Lady Liberty (43 page)

Sybil had been angry many times, but never had she been angry enough to kill. She was now. Her jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached. Shaking all over, she depressed the intercom button. “Max, who signed off on this frame?”

“Winston, ma’am.”

“Trail it.” She waited, her gaze locked with Jonathan’s.

“He forwarded copies to Commander Conlee, Senator Marlowe, and Richard Barber, ma’am.”

Jonathan frowned. “This doesn’t make sense. Barber or Cap might protect Austin, though I can’t see it. Not in a case like this. But Conlee?”

“They never saw it,” Sybil speculated. If the commander hadn’t been included on the list, she would have considered it possible, but not Conlee. So who stopped them from—she stilled. “Max, who was the courier on the delivery?”

“Captain Mendoza, ma’am.”

Understanding flickered in Jonathan’s eyes. “Austin got to Mendoza.”

Nodding, Sybil reached for the phone. Before she could lift the receiver, Jonathan’s hand came down on hers, and she glared up at him.

“Who are you calling?” he asked.

“Conlee. Austin is going to jail.”

“We need more evidence.”

“We have evidence.”

“Sybil, I know you’re trying really hard to be calm and reasonable, and I’ll tell you the truth. In your shoes, I’m not sure I’d do nearly as well as you’re doing. But we need answers more than we need justice. In about seven hours, a missile we’ve launched is going to blow a lot of people straight to hell. We’ve got to focus on the bottom line and get what we need to stop it.”

“Which is what I am doing,” she said, seething. “Listen, there’s nothing I’d like more than to beat the hell out of Austin Stone right now. But if we can nail him—and this frame of film does that, Jonathan—then maybe, just maybe, I can force him into telling me how to stop this damn missile from detonating.”

“ Austin folds under pressure?”

“No. But considering whoever we target will launch a proportional response that’s going to blow him straight to hell with the rest of us, he might just change his habit this time.”

Jonathan dragged a hand through his hair. “He’s going to say you’re out of your mind. That he has as much at risk as the rest of us—his life. Conlee and the others are going to believe him because it’s true. They’re going to assume he’s rational and sane and, if he could stop the launch, he would. That’s why we need strong evidence. We need proof he was leaving D.C.”

That made her think twice, then a third time. “You’re right.” Sybil grabbed a phone book, looked up a number, and then dialed.

“Who are you calling now?”

“Mary,” Sybil said. “Austin always uses her travel agency, and he—” Someone answered the phone, and Sybil shifted to talk to her. “Mary? Oh, good. This is Sybil Stone. I need to double-check Austin’s flight with you.” A pause, then: “That’s right. M. Kane.” Another pause, then: “Could you fax me a copy of that ticket and his itinerary?”

She hesitated, listening, then her jaw went tight. “I don’t care if Dr. Stone told you it was confidential. This is a matter of national security, Mary. That supercedes Dr. Stone’s wishes, but if you feel sending the fax violates your ethics, I’ll be happy to send over a couple of officers with warrants and IRS agents to take care of it.” A pause, then: “I’d appreciate that.” She motioned to Jonathan to get her a fax number. “No, I’m not at the office. Just a second.”

Jonathan gave her the number and she passed it along. “Thanks, Mary.”

Sybil hung up the phone, her eyes gleaming. “The bastard was going to Beijing.”

“About as far from here as you can get without renting a rocket.” Jonathan rubbed at his temple. “Who’s M. Kane?”

“Madeline Kane Stone was Austin’s mother. He always travels under her name to get out from under my shadow. He has a real thing about my shadow”

Sybil cocked her head. “If he was going to Beijing to get away from the missile, doesn’t it seem ridiculous that he’d target China in the first place? The latest target is Libya. Before then it was Pakistan. But the first target was China.”

“He’s snowing us.” Jonathan grabbed the phone, dialed Conlee. He filled the commander in on developments and then offered a suggestion. “We need to check for time-delay implementation codes on the system reconfiguration and have the techs search for runners on the target. Austin Stone wouldn’t target China. He planned to live there.”

