Hell's Corner (17 page)
“Of you,” she answered simply. “Of things that matter to you. Like friends.”
Stone turned away. “Good guess,” he said.
“So why did you come back in the fold? After that?”
“I guess I could say I had no choice.”
“I think someone like you would always have a choice.”
Stone didn’t speak for a long time. He just kept staring at the graves. A breeze rippled over them and Chapman wrapped her arms around herself.
“I have a lot of regrets,” Stone said finally.
“So this is about making amends?”
“I don’t think I can ever make amends, Agent Chapman.”
“Please, just call me Mary. We’re off duty now.”
He glanced at her. “Okay, Mary. Have you ever killed anyone? Intentionally?”
“Once.”
Stone nodded. “And how did you feel?”
“Happy at first. That it wasn’t me dead. And then I felt sick. I’d been trained to do it, of course, but—”
“No training can prepare you for it.”
“I guess not.” She clenched the porch railing. “So how many people do you reckon you’ve killed?”
“Why does it matter to you?”
“I guess it doesn’t. And it’s not morbid curiosity. I… I don’t know what it is, exactly.”
Before Stone could answer his cell phone buzzed. It was Tom Gross.
“We’re back on duty,
Agent Chapman
,” said Stone.
T
HEY MET GROSS NOT AT HIS OFFICE
at the FBI, but at a coffee shop near the Verizon Center. The federal agent was dressed casually in khaki pants, a polo shirt and a Washington Capitals zippered jacket. They bought coffee and sat at a table in the back. Gross looked pale and nervous, his gaze flitting around the small space, as though he suspected he was being followed.
“I’m not liking how this is shaking out,” Gross said. His hand went to his jacket pocket and then pulled back.
“You used to smoke?” said Stone.
Gross nodded. “Right this minute, sorry I gave it up.”
“So talk to us.”
Gross hunched forward and bent his head low. “First tell me how it went with Carmen Escalante?”
Stone and Chapman alternated filling him in about the bereaved and crippled young woman.
“Sad stuff, but then she’s a dead end?”
“We never had high hopes for that line anyway,” said Stone. “She’s a victim, just like her uncle.”
“Wrong place, wrong time. Poor sucker. Loves America and look what happens to him.”
“How’d things go on your end?” asked Chapman.
Gross shifted in his seat and took a swallow of coffee before answering. “I decided to cut to the chase and snagged the whole National Park Service crew that worked on the installation, including their supervisor, and sat their butts down at WFO. Supervisor’s named George Sykes. Career government service; guy has six grandchildren. Background clean as anyone’s. He was with his
team the whole time and swore on a stack of Bibles that none of them were involved. And I tend to believe him. There were like seven people around the entire time from the moment the tree was delivered to the staging area. No way they all got bought off.”
“So why was the hole still uncovered?” Stone asked.
Gross smiled. “Got a real education on that. The National Park Service is very particular about the plantings in Lafayette Park. Apparently only specimens available during George Washington’s era are installed there. Those guys are really historians who dig the occasional hole. I learned a lot more about that today than I needed to. But the reason they left the hole open was because they had to prepare special dirt, an arborist was going to look at the tree to make sure the transition hadn’t damaged it, yada, yada. They were scheduled to close the hole the next day.”
Chapman spoke up. “So the bomb was in the tree’s root ball before it was even delivered to the site. That has to be it. The National Park Service folks aren’t involved at all.”
Stone looked from her to Gross. “Do we know the timeline with the tree? Where it came from? Who was involved on that end?”
“Running that down as we speak. The thing is, I don’t see how a tree gets from that point to Lafayette without it being checked for a damn bomb. I mean, at the very least you’d think they’d let a canine take a sniff when it got to the staging area. That tree was big. As you saw on the video, they had to crane the sucker in.”
Stone said, “Well, is there a record of a dog going over it for explosives?”
“Not that I can find. And none of the installation crew recalls that happening.”
“Another big hole in security if that’s true,” said Chapman.
“Yeah, but a bomb in a root ball?” said Gross. “Who’d figure that one?”
“Yeah, like jumbo jets flying into skyscrapers,” said Stone. “Or explosives in underwear or shoes. We have to start being ahead of that curve or more innocent people will die.”
Gross took another swallow of his coffee, his brow a mass of wrinkles.
“Something else?” prompted Stone, who was studying the man carefully.
When Gross spoke he lowered his voice to a level where Stone and Chapman had to lean forward to hear. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think our side is watching us. Screwing with us, I mean. That’s why I asked to meet you two here.”
Chapman said, “Our side? Why do you think that?”
Gross looked at Stone warily. “I know you’re with NSC, and frankly I’ve pulled too many years to blow my career, but I’m also not going to sit pat and pretend everything is fine either.”
Stone leaned forward more. “My loyalties run to the people at this table. Now tell me why you suspect that your own side is against you.”
Gross looked irritated and sheepish at the same time. “I think my damn phone is being bugged, for one thing. At my office and my house. And it’s like when I ask questions, there’re more fingerprints down the line than there should be.” He eyed Stone and then Chapman. “Tell me something. And I’d like the truth.”
“All right,” said Chapman quickly, but Stone remained silent, waiting.
