Frozen Fire (14 page)

“Furthermore, as to any secretive behavior, I’ll only say it’s utter nonsense. Twelve years ago, the territorial waters of Taino were designated as a marine sanctuary. The area is being considered as a World Heritage site. The presence of many large ships in these waters, even for a short time, would harm the ecosystem we are committed to preserving and protecting. Furthermore, we have requested the United States National Transportation Safety Board to join our personnel in conducting a joint investigation into this incident and in reconstructing the aircraft. President Benson has graciously granted that request.”

The microphone was wrenched out of the hands of the smug reporter and set up in front of a beautiful but dangerous celebrity-journalist more renowned for her ability to spin words into weapons than for her mental acuity. “Isn’t this taking Dennis Cavendish’s over-the-top need for secrecy a little far? If there are any survivors, they’ve been in shark-infested waters all this time and because of your designation of the area as a marine sanctuary”—she drawled the words sarcastically—“you won’t let anyone else in to help save them.”

Micki kept her eyes aimed at the camera and allowed her eyebrows to rise at the grating accusation. She let a short, cold pause build before
answering. “Dredging up well-loved but utterly ridiculous conspiracy theories at a time such as this does a grave disservice to the present situation and disrespects the bravery and commitment of those undertaking to create the best possible outcome. I would ask that you and your colleagues refrain from including such nonsense in your news reports. Next question.”

“Why won’t you even tell us if President Cavendish was on that plane? Is he still alive?”

“Next question,” Micki repeated, staring resolutely into the camera.

An earnest young reporter, vaguely familiar to Victoria but obviously still in need of a big break to make his career, made an eager grab for the newly freed microphone. “One of the previous questions did bring up an important point, Ms. Crenshaw. The secession of Taino from the Bahamas thirty years ago at the hands of Guthrie Anders, Mr. Cavendish’s predecessor, remains contentious in the area. But since buying the island from the Anders family fifteen years ago and setting himself up as the president of a sovereign nation, Dennis Cavendish has almost entirely cut off the rest of the world from knowing what he’s doing there—”

“As is his right,” Micki replied smoothly. “President Cavendish undertook to firmly establish The Paradise of Taino in order to secure the rights, privileges, and remedies that would not be available to him had he remained simply the owner of an island ultimately governed by someone else. In doing so, President Cavendish has achieved his lifelong dream of establishing a wildlife and marine sanctuary on what may be the only remaining pristine island in the entire Caribbean basin. That is why he put the word ‘paradise’ in the country’s official name, sir. To remind people that it is perhaps the only true paradise left on this planet. His desire to preserve and protect the natural treasures that exist on our island and in our waters is, admittedly, viewed by some ill-informed persons as a craven desire for secrecy. I assure you, it is not that.

“The fact is, simply,” she continued, “that the island’s wildlife, marine life, and its very nature would be irreparably harmed if President Cavendish were to allow commercial and residential development on Taino, or to allow ecotourist groups or cruise ships to enter our waters or use our port. Our island is not like the Hope Diamond. It cannot be placed in a museum case for all to see. It is a small and fragile living environment and as such must be kept untouched even by those for whom President Cavendish is preserving it. It is a paradox,” she admitted with a shrug. “But that, and only that, is the reason we have refused to allow the proffered marine vessels
into our waters. Irrespective of their crews’ mission, the fact remains that those enormous ships would have a negative impact on our rare and delicate ecosystem.”

“But—”

“We know what we are doing, and respectfully request that the world allow us to carry on,” she finished firmly. “Next question.”

A woman Victoria didn’t recognize took the microphone. “Is it true that you have antisubmarine devices to prevent infiltration—”

Knowing she had to bring this circus to an end before Micki lost her cool, Victoria scribbled a hasty message on a whiteboard and held it up.

Micki glanced at the board, took a deep breath, and interrupted the young woman reporter. “There is a lot of speculation about our methods of preserving our rights as a nation. Most of it is the stuff of otherwise idle imaginations,” she said calmly. “I must unfortunately conclude this press conference now. I ask that you focus your stories on the serious and tragic event that occurred this morning and direct your energies and imagination toward praying for the best possible outcome as we continue search-and-rescue operations. Thank you for coming. We will return in a few hours with an update.”