Commander Conlee was still swearing when Jonathan hung up the phone. “If you weigh in Faust’s asylum countries and add in Austin’s, he isn’t left with many target options.”

Sybil sat down, braced her hands in her lap, and thought through the matter. “He’s targeting us.” The moment she said it, she knew it was true. “He wouldn’t start a world war, and targeting
anyone
else would do that, Jonathan. He wants us humiliated and embarrassed. He hates me, and he hates David for having the Secret Service watch him and for not demanding my resignation. Don’t you see? He hates
us
most. He hates
me
most.”

“He bombs us, and he hurts you.” Could anyone be that full of hate? “It feels right.”

“I’m certain of it. If he’s going to blow up anything, it will be us.”

“Call Conlee.” Jonathan passed her the phone.

Sybil translated their deductions to Conlee, who brought the president on the line.

She listened, then shared her views. “It’s possible, David. If he thinks he’s a cornered rat, he will attack. Maybe your way, he’ll think he’s gotten away with all this. We blame Faust, and Austin thinks he will walk away. If he believes that, he might stop the launch. Maybe. But I honestly think he hates us more than he loves his freedom.”

“You could be right,” David said. “We need to bring the staff in and compare notes. Full briefing in the Situation Room in thirty minutes.”

“I’ll be there.” At least Cap Marlowe wouldn’t be sitting in, tossing cutting remarks in her direction. He’d make up for it later, though, and thanks to Austin, he would have plenty of fodder. Cap would no doubt use it lavishly, both privately and publicly.

“Sybil.” David sounded grave. “I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but we just received a CIA report from the Caribbean.”

She knew what was coming. The president had used that same tone when a terrorist attack had killed fourteen soldiers on a peacekeeping mission in the Middle East. “Linda Dean?”

“She’s dead, Sybil. She and her children.”

Sybil turned off the car radio and looked out through the windshield. “It doesn’t have to make sense, Jonathan. We’re discussing my feelings here, not something you dictate or legislate.” Gabby would be proud of that remark. “Logically, I know I’m not responsible for what Austin has done, but I
feel
responsible.” Seven dead on the plane. Linda, Kenneth, and Katie Dean. And only God knew how many under the current threat of death. Of course she felt responsible. “That’s why I have to offer to resign. Maybe David won’t accept it—I hope he doesn’t—but I have to make the offer.”

Her feet and ribs hurt like hell, her bug bites itched— how long the swelling would take to go down, she had no idea—and she was as sore as she was scratched and bruised, head to heel. And tired. Never in her life had she been this tired.

Jonathan signaled with his blinker, then changed lanes. “Think about the kids, Sybil.”

That remark didn’t make a bit of sense. “I don’t understand.”

“American adults are too cynical about politics. We’ve survived scandals, corruption, indictments for lying under oath, pardons that never should have been granted, dirty elections. We’ve been put in the position of having to explain oral sex to our kids, not because of Hollywood releases, but because they’ve heard all about it on the six o’clock news. Hell, you name it, we’ve endured it. We expect politicians to lie, cheat, and steal. We’ve lowered the bar so damn far on what we expect and what we’ll tolerate from them that it’s sickening.”

Her jaw tightened, and it infuriated her that she couldn’t say he was wrong. Infuriated, and embarrassed. “I realize politicians have a sordid reputation, Jonathan, but I’m doing my best to change that.”

“Yes, you are.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “That’s exactly my point. You and David are changing that, and others are following you. That’s why you can’t resign. Other politicians are following, Sybil. Americans look at you and see someone worth emulating. Parents can look up to you and teach their kids to look up to you. You revere and respect them all. With you the kids aren’t condemned to cynicism. They get a shot at the dream.”

Her heart swelled in her chest. He admired her. He appreciated what she was trying to do. She stared at him, so moved she was unable to utter a word.

