The Collectors (31 page)

CHAPTER 62

A
NNABELLE HAD PICKED
S
TONE
up before the crack of dawn, and they’d driven out to Trent’s home and settled themselves down where they could see his driveway. They’d left Annabelle’s rental car for Reuben to use and taken his battered pickup truck for the surveillance. It fit in a lot better in horse country than her Chrysler Le Baron had the night before. Because she and Stone had been kidnapped, that car was still parked on a dirt road about five hundred yards from where they were. Annabelle had rented another car the previous night at Dulles Airport.

Stone was looking through a pair of binoculars. It was dark, chilly and damp, and with the truck’s engine off, the interior quickly became very cold. Annabelle snuggled down in her coat. Stone seemed oblivious to the elements. They had only seen one other car pass by, its headlights cutting through the fog that hovered a few feet above the ground. Stone and Annabelle had ducked down in the truck’s cab until it had gone by. The sleepy driver was on his cell phone, gulping coffee and reading snatches of a newspaper draped across the steering wheel.

An hour later, just as dawn was breaking, Stone tensed. “Okay, something’s coming.”

A car had pulled out from Trent’s driveway. As it slowed to make the turn onto the road, Stone focused his binoculars on the driver’s side.

“It’s Trent.”

Annabelle looked around at the deserted area. “It might be a little obvious if we start tailing him.”

“We’re going to have to chance it.”

Luckily, another car pulled past them, a station wagon with a mom driving and three small kids in the backseat. Trent pulled ahead of the station wagon.

Stone said, “Okay, that car’s our buffer. If he checks the mirror, he’ll see a family, nothing more. Hit it.”

Annabelle put the truck in gear and pulled into line behind the second car.

They made it to Route 7 twenty minutes later through a series of back roads. As they did so, a few other cars joined the procession, but Annabelle managed to keep behind the station wagon, which, in turn, was right behind Trent. When they reached Route 7, a main artery into Tyson’s Corner, Virginia, and Washington, D.C., the traffic picked up considerably. D.C. was an early-to-work sort of place, and major roads were routinely jammed as early as five-thirty.

“Don’t lose him,” Stone said urgently.

“I’ve got it covered.” She expertly maneuvered the truck through traffic, keeping Trent’s sedan within sight. It helped that it was getting light now.

Stone glanced at her. “You seem to have tailed people before.”

“Just like I told Milton when he asked me a similar question, beginner’s luck. So where do you think Trent’s headed?”

“I hope to work.”

Forty minutes later Stone was proved correct as Trent led them to Capitol Hill. As he turned into a restricted area, they had to break off surveillance, but they watched as an automatic security barrier lowered into the ground and a guard waved him in.

Annabelle said, “If only that guard knew the guy’s a spy and a murderer.”

“Well, we have to prove that he is; otherwise, he’s not. That’s the way it works in a democracy.”

“Almost makes you wish we were fascists in this country, doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Stone said firmly.

“So what now?”

“Now we wait and watch.”

Even before 9/11 undertaking surveillance near the Capitol was not easy going. Now it was nearly impossible unless one was nimble and tenacious. Annabelle continually had to move the truck, until they’d found a place close enough to see the exit Trent would have to come out of, and far enough away that the cops would not hassle them. Twice Stone had dashed across the street and bought them coffee and food. They listened to the radio and swapped a little bit more of their personal histories, along with large doses of conjecture on what their next move should be.

Milton had phoned Stone on a cell phone he’d loaned his friend. He had little to report. The police were being very tight-lipped about things, and consequently, the media kept running the same information over and over. Stone put the phone away and settled back in his seat, took a sip of coffee and glanced at his partner. “I’m surprised you’re not complaining about the monotony. Stakeouts aren’t easy.”

“The gold always comes to patient people.”

Stone looked around. “I’m assuming Trent will be working a full day, but we can’t chance that.”

“Isn’t the Library of Congress around here somewhere?”

Stone pointed up ahead. “A block that way is the Jefferson Building, where Caleb works. I wonder how he’s getting on. I’m sure the police were there today.”

“Why don’t you call him?” she suggested.

Stone phoned his friend’s cell but Caleb didn’t answer. He called the reading room next. A woman picked up and Stone asked for Caleb.

“He left a while ago to get some lunch.”

“Did he say how long he’d be gone?”

The woman said, “Can I ask what this is in reference to?”

