Stone Cold (17 page)

CHAPTER 47

A
NNABELLE LEFT HER FATHER
and walked to Stone’s room.

“He wants to team with me to con Jerry into confessing to my mother’s murder,” she said bluntly and then collapsed on the small couch next to Stone’s bed.

“You think you can trust him?”

“Damn it, Oliver, you just spent all that time telling me to forgive the man.”

“Forgive him, yes, not trust him.”

“I have no reason to trust him at all.”

Stone looked at her warily. “I sense a but coming.”

“But with all that I
do
trust him. I don’t know why, just call it my gut.”

“But you need the cavalry?”

“That’s what he says.”

“I might be able to help.”

“I thought so. I mean, they owe you after the last time.”

“They never owe you, Annabelle. Or at least they never think they do. But let me see what I can work. So what do you do with your father in the meantime?”

“I was sort of hoping he could come back to D.C. with us.”

“And stay with you? That might be a little dicey with Bagger in the same town.”

“Any help there would be appreciated.”

“Tell your father to get his things together.”

Paddy didn’t have anything
to
get together. Everything he owned was already in his battered truck. He insisted on following them down. “Truck’s all I’ve got left. I ain’t letting it go.”

With Paddy behind them, Stone and Annabelle drove south to Reuben’s house in one of the few remaining rural areas of northern Virginia. It was very late when they arrived there, but Stone had called ahead.

They pulled down a gravel drive that was more path than road and bracketed by thick woods. They passed leaning shacks and rotting cars as the wilderness and poverty grew with each click of the odometer. A few minutes later the Nova’s headlights flicked across a weed-filled yard and spotlighted a garage with its single overhead door open. The interior was bursting with tools and car parts. Parked beside the garage were six cars, two trucks, three motorcycles and what looked to be a dune buggy, all in various states of being rebuilt. Next to the garage was a mobile trailer that was no longer mobile, being set firmly on cinder blocks.

“Reuben just moved here recently,” Stone remarked.

Annabelle gazed back at the garage. “Does he run a chop shop on the side?”

“No, the man’s a mechanical genius. I think he’s closer to his machines than he is to most people. That’s why he loves his motorcycle so much. He says it’s far more reliable than any of his three wives ever were.”

“Oliver, do you have any
normal
friends?”

“Well, there’s you.”

“Oh, God, are you in serious trouble.”

Stone noted Reuben’s truck in the yard and a light on in the trailer.

“They’re waiting for us,” he said.

Reuben met them at the door and then stared over at the pickup truck, Paddy at the wheel.

“Who’s that?”

“A friend,” Annabelle answered quickly.

“I thought he might be able to stay here, at least for tonight,” Stone said.

“What the hell’s one more? He can have the presidential suite. It’s right next to the bathroom.”

“Where’s Milton?” Stone asked.

“Crashed. Apparently winning a shitload of money at a casino and then nearly getting whacked is really exhausting.”

“We’re going to return Caleb’s car now,” Stone said. “And then tomorrow I want to meet at my cottage, put all our facts together and see where we go from there. And I’m going to call in Alex to help us.” He shot a glance at Annabelle. “With a new angle.”

Reuben looked from one to the other. “Okay,” he said slowly.

“Thanks, Reuben.”

An hour later Stone and Annabelle pulled into the parking lot of Caleb’s condo building in D.C. and rode the elevator to the man’s apartment. Stone knocked and they heard footsteps approaching the door. It opened. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Caleb standing there.

CHAPTER 48

“
T
HIS REALLY IS INTOLERABLE
, C
ARTER
,” Senator Roger Simpson said.

The two men were in the CIA bunker, seated in leather armchairs and nursing glasses of cabernet.

Simpson continued, “For something like this to raise its ugly head now. When in a few years I’ll be sitting in the White House if things go according to plan.”

“Roger, if this comes out, you won’t be in the running. You might actually be in prison.”

Simpson flushed at Gray’s stinger but only stared moodily into his wineglass before saying, “Ray Solomon. Who would’ve thought that would come back to haunt us?”

“It was always a possibility. It was a calculated risk. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. I’m sure you did what you thought was right at the time.”

“You sound like you weren’t involved at all. You were up to your neck in it, same as me.”

