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Authors: Vicki Hinze

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BOOK: Lady Liberty
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Agitated, Gregor stubbed out his cigar and dropped on to a seat. How had a leader on the world stage, who had been so successful at gauging the mettle of others, ended up married to a man like Austin Stone in the first place?

True, he was a genius, and he had repeatedly demonstrated it by creating impressive, innovative secure-system designs. Extraordinarily marketable, secure-system designs that Gregor had bought, used, and sold throughout the world. But Liberty, not her ex-husband, owned controlling interest in Secure Environet. That, coupled with his envy of her power, had made him a bitter man who warranted observation. And Gregor had observed Stone as closely as he had observed Liberty. Her ex-husband had cursed her power yet seized every opportunity to use it for his own gain. People seldom surprised Gregor, but Austin Stone putting his corporate interests in a blind trust the day she had taken office had stunned him. Why had he agreed to do it? And since he had done it, why had she divorced him?

Liberty never discussed her rationale for the divorce. It was the only subject she consistently refused to address with the press. That agitated Gregor more. He was a strategist.

Understanding players’motivations were vital to his success. Vital to his survival.

Patch cleared his throat. “Should we release the lab results to Westford now?”

“Not yet.” Gregor checked his watch and converted the time. It was two in the morning in Geneva. “Wait until four.” Everyone would be in place by four—in Geneva, in Washington, and in Florida.

Patch relayed the directive to the lab. “Release the report to the Widow-maker at four.”

Gregor strolled over the thick Persian carpet to view the monitors. “Any movement on Cap Marlowe?”

“None. The senator hasn’t been briefed on the Code One yet.”

President Lance was playing this close. “Keep me posted on him.” Gregor moved toward the door, ready to grab a meal before things heated up. Marlowe was going to be interesting to watch. Unlike Lance, who was predictable, Marlowe was a wild card, and wild cards were not welcome mission elements to strategists. Gregor wanted to know what reactions he could expect from the senator. If the rumor mill proved accurate—and it usually was at this level of infiltration—Marlowe had been slated by the Republicans to become President Lance’s successor in the next election. Why the party intended to bypass Lady Liberty, Gregor couldn’t imagine. But he was one lucky black-market arms dealer because it did—provided Westford’s instincts proved to be as honed as reported and she survived the next seventy hours.

How many other men in Gregors position had the ability to blackmail someone destined to become the most powerful man in the free world? And what exactly would that man do to keep his connections to Gregor secret?

The possibilities made for a good game.

Gregors game had begun six months earlier, when
President Lance had announced he would keep his campaign promise and not run for a second term, and, two months ago, albeit unknowingly, Marlowe had become a player. No doubt his fear of exposing his past crimes, large and small, had already caused the good senator many sleepless nights. Nights of waiting for the proverbial ax to fall. What would he do when it became clear to him who held that ax that now hung over his head?

Of more immediate concern, what would be Jonathan Westford’s next move?

Westford was a pro. Gifted and, particularly when an operation involved Lady Liberty, lethally dangerous. Others might speculate, but Gregor knew of only one emotion strong enough to provoke the depth of Westford’s protective instincts toward Liberty—one emotion so intense that a man would forfeit being with her to keep her safe: love. Gregor also knew that no other emotion could make a man less predictable or more treacherous.

If there had been any way to avoid a direct confrontation with Westford, he would have done so. But destiny had issued its decree. Westford might initially blame PUSH for the coming events, but only for a short time. Gregor and Westford would eventually collide on this mission, and the projected outcome of the clash seemed inevitable. Only one of them would survive.

The question was: Which one?

Chapter Three

Thursday, August 8
First-Strike Launch: 68:00:00

At precisely 4:00 A.M. the lab phoned. Jonathan took the report in the galley, staring blankly at his distorted reflection in the stainless coffeepot. “You’re certain?”

“Positive,” the lab tech said. “We ran dual panels to test and verify simultaneously and pulled a hundred-percent cross-check comparison on the results.”

