On the floor, the little man writhed and shrieked. Froth and spittle foamed from his mouth. His eyes were wide, terrified. His body went into terrible spasms on the floor. He became rigid, then arched backward in an impossible curve. Nick heard bones snapping. He gave a final scream of unbearable agony and died.
Lucas looked down at the body.
"Asshole," he said.
Then he went to Stephanie and held her close.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Lucas and Stephanie lay on her bed, face to face in each other's arms. He felt her warm breath on his shoulder, the pulse of her life beating against him. Lucas stroked her hair. It was damp from the long shower she'd taken when they'd gotten to her apartment. She hadn't talked since they'd left the safe house. It was beginning to worry him. He held her and tried to surround her with calm, with safety.
Lucas knew what it was like to be tortured. He still bore the scars. The anticipation was almost as bad as the actual act. Knowing you were helpless. Knowing you were at the mercy of a psychopath.
Lucas was no choir boy. He'd grown up in the ghetto. He'd been an agent for a long time. He'd done and seen his share of things no one should have to endure in the name of duty or expediency or survival. But he had never resorted to inflicting excruciating pain to gain intelligence. Torture disgusted him. He thought of Wendell Lodge and what had happened to Stephanie and for the first time felt the kind of hatred that would inflict pain for its own sake. He imagined Lodge helpless before him. Maybe strapped naked on a hard chair, in a cold room where knives gleamed under harsh light.
Steph stirred.
"I didn't tell him. But I would have. Whatever he wanted."
"Sshh. I know. You did good. It's all right now."
"His eyes. He had awful eyes. He liked what he was doing."
"They always do. But he won't hurt you or anyone else again."
"How did you find me?"
"Nick called me. They found your purse in the garage, they knew you'd been taken. It had to be Lodge, they said. That house was the best bet."
"What if you'd been wrong?"
"I wasn't, that's what matters."
"The drug he gave me. It was awful. He told me it would wear off and I should think about it. He told me he was coming back."
"Yeah, they like to do that, people like him."
"He was getting ready to start again when the shooting began upstairs. That's when he put that poison in the syringe. He told me what it would do. In detail." She shuddered. "Then he just waited for you to find us."
Lucas stoked her hair.
"I love you."
"I love you, too, Steph."
"What are you going to do about Lodge?"
"I don't know."
CHAPTER SIXTY
James Rice thought there were times when being President was the worst job anyone could imagine. Like now. He sat alone in the Oval Office, at the power center of the world. Outside the White House the city got ready for another evening. The folder on his desk contained the reports on Nebraska. The analysis was grim. The damage was spreading at an alarming pace, a vast, diseased sore oozing in the heart of America.
Two hours earlier he'd had a meeting with the experts and the Joint Chiefs and the Secretary of Agriculture. The Pentagon thought it could be a terrorist attack. The Generals were arguing about what to do, how to respond. The stress level within the administration and the Pentagon was rising. Rice had boosted the alert status to DEFCON3. He hadn't revealed Lodge's involvement. It was a hell of a mess.
Harker had briefed him about Texas. She would take care of Dansinger. Rice had to take care of the country. The experts agreed that only one solution was available.
Fire.
The crop virus was airborne and as yet, unstoppable. He had to do something and he had to do it soon. Rice let out a long breath. His actions were going to cost him the election. But this went beyond politics. It was why Truman had that famous sign on his desk about where the buck stopped. Decisive action was needed now.
He'd thought about calling in the Speaker and the Majority Leader and decided against it. They'd balk. If Congress got involved, if he allowed politics to dictate action, the delay would doom America's crops. It could not be allowed to happen. It was his job to make sure it didn't happen, whatever the personal cost.
Rice picked up his phone.
"Get me the Governor of Nebraska."
"Yes, Mr. President."
While he waited, Rice thought about his days in Vietnam. They were bad memories. He was about to bring back a terrible echo of that horrific war. At least this time around it was to assure life, not destruction. Governor Rowena Wheeling came on the line.
"Mr. President."
"Governor, thank you for taking my call. I'm calling about the crop blight."
Rice knew what he was going to do and he knew Governor Wheeling was not going to like it. The fact that she belonged to the opposition party didn't make things any easier. Rice was about to assert the enormous power of the government in dramatic and public fashion. There were going to be problems on every level.
"Mr. President." Her voice was neutral. "I'm told by my advisors this thing cannot be stopped. I hope you are calling to tell me something different."
"Actually, Governor, there is a way. But it will create severe disruption in your state. I am going to need your cooperation. I hope you will be willing to give it."
"Sir, I will of course do anything I can." Her voice was wary. What was up?
"There's no way to sugar coat this, Rowena." Rice hoped the use of her name would add a personal touch. It was his style. "I'm declaring an emergency in Nebraska. I want you to initiate mandatory evacuation procedures of the entire affected area and a radius of twenty miles around it. Beginning immediately. Use the National Guard to enforce it. I'm sending in additional military units to assist."
Stunned silence.
"Sir, you're talking about thousands of people."
"I know that, Governor. If people don't have somewhere to go the FEMA emergency shelters can handle them. Rail and truck transport will be provided. I'm hoping it won't be necessary, but I will declare martial law if needed. This has to be done now."
"What are you planning, sir? There will be problems."
Rice paused. He knew Wheeling was a rarity in the Governors' mansions, a centrist. Opposition party, yes. But a woman who sometimes backed his agenda, and as a result was often under siege from her own party. When she fought, she was fair. He decided to tell her more.
"Rowena, I'm going to tell you something. It's important you share this with no one. It's a question of national security." The magic words. "Can I trust you?"
"National security? Of course, sir."
"This must be kept quiet. We have uncovered a domestic plot to sabotage the crops."
He heard her gasp.
"This thing is man made? A terror plot?"
"Yes." Rice didn't think she needed to know that it had originally been aimed at Russia.
"We are working to discover a counter agent but it is uncertain it can be developed in time to prevent very large areas of contamination. In the event it cannot be obtained, I'm going to burn the entire area."
"Mr. President? Are you saying you want to burn up my state?"
"Just the infected areas. Fire is all we've got at this point to stop it. The weather is calm for the next two days. High winds are forecast after that. If this thing gets past your borders, we will lose tens of millions of acres of farmland and crops. I cannot allow that. I will ensure government assistance for the displaced."
"Like Katrina?" She was angry. "We all know how well that worked out."
"We've learned a lot since then." Rice allowed a hard edge to appear in his voice. "Governor, this is not an option. Your cooperation will be appreciated."