by Vicki Hinze
“Not without a public constitutional challenge.”
Max looked at the veep. The operative word in that explanation was public. Exposure was the last thing they wanted. “So Elizabeth Powell won by default.”
“And gauging by her objection, Judge Powell apparently had some suspicions of his own,” Westford added.
The commander nodded. “Gabby says Powell didn’t know which authorities could be trusted so he told Elizabeth to trust none of them.”
Sybil touched the tip of her finger to her temple. “If she doesn’t have the specimens and the overt agencies can’t get authorization, then how is Gabby doing the tests?”
Conlee looked down his nose at her, his chin dipped to his chest. “Elizabeth gave the specimens to Gabby personally. We suppose, because Gabby worked for Judge Powell, but it wasn’t due to blind trust. Elizabeth and a few female friends in Carnel Cove ran a respectable background check on Gabby,” Conlee said, offering rare praise. “Fortunately, we were prepared with her cover. When they were finally convinced that Gabby was trustworthy, Elizabeth approached Gabby about the specimens and her suspicions. She demanded Gabby’s solemn oath that she would tell Elizabeth the truth about the results and give her access to them. Gabby agreed because frankly that’s the only way we could get the specimens and test them.”
Max mulled that over. “Maybe these Carnel Cove women are tied to the corruption cases. They have influence with Elizabeth Powell and investigative skills. Hell, they could have hired the Global Warriors to take out Gabby.”
Conlee’s eyes shone, but not with suspicion; the commander was clearly amused. “We’ve been watching the ladies of Carnel Cove for a long time on other matters, and we’ve run extensive security checks. They’re safe.”
Surprised, Max wasn’t sure what to make of that. Conlee rarely deemed anyone outside of the unit safe, and that included former Oversight chairmen.
Westford frowned. “So this superbug first appears in February, and it shows up twice. Multiple testing attacks?”
The thought alone chilled Max’s blood, but it was highly possible. “The timing between the New York elevator attack and Powell’s death can’t be coincidental.” Staggering implications. “If the February attacks were the testing phase, it’s feasible that the Z-4027 has already hit the black market. That could explain the rash of Independence Day contaminations.”
“Good God, I hope not,” the Vice President said, swiping her hair back from her face. “Reasonable speculation but not proof, Agent Grayson.” She looked back to Conlee. “We don’t have proof of that, do we?”
“Not conclusive proof, ma’am. Not at this time.”
“Okay, then. We go on what we’ve got.” Sybil turned the topic back to her situation, eager to determine Gabby’s status. “What about Judge Abernathy’s personal contacts? Or following his money?”
Conlee answered. “He’s had no interaction with known or suspected Warriors and no irregular, traceable financial transactions.”
“So why are we here?” The veep’s patience gave out. “What’s wrong with Gabby?”
Max heard the fear in her voice, and saw Westford reach beneath the table for her hand. This was going to be bad. If what Max suspected would happen did happen, whether or not she granted her consensus, the veep would never again look at Max without hatred in her eyes.
Conlee sipped from a steaming cup of coffee at his elbow, then met her gaze head-on. “About an hour ago, Gabby contacted us through a remote viewer we installed in Logan Industries’ lab in Carnel Cove, Florida.”
If memory served Max, Logan Industries was a research firm currently working on a couple of Department of Defense biological contracts.
“Is she hurt?” Sybil asked in a hollow, wooden voice.
“No.” Conlee shoved his coffee cup away. “But she asked me to activate Max immediately—provided he has the guts to extract or cancel her. She placed elimination odds at ninety percent, ma’am.”
A sharp breath lifted Sybil’s chest. She smoothed her hair back from her face and shifted on her seat, struggling to temper her reaction.
Westford glanced from Conlee to Max, then back to Conlee. They all were clear on what this activation meant. “Did she say why?”
“Her report was interrupted. I suspect she’s discovered a connection between Powell’s death and the other Z-4027 incident. And I further suspect she’s somehow tied them both to Global Warriors. That’s speculation, but she’s believed it for a long time, and the Warriors have marked her as a target.”
