Cold Light of Day (20 page)

Once again the charm wasn’t working as the man carried on walking into his office and dropped hard into his chair. The CO followed and Frazer went after them.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“No,” the warden answered quickly. Too quickly. “Who is it you want to talk to?”

“Richard Stone.”

The warden lost what little color he had. “Stone?”

“Yes, sir. Is that a problem?”

“Yes.” The man opened a bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of scotch. Three shot glasses followed, but Frazer declined the one offered to him. The warden poured two small measures and handed one to the CO.

The two men chinked glasses and tossed back the spirit. The warden wiped his mouth and both men put their glasses back on the table with a thunk. There were no “cheers”.

Frazer raised a brow but said nothing. It had obviously been a tough day.

“I’m afraid you can’t see Richard Stone, ASAC Frazer.”

“What about tomorrow?” he persisted. He didn’t want to call in more favors but he would. This was too important to be shut down by petty bureaucracy or federal infighting.

“Christmas Day?” The warden gave a small humorless laugh that turned into a groan. “This is really important to you.”

He maintained eye contact. “Yes, sir.”

The warden dragged a hand through his hair and inadvertently disturbed his comb-over. “That’s unfortunate, and I’m afraid it isn’t going to make much difference.”

Frazer opened his mouth to argue but Warden Baumann carried on talking. “Richard Stone was attacked this morning during his chemo treatment. He’s been transported to a medical facility at Colorado Springs Air Force Base and is not expected to survive.”

Frazer felt as if someone had smacked him on the back of the head with a two-by-four. Someone had gotten to Stone. This was not good. This was really not good. Why? Why after all these years? Was it revenge for what his daughter had done, or the ultimate way of silencing the man, once and for all? Why would the Russians kill one of their own agents? Did the Russians have that sort of reach? Frazer didn’t know, but sure as hell hoped not.

“So,” the man eyed him tiredly, “I’m afraid you can’t talk to him.”

“Can I see his cell?” The guy had obviously had a shitty day, but Frazer’s wasn’t over. “And is it possible to share any information on the person who attacked him?”

The warden rubbed reddened eyes. “Juan Marquez, he’s a member of a Mexican drug cartel. Marquez is diabetic and visits the infirmary almost daily to get his blood sugar checked. He stabbed Stone three times, twice in the stomach. Marquez is serving consecutive life sentences and the chance of him ever getting out is slim to none. Why do you want to see Stone’s cell?”

Frazer decided to go with some measure of truth, a classic element of any good lie. “We are concerned with recent activities of a former Russian contact of Stone’s. That’s all I’m at liberty to say.”

Baumann shook his head. “The guy spends ninety-five percent of his time alone in a concrete box. All his mail is screened and copied, and he has no access to the internet, but fine, go check out his cell. Officer Knell can escort you.”

“Is Stone’s wife with him?” Frazer was going to have to talk to Lazlo about how to break the news to Scarlett. Maybe she’d be better off not knowing until they knew whether or not her father was going to make it.

The warden picked up the phone. “She’s being escorted to the hospital as we speak. Stone is under armed guard regardless of his condition. Now I have to try to track down the daughter while my wife berates me for not being home and spending enough time with our grandchildren.” Baumann’s pinched features showed his frustration.

Frazer didn’t tell him he knew where Scarlett was, even though it would save the guy time and effort. It was imperative she remain hidden and the moment she heard about her father she’d be on a flight to Colorado. He couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t risk it. If the bad guys found out she was alive, the game would change back to hunt mode and Frazer wanted to buy her some breathing space.

He thanked the warden and followed Officer Knell through security, where he handed over his weapons and badge. “Do you know the prisoner?” he asked as they walked along gray institutional corridors, going through locked door after locked door.

“Pretty well. We both arrived about the same time. He never gives me any trouble. Compared to most of the guys in here, he’s a fricking saint.”

The impression of thick walls and the suffocating sense of confinement pressed down on Frazer’s head and chest. This was his greatest nightmare. This institutionalized destruction of freedom. And that was the point for those who’d earned it.

What if the guy is innocent?

A trickle of unease ran down his spine. This whole situation felt wrong. He could see no reason for Richard Stone to send his daughter on a wild goose chase after all these years of holding his silence.

So Scarlett acted alone. Probably. Trying to prove her dad was innocent.

So
why
attack Richard?

What if Richard Stone
had
been framed and the real spy heard about what Scarlett had tried to do…? What if they feared she’d discovered something? They’d be more dangerous than ever.

Stone had never once claimed innocence, not after his confession. Part of it had been the assurance his wife would receive his pension, but Frazer couldn’t help thinking that the only really compelling reason for a man to keep his mouth shut was to protect his wife and child. Would Stone have endured this hellhole simply to keep them safe?

The answer was yes. If he’d believed the threat was real.

That
was sacrifice. That was a man who understood devotion.

Why hadn’t he asked for them to be placed in protective custody?

Because he didn’t know who to trust.

The thought sent a bolt of unease racing through his body. His instincts were screaming that something was off about this whole situation. The more he dug the more it stank. There was an increasing possibility that the FBI had let Stone down. His colleagues had let him down. And, in all likelihood, someone inside the FBI was still dirty.

He held the knowledge tight inside.

Knell led him to a door and unlocked it. Inside were more steel bars, which Knell opened, then stood back watching him. “Be my guest.” He indicated Frazer go inside with the thrust of his chin.

Frazer entered the concrete rectangle with its concrete bed, concrete desk, concrete stool and four-inch wide narrow slit of a window that faced the courtyard. It was like the Flintstones’ without Wilma or Dino to make things better.

