Stone Cold (6 page)

CHAPTER 13

S
TONE REFUSED
G
RAY
’
S OFFER
of a drink. The two men settled down in Gray’s comfortable study, which held as many books in as many languages as there were in Stone’s cottage, although here they were kept in much finer style.

Stone looked out the long window that faced the cliffs overlooking the water.

“Tired of Virginia farm country?” he said.

“My ambition as a young man was to be a sailor, see the world from the deck of a ship,” Gray said, cradling his Scotch, his wide face strangely offset by a pair of narrowly placed eyes. There was a lot in that head, Stone well knew. Gray was not a man that one could ever reasonably
over
estimate.

“A young man’s ambition, can there be a more fleeting prospect?” Stone said idly. The darkness outside the window was complete. No moon, no stars; an approaching storm had hidden the sky.

“I never thought John Carr would be given to lapses into philosophizing.”

“Goes to show how little you really knew me. And I don’t go by John Carr anymore. He’s dead. I’m sure you were briefed on it years ago.”

Unperturbed, Gray continued. “This place used to belong to another former director of CIA, who went on to become vice president. It has everything I need to be comfortable and secure in my old age.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Stone said.

“I’m actually surprised you came. After your little gesture outside the White House?”

“How is the president, by the way?”

“Fine.”

“Did you feel any homicidal impulses when he plunked that medal on you? Or are you over wanting to kill the man?”

“Without directly answering your ridiculous question, circumstances change. It’s never personal. You should know that as well as any man alive.”

“The point is, I
wouldn’t
have been alive if you’d had your way.” Before Gray could respond, Stone said, “I have some questions I want to ask you and I’d appreciate answers, truthful ones.”

Gray put down his Scotch. “All right.”

Stone turned from the window to look at him. “That easy?”

“Why waste what time we have left playing games that don’t matter anymore? I take it you want to know about Elizabeth.”

“I want to know about
Beth,
my daughter.”

“I’ll answer what I can.”

Stone sat down opposite him and asked question after question for about twenty minutes. His final one was articulated with some trepidation. “Did she ever ask about me, about her father?”

“As you know, Senator Simpson and his wife raised her after they adopted her.”

“But you told me you brought them Beth when Simpson was still at CIA. If she had said something, surely—”

Gray put up a hand. “She did. It was actually after Simpson had left CIA and begun his political career. Understand she may have mentioned something about it before, but this was the first I’d heard of such a query. They had told her years before of her adoption. It’s not something Beth seemed to dwell on. In fact, I’m not sure she told many people about it.”

Stone leaned forward. “What did she say about her real parents?”

“In all fairness, you should know that she asked about her mother first. Girls, you understand, they want to know.”

“Of course she should know about her mother.”

“They had to be delicate, considering the . . . uh . . . the circumstances of her mother’s death.”

“Of her
murder,
you mean. By people who were looking to kill me.”

“As I told you, I had nothing to do with that. I sincerely liked your wife. And if truth be known, she’d be alive today if you had—”

Stone rose and stared down at him with a look that chilled even Gray, who well knew how many ways John Carr could kill another human being. And no man he’d ever employed had been better at it. “I’m sorry, John—I mean, Oliver. I admit that was not your fault.” He paused while Stone slowly sat back down. “They told her a little about her mother, all positive I can assure you, and that she had died in an accident.”

“And me?”

“She was told her father was a soldier who was killed in the line of duty. I believe they even took her to your ‘grave’ at Arlington. To your daughter you died a hero.” Gray paused and added, “Does that satisfy you?”

The way he said it made Stone wonder something. “Is this the real truth or the truth Carter Gray style, meaning a load of bullshit to appease me?”

“What possible reason would I have to lie to you now? It doesn’t matter anymore, does it? You and me, we don’t matter anymore.”

“Why did you ask me here tonight?”

In answer Gray went behind his desk and picked up a file. He opened it and held up three color photos of men in their sixties. He placed them one by one in front of Stone. “This first man is Joel Walker, the second Douglas Bennett and the last Dan Ross.”

“Those names mean nothing to me, and neither do these pictures.”

Gray pulled three more photos from the file, all much older and in black and white. “I think these will look far more familiar to you. And the names as well: Judd Bingham, Bob Cole and Lou Cincetti.”

Stone barely heard the names. He was staring at photos of men he’d lived, worked and nearly died beside for over a decade. He looked up at Gray.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because in the last two months all three of these former comrades of yours have died.”

“Died how?”

“Bingham was found in his bed. He had lupus. The autopsy found nothing unusual. Cole hanged himself. At least it appeared that way, and the police have officially closed that case. Cincetti apparently got drunk, stumbled into his pool and drowned.”

“So natural causes for Bingham, suicide for Cole and an accident with Cincetti.”

