Lady Liberty (50 page)

“Was she?” Sam looked Jonathan straight in the eye. “I didn’t notice.” He turned and called back over his shoulder to the other reporters. “Anyone pick up on the veep being in her birthday suit?”

“No.”

“Not me.”

“The veep? No way, man.”

“Get real.”

A guy with a camera on his shoulder yelled out, “What you smokin’ over there, Sayelle?”

Sam pursed his lips. “Are you sure that’s what you saw, Agent Westford?”

They were protecting her. All of them. His chest went tight, and he rubbed at his neck. “Maybe I was mistaken.”

“I’d bet on it.” Sam started toward the door, paused, and then turned back to Jonathan. “I know you think I’m a bastard for the way I’ve written about her, but I want you to know I really thought… well, let me put it this way. I walked in this room a cynic with one spark of hope left at ever finding an honest politician. And then I saw what she did.” He shook his head, swallowed hard. “She’s the real thing.”

Understanding exactly what he meant, Jonathan nodded.

Conlee called for the guards and motioned to Austin. “Get him out of my sight.”

“You’d better be nice to me, Commander. Regardless of Sybil’s little temper tantrum, she wants what only I can give her. That’s her weakness, you see. She doesn’t realize it, but I do. She loves others more than she loves herself.”

“Get that scum sucker out of here before I kill him myself.”

The guards led Austin out. The bruiser on his left elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re gonna be sorry for what you did to my veep, asshole.”

Jonathan imagined Austin would regret it, provided any of them were alive to regret anything. “What the hell happened in here?” he asked Conlee.

“Lady Liberty just took care of a little business.” Conlee grunted, gave his head a little shake. “Even naked and on her knees she had more dignity than that sorry bastard.”

“And more compassion,” Jonathan said.

“Yeah.” Conlee looked surprised that Jonathan knew it when he hadn’t even been in the room.

“I’ve seen it before—in other ways,” he explained.

“You’d better go see about her,” Conlee whispered. “She was taking it on the chin, but I know she’s embarrassed, and she needs to know she shouldn’t be. With what’s at stake, anyone would have done the same thing.”

For her it went deeper than embarrassment, and into how she had handled it. But Jonathan kept that to himself and nodded. “I’ll give her a minute and then go in.” Unless Jonathan missed his guess, she was going to be angry, not embarrassed. Austin hadn’t given her what she needed. For Lady Liberty, that was the bottom line.

Conlee stepped toward the door. “I’ve been around many years, and most veeps just kind of fade into the woodwork. But not Liberty. People with power usually have the devil’s own time being humble. What she did here tonight took grit and guts, but it took more humility than I thought one body could hold. I’m proud of her, Jonathan.” Conlee’s voice deepened and turned gruff. “It’s been a long time since I could say that about a honcho on the Hill. It feels damn good.”

The Peris and Abdan premiers sat in a salon at the Grand Palace Hotel in Geneva, watching a monitor that had been delivered earlier that evening with a message for them to view it together. Though the messenger had declared himself
an envoy of the United States, both leaders had recognized the high-ranking member of Ballast, who was known both as ET and as Patch.

Liberty had just left the conference room at A-267.

“Even under these conditions, she gave him an opportunity to redeem his spiritual self,” the premier of Peris said. “She has a most compassionate nature.”

“And a formidable right cross.”

“That, too.” The Peris leader reached for his glass, twirled it by flexing his wrist. Ice clinked against its sides. “I didn’t think Americans were capable of humility.”

“Or of holding such a deep respect for life.”

“He meant to humiliate her.”

“She let him and, in doing so, exalted herself.” Abdan’s premier stretched an arm across the back of the sofa. “I find her courage humbling.”

“Enough to do what she asked from us?”

“Yes. Her concern for us and our people is genuine,” Abdan’s premier said. “I would wish that she would live. But if she is to die, I would have her die knowing we fulfilled our promise to her.”

“We negotiate in good faith?”

“In good faith.”

The premier looked his counterpart right in the eye and admitted what they both knew but never had confessed. “We also raze Ballast’s command centers in our countries. No sanctuary. And we do this after we call Gregor Faust and tell him to stop this missile attack, if he can.”

“Agreed.” The Peris leader lifted his glass.

Both premiers drank deeply and then picked up phones.

Patch stared at the monitor, misty-eyed. “I knew she would make any sacrifice to save her people.”

Gregor had known it, too. But knowing it and watching it happen incited vastly different emotional responses in him. He had always respected her as a strong adversary. She’d earned it. But he still had been willing to kill her. Business was, after all, business.

Until now.

Now that he had seen with his own eyes the depth of her commitment, the nature of her heart, and her willingness to sacrifice for others, he not only couldn’t kill her, he couldn’t stand by and watch her die. There was no honor in it. And honesty forced him to admit that, though it played only a small part in his decision, he wanted the opportunity to kill the disloyal, degrading, humiliating Austin Stone personally. “Get her on the phone.”

Patch turned and stared at Gregor, gape-jawed. “You’re going to help her?”

“Yes, I am.”

“It’ll cost you millions.”

“Yes, it will.” Peris and Abdan would destroy two of his three command centers. “But a world war would damage Ballast more.” Gregor supplied a rational cover, though his thoughts traveled a far different path.

