Frozen Fire (17 page)

“I understand that, sir. But I was told to convey to you that it’s urgent,” she added softly, her eyes flicking between her boss and her boss’s boss.

“Gemma, please tell the secretary that
I
will return her call when my current meeting ends,” Victoria interjected smoothly, pleased that Hurricane Dennis was regaining some force, if only in fits and starts.

Gemma nodded and shut the door, leaving them alone once again.

Dennis watched the door as it closed. “I’m sure the old tart is frothing at the mouth because we won’t let them in.”

“No doubt. And she’s not the only one. The British have a carrier group doing exercises in the Central Atlantic and have offered assistance.”

“Well, they can just bugger off, as they’re so fond of saying.” He let out
a hard breath and closed his eyes. “I need to go on television, Vic, and let them know they missed.”

“I know. And you will. Just not now.”

“I want to tell them that they killed close friends of mine, Vic. And that I won’t forget that.”

“Unfortunately, you’re not allowed to have friends at a time like this. You have to think beyond that,” she said coldly.

“The world financial markets will be in chaos by the opening bell Monday and dozens, if not hundreds, of companies are already. And you want me to hide in my tree house and flip off the world.” He glared at her. “I need to get my presidential ass out there for the world to see.”

She gave him the hardest look he’d ever gotten from her. “I’m glad you’re back from the edge, Dennis, but if your presidential ass is known to be intact, we may lose our best chance at finding out who did this. I want you to stay here and stay out of sight.” She paused. “I’ve decided to send Micki up to Washington. I think it will be better for everyone if she’s up there. That way Charlie will have someone—”

“Fuck that.” He glared back at her. “Micki is a pain in the ass. She can’t think and talk at the same time. I’m not going to have her talking to anyone who matters. You go up there. She can handle things here for a day or two. That way she can’t screw anything up. You’ve got everything locked down, anyway. You go.”

Victoria’s eyes widened. “I can’t go.
I
need to be here.”

“No you don’t,” Dennis stated. “I’m here. You just tell Micki what to do and she can run things. We’re not going to have any answers for at least twenty-four hours anyway. The crews on the water have their orders and the security is tighter than it’s ever been. It will be okay.”

“But—”

“Why are you arguing? That was an order.”

Speechless at the imperiousness of his tone, Victoria could only stare at him, his set jaw, his furious eyes. Her mind was frozen with the thought that her belief in Dennis all these years might have been misplaced, that Micki might actually be right.

She nodded, feeling almost sick to her stomach. “I’ll have Gemma get it organized right away. If it’s all right with you, I’ll return that call to the secretary of state.”

4:45
P.M
., Saturday, October 25, Gainesville, Florida

The phone rang and Sam immediately lowered the television’s volume as
CYNTHIA DAVISON
appeared on the pop-up banner shadowing the Georgia Tech sidelines. “Hey, darlin’.”

“Hi.” Her voice betrayed her excitement.

“What’s up? You on the boat yet?”

“We’ve been on the boat for a few hours already. We’re about thirty miles south-southeast of the tip of Miami.” Her voice dropped in a conspirator-ial rush. “Sam, guess what? I’ve already been in touch with the station and they want me to try to cover the crash. The captain is—”

“Now just hang on a minute, Cyn. What do you mean you’re goin’ to cover the crash? You can’t be anywhere near that plane crash yet.”

“Oh, sorry, Sam. I’m just really excited. No, we’re not near it. Not yet. But we will be. Soon.”

He took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. “I hate to rain on your picnic, sweetheart, but they said on the news they’re not lettin’ anyone near it. I know you were supposed to be allowed into Taino’s waters for a dive, but a friend of mine was invited down there for next week and his trip just got canceled, so I don’t think you’re goin’ to get anywhere near it. They’ve sealed the area.”

There was a pause in their conversation that let Sam know a storm was imminent. He stood up and walked toward the kitchen. Turning his back on the TV was a painful decision, because the ’Jackets were on the fifteen-yard line, but he couldn’t pay attention to Cyn
and
the game, and Cyn would kill him if she realized she was the second horse in that race. Under the circumstances.