Due to the veep’s personal relationship with Gabby, Conlee was tiptoeing, trying to let her digest the gravity of the situation in bits. But Max needed hard data fast. If Gabby had requested backup, she needed it yesterday. Only an act of Congress or a monumental crisis could convince her to ask for his help. “I’d like to review the tape.”
“Sorry.” Conlee gave Max a negative nod. “She’s classified it, my eyes only.”
“How can I help her if I’m not briefed?”
“You’ll be told all you need to know.”
Max’s stomach dropped into a sour pit.
Westford scratched at his temple. “If Gabby’s cover is as a judge, how the hell did she get access to a medical research lab to get to the remote viewer?”
“Her neighbor, Candace Burke, is Logan Industries’ major shareholder,” Conlee said. “Strictly a figurehead. She’s a financial whiz. Not into research. But she keeps an office there and she provided the access—according to Gabby—no questions asked, no explanations given.”
“Candace must be friends with Elizabeth,” the veep said.
Conlee nodded. “She wasn’t the primary investigator in their group when they checked out Gabby—that honor went to a computer whiz who works for Candace, Miranda Coffield—but Candace was involved and, yes, they’re all friends.”
“That explains lab access, then,” the veep said, seeming completely satisfied that the rationale was logical and sound.
Max wasn’t buying it. This group of women had to know Gabby was more than a judge for Candace to give her unfettered lab access. With the bio contracts being handled there, Candace had to know the security breach carried penalties too steep for a friend to do a friend a favor. She could be looking at charges of treason and life at Leavenworth, for Christ’s sake.
He looked over at the commander, whose stoic expression said he wasn’t buying the unfettered, unquestioned access either, and he intended to order Max to cancel Gabby, which was indeed why the veep and Westford were here. No doubt about it, this was a consensus briefing. Professionally and personally, Conlee wanted the veep to sign off on the kill order before he ordered Max to execute it.
He leaned back in his chair, grateful that he wasn’t standing in the commander’s shoes. Killing Gabby was bad enough. Having to ask her surrogate sister to authorize it had to be hell.
Conlee looked straight at the veep. “You know what we have to do, ma’am.”
She stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous, Commander.”
“Gabby gave herself ninety percent elimination odds,” Westford said. “Ninety percent.”
“No!” The veep’s face turned the color of paste. “For God’s sake, she’s one of us.”
“Yes, Sybil, she is.” Westford kept his voice calm, his tone firm, and looked straight into her eyes. “And she knows best. We have to trust her judgment.”
“Ma’am,” Conlee said softly, leaning toward her over his yellow pad on the table. “I know how difficult this is for you. I’m fond of Gabby, too. Hell, I handpicked and stole her from Air Force Special Ops.” A frown creased the skin between his eyebrows. “I feel responsible for all my people, but even more so for her—because of the nature of her missions. Yet, we’ve got an entire nation depending on us to do what’s right for it. We can’t compromise—not even for Gabby. We’ve had several close brushes with the Warriors. Gabby is human and she will crack under torture. Everyone does. We can’t risk exposure. If S
DU is exposed, we lose the entire unit’s capacity to act, and we put every operative we’ve got worldwide in mortal jeopardy.”
“Killing her has to be wrong,” Sybil insisted. “She’s sacrificed so much to protect this country. This isn’t right. It can’t be right—”
“Sybil,” Westford said softly. “We’ve had to sacrifice operatives before, and we’ll have to do it again. Everyone in the unit knows the risks, including Gabby. She chose to take them because she believed what she was doing mattered more than any one individual’s life. Even if that individual life she had to sacrifice was her own. She made the call. Then and now.”
“Jonathan’s right.” Conlee pulled out his stubby cigar and mashed it between his forefinger and thumb. “If we fail to do what’s right here, then we’re going to do what’s wrong, knowing we’re probably signing death warrants on everyone in SDU and on the unit itself.” Conlee lifted a hand. “Anyone disagree? Deny it?”