“And you don’t believe that any more than I do; three men from the same unit dying within two months of each other?”

“It’s a dangerous world out there.”

“Something we both know all too well.”

“You think they were killed?”

“Of course.”

“And you invited me here to what, warn me?”

“It seemed like the most prudent thing to do.”

“But like you said, John Carr is dead. Who looks to kill a dead man?”

“These three fellows had excellent cover. Cincetti was particularly deeply buried. If someone could find him, they could find out John Carr isn’t really in that box at Arlington. That he’s actually a man very much alive who calls himself Oliver Stone.”

“And what about you? Carter Gray was the master strategist for our little group. And you’ve had no cover all these years.”

“I have protection. You don’t.”

“Then you’ve given me fair warning.” Stone rose.

“I’m sorry things ended up as they did. You deserved better.”

“You were prepared to sacrifice me and my friends not too long ago, for the good of the country.”

“Everything I ever did was for the good of this country.”

“At least how
you
defined it, anyway. Not me.”

“We can agree to disagree on that.”

Stone turned and walked out the door.

CHAPTER 14

C
ARTER
G
RAY
’
S MAIL
was screened at an off-site center run by the FBI and then delivered to him in the evening. The courier duly drove up and the mail was given to one of the men assigned to protect Gray. These men lived in a cottage about a hundred yards from the main house. Gray would not agree to anyone living with him in the house, which was protected by a latest-generation security system.

Gray opened the letters and packages, not really focusing on any of them until he reached one item. The envelope was red and had been postmarked from Washington, D.C. There was only one thing in it, a photo. He looked at the picture and then over at the file on his desk. His time had come, it seemed.

He turned out the lights in his study and went to his bedroom. He kissed the pictures of his wife and daughter that had places of honor on the fireplace mantel. In a grotesque twist of fate, both women had perished at the Pentagon on 9/11. He knelt, said his customary prayers and then turned off the light.

Outside, about five hundred yards away from the house, Harry Finn lowered his long-range nightscope. He’d seen Gray open the red envelope. He’d gotten a good look at the man’s face as he stared at the photo. Gray knew. The climb up the sheer rock cliff had been a challenge, even for Finn. But it had allowed him to get this far. And he only had a little farther to go.

Finn waited another hour to allow Gray to fall asleep and then slid over to the gas regulator post. A natural gas line had been placed here specifically because Carter Gray preferred gas heat and cooking. Ten minutes later the gas pressure going into Gray’s home blew out all the pilot lights and overwhelmed the built-in safety systems. In seconds the house was full of the deadly gas. If he were still awake Gray would be able to smell it, because the utility company added an odor to the naturally odorless gas as a warning. Yes, Gray could smell it if he were awake, but that would be all he could do.

Finn loaded one bullet into his rifle. It looked rather ordinary except its nose was green-colored. He took aim and fired at the long window in the back of the house. It was not a difficult shot. The slug cracked the glass and the small amount of flame-creating powder in the incendiary bullet he’d chambered ignited. The roof was blown ten feet into the air while the walls were knocked outward a dozen feet on all sides. What was left of the roof came back down, landing squarely on a raging fire. Within seconds it was hard to believe a house had actually been there at all.

Finn had turned to flee on his planned escape route when he heard a scream and looked back. One of the guards had come out of the guesthouse, been hit with a chunk of flaming debris and was on fire. There was no sign of the other guard. Without really thinking about it, Finn ran forward, tackled the man, who was flailing around, and rolled him on the ground, putting out the flames. Then he leapt up and ran full tilt back to his gear near the gas regulator post. He’d already turned the pressure setting back to normal and relocked the access door. He grabbed his bag and gun, sprinted to the cliffs and flung his rifle and other equipment over the edge. The tide would soon carry them far out to sea.

Finn took a few steps back and sprinted toward the cliff. He flew out into space and plummeted down, his body unfolding into classic high-dive form. He hit the water cleanly, went under, and then resurfaced. He struck out with a strong, practiced stroke and made it to shore about a half mile down. In a small wooded area here he had covered under a layer of leaves a small motorcycle. He cut through myriad back trails to a main road, then finally pulled off on a small side street where a van was parked. He rolled the bike into the rear of the van, hopped into the driver’s seat and sped off. The van and motorcycle were left at a private garage Finn maintained about ten miles from his house. He drove home in his Prius, and changed in the garage before coming into the house, putting his dirty clothes into the washer and turning on the machine.

A few minutes later he headed quietly upstairs, looking in on his kids. Mandy was asleep; a book she’d been reading was still lying across her chest. He closed the book, put it away and turned off the lamp on her nightstand before slipping into bed. Finn mentally crossed Carter Gray off his list and moved on to the next name.

