Lady Liberty Read Online Free Page B

Overtly Westford had been with the Secret Service on general assignments for thirteen years. Covertly he had been assigned to the nonexistent SDU for the better part of a decade. Only the best agents made it to SDU, and Westford headed the list. He was sharp, judiciously ruthless, and didn’t perform missions, he attacked them, using whatever means necessary to reach his objective. In a one-on-one conflict, he and Faust would be a close match, but Westford had a conscience and loyalties and that made him more predictable.
    Faust wasn’t troubled with either. That gave him the upper hand.
    Patch opened his car door and its hinges squeaked. When he settled inside, he lifted his digital phone. His calls were as secure as money and technology could make them, every transmission scrambled. He double-checked his rearview mirror—nothing moving—and waited for the high-pitch beep to signal that the scrambler was operational. Finally hearing it, he spoke into the receiver. “ET calling home.”
    “Go ahead, ET.”
    “Interception complete.”

Chapter Two

Wednesday, August
7 Local Time: 22:17:12
    “It’s delivered. I’m in the bar with Cramer.”
    Positioned outside the conference room, Jonathan heard Harrison’s transmission and considered it probable that Harrison was sharing a club soda with Cramer, reminding him why the rookie was lucky to still be breathing. Jonathan rubbed at his temple, stepped away from his Peris and Abdan counterparts, and deliberately lowered his voice. “Screw Cramer. Watch that waiter.”
    “He’s in the bar, sir.”
    Jonathan was glad to hear it. Until the lab results came in, he wanted an agent Super-Glued to the man. He moved back into position outside the conference room door.
    Peris’s agent slid him a knowing glance Jonathan ignored. The rapport between them had been amicable enough, though they hadn’t conversed beyond acknowledging nods. If the situation deteriorated and the needarose, killing the man would come easier if he hadn’t shown Jonathan pictures of his kids.
    Taking the at-ease stance, he laced his hands behind his back and scanned the long hallway from sculptured ceiling to marbled floor. At the north end, two women wearing hotel-staff badges stood near a potted ficus talking. Their laughter echoed down the empty corridor, grating at his ears. They had no idea how lucky they were to be unaware of what was going on in the conference room.
    Peris and Abdan were at this summit solely because they trusted Liberty. She was here solely because President Lance trusted her. None of them trusted easily, but Liberty had earned it, as well as the respect of the international community. “Say what you mean, and mean what you say” was more than her political slogan, it was her way of life. Everyone, including key reporters—with the exception of that bastard Sam Sayelle from the
Washington Herald
— recognized her as the real thing and made sure everyone knew it. At least they had before her divorce.
    Feeling a stab of guilt because he might have played a part in that divorce, Jonathan shifted his feet and his thoughts and dared to hope that she could make this summit work.
    Judging by the occasional elevated voices inside and the moods of the leaders when they surfaced, the talks had been passionate and progressive, but he’d been through this too many times to not know negotiations could turn on a dime and end either way.
    Something rustled. Cellophane. Glancing left, Jonathan watched the Abdan agent pop a peppermint into his mouth. Fifteen minutes passed. Then thirty.
    At midnight, Liberty’s personal assistant, Grace Hall, appeared at the mouth of the corridor and walked toward Jonathan. She wasn’t smiling.
    Grace was a twenty-year veteran, and regardless of what was going on, she always smiled in the presence ofoutsiders. Seeing her grim-faced now set Jonathans teeth on edge and his nerves on alert.
    She tapped at the bridge of her nose. Light from the chandelier