Frazer repressed a shudder at the idea of being trapped inside a place like this for any length of time. Then he remembered a dark pit in a lonely West Virginian wood where many women had died and realized this, at least, was a lot more humane.

Books lined the shelves. Some writing paper and pencils were arranged neatly on the desk. A box of letters that looked to have been written by his wife and daughter sat there. He read a couple, but they were filled with the day-to-day happenings of normal life, heartbreaking in their mundane detail—painting the hall, fixing the dishwasher, planting tulip bulbs. However unexciting to the rest of the world, it must have been a lifeline of sanity for the condemned man.

He eyed the cell again with its small TV and heavy locked door. There were books on the shelves. Everything from Shakespeare to Ludlum, Lee Child to poetry. He pulled out a thriller and flicked through the pages.

A call on the radio had Knell stepping out into the hallway. He put his head back inside. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Frazer nodded, grateful to be alone. He put the novel down and noticed a small notebook tucked against the shelf, behind the other books. He pulled it out, looked inside, saw scribbles that he couldn’t decipher and felt his heart pound. He palmed it quickly and slipped it into his pants’ pocket. Maybe it contained something useful. Maybe it was demented ramblings, but he didn’t have time to figure it out right now and it might be a clue.

He swept his hand under the pillow, found a picture of Stone with his arms around his wife and a young Scarlett. A handsome man, beautiful wife, happy family.

Why would he throw that all away?

Frazer stared at that photo for a long time. He turned it over and saw the date written in blue ink. December 12, 2000—the day Stone had been arrested for passing secrets to Russia. Frazer frowned and turned it back over. The picture had obviously been taken along the Washington Mall in the summer, but was dated in December. Why? He slipped it into his pocket just as Knell came back in the room.

“Find anything useful?” Knell asked.

“Just the firm desire never to break the law.” Except he had broken the law once. The lines between right and wrong had blurred drastically that day.

The man shrugged. “It’s not so bad when you get to go home at the end of your shift.”

Frazer nodded and concentrated on the here and now. “Can I take the letters?” He pointed at the neat stack.

Knell frowned. “No, but I can arrange to get you copies.”

“Okay.” He walked past Knell into the corridor. Being outside the cell didn’t lessen the feeling of oppression. “Did Stone have any issues with the other prisoners?”

Knell gave him a
you-must-be-joking
look. “He didn’t mix with other prisoners. Not only was he in here for espionage, he was a former federal agent. They’d have gutted him in an instant.”

“So the only time he mixed with other prisoners is at the infirmary?” Where they’d gutted him anyway.

Knell nodded and unlocked the first of the series of doors that led to freedom.

Someone had known that the only chance of getting to Stone was during his chemo sessions, and the best chance to do it was by using another inmate who was also a regular in the clinic.

“Any chance of talking to this Marquez guy?” Frazer asked.

“He’s an animal. He isn’t going to tell you anything you can trust.” A note of belligerence crept into Knell’s tone. “Marquez has nothing to lose by killing another prisoner. He’s not getting out. Saw his opportunity and took it. It can be as simple as that when this place is your entire existence.”

Frazer didn’t push it. He wanted Knell on his side in case he needed to come back.

After they passed through the next iron gate, the correctional officer put a hand on his arm and leaned close, keeping his voice low. “We’re in a blind spot for both cameras and sound right here. Look, the boss didn’t want me to tell anyone this, but Richard Stone told me to tell his wife that it was dangerous and to be careful. Before he went unconscious it sounded like he said the name
Marlon
.” Knell held his gaze. “I don’t know what any of it means, but when I passed the message onto the wife, she looked like she was going to pass out. She kept trying to call the daughter, but the daughter didn’t pick up.”

Frazer nodded. Silently thanking the man for his confidence. This was a game changer. He needed to contact Parker and Lazlo with this new information and figure out their next move.

“I don’t appreciate people bringing their wars inside my prison. Makes for a dangerous time and we have enough danger in here already.” The guard started walking again, as if nothing had changed, but they both knew it had. Getting to Stone in here was hard, but not impossible. Someone could have bribed Marquez or threatened his family—Frazer fingered the photograph in his pocket. The tendrils of a possible conspiracy theory seemed to be waving at him with increasing vigor. Frazer had brought down others who tried to manipulate justice for their own ends and wasn’t afraid to do it again. People who used their position to inflict hurt on innocents didn’t deserve to stay in power. He just hoped Richard and Scarlett Stone survived long enough for the FBI to get to the bottom of this conundrum and find out the truth.

M
att strode down
the sidewalk of the quiet residential block. This time of year had an advantage in that there were lots of people visiting friends or relatives they hardly saw the rest of the year. People arrived on the doorstep unannounced. Strange cars parked on the street for an afternoon without comment.

He walked up the driveway of number seventy-three, which had a red SUV parked on the drive. The house and car were nice, nothing flashy. A retired professional could afford this sort of thing on a regular salary if he’d been careful with his money.

He rang the bell and waited. No one answered. After thirty seconds, he knocked loudly on the door. Still no one answered. A door banged nearby. Voices rang through the dank air as someone laughed, then a car engine started and they drove away.

Deciding to take a look around back, he ventured past the attached garage and let himself through the small garden gate at the side of the property. Down a path lined with empty pots and a garden hose, skirting the side of the deck. He walked up the steps and made sure his hands were clearly visible. Best not to sneak up on a former fed looking like a potential threat.