Hostage Zero

Gail turned to the woman on her right. “What do you say, Alice? Are you willing to share what you know?”

Alice’s face was a mask of conflict, that mantle of troubling self-doubt that precedes every confession in every interview room in every police station in the world.

When she finally started talking, it turned out that she knew a lot.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Brandy Giddings needed rest. Lack of sleep was part of it, but the kind of rest she needed went far beyond going horizontal and closing her eyes. She craved a few consecutive weeks-even a few consecutive minutes would be a nice start-when her mind could be free of the terrible things that had been polluting it these past few days. She found it all debilitating, and the fact that she felt that way made her feel inadequate-like she was failing the secretary.

She worked for the man who told the president how to fight wars. Violence was supposed to be a part of her psyche. She knew every military branch’s chief of staff by name. She should be tougher than this.

Still, when the phone on her desk trilled, she jumped. The caller I.D. confirmed that it was Pat Bachelor, SecDef’s executive assistant, and her stomach fell. She’d asked to be put onto Secretary Leger’s schedule as soon as possible, but that had been three hours ago.

“Secretary Leger can see you now,” Pat said. “But I warn you that he has tickets for the Kennedy Center tonight, so you’d best be quick.” Washington was chock-a-block with official reporting chains and protocol-driven rules of propriety, but in the Pentagon, everyone knew that Pat Bachelor outranked everyone but the Secretary himself. She’d never actually ordered anyone into combat, but Brandy had no doubt she could pull it off if she tried.

The source of her power had nothing to do with her ties to Washington. Rather, her loyalty lay exclusively with Jacques Leger, whose assistant she had been since the invention of the wheel.

Pat didn’t like Brandy much; if there’d been any doubt in the past, the leer she delivered as Brandy walked by her desk made it clear today. Brandy wrote it off as old-and-fat dismissing young-and-beautiful, but she could never say it out loud.

The lock on the heavy mahogany door buzzed as Brandy approached, and she stepped into Secretary Leger’s elaborate ceremonial office. It was in here that medals were occasionally pinned, and reporters were occasionally feted, but the real inner sanctum was nestled on the far side of the ceremonial space. She knocked, and when the secretary’s muffled voice told her to come in, she opened the door and stepped into what was regarded throughout Washington as one of the most beautiful offices in all of government.

Secretary Leger’s office presented a commanding, unobstructed view of the Potomac River in the foreground, and the famous monuments of the nation’s capital beyond. Intricate moldings inlaid the twelve-foot ceilings, and the walls displayed a collection of Copleys and Sargents from the National Gallery of Art.

Conspicuously absent from Leger’s personal office, Brandy thought, was any significant homage to the armed services. Having never served himself, he’d said that he wasn’t comfortable choosing favorites, and to include every branch would make the place look, in his words, “like a castle keep.” Instead, he surrounded himself with landscapes and still lifes that brought him a sense of peace.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Brandy?” Leger asked, looking up from the work on his desk, but not rising to meet her.

Navigating her way across the carpet was like walking on a cloud. “Good evening, Mr. Secretary. It’s, um, about that matter we’ve been discussing.”

She though she saw the secretary’s shoulders stiffen as he turned back to the work on his desk. “I trust that it has resolved itself?”

When he moved his eyes away, she stopped advancing on his desk. She clasped her hands in front like an errant schoolgirl and shook her head. “No, sir,” she said. “There’s actually been some more information.” She paused, hoping that she might pique his interest enough to look up again. When he did not, she added, “We’ve found Bruce Navarro.”

That did it. “ The Bruce Navarro? He of the nine-year disappearing act?”

She came close enough to hover near the guest chairs in front of his desk, but knew better than to sit without an invitation. “Yes, sir, the very one.”

He scowled, clearly trying to decide whether or not to believe her. Finally, he gestured to a chair with an open palm. “I’m all ears,” he said.

You can’t sit in the presence of that kind of power and not be jostled by the wave of awe that comes with it. Brandy was speaking one-on-one with one of the most recognizable faces in the world-a man who held one of the planet’s most important positions. She took a deep breath to settle herself.