Hell's Corner (11 page)
“Pressure switches can be problematic, particularly under these conditions. I mean, you’ve got a tree in a hole and a bomb somewhere near it. Maybe in the root ball, maybe under the tree. That’s a lot of weight. And people moving stuff around, digging. Chances are that pressure switch gets tripped accidentally. And once you cover the bomb up with dirt, what’s going to trigger it? Something has to cause the switch to engage. It’s called a pressure switch for a good reason. No, if I were going to do it I’d use a command control device, meaning remote detonation. Now, if they did that they might have used a cell phone, which would make our job a lot easier. Cell phones have a SIM card and all the components are serialized, so we can reconstruct the phone and maybe track down where and who purchased it. Of course if a cell phone was used, you actually have two phones. One planted on the bomb as the switch and the other to call that phone. We did find some bits of wire, corner of a transistor, plastic shell casing, leather—”
“Leather?” Stone exclaimed.
“Yeah, tiny patches of it. About a dozen pieces. Had some black markings on them, so the probability lies with it being part of the explosive. Still trying to determine what it is. But we will. And then we have to definitively determine if it was tied to the explosion. Not all the junk we find out here will be.”
“Could have come off the jogger’s trainers,” suggested Chapman. “His shoes were made of leather, right?”
“Yes, but the color’s off. I saw the video feed and the guy’s shoes were blue.”
“The black marks could be scorching from the bomb,” Chapman pointed out.
“No, the rest of the leather was brown. Probably has nothing to do with anything.”
“So right now,” Gross said, “you still can’t tell us how the detonation was done?”
“That’s right.”
“Why are you thinking the bomb was in the tree hole in the first place?” Gross said. “Apart from the location of the damage?”
Garchik said, “Follow me.” He led them to the site of the detonation and pointed into the hole. “Unless I’m reading this wrong, this is ground zero. Blew that tree right out of here, and it wasn’t light.”
They all stared down at the hole, which had become even wider and deeper because of the explosion.
“Okay, so what are we looking for?” asked Gross.
“Well, there was already a crater here. The excavation for the tree.”
“Okay,” said Gross. “So?”
Garchik made a fist and swung it downward. “When you smack the water with your fist, a certain amount of water shoots up on both sides of the hand. Simple concept of volume displacement. Same thing happens with a bomb. If the bomb is aboveground it acts like the fist. It’ll push downward, sideways and also up. But a bomb buried in the ground has a different effect. It will propel mostly upward because it’s covered by looser dirt. Path of least resistance. It still deepened the existing hole.”
“Causing a crater. A bigger crater than if the bomb had been aboveground,” said Stone slowly.
“But the bomb in this case was buried in the dirt, right?” said Gross. He looked at each of them as though waiting for their collective affirmation.
“I wish I could tell you for certain,” said Garchik. “Normally, making that determination is one of the easiest parts of the equation. But here we have a complicating factor. There was already a big crater here before the bomb went off.”
Gross looked confused. “I’m not exactly following you here.”
Stone said, “He means he can’t tell if the bomb was buried in the dirt or may have been in the root ball or even under the tree.” He looked at the ATF agent. “Right?”
“That’s right.”
“Does it matter?” asked Chapman. “In any case the bomb was placed in the park in that hole.”
Gross said, “That’s true. The question is, how did they do it? This is Lafayette Park, not some back alley in Baghdad.”
Stone looked around. Guns and bombs right across from the president’s house. There could only be one answer. “We’ve got a traitor somewhere,” he said.
Chapman added, “And if the PM hadn’t turned his ankle he’d be dead.”
Stone looked at her. “But more to the point, they got a bomb into Lafayette Park. Across from the White House. The most heavily guarded piece of land in the world. How?”
A
FTER A MINUTE OF SILENCE
as they each thought about this question, Gross said, “I just don’t see how anyone could have managed that. This place is under surveillance 24/7.”
“That’s true,” said Garchik.
It is very true,
thought Stone. “But all the evidence seems to point to that being the case. A bomb was planted in that hole.”
Gross looked at Chapman and then at Stone. “Do you realize how many people would have to be potentially involved in something like that?”
Stone said, “Well, for starters we need a list of anyone involved with the process of digging that hole and planting that tree. The National Park Service handles all that, but there would have been others involved too.”
Gross pulled out his phone and walked off a few feet as he punched in a series of numbers.
Stone turned to the ATF agent. “Once you determine what sort of bomb it was, what then?”
“We’ll put it on BATS. Bomb and Arson Tracking System. ATF maintains it. It has worldwide reference. Bombers don’t like to deviate from their formula, so they develop signatures. Pretty practical reason. Once they find a method that works, they don’t change it.”
“Because they might blow themselves up with a new method,” said Chapman with a knowing look.
“You got it. Bombers typically like to test out their stuff beforehand, and that’s another way we catch them. Blowing stuff up in the woods and somebody reports them. They never think to realize that they can check all their connections and switches without
detonating. Because the bomb materials themselves
will
go off. The only weak points are the connections and the power source.”
“Maybe these guys like to blow stuff up for the hell of it. Like to see the boom,” observed Chapman.
