Frozen Fire (11 page)

He froze at her words and stared at her, the blood suddenly draining from his face. “You think someone did this?”

“Yes.” The word came out of her mouth forcefully, without hesitation or forethought, and the strength of it made her blink. But she didn’t doubt herself. She never did when her gut spoke to her. Not for a second.

“But you don’t—”

“Until I’m convinced otherwise, you stay on land.” Victoria knew her eyes were boring into his.

Dennis stared her down as his breathing became less labored and his color improved. “That’s paranoid.”

“We went over this less than an hour ago.”

“The security at our Miami hangar makes TSA—hell, it makes the Secret Service drool with envy, Vic. No one can get near our planes.”

“That depends on how you define ‘no one.’” Letting out a hard breath, she released his arms, ready to launch herself at him if he so much as moved. “We need to find out what happened first. Review these tapes in detail—” She waved her hand toward the screens. “We have to find the voice and equipment recorders. Find out if the plane was shot down or if it exploded or just fell out of the sky. All of that could take days, probably longer.” She took a final steadying breath and straightened her back, which was still rigid with tension. “But one thing I think we have to assume is that it was sabotage or terrorism. Deliberate in any case. That’s gut.”

Dennis began to speak and she cut him off. “Don’t start arguing with me. An accident is too unlikely. The plane was a month old and had been taken care of like a baby.” She turned to Micki. “Other than Dennis, were all expected passengers on board?”

Micki, more wide-eyed now than she had been when they entered the room, nodded. “Yes. I talked to the tower. The copilot checked in with them shortly after they took off. He confirmed that everyone was aboard. I . . . I don’t know if he knew Dennis was . . . I didn’t ask . . .” she replied, her words ending abruptly in a choked murmur. Micki closed her eyes then and took a deep breath.

Victoria shook off another chill and then returned her attention to her boss, whose color wasn’t fully back to normal. “Dennis, think about it. Even without you aboard, the passengers represented companies that produce twenty-one percent of the entire world’s gross domestic product. They are the world’s largest employers, biggest consumers of natural resources, the biggest polluters. With the exception of Takayashi, they’re all Western owned and Western run. A few of the individuals on board had a personal net worth larger than some Third World nations. That all has to mean something.” She stopped for a breath, never taking her eyes off him. “
You
were supposed to be on that flight, Dennis. You, who are poised to exploit the world’s last, best hope for clean fuel. To think this is a coincidence would be ridiculous.”

“No one knows about that except our people, Vic.” Dennis folded his arms across his chest, but before his hands disappeared from view, Victoria noted that they were shaking. The sight hit her harder than the images of the plane exploding.

From the edge of her vision, Victoria became aware again of Micki’s rapt attention, and forced another degree of cool composure into her voice. “Don’t kid yourself, Dennis. Despite all of our efforts, I’m sure there are
plenty of people who either know or suspect what we’re doing. In light of all that, it would be naive to think this event is anything other than deliberate. And we can’t rule out inside cooperation.”

“Inside cooperation?” he repeated, looking as though she’d just sucker punched him. “That’s asinine. It’s—”

“It’s anything but,” she interrupted quietly. “This is one of those situations that we’ve been both dreading and anticipating. This is what we’ve planned for and trained for. It’s what you hired me to handle. And now that it’s happened, either you listen to me, Dennis, or I’ll step aside and let you take care of it yourself. You can’t have it both ways.”

He was staring at her as if she’d just sprouted another head. “Vic, what the hell is this? Mutiny? There are people out in that water—my friends are out there and—”

“No, it’s not mutiny, Dennis, it’s reality. I’m in charge of security, and that includes your personal security as well as that of everyone else here. I want you safe and out of sight for the next twenty-four hours.”

He stepped back as if she’d shoved him. “That’s crazy. If this was a terrorist attack and if I was the target, I should be visible. To let them know they failed.”