Stone clicked off and sat back.

“Anything wrong?” Annabelle asked.

“I don’t think so. Caleb just went off to get some lunch.”

Stone’s phone rang. He recognized the number on the screen. “It’s Caleb.” He put the phone up to his ear. “Caleb, where are you?”

Stone stiffened. A minute later he put the phone down.

“What’s up?” Annabelle asked. “What did Caleb say?”

“It wasn’t Caleb. It was the people who are holding Caleb.”

“What!”

“He’s been kidnapped.”

“My God, what do they want? And why are they calling you?”

“They got the number from Milton. They want to meet to discuss things. Any sign of the police, they kill him.”

“What do they mean they want to meet?”

“They want you, me, Milton and Reuben to come.”

“So they can kill us?”

“Yes, so they can kill us. But if we don’t go, they’ll kill Caleb.”

“How do we know he’s not already dead?”

“At ten o’clock tonight they said they’d call and let him talk to us. That’s when they’ll tell us where and when the meeting is.”

Annabelle drummed her fingers on the worn steering wheel. “So what do we do?”

Stone studied the Capitol dome in the distance. “You play poker?”

“I don’t like to gamble,” she answered with a straight face.

“Well, Caleb’s their full house. So we need at least that or better to be able to play this hand. And I know where to get the cards we need.” However, Stone knew that his plan would test the limits of friendship to the max. Yet he had no choice. He punched in the number, which he knew by heart.

“Alex, this is Oliver. I need your help. Badly.”

Alex Ford sat forward in his chair at the Secret Service’s Washington Field Office.

“What’s going on, Oliver?”

“It’s a long story, but you need to hear it all.”

When Stone finished, Ford sat back and let out a long breath. “Damn.”

“Can you help us?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I’ve got a plan.”

“I hope you do. It sounds like we don’t have much time to pull this together.”

Albert Trent left Capitol Hill that evening and drove home. Leaving Route 7, he followed the meandering back roads to his isolated neighborhood. He slowed as he approached the last turn before his driveway. A pickup truck had run off the road and hit something. An ambulance and a utility truck were there along with a police car. A uniformed cop was standing in the middle of the road. Trent drove cautiously ahead until the policeman stepped forward with his hand up. Trent rolled down his window and the cop leaned in.

“I’m going to have to ask you to turn around, sir. That truck skidded off the road and hit an aboveground natural gas pressure regulator and caused a major surge in the pipes. Damn lucky he didn’t blow himself and the neighborhood sky-high.”

“But I live right around the bend. And I don’t have gas in my house.”

“Okay, I’ll need to see some ID with your address on it.”

Trent dug into his jacket pocket and handed the officer his driver’s license. The cop hit it with his flashlight and then handed it back.

“All right, Mr. Trent.”

“How soon will they fix it?”

“That’s a question for the gas company. Oh, one more thing.”

He reached his other hand in the window and sprayed something from a small canister directly into Trent’s face. The man coughed once and slumped over in his seat.

On cue, out of the ambulance stepped Stone, Milton and Reuben. With the cop’s help Reuben lifted Trent out of the car and into another car that pulled forward, Annabelle at the wheel. Alex Ford emerged from the ambulance and handed Stone a leather canvas knapsack. “You need me to show you how to use it again?”

Stone shook his head. “I’ve got it. Alex, I know this is a stretch for you, and I really appreciate it. I didn’t know where else to turn.”

“Oliver, we’ll get Caleb back. And if this is the spy ring that people have been whispering about and we can bust it, you guys all deserve medals. When you get the call, let us know the details. I’ve got multiagency support on this. Just so you know, I didn’t have to beg for volunteers on this one because a lot of guys are itching to nail these bastards.”

Stone climbed into the car with the others.

“And now we play the hand,” Annabelle said.

“Now we play the hand,” Stone affirmed.

CHAPTER 63

T
HE CALL CAME AT PRECISELY
ten o’clock. Stone and the rest of the group were in a downtown hotel suite. The man on the other end started to dictate the time and place to meet, but Stone cut him off.

“We’re not going to do that. We have Albert Trent. You want him back, then we’ll do an exchange on
our
terms.”

“That is not acceptable,” the voice said.

“Fine, then we turn your buddy over to the CIA and they can ‘coax’ the truth out of him, including naming names, and believe me, what I’ve seen of Trent, it won’t take long. You won’t even have time to pack a bag before the FBI knocks down your door.”