“Thank you.” Jonathan ended the call and swallowed hard a couple of times, but the damn lump in his throat wouldn’t go up or down, and his knees felt as weak as water.

Walking to midcabin, he tuned his earpiece radio to conference call the cockpit and Home Base. On international assignments carrying Level-Five SDU status, Commander Conlee monitored Liberty himself. He would report the results to the president.

Liberty looked down at Jonathan’s shoes, saw his sneakers, and dragged in a sharp breath, reacting instinctively even though she had suggested he wear them. A moment
lapsed, and then she forced her gaze to lift and meet his. Intense, but steadfast. She knew he had received news. “Are we leaving?”

He blinked hard. The woman had more courage than anyone he had ever met. She was terrified and yet she sounded calm, together. He was anything but. His nose stung, the backs of his eyes burned, and a boulder had homesteaded on his chest. Too emotional to trust himself, he stood near her and spoke into his transmitter. “Captain Dean, you’re cleared for takeoff.”

“Thank God.” Dean expelled a relieved breath that hissed static through the earpiece.

Afraid to allow himself to feel it, Jonathan kept his relief locked inside. He hadn’t cried since he was a kid, but he was damn close to it now. He could have lost her.
Lost her.

She reached over, pressed a staying hand to his forearm. A flash of vulnerability flickered through her eyes. “So, I’m okay?”

“You’re fine, ma’am.” He nodded and dared to put his hand atop hers on his arm. “Just fine.” The relief inside him swelled and filled his chest. He loved and hated it. Loved that he knew she would live and hated the way that knowing affected him. He should
not
be emotionally attached. Not to her.

“Good.” Her worry left her eyes, then clouded them again. “We’ve lost a lot of time.”

The Code One disaster was back in priority position in her mind, if it ever had slipped to second place. Jonathan patted her hand. They were down to sixty-eight hours on the phantom seventy-two-hour deadline she’d given him at the hotel, and again he wondered exactly what it meant. “Take a minute to enjoy the good news. It’s a long flight.”

“But I have a ton of work to do on it.” She pulled her hand away and sat back on her seat. “It’s our duty to change the world, if we can.”

She was still quoting Mr. Tibbs. Jonathan rubbed at the tense muscles knotting his neck.
“To Sir with Love
had a powerful impact on you, didn’t it?” After the first time she had mentioned the movie, Jonathan had watched it three times. He remembered the line.

“It did.” A near smile curved her lips. “Mr. Tibbs is one of my all-time favorite characters. He had purpose, clear vision, and discipline.”

“He also respected human nature. He would pause to celebrate.”

“Ah, you’re going to lecture me again, aren’t you, Agent Westford?” She lifted her glass of cola in mock salute. “Stop and smell the roses.”

“And their leaves and stems.”

“What about the thorns?” Thoughtful and suddenly pensive, she thumbed the rim of her glass and her playful tone disappeared. “You never mention the thorns.”

“Appreciate those, too.”

Totally serious now, she looked up into his eyes, seeking something she needed. “Why?”

He debated brushing off the question, but then remembered asking her once why she helped fair-weather colleagues. She’d told him it was the work that mattered, not who did it. If it was good, it was good. Harrison had heard her response and later told Jonathan that was when he had decided Liberty had more class than anyone else he knew and bigger balls than 90 percent of the men on the Hill. Jonathan had drawn that conclusion far earlier in her career. And if she had the courage to ask about the thorns, he had the courage to answer her. “Because thorns are sharp and they prick.”

She thought about that, then responded. “Only if you’ve felt the prick can you truly appreciate the softness of the petal.”

Not exactly as he would have put it, but it would do. He nodded.

She tilted her head. “Do you ever wish you could push a button that would keep you on an even emotional keel, and then just stay there?”

He exaggerated a level look down his nose at her. “Every time you take a Band-Aid from a potential terrorist.”

