Stone Cold (16 page)

CHAPTER 42

H
ARRY
F
INN ESCAPED
the third graders relatively unscathed. They’d asked a lot of questions, though, and once or twice Finn actually wished he
had
been a walrus instead of a SEAL.

When he’d finished Susie had given him a hug and said, “You have a really great rest of the day, Daddy.”

She sounded so grown-up, for a moment he felt like his heart would burst. His former SEAL team members would have been astonished to learn that beneath Finn’s stainless steel skin was a heart as vulnerable and susceptible to emotion as one could find. His only defense, his only way of keeping going, was to block it out. He led two lives and never let either of them mix. What he did for his mother would never wash over into his own family. And what he did with his family would never become part of his other life. At least he prayed to God it wouldn’t.

He drove to the office and met with his team to go over the hit on the Capitol. The session lasted for several hours as they carefully mapped out their strategy and then did more prep work. Toward the end of this meeting, Finn, whose mind worked best when multi-tasking, had reason to smile. He had just thought of a way to kill Simpson.

He grabbed some lunch and headed to his storage unit. He had a bomb to build.

Jerry Bagger screamed into the phone, “Nice going! That’s just great. Why don’t I come back to town and kick your asses too.” He calmed down when he heard the next bit of news. With a little more digging they’d ascertained that the little guy had won a ton of cash. And in a casino that meant one thing that was as certain as death: In order to get your money you had to fill out what amounted to a 1099 so Uncle Sam would know you’d won the money in case you forgot to pay tax on it.

Bagger took down this information and said, “Wait a minute, the guy’s from England?”

“That’s what it says.”

“Did he sound British?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know! Does anybody know?”

“I’ll have to check,” the man said nervously.

“Yeah, well after you
check
and then find out the ID’s total bullshit, why don’t you
check
back with me so I can strangle you.” Bagger slammed down the phone.

CHAPTER 43

W
HEN
S
TONE WALKED OUTSIDE
the next day, a bleary-eyed Annabelle was sitting on the front steps of the B&B.

“What do you want from me?” she said bitterly.

“Nothing. What do you want from yourself?”

“Don’t play shrink with me.”

“Your father was in jail when your mother was murdered.”

“He was still the reason she was killed.”

“All right. But what’s wrong with giving him the benefit of the doubt and believing that he never intended your mother to be hurt by Bagger?”

“What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with that is that my father is a liar who has never cared about anyone except himself.”

“So he was really bad to your mother? Beat her, starved her?”

“Don’t make this into a joke!”

“I’m just trying to understand the situation.”

“No, he never abused her.”

“So he might have loved her.”

“Why are you doing this to me? Why are you taking his side?”

“I’m not taking sides, Annabelle. The man is dying. He was at your mother’s grave paying his respects. You thought he’d set your mom up but he didn’t.” Stone spread his hands. “All I’m saying is you might want to reconsider the situation. Life is short. Family is not forever. I know that as well as anyone.”

Annabelle slouched against the car, hands tucked into her armpits.

“It took me two years to plan my hit on Bagger. Two shorts and then the long. I put nearly every dime I had into it. Took more risks than I ever had before. One little mistake in front of Jerry and I’d be dead. And I loved every minute of it. Do you know why?”

Stone shook his head. “Tell me.”

“Because I was finally getting back at the son of a bitch who killed my mother. After all those years he was finally going to pay. And I did it, I won. I conned more money from him than anybody ever had. Enough to really hurt him.”

“And?”

“And after I did it I realized it was all for nothing. Jerry was just being Jerry when he killed my mother. Jerry took his pound of flesh; that’s the law of the street we all live on. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll always hate the bastard for what he did. But the man I hated most of all was my father.”

“And today you found out he was innocent, at least of that.”

She pointed to the scar under her eye. “Some innocent. He gave me this when I was just a teenager, for blowing a claim in a casino. He said it was the only way to learn. And he’s the reason my mother’s dead. And what’s happened to him? Not a damn thing. Everything just bounces off the son of a bitch. He just goes along like the bullet in her brain never even happened.”

“I’m not seeing it that way, Annabelle. It doesn’t look like life has been kind to him. And he was here grieving over your mother. Doesn’t sound like a guy who got off scot-free.”

“I can never forget it, Oliver. I can never forget what he did.”

“I’m not asking you to forget. I’m just asking you to maybe think about forgiving. People do bad things all the time. It doesn’t necessarily make them bad people.”

“So what do you want me to do? Run and give him a hug?”

“This is something you need to deal with inside yourself. Before it destroys you. Because if we manage to nail Bagger you still won’t be satisfied because you have all this hate inside for Paddy. If you really want to get on with your life, you need to deal with that.”