Gray snapped, “
I
didn’t order Ray’s death. He was my friend.
You
are the reason he’s dead.”

“The man committed suicide, in Brazil.”

“No, you sent John Carr and his team to kill the man because you were afraid if he found out the truth, he’d expose you.”

Simpson stared at Gray over the lip of his glass. “Expose
us,
Carter. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Ray Solomon was a good man, and a top agent. And now he’s called a traitor. His memory has been besmirched.”

“Sacrifices are necessary all the time, for the greater good.”

“Funny, why do I think you’d never be willing to sacrifice your life for the greater good?”

“Fate has a way of preserving those who can truly make a difference, Carter. The great men always persevere.”

“Well, you should call upon the fates now, because someone clearly wants you dead.”

“And you too. Don’t forget that.”

“The fact that the killer thinks I’m already dead gives me a certain latitude with which to operate. Yet in one sense you can’t blame the person. Indeed, what you did was inexcusable.”

Simpson flushed angrily. “I did what I did for the right reasons. And it was a long time ago. The world was very different. I was very different.”

“None of us are
that
different. And it wasn’t really that long ago. In fact, it’s not past, it’s now the present. It’s a lesson in never burning bridges or doing stupid things.”

Simpson said nervously, “Donna will go ballistic if any of this comes out.”

“And can you blame your wife? Your action could be seen as abominable.”

“My action! You had people killed, Carter. Killed.”

“We were running the Triple Six Division, Roger, not a preschool for wannabe spies. Every target we were given was duly authorized, often right from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. It was our duty to execute on those orders, because the other side was playing the game for all it was worth. Anything less on our part would have been akin to treason.”

“Not every killing was authorized, Carter, you know that.”

Gray stared pointedly at the senator. “Sometimes it’s better that the politicians don’t know everything. But Ray Solomon should not have been one of those times, Roger. You shouldn’t have done it.”

“Easy to say in hindsight. And it was the only time I did such a thing.”

“Really? What about John Carr?”

“He was the worst of the lot. Tried to resign from Triple Six. I mean, come on.”

“As usual your judgment is simply
stellar.
Carr was actually the
best
of them all.”

“That’s your opinion.”

“And that’s why you ordered his death? Because he wanted to stop being an assassin?”

Simpson stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Kill one of our own men? Preposterous.”

“You’re a very bad liar, Roger. If you really want to make a run for the White House you’re going to have to improve your poker face.”

“I did not have the man killed.”

“About four years ago I had a long chat with Judd Bingham. He told me. It was he, Cole and Cincetti that did it. Carr’s own team went after him on
your
orders.”

“That is an outrageous comment. I didn’t have the authority to order that.”

“Authority? Back then? We ran a group of killers. Most of them, except for Carr, enjoyed their work immensely. Bingham said he and the other two were glad to do it for you. They were very upset that Carr wanted to quit the club. They took it as a personal affront.”

“Well, since Bingham and the other two are dead there’s really no proof of that, is there?”

“And Carr too. He’s currently residing at Arlington National Cemetery.”

Simpson took a sip of his wine. “I know that.”

“At least that’s what the official record says.”

Simpson glanced at him sharply. “What are you talking about?”

“Carr isn’t dead.”

Simpson sputtered, “But Bingham said—” He caught himself a second too late.

“Thank you for confirming what I already knew to be true. Bingham was always a liar. He didn’t want to admit that Carr got away that night. And Carr managed to kill three of our operatives in the process. Bingham, Cole and Cincetti barely got out alive, though apparently Carr didn’t know it was them. Carr was in a class by himself when it came to killing. It was a costly mission, Roger. And one that you should have been taken to task for. You’re lucky that Bingham and the other two kept their mouths shut all these years. But they would’ve been in just as much trouble as you if the truth had come out.”

“Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gray waited until Simpson had swallowed a mouthful of wine before saying, “Jackie was Carr’s daughter; did I ever tell you that? You adopted his daughter.”

Simpson slowly set down his glass. Gray noted that the man’s hand was trembling.

“No, you failed to mention that,” Simpson said in a strained voice. “You said she’d been orphaned but you didn’t say who the parents were. I didn’t even know Carr had a daughter.”

