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GAMBLE CALLED US LATER to report the unwelcome news. “Winnie Delancey got away. The entire alphabet soup of American intelligence and law enforcement agencies are working to locate her. If I had to guess, she’s heading for South America.”
“She cannot be allowed to escape; she must face justice. She’s responsible for so many deaths,” I whispered.
Genie. The President’s friend, Wayne. Not to mention dozens of American POWs during a war that ended before I had even been born.
“We’re doing the best we can, Jayda.”
“I’m sorry. I know you are. How is Trujillo?”
“On her feet and anxious to start working out to regain her strength, thank you. What about the nanomites? Can they help in the search for Winnie Delancey?”
“I will put them on it.”
***
IT WAS FINALLY EVENING, and we were back in the apartment Malware had loaned us. My body was convinced it had survived the longest forty-eight hours of its life. The events of the past two days kept running through my mind, wearing me down all over again. I was beyond fatigued, but I couldn’t rest yet.
Zander and I had a few mop-up details to handle before we could, finally, let down.
Let down. As in collapse and take a week off to do absolutely nothing.
I kept thinking that our assignment was mostly over. We’d found out what happened to President Jackson’s friend, ending the Overman family’s long ordeal. We’d saved the President’s life (again) and exposed the brains behind the plot.
Vice President Delancey and NSA Deputy Director Danforth were dead, and the FBI had arrested Secret Service Assistant Deputy Director Morningside. A sweep of their homes and offices had turned up evidence to incriminate a raft of low- and mid-level players, including the dirty Secret Service agents and NSA security police officers we’d already identified—and one high-level scientist within the Army’s Institute for Infectious Diseases.
Many of the remaining conspirators would hide in plain sight during the coming top-to-bottom investigation. They knew (and we knew) that rooting them out would prove nearly impossible. Going after entrenched bureaucrats was like playing a game of “Whack-a-Mole.” The FBI and Justice Department would have to content themselves with snagging the occasional heads that popped up, but they would never be able to entirely clean out the infestation.
Kennedy called, too, and told us that the President was recovering nicely and would be released from the hospital later in the coming week. At the President’s direction, his people had held a press conference and come clean with the nation, making them aware of the two attempts to overthrow his administration. The resulting media tumult was in full swing and likely would not die down for months.
Kennedy had also secured a private interview with Acting President Friese. As a result, Friese had grown a spine and ordered the Secret Service to remove his party’s people from the White House—much to their helpless wrath. Friese was content to hide in the Oval Office, enjoying the perks of the presidency, following Marcus Park’s guidance but deflecting any real decisions, knowing the President would resume his duties soon.
So far, amid all of the commotion and confusion, our names and identities had remained out of the limelight—a minor miracle among several ginormous ones.
I would like to say that, by that night, the FBI had some idea as to Winnie Delancey’s whereabouts, but no joy there. She had, Gamble told us, chartered low-flying planes without transponders to hop from state to state and illegally leave the country. Kennedy and Gamble both insisted that she was no longer a threat to us or our family, but I wasn’t convinced.
At least the hit squad she’d sent after our family in New Mexico had been arrested. The FBI Albuquerque Field Office Special Agent in Charge had IDed the two men and charged them with impersonating federal officers, interviewing members of the pathology team under false pretenses, and attempting to bribe and, when that failed, threatening the family of a federal agent.
With the hit team out of the way, Gamble had phoned the commandant of White Sands, who promised to deliver Zander’s parents to their home by breakfast tomorrow.
I sent a text to Dr. Bickel’s phone giving him the “all clear.” He would receive it the next time he stuck his head out of the mountain to check. Then he, Abe, Emilio, and Izzie could leave the mountain’s safety.
We would have “some ’splainin’ to do” with Izzie, but that could wait. It would have to.
Zander was finishing up his call to Pastor Lucklow. “We wanted you to know that our family crisis has been resolved,” he said.
“We understand how family often must come before ministry, Zander.”
“Thank you, Pastor. I just hope you don’t think less of me for dropping the leadership of Celebrate Recovery back on Tom and Becky after only three weeks in the saddle.”
“Not at all. In fact . . . Well, you’ve been out of the loop for a bit, Zander, so let me catch you up. You see, whatever happened when you visited Jack Grober’s wife and daughter in the hospital has had a profound effect on Grace Chapel. Our Sunday services are overflowing, and Tom and Becky report that five newcomers to Celebrate Recovery have surrendered their lives to Jesus. To put it in plain terms, we are experiencing a move of God’s Spirit—and it seems to have begun when you prayed for Kaylee Grober.”
When Zander hung up, he stared at the phone. “Wow.”
“Wow is right. Thank you, Lord God . . .” my words trailed off. I was soooo tired.