He looked down at his hands. Even though he’d worn gloves they were slightly singed from putting out the fire on the man. He’d put ice on them and then some salve in the kitchen before coming upstairs. “Don’t do that again, Harry,” he whispered to himself, but still causing his wife to moan and roll a bit in her sleep. He put a hand on her head and started rubbing her hair. His reddened hand and his wife’s beautiful blonde hair; the odd pairing suddenly made Finn want to run as fast as he could, as if he could outrun any of it. His lovely wife and their three wonderful children. A nice house, a job he enjoyed and was very good at. His life was filled with things he had always wanted to have. And with one thing he had never wanted to face. It didn’t seem fair really. Yet how in the world could he stop? It had been beaten into his head ever since he could remember. It had become more a part of him than anything else, even more than his role as husband and father. And that was the only thing in all of this that truly scared him.

Finn hid his hands under the covers and tried to sleep.

CHAPTER 15

“
B
AGGER GOT TO
T
ONY
,” Annabelle said. She hadn’t slept all night and had called her former partner Leo Richter at the crack of dawn. She had no idea what time zone he was even in and didn’t really care.

On the other end of the phone Leo sat up straight and felt his last meal start to come up on him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Tony screwed up. Flashed the cash and Bagger tracked him down. Bagger killed three people and left Tony for dead after turning his brains to mush.”

“Well you can bet the little weasel ratted us out, then. Why can’t somebody just kill Bagger? Is it that hard?”

Annabelle said, “What if Tony found out my last name? You told Freddy, maybe Freddy told Tony. Or the kid might’ve overheard.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Annabelle. We both might be screwed regardless. There are only so many Annabelles and Leos in the con world who operate at that level.”

“If you know where Freddy is you might want to warn him.”

“I’ll do my best. Look, you want me to hook up with you? Try to get us out of this mess?”

“And make it easier for Jerry to bag two for the price of one? Just stay where you are, Leo, and dig as deep as you can.” She clicked off the phone and sat back on her bed. Maybe she should put her millions to work for her right now. Just use it to run like hell. Private plane, private island, plenty of guards. It sounded tempting, but her gut told her this would be like waving a flag in front of a bull. She was still pondering what to do when her phone rang. It was Oliver Stone.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” he said.

“I’m an early riser,” she lied.

“I have news. We can meet at my cottage later,” he said.

“Why don’t you come my way, Oliver,” she said. “We can have some breakfast. There’s a place around the corner from where I’m staying.” She gave him the address. Thirty minutes later they took a corner table in the back away from the other customers. After they ordered, he told Annabelle what he’d found out.

“I’m not sure how that helps,” she said, spooning sugar into her coffee.

“The best defense is a good offense. The government would love to nail him to a wall. If we can help them do that, I doubt he’d have time for you. Actually, if we can simply distract Bagger with a government investigation, that may be enough to keep you safe.”

Annabelle looked uncertain. “You don’t know Jerry. He has forty million reasons to devote every second of the remainder of his life to killing me.”

Stone nodded knowingly. “I do know Jerry, at least men like him. It’s not just about the money, of course. It’s about loss of face, of respect. He has to seem invincible to everyone. Otherwise he’s not Jerry Bagger.”

“You sized him up right away.”

“As I said, I’ve known many men like Bagger, even worked for some.”

She said cautiously, “So if we
were
going to go after Jerry how would we do it?”

“We have to find where he’s vulnerable. There’s the point of least resistance, of course. He killed three people in Portugal and put a fourth in a coma. If we can pin that on him he goes away forever.”

“I know he did it, but I have no proof. And if I go to the cops, I’ll have to explain everything, and then I don’t think they’ll be waiting to hand me a medal.”

“Or you could give your share of the money back to Bagger and hope that’s enough.”

“I earned that money, every last cent of it. And like you said, it’s not about the money. He’d still want to kill me.”

“But if we can tie Bagger to these crimes without you having to give testimony or being involved at all?”

“Well, that would just solve all my problems, wouldn’t it? Only I don’t quite see how that can work.”

“That’s for us to figure out.” Stone was about to say something else when his cell phone rang. It was Alex Ford and his voice was strained.

“Oliver, did you see Carter Gray last night?”

“Yes, I did.”

“What time did you get there and what time did you leave?”

Stone told him. “I’m sure the driver can verify that. What’s this all about?”

“I can’t believe you haven’t heard.”

“Heard what?”

“Somebody blew up Carter Gray’s house last night, with him in it. I know this is going to be awkward, but I think the FBI will want to talk to you about your meeting with Gray.”

Stone clicked off.
The FBI will want to talk to me. About Gray.

Annabelle said sharply, “Trouble?”

“A little,” he said slowly as his thoughts raced ahead. “Maybe more than a little, actually.”

She tapped her coffee cup against his. “Welcome to the club.”