“Do you want your friend to die?” the man snapped.

“I’m telling you how they both can
live,
and you can avoid going to prison for the rest of your life.”

“How do we know this isn’t a trick?”

“How do I know you’re not planning to put a bullet into me when I show up? Simple, we have to trust each other.”

There was a long pause. “Where?”

Stone told him where and when.

“Do you realize what tomorrow will be like down there?”

“That’s why I picked it. We’ll see you at noon. And one more thing: If you harm Caleb, I will kill you personally.” Stone clicked off and turned to the others.

Milton looked fearful but determined. Reuben was examining the contents of the leather pack Alex Ford had given them. Annabelle’s gaze was directly on Stone.

Stone went over to Reuben. “How’s it look?”

He held up two syringes and two bottles of liquid. “Amazing stuff, Oliver. What will they think of next?”

Stone walked into the adjoining room, where an unconscious Albert Trent was strapped to the bed. Stone stood there, fighting a strong impulse to attack the sleeping man who’d caused them all such pain.

A minute later he rejoined the others. “Tomorrow will be a long day, so we need to get some sleep. We’ll run two-hour shifts watching Trent. I’ll take the first one.”

Milton immediately curled up on the couch while Reuben lay down on one of the double beds. Both men were asleep within a few minutes. Stone went back into the other room, sat down in a chair next to Trent and stared at the floor. He jerked when Annabelle pulled up a chair beside his and handed him a cup of coffee she’d made. She was still dressed in jeans and a sweater, but her feet were bare. She curled one long leg under her as she sat down.

He thanked her for the coffee and added, “You should get some sleep.”

“I’m more of a night person, actually.” She glanced at Trent. “So what are the odds of everything going perfectly tomorrow?”

“Zero,” Stone answered. “It’s always zero. Then you do all you can to beat that number, but sometimes it’s out of your hands.”

“You speak from experience, don’t you?”

“What else do you speak from?”

“Bullshit, like most people, but not you.”

He sipped his coffee and stared off. “Alex Ford is a good man. I’d go into battle with him anytime. I have, in fact. We actually have a decent shot at doing this clean.”

“I want to kill that little creep,” she said, watching the unconscious Trent.

Stone nodded and ran his gaze over the man. “He looks like a mouse, a desk jockey, which is exactly what he is, to most people. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. He just gets other people to do it for him, and this cruelty has no limit because he doesn’t have to see it or dirty his hands. Because of people like him, our country has been put at great risk.”

“All for money?”

“I’ve known some to claim it was about a cause, about following their beliefs, even about the excitement, but it’s always really about the money.”

She eyed him curiously. “You’ve known other traitors?”

He glanced sideways at her. “Why do you find any of this interesting?”

“I find
you
interesting.” When he remained silent, she said, “We were talking about other traitors?”

He shrugged. “I’ve known more of them than I cared to. But I didn’t know them for long.” He rose and went over to the window. “In fact, most of them I only saw for a few seconds before they died,” he added barely in a whisper.

“Is that what you were? The assassin of American traitors?” Stone’s shoulders tensed and she added hurriedly, “I’m sorry, John, I shouldn’t have said that.”

He turned to face her. “I guess I failed to mention that John Carr is dead. So why don’t you make it ‘Oliver’ from now on?” He sat back down without looking at her. “I
really
think you need to get some sleep.”

As she rose to leave, she glanced back. Stone sat rigid in the chair seemingly staring at Albert Trent, but Annabelle didn’t believe the man was looking at the handcuffed spy. His thoughts were probably far in the past, perhaps recollecting how to give a bad man a quick death.

Not that far away Roger Seagraves was marshaling his own team, trying to anticipate every move the other side would make. He hadn’t been back to his house because he’d suspected something had happened to Trent. He and his partner had implemented a system whereby each would call the other by a certain time in the evening if everything was okay. He obviously hadn’t gotten that call. Their capturing Trent complicated matters but didn’t make things insurmountable. He had to assume that Oliver Stone and the others had gone to the authorities by now, so there were several levels of opposition he would have to bust through to get Trent clear, if the man hadn’t already ratted him out. However, rather than fearing tomorrow, Seagraves was looking forward to it. It was such times that the man lived for. And it was only the best man that would survive. And Seagraves was certain he would be that man tomorrow. Just as certain as he was that Oliver Stone and his friends would be dead.