“C’mon, babe. Let’s tuck you in.”
“’Mkay.” No argument from me.
We crawled into bed, our pillows close, our faces touching. Zander kissed my forehead, then my eyes.
“Nice,” I mumbled. “Really nice.”
He kissed my nose. He kissed my cheeks. He kissed my ear. Then . . . my neck. Chills caromed around inside me. I longed to sink into Zander’s arms and lose myself in him.
He must have felt the same way, because we whispered together, “Lights out, Nano.”
Jayda Cruz.
“Lights out, Nano. Don’t start with me!”
I was tired and cranky.
Jayda Cruz, we must ask you a question before you and Zander enter that sacred space where we are not allowed.
“For heaven’s sake! Can’t it wait?”
No, Jayda Cruz.
Zander and I sighed in unison.
“Make it quick,” Zander growled.
“Right. What is it, Nano?”
Jayda Cruz, as we explained earlier, we are protecting your last viable ovum. Unfortunately, we cannot do so much longer. Despite our best efforts, it is degrading. Do you wish us to release the egg now? We cannot vouch for its viability much longer, but the statistical odds of impregnation tonight are quite high.
Zander’s head bounced off his pillow as he sat up. “What?”
“Crud. Um, I guess I haven’t had the right moment to tell you.”
“Tell me what, exactly?”
The nanomites filled in the details for me. Jayda Cruz had six remaining eggs that we were safeguarding; however, when she was shot in the abdomen, the round destroyed the ovary containing those eggs. We were able to save and cocoon one egg, which must be used soon, before its viability expires.
“Wait. You’re saying we could have a baby?”
The likelihood is high, Zander Cruz, if the ovum is released tonight.
Zander wiped his face with his hand. “Way to drop the hammer, Nano. Sheesh. No pressure here, right?”
He put his cheek back on his pillow so that we were again nose to nose and eye to eye. “Jay? I confess that I’m more than a little dumbfounded . . . but what do you think? Is this our chance to grow our family? Do you want to make a baby?”
“Yes! Of course, I-I do, but . . .”
“But?”
“Winnie Delancey. What she did to Macy and Darius.”
Zander raised himself up on one elbow. “No. No way. Never!”
“Yeah, that’s how I feel, too. I want a baby, but Winnie Delancey wants the nanomites. I doubt that she can give them up—not now that she’s figured out how to ‘extract’ them from us. She’ll find a place to hide and regroup—and then she’ll look for another opportunity to trap us and take them. Zander, I don’t want to leave our child an orphan. More than that, I don’t ever want our child used as bait.”
I shook my head. “We can’t, Zander. We can’t bring a child into the world knowing we would be putting him or her in harm’s way.”
Zander slowly nodded. “I understand.”
Jayda Cruz and Zander Cruz. Jesus has made it our responsibility to keep you and your child safe. You need not fear Winnie Delancey; the woman will not seek for you again.
Zander and I shared a look, one of disquiet.
“Nano,” Zander asked, “what have you done?”
We have taken appropriate steps to protect you and your family, Zander Cruz.
I felt sick. “But . . . we thought you learned your lesson with Vice President Harmon, Nano.”
We did learn, Jayda Cruz. What we have done was properly authorized.
“Authorized? By whom?”
By President Jackson. The Supreme Court ruled that the President has the authority to sanction actions—including deadly force—that protect the United States from a “clear and present danger.” The President employed such an action when he downed the jet carrying Lawrence Danforth. During that crisis, he told us that any individuals who had knowledge of us and attempted to weaponize us against America represented such a “clear and present danger.” He authorized and directed us to use any means necessary to remove such a danger.
In the Situation Room—after he’d given the order to shoot down Danforth’s plane—the President had remained seated, his head bowed. The nanomites had whispered my words into the President’s ear . . . and the President, it seems, had whispered his instructions to them.
As you yourself said, Jayda Cruz, anyone who would harm a child is a monster who needs to be destroyed. Under President Jackson’s order, we have taken steps to remove Winnie Delancey as a threat to the President, to national security, and to you and your family.
Zander and I laid there for a while, shocked into silence. I was too tired, too weary to tussle with another problem or moral dilemma.
I was drifting away when Zander breathed into my ear, “So. . . what do you think, Jay? Want to give Emilio a little brother or sister?”
His breath tickled the little hairs on my skin and woke me up. “Mmm hmm. That would be wonderful—but I want to go home, Zander. Home to Albuquerque.”
“Okay by me; our job here is done. So, is that a ‘yes’ to making a baby?”
“Yes, Zander. I want to make a baby. Let’s give Emilio a little brother or sister.”
“You heard her, Nano.”
We did.
Lights out, Jayda and Zander Cruz.
~~**~~
