The Newsmakers (36 page)
Erica, Greg, and the crewâall soaked to the skinârace to the van and head back to Coral Gables. Route 1 is virtually traffic-free heading south, and they reach the hotel in twenty minutes.
Everyone in the command center is gathered around the consoleâa grave President Garner is speaking to the nation. “To coordinate the federal response, I'm sending Vice President Dalton down to South Florida. She will be accompanied by Marshall Wolman, the head of FEMA; as well as the secretaries of Health and Human Services, Defense, and Housing and Urban Development. FEMA has established a hurricane command center at Homestead Air Force Base, ten miles south of Miami.”
Erica looks around for Greg. There he is, in a corner of the room, on the phone. He hangs up and pulls Erica aside. “I just got off the phone with Dalton's chief of staff. Air Force Two is scheduled to land at three thirty this afternoon. The vice president has granted you five minutes of time after her arrival.”
“How did you make that happen?”
“They wanted to give one interview, and Nylan pulled some strings.”
“Nylan pulled some strings
.
”
“Will the interview be at Homestead?”
“No, Nylan convinced them to do it at the airport. It's a great visual.”
“Isn't getting the vice president to command central more important than a television visual?”
“It's just five minutes, Erica.”
In the news business “just five minutes” never is. But she can't deny it will be a powerful visual to cover the landing of Air Force Two and then have an almost immediate interview with Dalton. Still, Erica feels a sharp stab of foreboding.
She pushes aside her doubts. Her interview with the vice president will be televised globally, so she has to be at her best.
“We've got a couple of hours. Why don't you go lie down?” Greg says, as if he's reading her mind.
As she heads upstairs, her phone rings. It's Moira.
“I saw your report from Miami Beach. Good job,” she says.
“We're close to nailing Nylan, Moira, and he knows it.”
“Are you safe? Is there anything I can do?”
“If anything happens to me, contact Mark Benton. And be a friend to Jenny, help her remember her mom.”
“Oh, Erica.”
“Please, Moira.”
“Don't be a dead hero. Listen, Greg called me. He told me you slipped.”
“It was just one night, Moy.”
“One night leads to a thousand. I'm concerned. And so is Greg.”
“Do you think it's changed his feelings toward me?” Erica asks.
“Yes. It's strengthened them. Isn't it obvious? Erica, he's in love with you.”
Erica stops in the corridor and leans against the wall. She
can
trust him. He called Moira. He
does
care. It's what she's been hoping for, dreaming of, but it seems overwhelming now, here, in the middle of a hurricane, on the cusp of nailing Nylan, with her life in danger; she's so overloaded, running on fumes, and now this.
Oh, Greg.
Erica retreats to her room. Outside, the wind is a muffled howl. She throws off her rain gear and collapses on the bed, praying for rest if not
sleep. She tries deep breathing but her heart is pounding too fast. She gets up and runs a hot bath and gets in. The water feels creepy against her skin. She gets out and dries herself.
Her prepaid rings.
“Erica, it's Mark. I got deeper into Mullen's computer.”
“And?”
“I got into some encrypted e-mails. Mullen hacked the ferry on orders from Nylan.”
“No . . .”
“There's more, and it's very worrisome. A new project has been started in the last twenty-four hours. It's being thrown together in a hurry, the initial security has been easier to breach.”
“Do you have any idea what it is?”
“I'm getting close, but Mullen has just set up a series of last-minute firewalls. He's on to me.”
Erica has no doubt Nylan will order Mark killed if he knows he's inside Mullen's computer. “I'm going to call George Samuels. Hang tight.”
Erica picks up the hotel phone and calls Samuels's cell. “George, it's Erica Sparks. Call me back on a landline at this number, it's urgent.” She paces the roomâshe's already put Mark's life in danger once. The hotel phone rings.
“What's up, Erica?”
“Mark is deeper inside Mullen's computer and he's discovered a new project. We need to put a second cop outside his room. And I think we should alert the FBI. Do you have a contact there?”
“Yes. I'll call him right now.”
“Stay in touch.”
Erica gets suited up in her rain gear and heads down to the network's nerve center. In the elevator her phone rings. It's Nylan.
