While Justice Sleeps(113)
“Sir,” Vance tried again. “A press conference would be ill-advised.”
Stokes glowered across the room. “Why? Because I thought of it?”
“It is a brilliant suggestion were we not trying to keep the spotlight off you,” Vance corrected smoothly. The resignation solution, which had seemed inspired last night, had begun to worry him. He’d prefer a handoff in the privacy of the Oval Office, not a media spectacle that provided B-roll for the news cameras to play later. Couching his opposition as strategy, he explained, “Hold a press conference, and you give the girl a chance to plead for her mother’s safe return or some heartstring crap that will undercut your message.”
Stokes wasn’t impressed. Flicking a hand, he instructed, “Then you’ll call and tell her not to breathe a word until she gets her crack whore safely in her arms again.”
* * *
—
Avery dressed carefully for the press conference. Word had come minutes past noon. Bring the letter of resignation, witnessed and notarized, to the White House at three p.m. Noah’s assistant had come over to stamp and seal the simple five-line statement.
They’d continued their performance the entire time, speaking in hushed tones of grief and dismay at the end of an era. Avery smoothed the slim black skirt, dusted on powder at her cheeks. Performing, like hustling, was one of Rita’s tools, but Avery had learned well.
Ready for Act II, she exited the bathroom and motioned to Jared. He jammed the frequency, and she made a new call.
“Nigel Cooper.”
“Avery Keene.”
“Ah, the famous woman herself.” In North Carolina, Nigel motioned to Indira, who crossed to his desk. He engaged the speaker on his phone. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“I need to speak with you.”
“Why?”
“To give you what you want.”
“We want our merger to succeed. Can you deliver that?”
“Come to DC, and I’ll tell you how.” Avery waited a beat, then added, “I’ll require Dr. Srinivasan as well.”
He didn’t ask how she knew Indira’s role, but Avery had proven herself quite adept at unraveling mysteries. “By when?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“That’s impossible,” Nigel hedged. “She’s in India.”
“You’re rich. Figure it out.”
Nigel read Indira’s look of refusal. “I can’t do that,” he said. “We can’t risk that kind of exposure until the Court rules.”
“I’m not negotiating. I’ll expect to see you and Dr. Srinivasan in DC tomorrow. The St. Regis hotel. I’ll meet you at seven a.m.”
“And if we don’t comply?”
“Watch the news today, Mr. Cooper. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Avery ended the call, and Jared prepped his tracking program. The jammer cycled off, and when he nodded, she said, “Noah, I’m having second thoughts. How do we know he’ll deliver my mother like he promised? Once I turn over the letter, that’s it. We’re screwed.”
“You don’t have a choice. Without this resignation, they’ll kill her. You’ve done everything you can.”
“I can’t do it.” She let her voice rise, the pitch thready and sharp. “I can’t trade them both without knowing for sure. Call the White House. Tell them I’m having second thoughts. I’ll get Agent Lee and tell him everything. Maybe he can help us find Rita.”
“Avery—”
The jangle of her phone came instantly. “Avery Keene.”
“Ms. Keene, this is the man who has your mother.”
The voice modulator engaged, Phillips wiped at his brow, the sultry heat of the early summer heightened by the confines of the warehouse. At Vance’s orders, he’d been cooped up inside all day with the whimpering, jonesing Rita. Nothing, he decided, was worse than a terrified junkie going through the DTs. He’d amused himself by monitoring the chatter inside the Keene apartment, lucky for Vance. Hearing Avery’s threat to call the FBI had propelled him into action. “We wanted to make sure you were going to keep your promise about today.”
Avery cut a look to Jared, who rolled his finger in a loop, cautioning her to draw out the conversation. On the screen, she could see a red dot and thin red circles fluttering in a pattern. A perimeter for the location of the call. With their earlier data and his military-grade equipment, Jared had targeted signals coming from southern DC. All he needed was another minute, and he’d have a location.
“I spoke with the president,” Avery told the man, whose cadence sounded slightly off. This wasn’t Vance. “But I have to know how I’ll get Rita back. When will you release her?”
“As soon as President Stokes announces that Justice Wynn no longer sits on the Court, we’ll release her.”
“That’s not good enough,” Avery protested. “She’ll be sick. Disoriented.”
“Excuse me?”
“Unless you’ve been supplying her, she’s coming down hard.” If the past was any guide, the combination of anxiety and forced sobriety would cripple Rita. “I want to come and get her.”