radar.
The phone rang. Debrah took a deep breath to settle her voice and her hands. She picked up the receiver. “Drexler.”
“Senator.” Quincy’s voice slid along the phone line like so much oil. “I hope you don’t mind a second phone call in one morning.”
“Why not,” she said, switching on her business voice, “since our first one was so pleasant.”
“I just wanted you to know that I am seriously considering your suggestion to use the media.”
“Wonderful. You look very handsome on television.”
“Oh, it won’t be me. It couldn’t be me. I’m not the one with the information.”
She felt ice form in her stomach. “I don’t understand.”
James Quincy chuckled on his end of the phone. “Senator, I’m sure you’ve heard that politics makes strange bedfellows. But didn’t they tell you you’re supposed to get those partners after you enter politics?”
He knew. Of course he knew. He’d found out, somehow. The jogger was on his payroll.
“I take it from your silence you understand me. Now, let me tell you, Senator, that time is of the essence. The vote is not far off. Barely enough time for you to influence Wayans and D’Aquino. So I suggest something direct. A press conference. An early morning press conference, so that it hits the East Coast news cycle.”
“I couldn’t—”
“Yes, you can. You can say that you and I have had several phone conversations. These are logged, of course, so people will know we’ve spoken anyway. You can say that you’re convinced the NAP Act is in the best interest of the country, which is true.”
“No.”
He laughed again. “I won’t take that as your final answer. You have”—he paused—“a little over an hour until the 7 a.m. news cycle, which would hit the East Coast before lunch, which is perfect. If I hear that you’ve made your announcement, I’ll know we have a deal. If I don’t hear anything, then the next news I hear after that will be all about you.”
The line went dead.
5:39 A . M . PST West Los Angeles
“I don’t know where your father is,” Jack protested.
Nazila pointed at the phone in his hand. “Traffic cameras. Security tapes. Satellites.”
“It doesn’t always work like that. With a time and a place, we can scan particular cameras and routes. But just to look around randomly takes days and weeks, using everyone we’ve got. Just tell me where your brother is.”
She hesitated, but this time it was not from doubt. She was shopping for a bargain. “We can make a deal,” she said. “I will take you to him if you do two things for me.”
“Only two?” he said.
“First, you have to promise that you will listen to his case. He is not a terrorist. And second, you have to promise that as soon as you find him, you will save my father before anything else.”
Now it was Jack’s turn to hesitate. He’d lied before in his job—in fact, it was often his job to lie—but something about Nazila gave him pause. He didn’t want to lie to her, even though she’d lied to him. In the military and at CTU he’d dealt with all levels of evil—from petty criminals driven by greed to psychopaths driven to fill some dark hole in their souls. He knew that the devil had power to assume a pleasing shape. But when she said her brother was not a terrorist, she spoke simply and with conviction. Whatever might lurk in her brother’s heart, hers was pure.
“I promise, I’ll save your father,” he said.
5:44 A . M . PST CTU Headquarters, Los Angeles
Kelly Sharpton put his feet up on his desk and rubbed his eyes. It had been one of those mornings. His original daily sheet hadn’t had much more than update meetings with three of his top field people, a video link with Homeland Security where all he had to do was listen, and a report on updating satellite link software that was supposed to improve their database searches by 5%. Instead, one of his field agents had raided a militia compound without permission and
The phone rang. Debrah took a deep breath to settle her voice and her hands. She picked up the receiver. “Drexler.”
“Senator.” Quincy’s voice slid along the phone line like so much oil. “I hope you don’t mind a second phone call in one morning.”
“Why not,” she said, switching on her business voice, “since our first one was so pleasant.”
“I just wanted you to know that I am seriously considering your suggestion to use the media.”
“Wonderful. You look very handsome on television.”
“Oh, it won’t be me. It couldn’t be me. I’m not the one with the information.”
She felt ice form in her stomach. “I don’t understand.”
James Quincy chuckled on his end of the phone. “Senator, I’m sure you’ve heard that politics makes strange bedfellows. But didn’t they tell you you’re supposed to get those partners after you enter politics?”
He knew. Of course he knew. He’d found out, somehow. The jogger was on his payroll.
“I take it from your silence you understand me. Now, let me tell you, Senator, that time is of the essence. The vote is not far off. Barely enough time for you to influence Wayans and D’Aquino. So I suggest something direct. A press conference. An early morning press conference, so that it hits the East Coast news cycle.”
“I couldn’t—”
“Yes, you can. You can say that you and I have had several phone conversations. These are logged, of course, so people will know we’ve spoken anyway. You can say that you’re convinced the NAP Act is in the best interest of the country, which is true.”
“No.”
He laughed again. “I won’t take that as your final answer. You have”—he paused—“a little over an hour until the 7 a.m. news cycle, which would hit the East Coast before lunch, which is perfect. If I hear that you’ve made your announcement, I’ll know we have a deal. If I don’t hear anything, then the next news I hear after that will be all about you.”
The line went dead.
5:39 A . M . PST West Los Angeles
“I don’t know where your father is,” Jack protested.
Nazila pointed at the phone in his hand. “Traffic cameras. Security tapes. Satellites.”
“It doesn’t always work like that. With a time and a place, we can scan particular cameras and routes. But just to look around randomly takes days and weeks, using everyone we’ve got. Just tell me where your brother is.”
She hesitated, but this time it was not from doubt. She was shopping for a bargain. “We can make a deal,” she said. “I will take you to him if you do two things for me.”
“Only two?” he said.
“First, you have to promise that you will listen to his case. He is not a terrorist. And second, you have to promise that as soon as you find him, you will save my father before anything else.”
Now it was Jack’s turn to hesitate. He’d lied before in his job—in fact, it was often his job to lie—but something about Nazila gave him pause. He didn’t want to lie to her, even though she’d lied to him. In the military and at CTU he’d dealt with all levels of evil—from petty criminals driven by greed to psychopaths driven to fill some dark hole in their souls. He knew that the devil had power to assume a pleasing shape. But when she said her brother was not a terrorist, she spoke simply and with conviction. Whatever might lurk in her brother’s heart, hers was pure.
“I promise, I’ll save your father,” he said.
5:44 A . M . PST CTU Headquarters, Los Angeles
Kelly Sharpton put his feet up on his desk and rubbed his eyes. It had been one of those mornings. His original daily sheet hadn’t had much more than update meetings with three of his top field people, a video link with Homeland Security where all he had to do was listen, and a report on updating satellite link software that was supposed to improve their database searches by 5%. Instead, one of his field agents had raided a militia compound without permission and
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