In Lady Liberty, he saw the goodness that could be in people. He hadn’t seen it often. He had cut his teeth on war, the threat of war, and the ravages of war. This goodness intrigued him. And while he had the reputation for having a black soul, even he had his Achilles’ heel, and Lady Liberty had stomped on it.

She wasn’t corrupt.

She wasn’t a taker who sucked society dry and gave it nothing. She wasn’t insulting life by using and abusing it.

She was, as Sam Sayelle had said, the real thing.

Many leaders were respected and beloved and could be worthy of the honor, but in Gregors experience, there were far too few of them to squander even one. The world was a
better place because she was in it—even if her presence complicated his life.

Gregor had no illusions. His soul was stained black and he did lack loyalty to any country. Men bowed to him in fear. They respected his ability to destroy them—and he could and would destroy them. But they bowed to her in honor and respect. Lady Liberty would lift them up, build them, help them become stronger.

He had no family, few friends, and no life outside his work—all things they had in common. Yet unlike the lady, if he died, no one would leave flowers at the fence outside his home, and no one would weep over his grave. No one.

Gregor turned toward Patch. “Pull in the field teams and put the men on alert. We’ll be underground for the foreseeable future.” Why did he care if anyone would grieve for him? What did it matter? Dead was dead.

The contrast is humbling, Gregor. Humbling. What manner of legacy do you wish to leave? One of striking fear in the hearts of people like Liberty or one embracing the traits of character you have seen her embrace? You are not condemned to your current path. Every moment of every day for all of your life, you make choices. You are free to choose whatever you wish. You choose your legacy, Gregor.

“Gregor, I’m not sure …”

Hearing a mumbled drone, he turned to Patch. “I’m sorry, what was your question?”

“If the missile launches, the United States will be sitting with its jugular exposed. It’s only going to hit the U.S.” Patch lifted his hands, palms up. “No world war. So why are you giving up millions to help her?”

For the same reason I will never harm her.
Gregor poured himself a glass of milk and then reached for the phone. “Because I can.”

“This is Sybil Stone.” She held the receiver, cradled between her shoulder and ear, and stared at the clock in the A-267 office she’d commandeered. Less than an hour.
Less than an hour!

“On the DNA,” a man said. “Cross-check White House senior staff. Flip Five.”

Sybil went rigid in her seat. She’d heard that phrase before, seen it before, and then, too, it had felt familiar. But from where? Her instincts warned it was a literal instruction, but could that be true? Could it be that simple? “What about the key?” she asked, unable to peg the identity of the man on the other end of the line.

“If I had it, you would hold it in your hand,” he said. “But I do have some insight. I’m not responsible for this.”

Oh, God. Faust or PUSH. It was Faust or PUSH calling her. “Austin Stone is responsible.”

“Yes, he is. I’m prepared to feed you a security clip
from your inner hub. Your copy contains a dubbed feed loop that hides what’s really going on. Mine doesn’t. I nearly missed seeing it myself. Will you accept it?”

Sybil’s heart thudded hard. “Do I have your word it won’t corrupt our system?”

“Will you trust my word if I give it?”

She recalled Jonathan’s remarks on honor. Different perspectives, different goals, different viewpoints. ET and the penny. He’d let her live. “Yes, I will.” God, but she hoped she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.

“Then you have it.”

Sybil had reviewed their copy of the tape, along with several of their best analysts. On it Cap hadn’t gone into the inner hub, yet he
had
been there. The analysts had found the loop, but there was no backup system in place to give them the truth on what had happened during that time lapse.

Only one person could be on the other end of the phone line, and he had just compromised himself to help her. “Thank you, Mr. Faust.”

“You’re welcome, Lady Liberty”

The line went dead. Sybil hung up, her heart thumping hard against her ribs. “Jonathan, that was Faust! Where’s a copy of the DNA report on me—the one that opened the outer rim?”

“Faust is
helping
us?” Jonathan rifled through a stack of papers, scanning. He thrust over a stapled segment of papers. “Here’s the original report.”

She compared them, scanned down to the fifth line. It didn’t match, but—she reversed the fifth line—it matched perfectly. It was literal. “We’ve got the DNA secret!”

She grabbed the phone, called Conlee. When he came on the line, she issued her orders on a rushed breath. “Cross-check White House senior staff members’ DNA for the match, but only after you reverse the fifth line in each of the reports.”

Jonathan interrupted. “Tell him to run Richard Barber and Winston first.”

She passed along the message. “Let me know as soon as you can.”

“We still need the launch key.” Jonathan looked at the clock and frowned. “It’s five after eleven and the president hasn’t evacuated. You’d better call him, or he’ll drag his feet too long.” Sadness filled his eyes, and he moved to the door. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

The phone rang. Sybil answered it. “Stone.”

“Congratulations,” David said. “Peris and Abdan have agreed to exercise restraint and not launch a preemptive strike. They want you to know that they’re keeping their promise. What’s that all about?”

The spot in her heart reserved for her favorite warmongers warmed. “They’re negotiating in good faith.” She hated to be abrupt but time was short. “Gregor Faust gave us the code to break the DNA challenge. He didn’t do this, Austin did. Faust doesn’t have the launch key”

“How do you know that?”

“He told me.”