“I do think that’s part of it,” replied Garchik. “So anyway, we’ll run it through BATS to see if the same signature appears on there. Then maybe we’ll know who our bomber is. I know a lot of signatures from memory, but nothing about this one is striking me as familiar.”
“Anything else?” asked Stone.
“Not right now.”
“Okay, thanks. And let Agent Gross know as soon as you have anything.”
After Garchik walked off, Gross rejoined them, slipping his phone back in his pocket. “All right, I just set off a shitstorm back at WFO.”
Stone eyed the blast seat. “Getting back to basics. Who was the target?”
Gross glanced at Chapman and said, “Pretty clear. British PM.”
“He wasn’t in the park,” replied Stone.
“But he was scheduled to be. At just about the time the bomb went off. It was probably on a timer, despite what Garchik said. It got accidentally triggered, probably when that guy jumped in the hole.”
Stone shook his head. “A mission like this requires precision. By detonating, even accidentally, they give away their whole plan. They won’t get a second shot. They put everyone on alert for no reason at all. And your theory doesn’t explain the gunfire.”
“It doesn’t make much sense when you explain it like that,” admitted Gross.
Stone looked at Chapman. “You keep saying he was scheduled to walk across the park? Who told you that?”
“Got it from the PM’s office.”
Stone looked toward the northern edge of the park and tried to recreate in his mind exactly what he’d seen the previous night. But for some reason the most vivid details just wouldn’t come. Maybe it was his concussion. Or maybe, he admitted to himself,
I’m just getting old.
They joined Gross in examining the rooftop garden at the Hay-Adams Hotel. The trees did block the line of sight into the park.
“They
were
firing blind,” said Gross. “Because if they had a spotter in the park they would’ve known the PM wasn’t there.”
There were markers on the floor showing where all the casings had been found.
Gross said, “TEC-9s, like I said before. Over two hundred rounds. So it was probably multiple guns.”
“Agreed,” said Stone as he gazed at the floor. “And no one below or in the hotel heard or saw anything?”
“I think lots of people heard and saw lots of things. But whether they can remember it correctly and communicate that to us effectively is a whole other question.”
“You’ll obviously match the casings to the slugs found in the park,” said Stone.
“Already done,” replied Gross. “Not that there was much doubt about that.”
“Good, because there’s plenty of doubt about everything else,” noted Stone.
L
ATER THAT NIGHT
Stone and Chapman drove back to Stone’s cottage. When he opened the door he glanced to his right when he saw her.
Annabelle was sitting in a chair by the fireplace. He ushered Chapman in as Annabelle rose to greet him. After introducing Chapman to Annabelle, Stone was about to say something when Annabelle held out the book written in Russian. “I guess you’ll be wanting this back. Are you still planning to go on your… trip?”
Stone frowned as he looked down at the book. “There are personal boundaries, Annabelle. And I’ve always respected yours.”
“You’re not going to make me feel guilty about this, Oliver, so don’t even try. I haven’t known you all that long and I think we’ve nearly lost you about five times at least by my count.”
Chapman gazed at Stone in surprise. “I didn’t think you were working anymore.”
Annabelle answered. “He wasn’t. So just think what his mortality rate will be now.”
Stone laid the book down on his desk. “I think I’m clearly old enough to make that decision for myself. And to answer your question, my trip has been postponed.”
“What trip?” asked Chapman.
Stone ignored her.
Annabelle said, “But you are back working for the government?”
“Like I said, I’m old enough to make that decision.”
“Why, Oliver, why would you? After all they did to you.”
“Yeah, why? I think we deserve an answer, said a voice.”
They all turned to see Reuben Rhodes, Harry Finn and Caleb Shaw at the door to the cottage. It was Reuben who’d spoken.
“I feel like I’m at bloody Waterloo Station,” muttered Chapman as the men came forward.
Stone looked down. “It’s not easily explained.”
“At least tell me you’re not working this damn park explosion case,” said Annabelle.
“That’s exactly what he’s doing.”
This came from Alex Ford as he walked into the cottage.
“Blimey,” said Chapman. “I think you need to change the locks on your door.”
Alex stood near the fireplace. “Should I tell them or are you going to?”
“Tell us what?” said Annabelle.
“That Oliver was presented with a commission and badge today. He is now a duly sworn in member of the federal government working with Agent Chapman here from MI6. They’ve been tasked to find out who tried to blow up the British PM.”
Stone looked coldly at his friend. “Thank you for maintaining confidences, Alex.”
Reuben said, “Since when the hell are there confidences among us? How many times have I covered your back, Oliver? Risked life and limb? And you the same for me?”
“The same for all of us,” added Annabelle.
“This is different,” replied Stone.
“Why, because you’ve got a badge now?” growled Reuben.
Annabelle added, “You’ve joined up with the same folks who hurt you so badly. Don’t you see why we’re all stunned? Especially after what happened in Divine. They were just going to let you rot in that prison.”
“And I would have except for all of you, I know that,” Stone said quietly.
“So why?” Annabelle asked again.
“As I said, it’s hard to explain. Actually it may be impossible to explain.”
“We’re all waiting for you to try.”
Something seemed to stiffen in Stone’s features. “You’re assuming that I owe you an explanation. I don’t.”
Annabelle looked like Stone had slapped her. Even loyal Reuben seemed stunned, and Caleb gaped.