Not at all intimidated, she glared at him. “You’re as irreverent as you were when we were together, Agent West-ford.”

They had never been together. They could never be together. Of course, she didn’t mean it that way. She was referring to when he headed her guard detail. “Terrible character flaw, ma’am. I’ll work on it.”

That remark earned him a grunt, then a cautious “Don’t.”

He cast her a quizzical look.

“Don’t work on it. It’s honest,” she said with a slight shrug. “In this job, I don’t get a lot of honest reactions. I like them.”

“Gabby always gives you honest reactions.”

“And bad advice,” she said, looking torn, a little confused, and maybe slightly wistful.

“Not intentionally. She just hasn’t pegged how your mind works.”

That comment surprised her; her eyes widened and then narrowed with suspicion. “And you know this because …”

“I have pegged it.”

“You know how my mind works?” Disbelief etched her voice.

“Yes, I do.”

“I’m not sure I like that.”

“I know I don’t. But there it is.” Regret etched his tone. Honest remarks, but he wished they hadn’t surfaced. Being near her was hard enough without adding new complications.

“Excuse me,” Cramer interrupted. “Priority call from Senator Wade, ma’am.”

Their private moment was over. Jonathan stepped away. Evidently Harrison had assigned Cramer to fill in for Grace. Wade was a Democrat; the House minority whip, not that party affiliation mattered to Liberty. The night she had accepted the nomination for vice president at the national convention, she had vowed not to represent Democrats or Republicans or Independents but to represent Americans. On discovering that she hadn’t been spewing rhetoric, the party hadn’t much liked it, but the voters had, so the members took her vow in stride—at least, publicly.

“Thank you.” She lifted the phone and waited for Cramer to move out of earshot. “Hello, Martin. What can I do for you?”

She listened attentively, her head angled, her eyes focused on the briefcase. She asked several pointed questions and then listened again.

Stiffening, she set her glass down. The metal cuff at her wrist scraped against the tabletop. “I see.” Her voice remained soft and steady, but she clearly didn’t like what she was hearing; her fingers clenched her chair arm and her knuckles raised up like knobs. “I’d be delighted to support your bill, provided you’re willing to include one minor addition. Since you’re a father and grandfather now yourself, I’m sure you won’t find it objectionable.”

Here it came, Jonathan thought. Her classic setup. Bait and hook. Praise then shame. Liberty was about to dig in her heels for something that really mattered to her. The signs were all there: the setup, the clenched fingers, the set jaw and fixed stare. Oh yes, he knew how her mind worked.

Falling back into old habits, he settled on 70 percent odds that she would reel in Senator Martin Wade. If she toed her right pump, Jonathan would up the odds to 95 percent. She saved toeing the pump for issues near and dear to her heart, and few failed not to knuckle under to it.

“Child support.” She disclosed the concern. “The current recovery program requires that all sums collected through government intervention from deadbeat parents be split fifty-fifty. Half goes to the child. The other half goes to the federal government.”

She paused to listen. Wade was no doubt reminding her of the government’s considerable costs in recovering delinquent support payments.

Undaunted, she persisted. “Martin, listen. We’ve got a stable budget with a sizable surplus, a strong economy with minimal risks of inflation, Social Security is secure, and we’ve finally got a good grip on healthcare. There is no reasonable justification for the most prosperous country in the world to take money from these kids.” A skipped beat, then a second volley. “What if you were broke and Sarah’s ex had skipped out on support payments for Beth? What if Sarah was struggling to keep a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs? I know your daughter has a great education and a promising career, but what if she didn’t? What if that fifty percent going to the government meant Beth and Sarah didn’t have grocery money? Your daughter and granddaughter would go hungry today. How would you feel about the current policy then?” A missed moment response, then she added, “But that’s how we have to look at it. Most of these kids are borderline poverty and, Martin, they’re all
someone’s
grandchild.”

BOOK: Lady Liberty
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