While Justice Sleeps(95)

“No can do. She’s in full defense mode now. Determined to prove Justice Wynn didn’t make a mistake with her.”

“How does she plan to accomplish that?”

“I don’t know. We’re not friends, but I can read the signs. She’s got an idea. She’ll let us know when she’s ready.”

Vance’s splayed fingers curled against his will. Agent Lee knew more than he was telling, and, from the tone, Lee relished the imbalance. A curse bubbled in his throat, along with the urge to shout at Lee about how far above his pay grade he was playing.

But Lee had obviously staked out a position in favor of the enemy. So be it. He wouldn’t be the first to be seduced by the appearance of innocence. Somehow, he’d find nobility in Avery’s efforts. Perhaps try to intercede.

    Adding a federal agent to his list of potential loose ends, Vance felt a twinge of remorse. Though they both worked in the same shadows, Agent Lee struck him as a man who would not understand nuance or the absolutes of national security. Lee was a domestic soldier, whereas Vance had no such luxury. The commander in chief had given him orders. Nothing meant more.

“I hope you’ll keep me apprised,” he asked Lee. “We’re all playing blind here.”

“Of course. As soon as I hear something worth repeating, you’ll know it.”





THIRTY-EIGHT


“Justice Wynn’s blood sample that you secured finally arrived,” Indira said into her phone. She flipped the covers aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The constant pain she’d learned to overlook spurted with vicious force throughout her body. She walked haltingly to the desk, where samples had been packed and sealed. “I’ll expedite testing today to determine the unknown substance from his hospital testing.”

“How long will it take?” Nigel asked impatiently.

“We should have initial results in a few hours.” Except she would not be revealing the origin of the compound. A scan of the notes Nigel had also pilfered from the hospital had already revealed what she’d suspected. Justice Wynn had ingested a pharmaceutical created by Advar and discontinued due to poor test results. Dr. Ani Ramji had access to the formulary and the side effects. They’d nicknamed it the Sleeping Beauty drug. Irreversible coma but stabilized vital signs. Forcing her voice to sound matter-of-fact, she told Nigel, “As soon as I have anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

“What about loose ends on your side?”

“There are none,” Indira temporized.

“There are always loose ends,” Nigel warned. “Trick is to find them first. Do you have any documents I haven’t seen? Anything damning?”

“I told you, we’re clean.”

“I don’t believe you,” Nigel retorted flatly. “What are you holding back?”

“I suppose you’ve been completely forthcoming about the beds GenWorks has slept in?” Indira challenged instead of answering.

    “I’m not trying to burn you.”

“What happened with Hygeia before we bought it is not the issue, Nigel. We’ve discussed this.” She’d filled him in on many of the details when Stokes made his first move. Still, she’d trust only so far. “I haven’t questioned all you’ve done on your side of the ledger sheet.”

Nigel rocked slowly. “The president wasn’t pleased with my press conference. I’m booked on Colbert for tonight’s broadcast.”

“Don’t overdo it, Nigel,” Indira cautioned. “We want Stokes on the defensive, not the warpath.”

“I know what I’m doing.” He’d take the fight to Stokes and score points in the bargain. “Oh, and Indira?”

“Yes?”

“You should consider a visit. Soon.”

“I will.”

Nigel hung up the phone, vaguely disturbed. Indira was holding out on him. About what, he wasn’t sure, but he knew her too well. What was he missing?

“Mr. Cooper?”

Nigel glanced up at his assistant and away from the streaming headlines on the screen. Images of the woman he’d hoped would be his salvation flashed on the screen, accompanied by still shots of a bedraggled creature identified as her mother. Avery Keene’s tenuous hold on Justice Wynn’s life got shakier by the day. Frustration swept through him, and he growled, “What?”

“A package arrived for you,” his assistant explained tentatively. “I would have opened it, but it’s from the Department of Homeland Security.” She entered the room, carrying a brown box swathed in tape and red stamps. “The instructions say it’s for the recipient only.”

Nigel stood and reached over the desk. “Thanks, Merian.” He fairly snatched the box away, eager for her to leave the room. As soon as his door shut behind her, he strode over to the reclaimed antique oak table in the corner of his spacious office. Papers sat in tidy stacks, which he ignored in favor of this newest prize.

He set the box down carefully and returned briefly to his desk for a letter opener. Swiftly, he slit through the tape and safety seal. The box opened with gratifying ease, and he pulled back the flaps.

A letter lay on top, the words scrawled by hand rather than by machine.

    Dear Mr. Cooper,