“You’d think when you tried to kill a man that you’d know those details.”

“If you suspected my involvement, why did you give the child to us?”

“Something had to be done with the little girl. And you and Donna couldn’t have any children. Despite what some people think, I do have a conscience, Roger. It wasn’t her fault what happened. And it wasn’t mine. It was yours, Bingham’s, Cincetti’s and Cole’s. Do you sense a pattern?”

Simpson jerked straight up. “You think Carr killed them?”

“And tried to kill me. He must’ve thought, understandably, that I had something to do with his family’s death.”

“But why would he wait all this time to do it?”

“There, I can only speculate. But he must be considered a suspect.”

“If he’s still alive.”

“Men like Carr are awfully difficult to kill, as you must surely admit now. A team of Triple Sixes couldn’t get the job done.”

“But I don’t understand, how does this tie into Solomon?”

“It may not. Carr may be operating alone and using the Solomon angle as a cover. That’s for us to find out. But if Carr is working with someone connected to Solomon’s past then we need to track those people down. I have the resources to do so. The current director certainly sees things my way. He should; I trained him.”

“And you’ll get whoever’s doing this?”

“Yes, hopefully before he gets
you.
Since you are most assuredly on the hit list—and quite the easy target actually.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I didn’t mean it as a joke. Three men who were far more skilled and far more deeply buried than you are dead. Practically speaking, you’re a much softer target.”

“I’m getting out of the country for a while, starting tomorrow morning,” Simpson snapped. “I’m not going to wait around here to be murdered by some psychopath.”

“I’m sure the American taxpayers will understand your shirking your duties in the Congress.”

“I don’t like your tone, Carter.”

In response Gray picked up his Medal of Freedom off the table next to his chair and held it up. “They gave me a lump of metal in return for nearly forty years of service to my country. I was surprised to get it, actually. After all, I had resigned my post as director of National Intelligence, leaving the administration in the lurch.”

“I often wondered why you did that.”

“You can keep wondering, Roger. That bit of intelligence is mine alone.”

Simpson gazed contemptuously around the bunker’s interior. “Feels a bit like a rat in a hole down here.”

“A person that can kill three former Triple Sixes and nearly me as well is not someone to underestimate. I’ll take being in my cozy bunker, for now.”

“Wonderful, while I’m exposed on the surface,” Simpson said angrily.

“Don’t worry, Roger, I understand that they award the Freedom Medal posthumously.”

CHAPTER 49

H
ARRY
F
INN HAD WORKED HARD
the next day and, that night, visited an apartment complex in Arlington. The parking spaces were all numbered so it was simple for him to locate the right one. He pulled his van into an empty space, walked over to the jet black Lincoln Navigator and pressed a device against the left rear fender. The blinking red alarm light on the SUV’s dashboard instantly died. Finn slid the lock buster out of his jacket pocket and in seconds the truck’s door lock cylinder was in his hand. He slid the special ID badge off the rearview mirror where the moron who owned the Lincoln always kept it, replacing it with an identical one, although it wouldn’t work like it was supposed to. It didn’t have the encryption codes burned into it—codes that were impossible for Finn to duplicate, hence the theft tonight. The owner would just believe it to be defective and have a new one issued. Yet this particular federal agency was notorious for failing to cancel old ID badges. Old badge, new badge, it didn’t seem to matter to many bloated bureaucracies. Yet it mattered very much to Finn.

He put the cylinder back, relocked the door, pressed his device against the fender and the alarm system came back to life. There was no sign he’d ever been there. If only the public knew what was out there to rip them off. Yet better they remain oblivious in the belief that they were actually secure.

On the way home Finn glanced at the stolen badge. Good thing he wasn’t really a bad guy, because with a little doctoring of the plastic he could topple the entire legislative branch of government single-handed, all 535 members. But there was only one he wanted. Just one.

Stone, Annabelle and Caleb were in the back of a van. Mike Manson, one of Bagger’s men, sat next to them. Mike had been the one to open Caleb’s door, gun pointed straight at them. Stone hadn’t thought they would be following Caleb; it was a miscalculation that apparently was going to lead to their deaths.

“So how’s Jerry?” Annabelle asked casually. “Run into any good scams lately?”