Annabelle pulled her car keys out of her pocket. “Well, you know what? I don’t want to.”

She drove off in a spit of gravel.

As soon as she was out of sight Stone’s phone buzzed. It was Reuben recounting everything that had happened to them when they were in Atlantic City, including Milton’s big winnings and them being attacked by Bagger’s men. Stone told Reuben to not take Milton home, but to go to Reuben’s house instead.

“He didn’t use his real ID there when he collected his winnings, Oliver,” Reuben pointed out.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to take a chance. You recently moved. Your house doesn’t even have an address. It’d be very hard for Bagger to track you down.”

“How’s it going with Susan?”

“Couldn’t be better.” Stone clicked off and stared after the fleeing Annabelle.

Family. It just doesn’t get any more complicated than that.

CHAPTER 44

G
RAY WAS ON A SECURE PHONE
in a bunker the CIA had arranged for him to use. The president had been briefed on the matter and had used his executive powers to give Gray, even in an unofficial capacity, any and all resources of the United States government that he required to set the situation right. Gray of course had only communicated his version of the truth to the president and his top people, but it had been enough to allow him the carte blanche he needed to carry out the required mission.

Though set fifty feet in the dirt, the bunker had all the amenities of a five-star hotel in downtown Manhattan, including its own valet and a chef. Gray had always been treated like a rock star by the intelligence community.

Into the phone he said, “If Lesya and Rayfield Solomon were married there has to be a record of it somewhere. I know we couldn’t find it back then, but times have changed. The Russians are, at least in public, our ally. Run down every lead you can on that angle. There are some old codgers still running around the reincarnation of the KGB that may be able to help us. Bring euros, they prefer them to dollars, at least these days.” He nodded as the man on the other end said something. “The former Russian ambassador to this country, Gregori Tupikov, is an old friend of mine. It might just be worth a phone call to him. Tell him you’re doing it in connection with the investigation of my murder. Vodka by the barrel, two-pound lobsters and a natural redhead, that’s all you ever needed to corrupt old Gregori.”

Gray clicked off and continued to study the file while his four-course dinner was being finalized. Though computers and servers dominated his business these days, the old Cold Warrior loved the feel of paper between his fingers. He ate his sumptuous meal alone in front of a gas fire that gave the room an enchanting glow even this far underground. Gray never did things like others. Even dead he was fifty feet under the earth instead of the normal six and his “coffin” was far more luxurious than the rank and file got.

Taking a snifter of brandy into a wood-paneled library, he sat behind an ornate desk and continued to ponder the matter. He loved this part of the game. It was a battle of the minds, a perpetual chess match; one side trying to outmaneuver, outthink the other. And the United States had never had a man who could perform those tasks better than Carter Gray. His actions had saved so many Americans that he had long since lost count. The Medal of Freedom was the least his country could do. If he was a Brit he’d already have been knighted. And yet he’d been forced to resign, long before he was ready. Because John Carr had forced his hand.

The more Gray thought about this, the angrier he became. Yet from within that anger a cold-blooded idea took form. Whoever was killing Gray’s old assassination team one by one probably believed John Carr to be dead. Yet why should Carr be spared the thrill of being a target? And the man had given him the finger!

Gray picked up his secure phone and hit a button. “I want to get some information out using the normal channels. It has to do with the alleged death of a man named John Carr. I think the time has come to set the record straight.”

CHAPTER 45

F
INN HELD UP THE DEVICE
. Barely the size of his palm, combined with a few seemingly innocuous elements it could easily kill anyone within thirty feet. But it would only kill one man; Finn would make sure of that.

He tried on his disguise and thought through all the steps he would take to enter the Hart Building and penetrate where he needed to go.

Once Finn had gotten on Roger Simpson’s trail and dug deeply, he’d learned that the distinguished senior senator from Alabama had been a hellion early in life, with little regard for anyone or anything other than himself. Though the man was still like that, this flaw had been buried under layers of PR once his political career had begun. This was done with the full though invisible support of the CIA, where he had worked in a very special though undisclosed capacity. His c.v. was filled with accolades from the Agency and very little in the way of hard facts. Yet to his country he was a hero. And he was poised to make a run for the White House, Finn had heard.

I don’t think so.

Simpson had never forgotten his former employer’s support. As head of the powerful Senate Select Committee on Intelligence he’d let the CIA get away with whatever it wanted. There did not seem to be any action too extreme that Simpson did not find necessary for national security reasons. He had been Carter Gray’s champion or lapdog, depending on how one looked at it, for years. Finn considered it perfect justice to send them to the same place, and in the same manner.

