Joe Ledger: Code Zero Part 54

"Yes."

"Then f.u.c.king say something."

"What do you want me to say? We've always known that we come at this from two different places. What are you trying to do here? Try and convert me? It's never been about politics for me, so let's not pretend that I give a wet fart about it. Yours or anyone's."

"I can't believe that," he said with a gentleness that surprised even him. He lay back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. "No matter what else you are, Bliss, you're an American. Maybe not by birth, but America gave you everything you have, everything you-"

"Don't even try," she interrupted. "You're going to give me that same tired old speech about how someone of my intellect would never have been allowed to shine if I'd grown up in China. How, as a woman, I'd never be given rank or status. Well, here's the newsflash, honey, I didn't get a lot of that here, either. I worked my a.s.s off for America. I helped save the country from one threat after another, and if it wasn't for me, half of the DMS operations would have failed in whole or part. That means I saved millions of lives, Bill. Millions."

"I know and-"

"Let me finish," she snapped. "You always cut me off, you always think I'm just ranting. I let you go on and on about your New American Revolution, and you say I don't understand you. Well, now it's time for you to try to understand me. I put the best years of my life into the DMS. I even tried to work around their antiquated procedures in order to make them more efficient. And what did I get for it? I was never allowed to file patents and I was never allowed to publish. With my gifts I should have been world famous. I should have been on the cover of every magazine. When was the last time there was a superstar scientist of my caliber who wasn't an old white guy? I'm young, I'm pretty, and I deserve more than I was given. For every life I saved, for keeping the world from going to h.e.l.l, for keeping the world from f.u.c.king ending, I deserved so much more than a pat on the back and a paycheck that amounted to pocket change. And let's not forget that I was fired and arrested because I was helping you. If you hadn't insisted on trying to take down the DMS I would never have been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. I literally gave my life for you. Artemisia Bliss died for you and your American dream. Mother Night won't make that kind of mistake, Bill. Not for you and not for anyone. America has let me down too many times. Now it's time for me to get what I deserve. And everything I deserve."

It was such a surreal thing for Collins to hear this pa.s.sionate rant spoken in his mother's voice. He closed his eyes and rested the icy whiskey gla.s.s on his forehead.

Into the crushing silence, he said, "I hear you."

"Do you?" she asked harshly.

"Yes," he said, "I really do. And, no matter what else you think, please believe that I honestly want that for you. I want you to have all the things you deserve."

His words seemed to throw her, because the next thing she said was "Look, Bill ... about the anthrax. I knew it would never get anywhere near you. I thought it would help you, help reinforce you as a victim of this. Maybe point a finger at the presidency. Him as bad guy, you as one of the many Americans enduring the terrorist attacks, et cetera. You know?"

"It was clumsy."

"Was it? It worked, didn't it? People are glad you're alive. They see you as one of the targets of the wave of violence. That put you solidly into the good-guy category."

"Sure, sure," he said, sitting up so he could finish his drink. "Nicest present anyone ever gave me."

She laughed. A little too quickly, showing nerves and uncertainty. He made himself laugh, too.

"Seriously, Bliss, I appreciate the gesture. Really. As weird as it sounds right now, it's nice to know you have my health and well-being so much in mind."

"Always, big guy."

He sighed, long and slow. "You know ... I'll miss you, you crazy b.i.t.c.h."

"We'll see each other again."

"Sure," he snorted. "In like two years if I don't run for the big chair. Longer if I get in. Probably never."

"We'll see each other."

"Even if we do, you won't even look the same."

She chuckled. Low and throaty, the way she used to. "Depends on how closely you look."

"d.a.m.n. Wish it was now. Where are you holed up?"

"C'mon, you know we can't play that game."

"Right, sorry. Guess I meant to say, 'What are you wearing?'"

She laughed again. A real laugh. "Trite and sleazy, but cute. I'm wearing a big smile, how's that?"

"Good enough. Keep smiling."

"Bill...?"

"Yeah?"

"I hope you get what you deserve, too."

The line went dead, and Collins slumped back against the cushions and did not move for ten minutes. Then he sighed once more and punched in a number on his cell. The call was answered almost at once, as he expected it would be.

"Yes," said a male voice. Neutral, soft.

"Did you trace the call?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

The man gave him an address.

"How soon can you take care of this?"

"Local a.s.sets are already in motion."

"Call me when it's done."