Micki nodded curtly at the cameraman and remained looking into the camera with hard-won composure until the red light on the top of it blinked off. Then she leaned back in her chair and slumped as she closed her eyes.

“Well, I feel like I’ve been rode hard and put away wet, bless their little old, muckraking hearts,” she drawled and then opened one eye. “Victoria, you aren’t going to make me do that again, are you?”

“No promises. At least they didn’t start casting aspersions on the institute.”

“If we had given them time for another question, they would have.” As Victoria approached, Micki pulled herself to her feet and began removing her lapel microphone.

A tap on Victoria’s shoulder drew her attention to her assistant, who was trailing behind her and holding out a sheaf of papers. Victoria took the offering and gave the top sheet a cursory glance as she waved the woman away.

“They haven’t found any survivors yet,” she murmured in a voice so low only Micki could hear.

“Well, it hasn’t been very long since the accident, but were you expecting that we would? You saw the footage, honey. That plane didn’t just explode, Vic, it disintegrated. I can’t imagine they’re going to find much of
anything out there.” She paused. “It kind of reminded me of the time one of the neighbor boys took his daddy’s shotgun and shot a dove that was sitting under a tree in my grandmother’s backyard. He used buckshot, not even what you’d use for bird hunting.” She ran her hands down her arms, as if warding off a sudden chill. “There wasn’t even much blood. It just went
pouf
in a big burst of feathers and noise and smoke, and that was the end of that dove,” Micki said in a voice hushed with emotion. “I’ll never forget it. It was just
awful
. I cried for days.”

Victoria stared, wondering if her second in command’s suddenly teary eyes and hoarse whisper were just for effect, a prelude to an inappropriate burst of laughter. It would be just like her—Victoria had always considered Micki to have some odd, but harmless, quirks. This bizarre turn of conversation, which edged the line of good taste, had to be brought on by stress. Maybe.

“A dove?” Victoria repeated, not doing a good job of hiding her incredulity. “Micki, we’re talking about a plane full of people. The situations have nothing in common.”

Micki met her eyes. “Well, both were a terrible loss of life. I made sure he got hurt later, though.”

“Who?”

“My grandmother’s neighbor boy.”

Victoria watched her warily. “What do you mean?”

“I set some rat traps where he used to hide his dirty magazines under the house. He lost three fingers on his right hand. He didn’t do any more hunting after that.”

Horrified, and not quite sure she should believe what she was hearing, Victoria took a step back.

Micki noticed and gave her a quick smile, instantly regaining her composure. “That was a long time ago. Kid stuff. Anyway, where’s Dennis?”

“Against his will, he’s in the bunker,” Victoria replied slowly, the lie coming out of her mouth as easily as if it had been the truth.

“Still? How long are you going to keep him there? He’s the president. He’ll have to come out eventually and make a statement. He can’t stay hidden like a possum in a tree.”

“I’m not ‘keeping him there,’” she snapped. “I’ve just recommended that he remain out of sight for a while. You don’t agree with that?”

“Well, I think it’s a bit over the top. It’s not like anyone can get at him here. And communications are cut off so no one can find out that he’s alive,
either. Unless one of us decides to make an announcement,” Micki ended dismissively.

“As you’re aware, his removal to the bunker is in line with the emergency response procedures,” Victoria pointed out coolly. “You agreed with the decision a few hours ago.”

Micki was a brilliant technician and troubleshooter, and she’d been intimately involved in crafting and refining their procedures over the years. Though Victoria knew Micki didn’t share her own bone-deep paranoia about security issues, she had never encountered this attitude from her deputy before.

What Victoria was not about to tell Micki was that Dennis, in fact, was not in the bunker that he’d built into the side of the island’s only peak, a long-dormant volcano. When Victoria had left him a short while ago, he was sitting in her cottage by himself, still shaken to his core.

Known by his friends as well as his enemies as the man who never blinked first, Dennis had made a fortune, built a communications empire, and founded a nation all before he was forty. Victoria had watched as he’d faced down shareholders, stakeholders, stalkers, and government subcommittees without conceding an inch more than he wanted to, and without ever revealing so much as a molecule of fear.