Jonathan saw her stunned expression and grimaced. He had said too much. But, damn it, the woman had to know these things. “Tell me one person who fights harder for kids than you do. Just one. You can’t just walk away and leave them.”

“Jonathan, I—I’m so touched. But I’m just one person. I don’t really make a difference in American society. Not like you’re suggesting. I wish I did, but I… I don’t.”

“The hell you don’t. Every day, Sybil. Every day” He
braked for a red light and looked over at her. “Good God, you’re serious.”

She nodded.

“You’re wrong.” Maybe he was blunt, but he was honest, too. “Listen, you said you always wanted to be a mother. Well, you’ve done that. You don’t change diapers or wipe snotty noses, but you make sure America’s kids have medical care, that they’re safe in child care centers and in their homes. Now you’re making sure they get the support money recovered from deadbeat parents. With you they get a shot at the American dream. If you’re not here, who’s going to watch out for them like you do? Marlowe? Do you think he really gives a damn about them?”

Moved nearly to tears, Sybil stroked his face. “It’s okay, Jonathan. I understand now. Calm down.”

“No, not as long as you’re talking about resigning. You can’t walk out on them, too, Sybil.” Despair edged into his voice. “Not you, too.”

His mother dead. His father in jail. Jonathan had no one. He had been walked out on, and he didn’t want other children to go through that. “I understand what you’re saying, and every word is going straight into my heart. I swear it. But I have to make the offer. I’ve cost David a lot, and he’s trying so hard to restore integrity to the office. For all the reasons you’ve just given me, I can’t cost him more.”

Jonathan expelled a frustrated sigh. “You’ll take heat, but it won’t last. You know it, and I know it. It’s pride.”

“It’s not pride or even the humiliation. I swear it’s not. I hope David won’t accept my resignation but, at the end of the day, I have to look into my own soul, and I have to be comfortable with what I see there. I have to offer.” She smiled up at Jonathan. “If David accepts it, maybe I’ll send you over for a chat.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I wasn’t,” she insisted. “I was dead serious.” When he
cast her a doubtful look, she leaned over and kissed him deeply, with tenderness and heat.

Separating their mouths, she looked into his eyes, her own soft and warm and welcoming. “In my whole life, no one has taken up for me like you just did, Jonathan. I love many things about you, but, well… This is the nicest rose petal I’ve ever been given.”

If there had been one remark holding him on the edge of loving her, that one would have pushed him over the top. Considering he’d fallen long ago, it was the remark that carried acceptance instead. He loved her. He might as well just resign himself to saying to hell with the odds, take his hits about not fitting into her plans, forget liking or not liking it, and accept it, because either way, love was here to stay. “Obviously, I love a lot of things about you, too.”

“Do you hate it?”

“No, not anymore.”

“I’m glad.” She stroked his face. “You matter to me, Jonathan. You always have.”

Mattered wasn’t love, but it wasn’t indifference, either. Mattered had possibilities and potential. Mattered could modify plans. Maybe.

She loved him. She might not want to love him. Loving him might screw up her plans, but she did. She loved him. His heart played Ping Pong with his ribs and the words he’d wanted to say since he had first held her by the quicksand pit nearly tumbled out of his mouth. But good sense prevailed. She wasn’t ready to hear them. Not yet. It was going to take a while for these concepts and emotions to sit easily on her shoulders. And that was fine. For her, he could be a patient man. She loved him but hated loving him. Eventually she’d come around. Maybe by the time their first kid was born, or when he graduated from high school. Surely by then. Or maybe by the time they had a second one. He could wait. Images of her face when he finally told her he loved her flashed through his mind, lingered, and the
thought of them making love, building a family and a life together had him hard and hot and kissing her again.

A horn sounded from behind them.

The light was green. Begrudgingly, Jonathan stepped on the gas and headed to the briefing. But it was the memory of that kiss, and not the crisis, that lingered in his mind.