Max didn’t and couldn’t. No one could.
“It’s a bitch of a call,” Conlee said. “But when we get down to brass tacks, I have no choice, Sybil, and neither do you. We took oaths. So did Gabby.”
“She’s protecting all of us.” The veep darted her gaze to Westford, her eyes too big for her face and filled with despair.
Westford didn’t cringe, and somehow he held her gaze. “Yes.”
Max’s chest went tight. He’d never been close to anyone like the veep and Gabby were, but he’d imagined what it would be like. Evidently, he’d been pretty good at imagining because what gripped his chest right now felt an awful lot like a bullet wound. Sharp, shattering pain.
For a long moment, the veep stared down at the conference table. When she lifted her head, her face looked as set and fixed and blank as a stone statue’s. Blood from her nails biting into her flesh dotted her palm. “Do it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Conlee looked to Westford. “Jonathan?”
His jaw clenched to the point of cracking, Jonathan nodded.
Conlee swiveled his gaze to Max. “Agent Grayson?”
Max wouldn’t make the call. He’d follow orders, but he wouldn’t mark his partner and friend. He didn’t have enough friends to squander the one who best understood him. Yet he couldn’t refuse to follow orders. Too many others would be compromised. “I serve at the pleasure of the United States.”
Something softened in Sybil’s face. Close to losing her composure, she pushed her chair back from the table. “If there’s nothing else, Commander?”
Recognizing the question was a formality and nothing could keep her in the conference room another minute, Conlee shook his head. “No, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
Max swallowed hard. The woman had made the call. It hadn’t been easy. But it was the right call for the country—and sad enough to rip the heart right out of a man’s chest.
He had admired the veep for some time, but never had Max understood the personal costs of her office as well as he did at that moment. The urge to do or say something comforting that acknowledged her sacrifice rammed him hard. “Madam Vice President?”
She stopped and looked back at Max, her blue eyes huge and haunted. “Yes?”
He searched past platitudes, wanting to give her something, anything, of substance. She loved Gabby. He hadn’t known love and doubted he ever would, but once in a while he thought about it, and he’d gotten a hint of what it’d be like with Gabby. What would he want to hear?
Finally, a worthy response came to him. “She won’t suffer, ma’am.”
The veep’s chin trembled and she nodded. “Thank you, Agent Grayson. One day, I know I’ll find the comfort you intended in those words.”
But not today. Today I’m losing the only family I have. My best friend.
Feeling futile, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and avoided her eyes. “I hope so.”
Westford nodded, then followed her out of the conference room.
Minutes lapsed, and neither Conlee nor Max seemed eager to fill the silence with empty words. In Max’s mind, that silence was already bulging with the pain he had seen in Sybil Stone’s eyes. If Gabby looked at him like that when the time came to kill her, God help him. He’d be haunted forever.
“She took it pretty well, considering,” Conlee said, talking about the veep. “I wish I could say I was taking it any better.” He reached for his cup, tapped its rim with his thumb, and opened up for a rare unguarded moment. “You know, Max, a commander gets stuck with a lot of duties that suck. But canceling one of his own … that’s the worst.”
“I’m sure it is, sir.” It wasn’t a picnic for a partner, either. Max blew out a breath he hoped would clear his lungs. His chest still felt like lead. Maybe he was better off, not loving or being loved by anyone else. “I take it that I’m activated.”
Conlee sent him a level look. “Can you kill her?”
“If I have to, yes, I can.” Max’s stomach soured. “I took an oath, too.”
“Then, yes, I’m activating you. Insert in Carnel Cove and cancel Agent Kincaid.”
“There’s a ten percent chance I can—”
“No, Max.” Conlee held up a hand. “This is a cancellation order. No heroics, no intercession. We can’t afford anything else. Even Gabby agrees.”
Leave it to her to make that call. The professional in him admired her; the man who was her friend wanted to box her ears. Max nodded, wishing he were anywhere else, doing anything else. That he was anyone else. “Yes, sir.”
