully with us. When the abduction was designated a professional assault—because of Captain Dean’s connection to the crisis—we took over the investigation. We don’t know yet if the abduction was genuine or staged.”

Sybil bit down on a crunchy pickle. Its tangy juice squirted inside her mouth. “Why would anyone consider it a staged abduction?”

“It’s possible Captain Dean had an agreement with Ballast or PUSH.”

“Ballast is behind this crisis. I assume the Dean case is related to this crisis, correct?”

“Correct.” Barber went on. “If Dean had an agreement, then Mrs. Dean might have voluntarily taken their kids and hooked up with the captain outside of the U.S.”

“Jonathan, what do you think of that scenario?” Sybil asked.

“Whoever came up with it is looking under the wrong rock.”

“I think so, too.” She looked back to Barber. “Linda
Dean would never put her kids in danger, and Ken is no traitor. You can take that to the bank.”

“Intel analysts are investigating all possibilities.” Barber avoided a direct response. “It’s the responsible thing to do.”

“Well, I hope they’re not wasting too much time on this one. Anyone who knows the Deans will agree it’s a ridiculous theory” She took a bite of tomato, rolled it around inside her mouth, and just savored it. When she swallowed, she added, “Actually, it’s an asinine theory. Ken Dean routinely sheds light on America’s underbelly”

“Two more developments, ma’am.” Barber’s expression turned sheepish, then veiled. “Both are going to be difficult for you to hear.”

“After the events of the past several days, you’re going to play hell shocking me, Barber. Things can’t get much worse than they’ve been.”

“I’m afraid they can, ma’am.” He glanced in Jonathan’s direction, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere in the world but within the agent’s striking distance. “Commander Con-lee has some … concerns.”

It was like pulling teeth. “What kind of concerns?”

Barber looked her in the eye. “Your ex-husband designed the security system at A-267.”

“Surely that’s no surprise to anyone, especially to Commander Conlee. Austin’s designed secure systems for nearly every segment of the federal government.”

“Yes, ma’am. But someone
inside
A-267 corrupted this system. Commander Conlee will give you the details when we get to the site.”

Her stomach clenched, and it wasn’t protesting the food. “They think Austin is responsible?”

“Actually, they don’t. He hasn’t accessed the site in over six months. But Captain Mendoza being missing, and the system being corrupted by someone savvy on the inside, has some validity as evidence of an arrangement between them. It seems suspicious, so Intel is checking it out.”

Could Austin do this? Sybil chewed a bite of burger and looked at Jonathan. They both knew the truth. Austin had the skills. He could. But
would
he?

Barber shifted on the seat. “One other thing, ma’am.”

Jonathan cleared his throat. Touched his fingertip to his chin.

Picking up on the signal, Sybil dabbed at her own with her napkin. “Yes?”

Barber focused on her neck, unable to meet her gaze. “There’s a strong rumor going around that you’re committing treason.”

Sybil choked on a long draw of tea.

“What?” Jonathan nearly came up off the seat. “Look, Barber, so far in this situation, the vice president has nearly lost her life three times. She’s exhausted and still up to her ass in alligators. This is no time for you to be joking around.”

“I’m not joking, Agent Westford.”

Treason. Her?
Sybil couldn’t swallow. She had a mouthful of tea, but there was no way she could get it down. Absorbing the shock, she slotted her disbelief, her outrage. How dare the bastards even consider her capable of committing treason?

“It’s related to what Intel believes is an unconnected matter, ma’am,” Barber said. “Some reporter leaked word that you’re passing envelopes to an old man at the Vietnam Wall.”

“Oh, for Christ sake. We know all—”

Sybil silenced Westford with a look.

Barber waited for one of them to clarify and disclose the nature of the association, but Sybil couldn’t talk. And even if she could, she wouldn’t defend herself against something so stupid. A reporter. No doubt, Sam Sayelle. So much for him having a change of heart about her because he had done the broadcasts. Indignant as hell, she lifted her chin. “Word is wrong.”

“The president and Commander Conlee agree,” Barber said. “At least for now. But there are others, so if you’d care to elaborate …”

Sybil looked over at Jonathan, automatically checking his shoes. He was still wearing his sneakers, of course; there hadn’t been time to change them. Unable to gauge the seriousness of this—hell, wasn’t treason
always
serious—she looked to his face. His jaw was locked down as tight as A-267, but no doubt glinted in his eyes, only fury, and she was grateful to see it.

Until that moment, if asked who in the world would believe her unconditionally, she would have named only Gabby. Now Sybil could add Jonathan to the short list. She felt good about that. Scared stiff, but good.

“Ma’am?” Barber prodded. “Would you care to elaborate?”

She stared him right in the eye. “No, I wouldn’t.”

The limo stopped in front of the three hangars. An ambulance sat parked near the one on the left and a dozen armed men stood on point, surrounding the building. Commander Conlee moved toward them, his stride long and eager, a stubby cigar clenched between his teeth. Jonathan got out of the car. Barber and Sybil followed.

“Commander,” she said to Conlee.

“Ma’am. Westford. Good to have you back.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the broadcasts, but Sam Sayelle, Commander?”

A sly-fox quirk twisted his lips. “Of all the media, who would you consider the least apt to help you?”

“Valid point. But can we trust him?”

“He got a solid, personal referral from a man who held my life, and the lives of my men, in his hands for years.”

That worked for her. She nodded. “What was the holdup in the clearing?”

“That’ll have to wait, ma’am.” He nodded toward a
safe-zone area where five men stood waiting for them. “Bomb squad is this way.”

Bomb squad.
Sybil’s stomach flipped. “What are the odds of the briefcase blowing up when we unlock it?”

Conlee answered without shifting his gaze. “Fifty-fifty.”

Her breath caught, and she swallowed a gasp, wheeled her gaze to Jonathan.

“Seventy-five, twenty-five,” he said, then turned to Conlee. “It’s not a simple system.”

“Two known sensors. One is building proximity.”

“What’s the other?” Jonathan asked.

Conlee’s frustration surfaced. The creases in his face deepened to grooves. “We don’t know.”

Sybil followed the commander over the asphalt.

She was filthy, caked with dry mud and vegetation from the swamp. Her clothes had been reduced to rags. She wore no makeup, and her hair was wind-tossed and wild. All of that conspired, yet none of it succeeded, at making her feel the least bit uncomfortable. But she hated—hated and resented—what walking toward the left hangar’s drab green entrance in Westford’s socks was doing to her insides. That bothered her nearly as much as the seventy-five, twenty-five odds of the briefcase blowing up.