“No, you shouldn’t. We don’t know who
they
are or what they want. We have no information at all right now, and to speculate any further than we already have done is foolish. If you need to hear me concede that there is a possibility that it could have been a catastrophic accident, then sure, I’ll concede that.” She shrugged. “But it’s just as probable—more so—that any one or all of the passengers aboard that plane could have been the target of a hit.”

“No one knew—”

“Not likely. Plenty of people knew they were coming here. Plenty of trusted people,” she added pointedly. “It may be that no one comes forward to claim responsibility, but in case someone does, we need to let
them
define success. It’s the only way we’ll be able to determine their agenda.”

Victoria paused and, still maintaining eye contact, gently placed a hand on his chest, over his heart. Its beat was strong and just a little too fast.

“You have always trusted me, Dennis,” she said, her tone cool but implacable, “and I’ve never given you cause to do otherwise. Trust me now. We need to go slowly, at least in the immediate short term.” She paused and searched his face, then continued more softly, “Consider this: If you’d been on that flight, we wouldn’t be able to declare you dead until we either found
evidence to support that finding or the recovery effort ended. For once, we have the luxury of time. Not much, but I want to use every second of it to start looking for answers.”

Letting her hand drop away from Dennis’s chest, Victoria looked at Micki, who was still as immobile as a statue except for her eyes, which flicked from Victoria to Dennis and back. There was an intensity about her that was so high-pitched, Victoria could practically hear it hum.

“Micki, call Miami and get that hangar locked down immediately. I want a list of everyone who went in or out of there from the time that plane arrived there on Thursday. Then get on the phone to our embassy in Washington. I want them to scramble an emergency response team to the hangar today. Right away. We need a press release prepared, so find out who is handling the media up there. But the release doesn’t go out until
I
say so, and there are to be no leaks. None. And we need to contact the neighbors,” she ordered, using her shorthand for the neighboring countries of Cuba, the U.S., and the Bahamas. “I won’t be surprised if they already know, given how much they love surveilling us, but we should inform them officially that there’s been an accident. That’s it. No speculation, no hints.”

Victoria reached up to brush a stray hair from her forehead and was surprised when her hand came away wet. Fisting her hand, she loosely crossed both arms across her chest and glanced at her assistant, who stood in the doorway, crying silently.

“Gemma,” Victoria continued, rapid-fire, addressing the assistant, “I need you to get the passengers’ names to the embassy staff in Washington and have them start tracking down next of kin. We’ll need to airlift any survivors to Miami, so tell the guys here to get the Gulfstream ready to serve as an ambulance. Ask the U.S. State Department if we can coordinate with the NTSB to send the recovered aircraft parts to them for a joint investigation. We don’t have the right facilities for it here. But
under no circumstances
do we want any of their ships or personnel entering our waters unless we directly request their presence.” She looked at Dennis. “We’re going to have to release the passenger manifest within the next few hours. There will be hell to pay when that happens.”

He nodded, and Victoria thought that suddenly Dennis didn’t look so good.

I was supposed to be on that plane
.

But for a snap decision born of boredom I’d be dead now. Incinerated
.

As he stood listening to Victoria bark out orders, Dennis felt a curious detachment wrap itself around him. He felt as if he were hearing and seeing things in slow motion, as if time had sped up while his brain and body had slowed down.

He’d been in enough death-defying situations in his lifetime to recognize shock when he felt it, and Dennis knew that the enormity of what had just happened would take a while to sink in for any man. But he was more than just a man—he was the head of state of his little paradise. He couldn’t afford to waste time recovering. Taking action, taking control, was imperative. Yet his brain was frozen in place.

“Come on.”

Dennis heard Victoria’s voice and knew she was speaking to him but couldn’t find the words to respond. Then she stepped closer and was peering up at him.

“Dennis,” she said, her voice gentle as she gave his arm a tug. “I want you out of here. We’ll take care of it.”

He nodded. Then, shaking off her hand, he turned and walked stiffly to the door.

She caught up with him as he stepped into the bright subtropical sunshine. The colors, the sounds of the insects and birds, the swish of the palms, the intense heat—the entire setting was as serene as it always was and seemed a cruel betrayal of the horror that had just happened.