HIS SAFE ROOM DOESN
'
T FEEL
safe. He should have had stainless steel walls put in. They could get in, his enemies. They're everywhere. Nylan snorts another line of coke. That's better. It was just a paranoia burst. It's over. Another snort. He's safe. He's in control. Things are fine. They're
fine
! If only he didn't have to deal with sycophants, these weak, pathetic wannabes.
The room is littered with pizza boxes that hold congealing slices, soda cans, beer bottles; there are cigarettes and overflowing ashtrays and an empty gin bottle and half-smoked joints, and it's all so messy and disgusting.
Spellman's over in the corner on the phone, frantic, frantic fool. Everything's fine. Except for Spellman's mess. He better pull it out of the bag. He better. He
has
to.
Nylan crosses to him. “Is he there? Is he ready? Is it happening?”
“I'm trying to find out!”
Nylan can smell himself, he's disgusting too, the sweat has congealed on his body like the cheap oil on the pizza. His T-shirt is dark with sweat, so dark it looks like blood.
Mullen is over in another corner on his laptop, freaking out.
Another loser. The Great Hacker got hacked himself. That's when it all started to unravel.
It's not unraveling.
Snort! There. Better.
“He's in! He got into my encrypted files!
Ahhhh!
” Mullen leaps up, paces around, takes another toot. Man, has he lost his cool. He's lost in Loserville. He stinks too, he smells like old, wet boot leather, rank.
“I thought you were the best in the world, Mullen. You told me you were the best in the world, and
that joker Benton in IT got into your encrypted files
!”
Mullen's eyes bulge out, he looks like a freak, a strung-out freak. Pathetic.
Nylan goes over to the table and huffs up a line. He's fine. He'll get everything under control. He's done it before, he can do it again. It's all going to go down just as he planned. Just waiting for confirmation from Spellman. Then he has to make sure Erica is there. It'll be the most spectacular news story ever. In history. As big as Lincoln's assassination, as big as Dealey Plaza. He makes the news; he creates history. There's never been anyone like him.
There's that stupid dog, Wilmot, slumped, crumpled on the floor in the corner holding a bottle of whiskey, his body shaking. Is he sobbing? That's sickening. Boy, true colors, huh, Fred, fold in the clutch, pathetic, blubbering slob.
NEVER GIVE UP. NEVER, EVER GIVE UP.
“
It's a go! He's in place!
” Spellman screams.
Nylan feels a surge of triumph. He calls Erica.
“Nylan,” she says.
“How's the weather?”
“Terrifying.”
“Funny, you don't sound scared.”
“It takes a lot to scare me. You know that, Nylan.”
“Just make sure you get to the airport. This is going to be the biggest story of your career.”
“I'm heading that way.”
“Don't mess this up, Erica. There's too much at stake. Don't forget
who made you a star. Where would you be without me? You'd be covering a Kiwanis Club picnic for some tenth-rate station in Buttcrack, New Hampshire. That's where you'd be. Nowhere!
I made you a star!
”
“You sound a little stressed, Nylan. Is everything okay?”
“We're not talking about me, we're talking about you. I'm fine. I'm in control. I'm always in control. Don't forget it, Erica. And get to that airport.”
He hangs up. He looks around the room at his loser lackeys. And the mess, the disgusting mess. He sucks up a line. He'll get his cleaners in, everything will be spotless. Sparkling. Good as new. Like nothing ever happened. Beautiful. Perfect.
King of the Universe.
He picks up a filthy dish towel from the floor and mops the sweat off his face.
THE ATMOSPHERE IN THE NERVE
center is cracklingâreporters, producers, technicians are all huddled around television screens, live feeds, and the large control board. Greg is glued to the airport feed. Everyone is in that place beyond exhaustion, running on sheer adrenaline. This is the civilian equivalent of war, and Erica feels a wave of respect for Greg's courage, for his years as a war photographer. Studying the screen, he looks so vital, so engaged.
“Isn't it obvious? Erica, he's in love with you.”
Greg sees Erica, and they instinctively move to a quiet alcove. They stand close to each other, lower their voices to near whispers.