He drove home late that night, but Mandy was still up waiting for him. Over a couple slices of pumpkin pie and some hot tea she said, “You were a big hit today at school. Susie waited up to tell you but she couldn’t stay awake.”

“I’m sorry I’m late, but something came up.”

“Are you sure everything’s okay? You haven’t really seemed yourself lately.”

“Just work. Lot to think about.”

“How’s Lily?”

Lily was Finn’s mother. Like Finn it wasn’t her real name. Harry Finn wouldn’t have known what it was like to use a real name for anything.

“The same. Actually, a little worse.” Finn didn’t use his mother’s word, “rotting.”

“I know we have a lot going on, but if you want your mother to come and live with us, I’m okay with that. We’ll make it work somehow.”

“Not a good idea, Mandy. She’s fine right where she is.”

“Okay, Harry, but there might come a time when we need to make that decision.”

“Maybe, but that time isn’t now. So let’s not worry about it. We have enough on our plates.”

“You’re sure there’s nothing bothering you?”

He shook his head, but didn’t look at his wife.

She touched his hand. “Harry, you seem to be drifting away from us.”

His response was delivered with a harshness that surprised even him. “I went to Susie’s school. I almost never miss a ball game or soccer match. The yard doesn’t have a weed in it. I help with all the homework and housework. I play chauffeur as much as you do. What more do you want from me, Mandy?”

She withdrew her hand slowly. “Nothing, I guess.”

They finished their pie in silence. Mandy slowly headed upstairs but Finn remained sitting in the kitchen staring at nothing.

“Not coming?” she said.

“Got a few things to do.”

“Don’t go out, Harry, not tonight.”

“Maybe just a walk. You know.”

“Yes, I know,” Mandy said to herself as she climbed the stairs.

“Mandy?”

She turned back around.

“Things will get better. I promise. They’ll get better soon.”
I’m almost there.

“Sure, Harry, sure.”

CHAPTER 46

T
HERE WAS REALLY ONLY ONE PLACE
for Annabelle to go: the graveyard. She had never had the opportunity to pay her respects to her mother. She was going to take care of that tonight.

She parked her rental, slipped through the gate and walked along the darkened pathways. The location of her mother’s grave was seared into her head. However, when she arrived there, she found that her mother already had a visitor. She ducked behind an evergreen and watched.

He was stretched out on the ground next to the grave. As Annabelle listened she could hear the words floating to her from the prone figure. He was singing an Irish ditty to the dead woman. It was a song that Annabelle had heard him sing to her mother when Annabelle was a little girl. The lyrics had to do with dreams and a green, lush land and a man and a woman very much in love. As she continued to listen tears started sliding down her cheeks, though she didn’t want them to. The sounds grew fainter and she finally realized her father had fallen asleep next to the grave of his wife—her mother.

Annabelle stepped out from behind the tree, strode quietly over to the burial plot and knelt down on the other side of the grave from where her father lay quietly snoring. Then she did something she hadn’t done since attending mass as a little girl. She crossed herself and prayed over her mother. More tears poured down her face as she spoke to God and tried to talk to her mother, telling her how much she missed her, how much she wanted her to be alive.

She prayed and spoke until her heart was nearly bursting. Then she rose, crossed herself again and, staring down at her slumbering father, made up her mind.

He was painfully light as she gripped him under the armpits, lifting him to his feet. He awakened slightly. She half carried him to her car, put him in, drove back to the inn and got him to bed in her room. She sat outside on the couch until she heard a tap on her door.

It was Stone. He looked worried. He filled her in on what had happened with Milton and Reuben. Then he glanced toward her bedroom door, from which loud snores were now pouring forth.

Stone didn’t say anything about that because the look on Annabelle’s face told him quite clearly that any questions would not be welcome.

“Do you want to go back home tomorrow?” he asked instead.

“I don’t have a home,” she replied. “But we can go back to
your
home tomorrow.”

The next morning Annabelle had breakfast sent up to the room. When her father came out of the bedroom hot coffee was poured and eggs and bacon were on the plate.

“You look like you could use some food,” she said.

He looked around. “How the hell did I get here?”

“You were at the grave last night. So was I.”

He nodded slowly, rubbing his tangled hair down with one hand. “I see.”

“Come and eat.”

“You don’t have to do this, Annie.”

“I know that. Eat.”

He sat and managed to down a few bites and drink a bit of the coffee.

“How bad is it?” she asked, studying his gaunt, gray face.

“Bad enough. Six months without treatment. A year with. But who wants to go out sick all the time?”