“Well, you
are
raining on my
parade
, Sam. And we
are
heading over to Taino,” she snapped. “I mean, it’s the ocean, Sam. No one can ‘seal the area.’”

The tone in her voice was the one he hated most: her bossy, determined, just-watch-me tone. The attitude that went with it had propelled her to the level of senior producer in a growing market in just a few years, and Sam was sure it would end up causing her big trouble one day. Maybe today.

“The crash site is inside Taino’s territorial waters, Cyn, and they’re not lettin’ anyone in. They’re not even lettin’ coast guard or navy rescue teams in. It’s all over the news. You’re not goin’ to get in there, darlin’,” he insisted. “Just back off. Head over to one of the Bahama islands. Just enjoy your vacation.”

“
Back off?
Are you crazy? We’ve already been granted permission to get into the area,” she hissed.

“That was before the accident. Taino’s security force is out in spades, darlin’, and I don’t care if y’all are hanging off the masts in your bikinis and passin’ out piña coladas, y’all are not goin’ to get past those guys. Those Taino people aren’t even lettin’ helicopters cross their airspace, for cryin’ out loud. CNN and FOX are talking about tryin’ to get live satellite footage from the military or NOAA. Cyn, darlin’, you won’t get in,” he repeated.

Her pause was ominous, and when she spoke, her voice was cold. “I’m sorry I called.”

Hell’s bells
. Sam took a deep breath.

“Cyn, don’t be like that,” he said, his easy voice belying the effort it took to make it that way. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble or get hurt. Taino’s security guys aren’t a bunch of retiree rent-a-cops. CNN is saying they’re all former SEALs, with a few candy-asses from the Mossad in the mix for good mea sure.”

“Oh, get real. You know what their day-to-day job is? They zip around on Wave Runners keeping sailboats away from a bunch of fish and a few coral reefs,” she snapped. “Taino doesn’t have a navy. That ‘private security force’ is a collection of burned-out surfers armed with bullhorns and spotlights. They won’t bother us. We’re on a clipper cruise. We’re tourists.”

“Well, the rest of your girlfriends might be, but you just told me that you’re the press now, and if I know you as well as I think I do, you took your cameras with you, with all those fancy lenses. They’ll know what you’re up to, Cyn.”

“As far as they’re concerned, we’re harmless. And we’re
expected
.”

Sam rolled his eyes again at her bullheadedness, and knew it was ridiculous to argue further, especially at international cell phone rates. “Whatever you say, Cyn. How was your flight?”

“Fine,” she replied. “Having a great time. Wish you were here.”

He winced at the acid in her tone. “Sounds like it. Well, darlin’, call me again when you’ve had your adventures on the high seas. Tell me where to wire the bail money.”

“Not funny.” A short pause was followed by a heavy sigh. “I don’t want to hang up mad at you, Sam.”

“I know. That’s ’cause you love me and you can’t wait to marry me. So just say you’re sorry and promise me you won’t do anything stupid. Call me a wuss, darlin’, but I don’t want you telling our grandchildren any stories about the time silly ol’ granny got harpooned by a cop on a Jet Ski.”

Another short pause ensued. “I have to go now. Bye, Sam.”

“I love you, Cyn.”

He waited until he heard the click that disconnected the call, then, shaking his head with annoyance, he placed the handset in its dock and walked out to his pool to do a few dozen laps. It was a nationally televised game. He’d be back on the couch before the fourth quarter started.

4:45
P.M
., Saturday, October 25, Taino

Fresh from seeing Victoria take off in one of the Gulfstreams, Micki parked her golf cart outside the small, low-slung building that housed the security group and went straight to her office. Shutting the door, she walked to her desk, brought up her secure e-mail, and created a new message to an internal address. With all communications to the outside world shut down except for their one ultrasecure link, she knew every incoming and outgoing message was being scrutinized by several levels of her staff. There was no point in trying to send a message to any address that didn’t end in Taino’s identifier; it would never make it past the perimeter she and Victoria had so carefully set up.