“Are you holding up okay?” he asks. Erica nods. “The vice president's plane is due to land in less than forty minutes. We have to head up to the airport.”
“I'm ready . . . and, Greg?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for calling Moira.” She reaches up and touches his cheek. For a moment there's no storm raging outside, no anxious colleagues across the room, just the two of them, alone in a hotel in Miami. And then they kiss and a wave of desire sweeps over Erica's body, her skin, her soul.
They reluctantly part. Greg says, “Tonight.”
Tonight?
Erica wonders. And then she understands. Not even a hurricane can keep them apart. “Yes,” Erica whispers. “Yes.”
Then her prepaid rings and the world is back.
“I just got into Nylan's current project,” Mark says, his voice taut. “He has an operative at the Miami Airport Industrial Park, just west of the airport. He's going to fire a shoulder-launched missile and bring down the vice president's plane.”
An icy vise clamps Erica's spine. Nylan is going to shoot Air Force Two out of the sky. It will traumatize and destabilize the nation. Which is exactly what he wants. She remembers his desperation to get her to the airport for another Erica Sparks exclusive. Now it all makes sense. “Mark, we have to do something. Is Samuels there?”
There's a quick pause and then the detective comes on. “I'm here. The FBI knows. I'm about to call the Secret Service.”
“I'm only fifteen minutes away from the industrial park. We're going to head up there,” Erica says.
“That's a dangerous move.”
“I've got to try and stop this.” She hangs up.
“What is it?” Greg asks.
Time to come clean. “I've been working with Mark Benton since the ferry crash to uncover the hacker. He's inside Dave Mullen's computer right nowâNylan plans to blow Air Force Two out of the sky. He has a mercenary with a shoulder rocket at an industrial park next to the airport.”
Greg goes white. Erica can see his mind racing behind his eyes.
“He could be wrong.”
“Greg, he's
in
. He's in the brain of the beast. In real time. This is happening.”
Greg takes a step back, as if he's absorbing a blow. “Has he contacted the FBI? The Secret Service?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, it's in their hands.”
“We're a lot closer. We have to try and stop this.”
Greg rubs his forehead, looks down, a man at a loss.
“Greg, why are you hesitating? What is wrong with you? What is going on?”
“Oh, Erica . . .”
“Oh, Erica
what
?” she demands. Then she has a moment of terrible clarity. When she speaks, it's softly. “You knew, didn't you? You knew all along what Nylan and Wilmot have been doing.”
“No! I did
not
know. I suspected. I had no proof.”
“So you kept your mouth shut.”
Greg can't look her in the eye. Erica feels like the ground has gone soft beneath her feet. A cosmic hurt sweeps over her, a terrible betrayal.
Oh, Greg, how could you?
“No. I
didn't
keep my mouth shut. I went to Nylan and told him my suspicions. His reaction was blanket denial, and then he got ugly. He made some threats. I backed off because I thought I was protecting you.”
“Protecting
me
? What the hell does that mean? How were you protecting me?”
“Nylan saidâ” Greg begins.
Suddenly there's a terrible crash as an uprooted palm tree slams into one of the room's tall windows, smashing it, spraying glass across the floor. Rain lashes in.
“I don't have time for this right now. I've got to get up to that industrial park,” Erica says. “Are you with me?”
“Of course I'm with you. I want to always be with you.”
They race down to the lobby, where Manny and Derek are waiting.
“Listen, we're not going to the airport. We're heading into a very dangerous situation. Worse than the hurricane. Are you up for it?” Erica asks.
The men jump to their feet. Manny asks, “What's up?” as they all rush out and pile into the van, which is rocking ominously.
“I'll explain on the way,” Erica says.
Greg takes the wheel, Erica is shotgun, Manny and Derek in the back. Erica punches Miami Airport Industrial Park into the GPS.
They take off, heading up Route 959. Greg dodges lawn chairs and grills, and debris that flies through the air and skitters across the road. He fights to stay in control as the wind pushes the van back and forth. Erica looks at him, his focus is fierce, he's sweating, and she wants to grab him and demand the truth.
Protect her?
From what? From
him
?