Collins switched off the phone and got up to build one more drink. On the TV, reporters were interviewing people who wanted the president to be impeached and arrested for the subway ma.s.sacre. A scrolling banner promised that the president would address the nation at one o'clock in the afternoon. Collins could imagine the roomful of speechwriters and spin doctors trying to make sense of the situation enough to be able to draft a speech that didn't sound like the patronizing horses.h.i.t it would have to be.

He walked over to the window and looked out at the morning sky. A Secret Service agent noticed him and turned to give him a nod. Collins saluted with his whiskey gla.s.s and continued to stare out at the endless blue sky.

"Goodbye, you crazy b.i.t.c.h," he murmured.

The words were mean, but his tone was filled with love and regret.

Chapter Ninety-two.

Westin Hotel Atlanta, Georgia Sunday, September 1, 11:22 a.m.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her cell phone.

The call to Bill Collins had been strange. She'd expected him to appreciate the anthrax ploy. It was just the sort of thing that he needed to separate him from the president. A victim, standing with the other victims in an America under a.s.sault. While at the same time the president, whether deemed innocent or guilty in the court of public opinion, would forever be seen as the man who reacted wrongly, with too much power and a total disregard for human life. She was sure that no amount of spin control could repair that kind of damage.

Thinking about that made her feel immensely powerful. It drove back the monsters of doubt that kept trying to nip at her. It drove nails into the slinking remnants of her conscience that kept trying to crawl after her long past the point where it should be dead.

Ledger had been wrong about that. So had Riggs. Conscience couldn't easily be carved out and strangled into silence. It was a persistent little b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Only power-more power-kept it at bay.

Her thoughts, however, kept drifting back to Collins.

Was there something in his voice?

She was sure there was. But what was it?

Bliss trusted him a great deal. After all, he had engineered her false death and escape from prison. That had been all him, and it must have been a difficult and necessarily dangerous operation.

Which meant that he had to care enough about her-love her enough-to take such a risk.

So what was that in his voice?

She opened a can of Diet c.o.ke and sipped it. CNN was on the TV and AP on her laptop. The country was going nicely out of its G.o.dd.a.m.n mind. It was close to chaos out there. More bombs went off. The last doses of the quick-onset Ebola were released in a cab filled with j.a.panese businessmen-let the State Department make something out of that. They'd have to a.s.sume it was Chinese agents acting on American soil. The last wave of random street attacks was pushing police and other first responders to the outside edge of operational efficiency. Just a couple more pushes and it would be chaos in point of fact.

Her cell rang, and she answered it on the first ring.

"h.e.l.lo, Ludo," she said, smiling.

"h.e.l.lo, Mother."

"Are you in position?"

"Yes."

"Is this going to be a problem?"

"Nope."

"Good. I'll text you with a go code. You remember which is which?"

"Yes, Mother. One is go, two is execute, and three is drop and run."

"Very good. You deserve a biscuit."

"Thanks."

"And, Ludo-"

"Yes."

"I don't want a bullet for this one."

"Oh."

"Something was left in the safe in your room. Use that."

"Okey-dokey."

"Ludo, for Christ's sake stop saying okey-dokey. We're master criminals. We're supervillains. Can't you for come up with something that doesn't sound like we're a couple of hicks?"

"Yes, Your Exalted Evilness. How's that? Or should I call you Dark Lady?"

Mother Night sighed. "Take your meds and stay by the phone."

She disconnected the call.

Between the bittersweet call to Bill Collins and the surreal call to Ludo, Mother Night felt odd and lonely. Tears burned in the corners of her eyes.

A voice whispered into her ear. The ghost of a voice.

Walk away.

"No," she told the voice. It was her old unevolved self. The voice of Artemisia Bliss. The weak self. The old self. Though now that voice sounded strangely firm and powerful.

You can do it. You have enough money. The bank transfers cleared. You're richer than you ever dreamed. You have the power. Take it and go.

It was true in a way. The bank transfers had cleared and she'd transferred the funds again and again, filtering them through dozens of accounts she'd set up over the last few months. The buyer, North Korea, was being buried under a landslide of political backlash and would probably never recover. And even if the Koreans hadn't been such suckers it wasn't like she would have had to deliver anything. Everything was bulls.h.i.t.

She could run.

Right now. Just up and go and never look back.

It was so tempting.

And yet ...

"No."

If you stay here they'll catch you, warned Bliss.

And there it was. Like a flash; like a switch being thrown. As shocking as a bucket of cold water in the face.

They will catch you.

They.

Aunt Sallie. Mr. Church. Bug. Dr. Hu.

They.