Frozen Fire (48 page)

“What sort of chain reaction?” Lucy asked cautiously.

Sam shrugged and picked up the top secret file folder, then smacked it with the back of his other hand. “Could be a spontaneous air burst. Or another change in the chemical composition. Hard to say. There’s no way of knowing what to expect or when to expect it. But there’s goin’ to be a lot more dead people on the ground soon.”

Without commenting, Lucy turned to Marty. “Do you have a list of the colonies that will be made available to us and their locations?”

He nodded.

“Good. E-mail it to me.” She paused. “Just out of curiosity, how big are these colonies?”

Marty adjusted his glasses. “They range from a few thousand microbes to a few million. Lab sized.”

She frowned. “How long will it take to get more if we need them?”

“Some of the bugs replicate in as few as six hours, some take longer.”

“Oh.” She looked slightly confused. “What size containers will we need to transport them?”

Sam coughed to cover up a choking laugh, and Marty looked at him.

“A few shoeboxes ought to do it. All the colonies are, Ms. Denton, are petri dishes or lab beakers containing some agar that’s been smeared with a few microbes. You make sure they’re held in an environment at the right temperature with the right amount of light, and let ’em replicate,” Sam replied. “No matter how many microbes you have in one spot, they’re too small to see with the naked eye.”

Lucy’s face didn’t change color but the way she tightened her lips and straightened her shoulders made it clear that she realized she should have known the answer to her own questions.

“Thank you, Dr. Briscoe, Dr. Collins. Please continue what you were doing,” she said stiffly, then turned to leave the room.

2:15
A.M
., Monday, October 27, Bolling Air Force Base, Washington, D.C.

Victoria had been delivered to her hotel at midnight. Now, waiting with her security detail in the lobby for a driver to pick her up to take her back to the bland building housing Lucy’s office, she was glad she had taken a shower before crawling into bed for a brief nap.

No matter how long this meeting lasted, she knew this was just the beginning of her day.

The driver was unexceptional: clean-cut, silent, and too highly trained to be ferrying even the most high-value guests around the city. Before too long she found herself back in Director Denton’s office, with Lucy’s assistant offering her a cup of coffee.

“Thanks.” Taking the mug from her, Victoria sat. Lucy was behind her desk, a phone pressed to her ear. How she managed to look so fresh when she obviously hadn’t slept was a mystery.

With an abrupt word, Lucy hung up the phone and looked straight at her. “Thanks for coming. We believe phase three of Blaylock’s plan has been put into effect.”

Victoria set her mug on the table next to her with suddenly shaking hands. “There’s nothing left on Taino to blow up.”

The barest hint of a cold smile crossed Lucy’s face. “Not Taino. Everywhere else. A computer virus has hit every major bank, heading west from Tokyo. We’ve got the North American banks on alert, but based on how it’s been spreading, the virus is already embedded and is just awaiting a timed activation.” She took a sip of her coffee. “You’re a computer security expert, aren’t you, Ms. Clark?”

“Yes.”

“Will you help us?”

“Of course.”

“Good. We want you to contact Blaylock.”

Victoria recoiled. “I thought you meant with the virus.”

Now Lucy smiled for real. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary. We know who wrote it and what it looks like. It’s been altered somewhat from what we were told it would be, but we’ve got people on it. It—”

Lucy’s voice faded as the meaning of her words sank in, and Victoria interrupted her, blood surging in anger. “You know who wrote it? You have people inside GAIA? Why didn’t you stop this?” she demanded. “How could you have let this—any of this—happen?”

Lucy recoiled in surprise for just a second, then met Victoria’s eyes with a cool expression. “Yes, we know who wrote the virus code. Yes, we have contacts inside GAIA. As far as preventing what has happened, Ms. Clark, you know as well as I do that no intelligence or security operation is airtight.”

“But you’ve let people die—”

“Ms. Clark,” Lucy replied, her words slicing through the air like a razor through flesh, “let me remind you that it was
your
government that made this possible, not mine. Obviously, had we known specifically what Blaylock was going to do, we would have prevented it. Had we known what Dennis Cavendish was doing, we would have been able to anticipate trouble. As it happens, we didn’t learn about either in time. So might I suggest that you forget about pointing fingers and focus on the issues at hand.”

