Lady Liberty (37 page)

Marcus Gilbert. If anyone had insight into this, he would. The man had retired, but he was still an icon and hot-wired to the Hill. Frankly, Sam would feel better about this if Marcus did offer an opinion. “None whatsoever.”

On an otherwise blank page, someone had handwritten a message. “Flip five.”

What the hell did that mean?

“I’m having to resist a powerful urge here, Westford.” Sybil stared at the mountain of reports spread across her desktop. She had been studying them intently since finishing the calls David had asked her to make, but all she seemed to be gaining was blurred vision.

“What urge is that?” He sounded wary.

She glanced up, wondering if he was hoping the urge was personal, or praying it wasn’t.

Damn it, Gabby, did you have to plant thoughts of making love with him in my mind?

Her imagination was working overtime. Aloud, she said, “The urge to toss up my hands, cry ‘uncle,’ and down a bottle of scotch.” They had been through the heap twice and they hadn’t found anything significant not already documented. Commander Conlee had assured them that everything doable was being done and everything checkable had been triple-checked, and yet—

“Does it help to know I’m feeling it, too?”

That
comment could be personal or professional. She rotated her left ankle, wishing her feet would stop throbbing, got her breathing back under control, and risked a look at him. “Define
it.”

“That niggling feeling that we have the whole puzzle.” Jonathan straightened up and rubbed at the small of his back, rustling his crisp, white-cotton shirt. “We just haven’t recognized all the pieces and slotted them.”

“That’s the one.” It was, professionally. She sloughed off a wave of disappointment and focused on business. Her mind raced, unwilling to slow down, unwilling to accept that the clock was ticking on the launch and they couldn’t stop it.

“Okay, look,” Jonathan said. “We’re bone-tired and our minds are mired in surface clutter. We’ve been through this a million times. We know how it works. Back off a few minutes, clear our heads, and let things find their proper place.”

“We don’t have time to back off.” She shuffled reports, working through a maze of tidbits that seemed random and jumbled and disjointed.

“Take five, gain ten.” He rubbed his palms together. “I’m going to go get us some fresh coffee. Let it rest. When I get back, we’ll tackle it again.”

“If you insist.” Sybil slumped back in her chair, let her head rock back, and stared at the ceiling, certain he was right. They had been in tight, tense situations a lot of times and had made it through them. Would they make it through this one?

He stepped toward the door, stopped, then turned back and walked over to her, his mouth lined with grim determination. He kissed her breathless and muttered, “Maybe now I can think,” then walked out the door.

Smiling like an idiot, she closed her eyes and ordered herself to ditch the static in her mind and let her thoughts
drift. Jonathan was right. Surface and sensual clutter clogged the brain. And she had tons of both to ditch.

Mentally she tossed the clutter into a huge, rusty Dumpster. Almost immediately her thoughts quieted. Images from the last few days drifted in and out. Images of Jonathan, tending to her feet, holding her at the edge of the quicksand pit, clasping her hand in the helicopter and smiling that special smile he saved only for her, and telling her he would need to hear her voice. Whether she liked it or not, wanted to or not, she cared about him. A lot.

I told you it wasn’t swamp fever.

Go away.
Now isn’t the time to settle that battle.
The crisis…

Determined, she focused on images of Harrison and Cramer, of Julie, Mark, and Captain Ken Dean, letting them flow freely through her mind. And then unexpectedly older images replaced them: her mom and dad’s last anniversary party, her sixteenth birthday, rooming with Gabby at college. The night she had met Austin. He had been irresistibly charming back then—except when he was around Gabby.

From the moment they’d met, it had been instant hatred, and nothing she had been able to say had swayed either of them. The two had kept Sybil caught between a rock and a hard place, but unwilling to lose either of them, she had played the peacemaker, run interference, and, at times, barely managed to keep them from killing each other. She should have paid more attention to that instant hatred. Instead, she had loved them both, and in goodwill gestures to her, her best friend and her husband had tolerated each other with unspoken hostility.

Mr. Snip It is up to his nasty nostrils in this crisis, Sybil. Think about it.

Not surprised to hear that declaration in Gabby’s sassy voice, Sybil let her thoughts drift where they would and memories of the early years with Austin came back to her.
He had been so young and alive and full of ambition then. So charming and mysterious.

Get real. The man was secretive. Secretive, Sybil.

He was. Especially about his work. In all their years together, only once had he confided in her, and then only because he needed something from her.

That need and the current crisis collided, slammed into her, and she sat straight up in her chair. “Oh, God.”

Jonathan. She had to tell Jonathan. She scrambled from her desk, her office, and into the hall, pain shooting from her feet up to her knees. Hurrying toward the kitchen, she saw him come out, carrying two cups of coffee.

He took one look at her and rushed his steps. “What’s wrong? Did you find something?”

“Not exactly.” Her stomach lurched. She put a hand over it to calm it down.

“This is no time to be cryptic. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“In a way, I did.” How could she have forgotten this? How?

Press Secretary Winston walked by. Jonathan stared him down, led Sybil back into her office, and then closed the door. “Talk to me, Sybil.”

She licked at her lips, uncertain where to begin. “I remembered something that happened a long time ago. Something with Austin.”

“Okay” Jonathan set the coffee cups down on a table near a sofa.

“He could have my DNA. It’s possible, Jonathan.”

“Intel didn’t find any evidence of it.”

“Just hear me out.” Chilled, she rubbed at her blue silk sleeve. The smooth fabric felt good, calming against her palm and fingertips. “When Conlee told me about the DNA secure system, I got that intuitive feeling. You know the one I mean.”

Jonathan nodded, reached for his coffee cup, and downed a steaming sip.

“I couldn’t peg it then, but a minute ago I remembered.”