The sky ahead of him was a scintillating Caribbean blue unmarred by clouds. He didn’t turn around to see the eastern sky behind him. He didn’t need to see the trails of dark smoke billowing from the sea only to dissipate to the palest gray and then to invisibility. As if nothing had happened. As if no one had died.

“Dennis? Dennis, we need to put you somewhere.” Victoria’s voice was low and urgent and her hand encircled his bicep in a firm, gentle grip. “I don’t want anyone to see you like this. Will you go to the bunker?”

Dennis looked down at her. She seemed so far away. So small. Her long-dark hair and pale, drawn face only seemed to draw attention to her haunting and surreal, slanted blue eyes.

It took some effort to shake his head and form the words. “No. I’ll go to my cottage.”

“No, Dennis. Let’s go to mine.” And she urged him toward the palmetto-lined path that led to the small compound of cottages.

12:30
P.M.
EDT, Saturday, October 25, 32,000 feet above the North Atlantic

Garner Blaylock looked up from the
Financial Times
and glanced at his watch.

If the bitch followed through, the world should be hearing about it now. Micki would see to that
.

There was one way to find out.

He pressed the call button. Almost instantly, the stunning flight attendant who had greeted him when he’d boarded slid open the door that closed off the crew area from the cabin and approached him. He hid a smile as he noticed that her flawless makeup was smudged; her dark eyes were red-rimmed and watery. But her tiara, that blatant symbol of the extent of Dennis Cavendish’s arrogance, remained perfectly positioned and sparkling in her carefully tousled nest of dark hair.

“Yes, Monsieur Blaylock?” she said in an accented whisper.

“Dear me, is something wrong?” he asked, feigning concern as he met her eyes.

She immediately lowered her eyes, and her full, movie-star lips quivered
for a second before she pressed them together. He watched her take a quick, deep breath and blink back fresh tears before she returned her gaze to his face.

“Just some bad news about some friends, sir. It is of no matter,” she replied, stumbling over her words.

He frowned. “Pity. How distressing for you.”

“It is of no matter,” she repeated, a little too rapidly. “I apologize, sir. Please, what can I do for you?”

“I’d like some more ice water, if I may.”

“Certainly. Right away,” she replied, and reached forward to pick up the heavy, cut-crystal tumbler from where it sat near his elbow. He allowed his eyes to linger on her voluptuous breasts, showcased magnificently by her uniform jacket’s snug fit and low neckline. Everything about her was meant to tantalize, and succeeded brilliantly.

“No.” Garner held up his hand to stop her as she began to straighten up, and she looked at him quizzically.

“Sir? Is there something else you’d like? A light snack, or perhaps some lunch?”

“A light snack would be lovely, thank you. No animal products, if you please. And, actually, I’ve changed my mind about the ice water. I’d prefer Champagne.”

She nodded. “Of course. I can offer you the Krug Clos du Mesnil 1995. I also have the Bollinger Blanc de Noirs Vieilles Vignes Françaises 1998, if you prefer.”

“I believe I’ll start with the Krug.”
After all, what better send-off for Dennis Cavendish’s sorry ass than to toast it with the most expensive Champagne he has on board?

“An excellent choice, Monsieur Blaylock. I shall bring it immediately.” Forcing a smile, she executed an elegant turn and he watched her walk back to the galley, her fine ass, snug in her skirt, swaying perfectly above long legs that balanced on hooker-height stilettos.

Garner knew he could have her if he wanted her. Perhaps later. Right now, what he wanted was to revel in yet another triumph.

Feeling deep contentment steal over him, Garner leaned back in the plush seat and smiled more widely than he had in a very long time. Turning his head toward the window, he looked past the scattered clouds, tinged with the candy colors of Europe’s early sunset, to the Atlantic Ocean, dark
blue and sparkling below him. The fish off Taino were feasting right now on an unexpected bounty, and the Earth was getting that much closer to freedom from human tyranny. Sixteen bodies closer.

1:45
P.M.,
Saturday, October 25, Bolling Air Force Base, Washington, D.C.