Knowing Lucy was right and hating her for it, Victoria reined in her anger and gave her a brief nod.

“Thank you. As I was saying, the virus won’t melt down the world markets the way Blaylock intended it to. He’s a narcissist and a control freak, so this failure should send him closer to the edge. He may even want to vent. What I’d like you to do is find out what Blaylock wants. I’m fairly certain we can arrange a linkup. Would you talk with him?”

Her composure nearly back in place, Victoria tried not to react. “Why me?”

“First of all, he knows you, or of you.” Lucy shrugged. “He’s penetrated your very thorough and very impressive security perimeter at least twice. Once with Lieutenant Colonel Watson and once with whomever is the insider still on Taino, presumably Micki Crenshaw. Secondly, you’re a smart, attractive woman, and we know he likes smart, attractive women. And he likes to be blunt and to shock people. My impression is that you don’t shock easily, and that alone may rattle his cage a bit. He also doesn’t know you’re working with us. Are you willing?”

Before Victoria could formulate an answer, there was a quiet knock on the door and a young woman with a serious expression on her face entered the room. Without a word, she crossed to Lucy and handed her a sheet of paper, then turned and left.

As Lucy read, Victoria saw an ominous expression ripple over her face. A muscle in her cheek flexed rapidly.

Setting the paper face down on her desk, Lucy got to her feet abruptly. “Circumstances have changed. I won’t need to put you in contact with Garner Blaylock. Please excuse me, Ms. Clark.”

It took a few seconds for Victoria to register that she was being dismissed.

“Of course. I’ll be in the conference room,” Victoria said hurriedly as she rose to her feet and left the room.

That son of a bitch. If he were in front of me now, I’d kill him. Slowly. Viciously. With pleasure
.

Livid, Lucy watched the door close behind a wary Victoria Clark. The instant she was alone, she picked up her phone with shaking hands and called Tom.

“Where are you?” she demanded when he answered.

Typically, he displayed no surprise. “In my office.”

“I need some air,” she said. “Meet me at the elevators.”

She hung up without waiting for his reply.

Tom arrived at the elevator lobby at the same time she did and they rode in silence to the ground floor. Under the watchful gaze of the MP at the security desk, they swiped their smart cards and exited the rear of the building at street level.

The night was beautiful, chilly and clear with a breeze strong enough to blow the cobwebs out of her head. But it still took ten minutes of walking briskly along the frosty, artificially bright streets of the base until Lucy considered her thoughts coherent enough to try to put them into words.

Slipping her hand around Tom’s arm, she tugged him in the direction of the razor-wire-topped fence that ran along the bank of the Potomac. Lucy stopped near the fence, right at the edge of the parking lot, and stared at the dark water.

Reagan National Airport lay on the opposite bank and the runway lights and ground traffic sent red, white, and blue light strobing into the night, sparkling off the water. It was a sight she’d always enjoyed, but tonight that patriotic glitter seemed to taunt her with a bitter irony as she considered what she was about to do.

Lucy let go of Tom’s arm and wrapped her arms around herself, glad and not at all surprised that Tom remained silent while her rationality wrestled with her gut instinct. After a long silence, so long that she was shivering in the damp wind and her teeth were chattering, she turned to him and met his eyes.

“How long have we known each other?” she asked.

“I believe that’s classified,” he replied lightly.

She couldn’t help but flash a rare, genuine smile before she glanced away. “We’ve been through a lot.”

“That we have.”

“Are we friends?”

“Hardly.”

She gave a silent laugh, then took a deep breath. “This job, the DNI—it should have been yours.”

“I wouldn’t have taken it. You’re the warm, fuzzy, people person, not me,” Tom said, pushing his hands into his trouser pockets and glancing out over the water.

Lucy stared at the water, letting another silence grow before she continued speaking.

“So in your esteemed opinion, have I lost my edge? Am I getting weak?” she whispered, her voice brittle and quavering with real emotion for the first time in decades.

“No.”