When she’d met him for the first time, Victoria had tried hard not to be dazzled, but it was impossible. How could anyone not be dazzled when she met one of her personal heroes? All these years later, he still inspired and amazed her. His presence, his complete trust in her, his way of dealing with her—half flirtatious, half fatherly—had only deepened her respect and affection for him. He’d taught her to embrace his way of doing things, to always push any limit she felt like pushing, to take every chance she wanted to take. It was the antithesis of every rule she’d lived by up until then, but she’d absorbed it willingly, eagerly. After all, Dennis had become nearly legendary for taking risks that made others brand him a madman or, more grudgingly, a genius.

And what had she done for this man, who had given so much to her? She had failed him. None of her defenses, none of her precautions had saved him. Dennis had escaped certain death only because he’d been too wound up about the methane-harvesting test to sleep. He’d wanted to go down to the mining operations center and see for himself what was going on. That eagerness, and that alone, had spurred his decision to leave Miami in advance of his invited guests. It had been a whim, a spur-of-the-moment
decision made in the early morning hours and executed without forethought. That impetuousness was the only reason he was still alive.

Victoria felt the reverberations of his decision in every dark nook and deep crevice of her psyche. She had failed him. She would never forgive herself. And she would do everything in her power to make sure it never happened again, that she never again felt this degree of self-loathing.

“So, do you?”

With a start, Victoria snapped out of her reverie and met Micki’s questioning eyes. “Sorry. Do I what?”

“Have any idea who did this? I saw Gemma just hand you a bunch of papers. They couldn’t all be an update from the search teams. I mean, they’re not finding any people, so there can’t be that much to relate. What is the other news?”

“Nothing critical,” she said dismissively. “Details.”

“About what?” Micki demanded.

Concerned that her own composure might be approaching a fracture, Victoria gave her deputy a cold stare and said nothing, then turned on her heel and headed for the door.

“Tell me what’s going on, Vic,” Micki said in an urgent whisper as she followed Victoria.

“A search-and-rescue operation is what’s going on, Micki,” she snapped. “And this is not the place to discuss anything about it. Now, if you don’t mind, there are some pressing matters I have to—”

“Well, fine. I just want to know if the obvious thought has crossed your mind, too.”

Victoria stopped short and faced her. “Just what ‘obvious thought’ would that be?”

Micki glanced at the few people milling around the small room, then grabbed Victoria by the arm and led her, none too gently, outside. She didn’t stop until they were several feet away from the building. She leaned a shoulder into the curve of a palm tree and folded her arms across her chest.

“Well, it’s controversial. Disturbing, even. But you and I both make our livelihood by being more paranoid than your average crazy person, right? So it shouldn’t come as a surprise.” Micki stopped, waiting for acquiescence.

Victoria, however, only blinked. Her stomach, churning nonstop for the last few hours, had suddenly solidified into something very cold and very hard.

Whatever Micki was about to say, it wasn’t going to be good.

Taking in a deep, exasperated breath, Micki rolled her eyes once, then leveled her gaze straight at Victoria. “Okay. I’ll just lay it out like a picnic for you, Vic. Hasn’t it crossed your mind yet that maybe Dennis has something to do with this?”

Somehow, Victoria resisted the impulse to double over, but the effect on her thinking was the same as if Micki had sucker punched her. She could feel her jaw drop. She heard herself gasp.

“How can you say that? How can you even think that, Micki? That’s insane,” Victoria hissed. “Dennis didn’t kill those people. They were his
friends
. You saw how he reacted. He’s stunned. How can you—”

Micki’s mouth formed into a petulant curl. “We’re cold, you and I. Isn’t that what we’ve always said, Vic? That you and I have to be willing to seek out the dark places in people’s minds by trying to put ourselves in their position? All those tabletop drills we’ve done, all those extreme scenarios we’ve drafted—it’s never been a game, has it? I thought we always said that the more outlandish the possibility, the more we need to at least consider it. Well, I think this fits the bill.”