“Remembered what, exactly?”

“What it was he needed.” That comment earned her a vacant look, so she went on to explain. “Sorry. I’m not a hundred percent,” she said, stating the obvious. “This happened a long time ago. We weren’t married yet.”

“Ah.” Jonathan settled on the sofa with his coffee and motioned her to join him.

“Austin came over one night really excited.” She slid onto the sofa beside him, absently tucked her feet up under her. “He had this new device—I’m nearly positive it’s the same one, though he didn’t describe it in detail. He never told anyone specifics on his designs.” She nodded toward her coffee cup. When Jonathan reached for it, she resumed talking. “At any rate, both systems work essentially the same way.”

“Austin designing the system isn’t in dispute.” Jonathan passed her the cup.

She clasped it, relishing its warmth against her hands. Her insides felt like they’d been squeezed inside a block of ice. She was freezing. “No, but his not having a record of my DNA is a significant part of the reason so few feel he’s behind this missile launch.”

“I’m missing the significance in this.”

“That’s because I haven’t gotten to it yet.” She swallowed a sip of coffee. It tasted fresh and strong. “He was ready to do trial studies on an experimental system he had designed. But he didn’t want to bring in anyone from the outside to be a subject—Austin didn’t just get paranoid about corporate espionage, he’s always been that way—and he couldn’t use his own DNA without sacrificing credibility in his test results. But requesting a subject would have created a major challenge.”

“Why?”

“He was employed by Divetal then. It would hold the patent on any design he created.”

“Austin wanted to keep the patent on this device himself.” Jonathan set down his cup.

Sybil nodded. “He worked on the design at home and held it privately until after we founded Secure Environet.”

“You were the subject in his trial studies?” Jonathan asked, clearly getting the picture.

She nodded. “He needed my blood. That’s what I remembered.”

Understanding brought dread to Jonathan’s eyes. Then confusion. “So why didn’t Intel find your DNA in his records?”

“I don’t know. But doesn’t the fact that it’s not showing up tell you something? Only two people in the world knew I was the subject in that study: Austin and me.”

Jonathan snagged his jacket, which was draped over a wingback chair, pulled it on, and then smoothed down an upturned lapel. “If you had died in the swamp, then there wouldn’t be anything or anyone left to link the A-267 corruption back to him.”

“Exactly.”

Worry clouded Jonathan’s eyes. “Are you going to tell Conlee?”

“Of course.” She forced a strength she didn’t feel into her voice.

Jonathan’s lips flattened to a slash. “You know he could consider this proof you’ve been working with Austin all along. He could name you as a co-conspirator.”

Especially since she hadn’t reported the blood incident until now. “I understand the risks. Some will think I’m a bitter ex-wife, others will think I’m protecting him. But regardless of what anyone thinks, I can’t
not
tell Conlee this, Jonathan.” She smoothed a hand over her hair. “Austin is supposedly neutralized, but I’m not comfortable banking on it. Actually, I’d like to confront him myself but, considering the circumstances, that would be less than wise.”

“I have to agree.”

She hated revisiting his betrayal even in the abstract, but she had to be specific and honest. The stakes were too high to hide behind pride. “Austin is brilliant. He’s a genius, Jonathan. And I’ve had the unfortunate experience of learning firsthand that, when it comes to getting what he wants, he has a diabolical mind and no conscience.”

Jonathan mulled over her comments, worrying at his lip with his teeth. “I guess there’s no point in delaying, then. We’d better go talk with Conlee.”

She clasped Jonathan’s arm and looked him right in the eye. “I won’t be as blunt with the others, but I want you to know where I stand.”

“All right.”

“Inside, I know Austin hooked up with Faust. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s also hooked up with PUSH and a half-dozen other groups. The man covers his assets. Regardless of what we find, I know he’s responsible for this crisis, Jonathan, and I know he’ll carry it through to the bitter end. He hates me, and he resents everyone in D.C. because they didn’t force me to resign over the divorce. Not even when I dropped into the gutter in the polls.”

“There’s no love lost between him and me, either,” Jonathan admitted.

Sybil had to choose. Did she address the question that had kept her tossing and turning nights, or did she seal it away forever and always wonder? “Why did you threaten to kill him?”

“How did you know I had?”

“David mentioned it recently. He assumed I already knew.”

Her hand on his arm was shaking. Jonathan rubbed the back of it, warming her fingertips on his palm. “Remember the night you argued in the Blue Room and you told him to leave?”

“Not specifically” There had been many arguments.

“It doesn’t matter. He threatened to slap you, so I
followed him out to make sure he left the premises. He stopped to talk with Barber, and I overheard him say he was going to hire a couple of thugs to beat the hell out of you.” The memory clearly renewed his outrage, but Jonathan kept his voice level and even managed to shrug. “I took exception to it.”

“I see.” Her heart thudded in her ears. She screwed up her courage to ask the question that had bothered her more than she cared to admit for longer than she cared to admit. “Is that why you asked to be reassigned, or did I do something wrong?”

He dropped his lids, veiling his eyes. “I lost my temper. Me getting emotionally involved was a luxury neither of us could afford.”

What exactly did that mean? Had he gotten angry with Austin for what he’d said, or had he been angry with himself for losing control? Or maybe anger had nothing to do with it. Maybe he was just afraid that losing control, even for a moment, could cost him his life. She could ask him, she supposed, but his face looked brittle enough to crack, and he had done so much for her already. She couldn’t justify putting him on the proverbial hot seat. “Thank you for clearing that up.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

Well, hell. They were back to that “ma’am” business again. She knew why she should run from him emotionally, but why was he running from her? She stood up and gave in to the urge to sigh. “Jonathan, could you knock off the ma’am stuff and just be like you were in the swamp? Please. That’s the you I need.”