On the address line, Micki hurriedly typed the in-house e-mail alias she’d set up for Garner months ago, and then put
Thanks!
in the message line. Moving to the text area, she began typing rapidly.

Hi

Thanks for your message. Everyone on the island is okay. Devastated but pulling ourselves together.

Dennis was supposed to be on the plane, but thankfully wasn’t. Swamped right now—VC is on her way to DC and will be back tomorrow.

I hope you are okay.

I’ll be in touch.

Micki

The message would be read by someone on her staff, but she knew nobody would pay too much attention to it. After all, the message was innocuous, it was being sent to an internal address, and it was coming from the person who, now that Victoria was in midair, was in charge of security for the island.

Not that anyone would recognize the recipient’s name. Dennis’s reach was extensive, with small pockets of people working around the globe on various pet projects. No one but Dennis, Victoria, and Micki knew exactly who was working where or on what, so creating a ghost employee hadn’t been difficult.

The e-mail would leave Micki’s computer and almost instantly enter the mailbox for the alias account on the Washington-based network of the Climate Research Institute. That network was distinct from the one on the island, and would be functioning at a different level of security. The arrival of the message in the dummy mailbox would execute code that would hide the message from the security filters before sending it out to a series of e-mail dead-drops. The message would bounce around the world twice, arriving in Garner’s e-mail application with an untraceable return address within minutes.

Micki knew that Garner wouldn’t be pleased with what she had to say; he’d wanted Dennis dead. But the situation as it now stood had defaulted to the best possible option. Instead of having to neutralize Victoria, Micki would have to neutralize Dennis, and once she did, she’d be in control and the second phase of the operation could commence.

Micki clicked
SEND
and then sat back in her chair with a smile. It felt so good to be doing a job she could be proud of.

7:30
P.M
., Saturday, October 25, Washington, D.C.

Proudly bearing the colors and seal of The Paradise of Taino, the sleek Gulfstream G350 touched down at Reagan National Airport in Washington, D.C., and taxied to a private hangar. As she expected, Victoria was met at the foot of the jet’s steps by a member of the Taino embassy staff, U.S. Customs officials, and a small contingent of tense people who said they were from the U.S. Department of State. She knew that was unlikely. Under the circumstances, that agency’s claims would have been trumped by Homeland Security.

Victoria and the two embassy attachés who met her were ushered politely into a small conference room and invited to sit down, which she just as politely declined to do. She instructed one of the embassy staffers to accompany her small carry-on to the Customs and Immigration area and then turned her attention to the tall young woman from State, who was clearly not present by choice.

“Welcome back to the United States, Secretary Clark,” she said awkwardly.

“Thank you.”

The woman hesitated for just a moment before she got to the point.
“Secretary Clark, I’m sure you understand that the department of state and some of our other domestic agencies share your concerns regarding the crash of Flight—”

“Of course I do, Ms.—” Victoria interrupted smoothly with a slightly raised eyebrow. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s only been a few minutes, but I’ve forgotten your name.”

“It’s Elizabeth Keene, ma’am.”

Victoria slid her sunglasses off her face to make eye contact with the woman, and was gratified by the split second of startled surprise that showed itself on Elizabeth Keene’s ivory-smooth Ivy League face.

Ol’ Blue Eyes, indeed
.

With well-practiced patience, Victoria smiled faintly and gave a gentle, casual tweak to the sleeve of her black suit. It was Moschino Couture and didn’t need tweaking, but Victoria knew the movement would underscore the impression she gave of ease and composure, something the other woman was clearly lacking.

It never hurt to have interrogators off base from the start, even inept ones.

“Thank you, Ms. Keene. We’re very appreciative of President Benson’s generous offers of assistance and will certainly pass on appropriate information as we assemble it. However, at the moment, we have little to share. It’s very early in the investigation. We’re still trying to recover from the shock of seeing the plane come down and of losing so many colleagues. The Climate Research Institute is a small organization and very tightly knit.”