“The video feed from the night of the explosion? I mean after the detonation took place? I gotta tell you I’m not buying the company line that the blast screwed the cameras permanently. Like the Secret Service said today, there are lots of eyeballs on that park. But they all don’t share.” He stopped speaking and eyed them. “So is there more?”
Chapman shot Stone a glance.
Gross frowned. “Yeah, I thought so. So you guys are screwing with me too. How the hell can I run an investigation with both hands tied behind my back? You know what? The only person I trust right now is my wife. And that’s the God’s honest truth.”
“I can understand that.”
“And why the hell were you two privy to the full video and I wasn’t?” He scowled at Chapman. “Hell, you’re not even an American.”
“There’s no good reason why you were kept out of the loop,” admitted Stone. He looked at Chapman. “Your laptop in the car?”
She nodded.
“Go get it.”
A minute later she was back and fired her computer up. Seconds later they were looking at the video feed. The
full
video feed.
After they finished Gross sat back, apparently mollified. “Okay, I’m still pissed that I got the rug pulled out from under me, but I didn’t see anything on there that deserved to make it off-limits to the FBI.”
That was true, thought Stone. But in light of what he had learned, was there something there he just wasn’t seeing?
He said to Chapman, “Run it again from the point where everyone starts walking off from the park. And do it in slow motion.”
She did as he asked. After a minute Stone said, “Freeze it there.” He stared at the motionless video. He was angry for not having seen it before, particularly after what he had learned today.
“Can you enlarge the frame?”
She clicked some keys and the picture morphed larger in front of them.
“Can you swing the frame to the left?”
Chapman manipulated the built-in mouse and the image moved to the left.
Stone put his finger on one spot on the screen. “Do you see it?”
Gross and Chapman looked closer.
“What?” they both said together.
“That car’s headlights flicked against the window there. You can see a face clearly reflected in the darkened glass.”
The other two leaned closer. “Okay,” said Chapman, “I can see it now.”
Gross nodded. “But who is it?”
“It’s the man in the suit.
That’s
why you didn’t get this part of the feed.”
“Wait a minute,” said Gross. “How do you know it’s the guy in the suit?”
“Because I met him today.”
Gross’s face turned red and he stood. “You know where he is? Son of a bitch. You guys keep holding shit back from me. Maybe you’re the ones bugging my phones.”
Stone stared up at him. “Agent Gross, keep your voice and your temper in check. And sit down. Now.”
There was something in Stone’s manner that made the federal agent obey. He sat, though his expression was still angry.
Stone continued, “The man in the suit was in the park that night to meet with someone about a very high-priority mission for this country.”
“And how do you know that?”
“I’m telling you what I was told earlier today from a source that I trust. As I said, I met the man whose face is reflected in that window. His mission involves tracking down someone who is the enemy of this country. Perhaps its greatest enemy,” Stone added.
Realization slowly spread over Gross’s features. He said, “Damn, do you mean…?”
Stone held up his hand. “A highly secret mission. Secret enough for the FBI to have been given an incomplete video feed of a major crime scene to keep his features off the video. Let’s leave it at that.”
Gross exclaimed, “But then this guy might’ve been the target.”
“No. If he were they wouldn’t have missed him.”
“And where is this guy?”
“Nearby.”
“Okay,” Gross said. “And where does that leave us?”
“With not much,” said Chapman grumpily. “With not bloody much.”
C
HAPMAN DROPPED
S
TONE OFF
at his cottage and then went on to her lodgings. Stone walked around the cemetery tidying up things at the same time he was thinking about the day’s events. They had hit dead ends pretty much in every direction. Each person in the park that night had been checked and found to have nothing to do with the bombing or the gunfire. Alfredo Padilla had been blown up by mistake. Marisa Friedman worked nearby and had been calling her lover. Fuat Turkekul was there to meet Adelphia to discuss their very important operation. The British cop had been there on orders from MI6. Four promising leads turned out to be worth nothing.
Stone went inside and sat behind his desk. It was late and he should sleep, but he wasn’t tired; his mind was working too fast to rest. He attempted to read a book to try and relax, but his mind kept coming back to what had happened in Lafayette Park.
Someone had carried off an incredible feat of terrorism smack in the middle of one of the most protected areas in the world, and they had done so for no apparent reason. He did not believe the statement from the organization in Yemen. This operation had to have taken a long time and required enormous resources. While Islamic terrorists had a lot of both, their assets were not infinite. They could not afford to waste them. Therefore, you did not undertake all that for symbolic reasons, any more than you would go to all the trouble of hijacking a jumbo jet and “symbolically” flying it close to a tall building instead of directly into it.
And he also didn’t buy the theory that he had seen some pundits bandying about on TV. That people would be scared to come to
D.C. now. So what? The government wouldn’t be crippled because busloads of tourists from Iowa or Maine decided to go somewhere else on vacation. It was not a “replicable act,” as some counterterrorism specialists liked to say. This wasn’t a shopping mall or an airport ticket counter. You detonate in one of those places and you terrify people all over the county, who will stay away from their malls and airports. That would severely disrupt the economy. But there was only one White House. Only one Lafayette Park.