Mike said, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I doubt we’re going to the hotel where he’s staying,” Stone said. “A little too public.”

To this Mike said nothing.

An anguished Caleb had his face pressed to the window and seemed focused on not passing out.

“I guess a bribe wouldn’t do any good, would it?” Annabelle asked.

Caleb wrenched his face away from the window. “Are you aware that you could go to prison for this!”

Mike pointed his pistol at Caleb’s head. “Shut the hell up!”

The van swerved to the side as another vehicle suddenly cut it off. As the driver fought the wheel, Mike took his gaze off Stone for only an instant, but that was enough.

“What the–” Mike began before he slumped hard against the door. His gun clattered to the floorboard. Stone snagged the weapon and leveled it at his head.

Mike’s left side was in spasms after Stone had pressed his finger against a spot near the man’s rib cage. “Come on,
old man,
give me the pistol before you hurt yourself,” Mike said, grimacing in pain.

Stone cranked off a round, blowing away a tip of Mike’s ear before the bullet shattered the window. Then he pointed the gun at the driver’s head. “Pull it over
now,
before I put the next one in your brain.”

The van jerked to a stop on the dirt shoulder.

Stone stared at the stunned and bleeding Mike. “Next time you kidnap someone,
sonny,
tie them up. That way, you won’t look like an idiot again.”

“Who the hell are you?” Mike cried out.

“Just hope you never really find out.”

They bound Mike and the driver using straps and rope they found in the van, and then laid them in a ditch next to the road. They searched them for ID but found none.

Stone climbed in the driver’s seat and the three drove off.

Annabelle looked over at Caleb. “Are you all right?”

He turned to her, his face a delicate shade of rage. “I’m fine. Why shouldn’t I be? In less than an hour’s time I’ve had my home broken into, been kidnapped and then nearly killed. And now this Bagger monster knows that I lied to him. And he also knows where I live and where I work. Oh joy, joy for me.”

“Well, we’re not dead, that’s something,” Stone pointed out.

“Not dead
yet
!” Caleb shot back.

Stone handed Caleb his phone. “Call Alex Ford at home. His number’s on my speed dial. Tell him what happened and where he can pick up Bagger’s men.” He looked at Annabelle. “Jerry made a big mistake. And now we have something to hang him with that doesn’t require you and Paddy going after him.”

Caleb made the call and they continued on down the road. When they passed a curve a truck shot out from a side road and blocked their way. Stone tried to swerve around it but Annabelle cried out, “It’s my father. And Reuben.”

It was indeed Paddy Conroy driving and Reuben in the passenger seat. Paddy pulled the truck up next to the van and rolled his window down.

Annabelle leaned across Stone. “What the hell are you two doing here?”

Reuben said, “Got to thinking after you two left that Bagger had visited Caleb at work and maybe he had his guys follow him home. So me and Paddy decided to play a little backup.”

Paddy added, “We drove to your friend’s place in time to see them come out with you. From what Reuben told me, you”—he pointed at Stone—“just needed a bit of a distraction to take over the situation. And I guess he was right, as it turns out.” He glanced over at Annabelle. “I can see why my daughter trusts you so much.”

Stone shot a look at Reuben.

“Paddy and me had a nice chat on the way over.” He clapped the Irishman on the back. “And let me tell you, the dude can drive.”

“Started my career as a wheelman.” Paddy added hastily, “For the army, of course.”

Stone drove off in the van with Paddy and Reuben following. All were in high sprits at having nailed Bagger and his men. Yet it was not to be.

After Alex sent agents to get Bagger’s men, they reported back that the pair had disappeared. After that the news didn’t get any better. The pistol Stone had taken from Mike was sterilized; the van stolen. Their kidnappers had not mentioned Bagger’s name, so there was nothing to connect any of it to the casino chief. They didn’t even have enough to bring him in for questioning. The authorities were not happy about coming up empty. In the future it was made very clear that the cavalry would not come running when called.

It seemed to put them back at square one in their war with Bagger.

Yet it was Oliver Stone who was the most worried. Sterilized weapon, stolen van, no IDs, bound people disappearing in the night with no trace? What if it hadn’t been Bagger’s men who’d kidnapped them? What if instead of being after Annabelle they were after him?