The speed and force of his reply bolstered her confidence and she brought her gaze back to his. Tom’s eyes were cool, his expression neutral. His hands hung loosely at his sides, fingers half curled, as if he were bracing for a fight.

It was exactly what she needed from him.

“Your report said Blaylock was holed up in a villa in Algeria. Outside Annaba. Didn’t it?” Lucy asked.

“Yes.”

She nodded and took a mea sured breath. “I just received word that the body of one of our covert officers was found about two hours ago propped against an outside wall of the police headquarters in Annaba. She hadn’t been dead long. Less than an hour, they figure.” She swallowed hard and heard Tom swear under his breath. “She’d been raped, beaten, and severely mutilated. Among other things, GAIA’s logo was carved into her face.” She stopped again and took a deep breath. “Her cover was Bridget Malloy. Was she one of the—”

“She was the one who was the closest to Blaylock,” Tom said, interrupting her. “She wrote the code for the virus.”

“How long was she with us?”

“Five years. She was very good.”

Lucy nodded once, swallowed hard again, and waited until she felt a familiar coldness that had nothing to do with the weather sweep through her. She straightened her back and met Tom’s eyes.

“I understand the full consequences of what I’m about to say, and I want to assure you that you are in no way obligated to carry out this mission or assist in its execution in any way.” She paused. “I want Garner Blaylock dead,” she said in a voice that was barely audible but powerful despite that. She watched Tom’s eyes, aching at the knowledge that the order she’d just given had changed their relationship—as close and as strange as it was—forever.

Tom said nothing for the space of several heartbeats.

“Lucy,” he began.

“Save your breath,” she said, stopping him with a look. “I know the arguments. I know the consequences. It could cost me my job. It probably just cost me what’s left of my soul, if I ever had one. I don’t care. That kid didn’t deserve what happened to her. Neither has anyone else he’s hurt or killed. He’s evil and he’s been around too long. He needs to be gone.”

After a short pause, Tom nodded.

“I don’t want it painless and I don’t want it pretty, but I want it done fast,” she added.

“Understood.”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes and Lucy knew that they both understood that she had cracked under pressure. She’d crossed the line that a true professional never crossed: She’d made a decision based on emotion rather than circumstances.

She’d made it personal.

3:30
A.M.,
Monday, October 27, Taino

Dennis had sat for hours throughout the night, pinging the night sky in what he’d known from the start was probably a vain hope of establishing a link with the satellite Micki had targeted. The battery on the ground unit had eventually died and, with it, his last hope of contacting the outside world to let someone know what was happening on Taino. He was sure the world was already aware of a lot of it.

There were experts who would put two and two together. And Victoria was out there—who knew how much loyalty she could be expected to maintain if things were getting bad. She’d never given up her U.S. citizenship; they could have her in custody and he knew her well enough to know
that she wouldn’t take a bullet for anyone. Especially him, after he’d called her a traitor.

Before he’d made the decision to go ahead with the mining operation, he’d had environmental impact studies done for every possible scenario, even this one. Dennis had read them all, assessed the risks, and then went ahead and took some of those risks. And now he was facing the greatest one of all, the one that he’d always thought had the lowest chance of happening.

He knew that the dennisium would make the methane gas hug the surface of the water and the land, and that it would travel as far as the wind would take it, dissipating slowly. The wind had picked up over the last few hours. With any luck, the rising wind would diffuse the gas to the point where it wouldn’t kill people, but that wouldn’t take it out of the atmosphere, and that’s where the real problem lay for the future.

Dennis knew that the destruction of his dream had sent a huge amount of methane into an anthropogenically altered atmosphere that was already in flux. When the methane bubbling out of his pipeline eventually began to pool at the poles, the gas would start to function as a giant two-way mirror. The sun’s ultraviolet rays would pass through the layer of gas and warm the earth’s atmosphere. At the same time, the gas would trap the heat rising from the earth’s surface the way a window traps heat in a house. Heat would continue to collect, measurably diminishing the planet’s ability to cool itself. In real time.

The oceans would warm and become diluted with the increasing fresh-water runoff from melting glaciers and sea ice. Global circulation patterns, which relied on both temperature and salinity differentials to keep going, would slow.