“Fine.” Conlee cleared his throat, regained his composure. “Carnel Cove sits on the Gulf of Mexico. Darla—a Class Three hurricane—is currently hitting it hard. Nothing is flying in, power is out, and the roads are impassable due to debris and fallen trees.”
“How am I inserting?”
“A Special Ops helicopter is standing by to transport you as close to the site as possible. From there, it’s up to you.”
Max nodded, his emotions mixed. He liked Gabby. Half the time he didn’t understand her, but that was a common problem between men and women. Lust probably had something to do with it. It was hard to focus on communication when you had a clouded mind. She was beautiful but arrogant, hypercritical and adept at making him feel as useful as shoe scum, but Max couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t respect her skills or her work, or a time when he hadn’t been attracted to her and wondered what loving her and being loved by her, and making love with her, would be like.
He hated the thought of canceling any other operative, much less his partner—despite the fact that she didn’t want to be his partner. But he particularly hated this order. Gabby mattered to him and it didn’t take much imagination to see that any operative could be wearing her shoes.
But Gabby had had the guts to make the call.
And Max had to have the guts to answer it.
“I’m sorry as hell about this, Max,” Conlee said. “You’re closer to Gabby than anyone else in the unit.”
With the exception of Westford, Max was. But being engaged to the veep had taken Westford out of the running on this assignment. Love pulled off miracles, but if Westford killed Gabby, it’d take more than a miracle for Sybil to ever look at him again and not see him killing her best friend. No relationship could stand that kind of strain. “Thanks, Commander.”
“Transport’s waiting.” Conlee stood up and extended his hand.
Max gained his feet and clasped it. “Yes, sir.”
Conlee tightened his grip, and dropped his voice, deep and gruff. “No pain.” His eyes looked as haunted as the veep’s. “She hasn’t been warned that I’m activating you. I doubt you’ll be able to, but if you can, blindside her.”
“No pain, Commander. You have my word on it.”
Conlee nodded, looking as if there were something more he wanted to say. Instead, he clenched his lips flat, drew back his hand, and then lowered his gaze to the floor. Obviously he needed a few moments alone.
Max understood, considered himself dismissed, and hea
ded for the transport. On the walk, he wondered. How many years would it be before he could walk back into the conference room and not think of the meeting that had just occurred? How many years would it take him to get over killing Gabby? And just how many more times in his life would he have the truth shoved in his face?
There is no justice.
Sybil sat quietly in the back of the darkened limo, her eyes filled with tears she tried hard not to shed, her heart filled with fear so strong she tasted its bitterness and fought not to throw up.
“You okay?” Jonathan asked.
She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I just took the biggest leap of faith I’ve ever taken in my entire life, and I took it with Gabby’s life. Hell, no, I’m not okay. Are you okay?”
Jonathan hadn’t missed the silent communications between Sybil and Commander Conlee in the conference room, but he couldn’t interpret them then and he had no idea what leap of faith she was talking about having taken now. Still, he understood the worry and grief and guilt that came with putting someone else at risk, deciding whether that person lived or died. And this person was Gabby. “No,” he confessed. “I’m not okay. I’m so not okay I want to beat the hell out of something.”
Blinking hard, Sybil slid closer to him on the seat, buried her head against his chest, and whispered as if speaking softly would keep the fear from growing or becoming too big for her to hold. “I’m scared, Jonathan. I’m so scared.” Her chest went tight. “If Gabby dies, I’m going to have to live with killing her the rest of my life.”
“Yes, you are. So am I.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, but didn’t do anything to shield her from the stark reality of what they’d done. That would insult her, him, and more than both of them, Gabby. She swallowed a sob.
“But we will live with it, Sybil. We’ll do what we have to do because we have a greater responsibility, beyond Gabby, and she’d be the first one to remind us—”
Jonathan paused, thinking of what Sybil had just said, and then frowned at her. “What do you mean, if Gabby dies? You just ordered her canceled.”
“Yes.” Burrowing against him, Sybil stared unseeingly out the window, her voice edged with an even more anxious whisper. “Yes, I did.”