“Do you need anything? Money? A place to live?”

He sat back and wiped the napkin across his lips. “You owe me nothing, Annie. And I ain’t taking nothing from you.”

“There’s no reason you have to be in pain or sleeping in the back of a truck. I have money.”

“I’ve got whiskey for the pain and that old truck of mine is what they call a low-end recreational vehicle. I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not fine.”

His expression darkened as he pushed away from the table. “I don’t want your pity, Annie, okay? I can deal with your hatred a lot easier.”

“Is that why you never found me and told me you were in jail when Bagger killed Mom?”

“Would it have made a difference to you?”

“Probably not,” she admitted.

“So there you go. Would’ve been a bloody waste of time.”

He rose and fumbled in his pocket, fishing out a cigarette pack and a lighter. “Do you mind, seeing as how it’s already killed me?” She shook her head and he stepped to the window, opened it and blew the smoke out that way.

“So did you hit Jerry up in Atlantic City?”

“I did.”

“Did you hit the bastard hard?”

“Millions.”

“Well, then you’re a lock for heaven, ’cause there ain’t no man what deserves it more than that bloke.”

“But it wasn’t enough,” Annabelle said in a low voice.

Paddy stared moodily out the window. “Course it wasn’t. One thing Jerry has is lots of money. You can take all you want and he’ll make it all back off the sorry types tramping through his casino every bloody minute.”

“So how do I hurt him enough?”

He swung around to look at her. “You take away one of two things: either his life or his freedom. Only way.”

“There’s no statute of limitations on killing someone.”

“You got proof he murdered your mum?”

“Nothing that will stand up in court. But I know he did it.”

“I do too.”

Father and daughter stared at each other for a long time.

He finally said, “There’re only two people in the whole world who’ve conned that bastard and lived to tell about it. And they’re both in this room.”

“So you want to con Jerry, together?”

“I want him to pay for what he did to your mum.”

“You think I don’t?”

“I know you do. You went after the bastard. I never had the balls to do it. Sure, I’m a good con, maybe one of the best. I’ve got nerve, more than most.”

“And things have changed?”

“I’m dying already. So what the hell does it matter to me? Better to get a bullet in the brain courtesy of Jerry than watch my insides dissolve on me.”

“And how exactly do you propose doing that?”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot actually. Probably the only thing I’ve been thinking about. But your conning Jerry gives us a way to nail him.”

“Because he’s coming after me?”

“Right. You had a crew of course.”

“Two people you know, or know of, one you don’t.”

Paddy flicked his cigarette out the window and sat back down at the table. “Jerry hit any of them?”

“One. He’s a veg.”

“And maybe ratted you out?”

“No maybe about it, he did. In fact, Jerry is in D.C. trying to find me right now.”

“That tall, older bloke with you, can you trust him?”

“He’s never let me down.”

“Good friend to have.” Paddy fell silent, staring down at his unfinished breakfast.

“You think you’re in shape to run a con on Jerry? I got away from him last time because I worked it to perfection. I’m not looking to walk in and get my head blown off because you fall on your face.”

“Always admired your bluntness.”

“Guess who taught me?” she shot back.

“I
am
ready for this. In fact, it’s the only thing keeping me alive. And I’ve got the plan.”

“What is it?”

“Basically to get Jerry to confess to killing your mum.”

“Oh, really, is that all? Hell, I wish I would’ve thought of that one.”

“You have a problem with the concept?”

“No, with the execution, as in yours and mine. Because correct me if I’m wrong, but getting someone to confess to a murder, wouldn’t that involve getting up close and personal?”

“Absolutely. The closest possible proximity.”

“Well why don’t we stop right there then. I’ve done my face time with Jerry. I have no desire to do it again.”

“With my plan the risk will be minimal to you.”

“Define minimal.”

“Just trust me, Annie.”

“You must be insane.”

“No, I’m just a dying man who’s got to make peace with his God. And to do that, I have to make this right. I have to.”

This remark came so out of left field that Annabelle could only stare at him.

“But there is a small problem with the plan,” he said.

“How small?’

“We need access to the good guys, the cops. Not exactly my specialty.” He glanced at her. “Any ideas on that score?”

Annabelle sat back, not looking very confident. “You know this is suicide, don’t you?”

“I will never let you come to harm at the hands of Jerry. But I have to do this. I swear that to you on your mother’s grave.”

This last remark did something to Annabelle she never thought any words could ever do. She actually started feeling something for her father. She wasn’t sure if it was sympathy, pity, or maybe even something more.

“Then maybe I can find the good guys to help us,” she said quietly.