Hell's Corner (18 page)
If it doesn’t make sense the way I’m thinking it through, it means I’m thinking it through wrong. But then what way is right?
He was about to try a different tack when he sank down in his chair after putting out the desk lamp with a flick of his hand.
There was someone outside.
He dropped down and smacked a part of the plank floor in the kneehole section of his desk. The short board spun on a swivel. Inside a holster clipped to the underside of the plank was a custom pistol that he had carried for many years on the job. Back then it was as much a part of his body as his hand. Stone gripped it and swung the board back into place.
He crawled to the rear window and peered out. There was a moon, and even though the men were moving stealthily through the underbrush, Stone still saw them because he knew where and how to look.
He slipped his cell phone from his shirt pocket and was about to text a message when he heard the voice.
“Stone? I’d like to talk to you.”
Stone’s finger was poised over the send button. He recognized the voice. His mind was moving swiftly over the possible reasons why the man would have come here to see him.
“What about?” he called back.
“I think you know. I’m sure you have a gun and I’ve been told how well you wield one. And I’m sure you’ve spotted my men despite their best efforts. So that no one gets hurt, I propose that I come inside and meet with you. Just one-on-one. Does that work?”
“And if it doesn’t?” Stone shot back.
“I could say we would just leave.”
“Why don’t I believe that?”
“We’re both on the same side here.”
“It doesn’t feel that way right now.”
“I give you my word. I just want to talk.”
“Then why come late at night with a strike team?”
“It’s just the way I travel. Don’t take it personally. But I do just want to talk.”
Stone thought rapidly. He really had no leverage here at all. And information could be a two-way street.
“Just you,” he called back. “And I
do
have a gun. If I see even one red dot floating in the air, things will get ugly very fast. Understood?”
“Understood. I’m coming in.”
“Slowly.”
“Right. Slowly.”
A few moments later Riley Weaver, the head of NIC, appeared in the doorway of Stone’s humble cottage, which was surrounded by the dead and also now at least a half dozen armed men.
“
C
LOSE THE DOOR BEHIND YOU
,” instructed Stone. “And move away from it to your left.”
He rose from behind the desk, keeping out of the line of fire from the window.
“Open your jacket.”
“I’m not armed.”
“Open your jacket.”
Weaver did so. He was startled when a hand swiftly searched him.
“You’re light on your feet,” said Weaver.
Stone stepped back from the man, keeping his gun aimed at him.
“Can we turn on a light?” asked Weaver. “I’m walking blind here.”
“If you hadn’t shown up with a platoon of firepower I might treat you with more courtesy.” All the time he was talking Stone had kept moving, circling the man. He assumed the former Marine would have excellent night vision too, and he was not proved wrong.
“Okay, I can see you now and I know you can see me,” said Weaver. “How do you want to do this?”
“You see the chairs by the fireplace?”
“Yes.”
“You on the left.”
“And where will you be?”
“Somewhere else.”
Weaver moved forward and sat in a rickety wooden chair. He turned his head slightly to the right. “I can’t see you anymore.”
“I know. What do you want?”
“Our last meeting ended too abruptly.”
“Entirely your doing.”
“I know. I admit that. You’re working with NSC now. And the FBI.”
“So?”
“So how would you like to be part of a joint effort with NIC?”
“I already have enough alphabet letters, thanks.”
“You guys are no closer to solving this than from the moment that bomb detonated.”
“Okay, you have your interagency spies in place. The man you replaced did the same thing. Not always to positive effect.”
“I’m not Carter Gray. I know you two went way back and not in a good way.”
“He was excellent at what he did. I just didn’t happen to agree with all he did.”
“I read up some more on John Carr.”
“Good for you. Why are you here? And it’s not just to offer me a job you know I wouldn’t take.”
“You have the president’s backing. I know why.”
Stone stared across at the man in the dark. He was ten feet from Weaver, behind and slightly to the man’s right. A perfect killing angle since most people were right-handed and to fire back they normally wouldn’t turn to their right, it was too awkward. They would turn to the left. And then of course it would be too late.
“And where does that get us?” he said.
“I’m not one to dwell on ancient history. A bomb and machine guns in Lafayette Park are what I’m focused on.”
“Some are calling it symbolic.”
“Do you believe that?” asked Weaver.
“No. Terrorists are only into symbolism so long as there are lots of casualties.”
“I agree. Too much time and assets went into this. There had to be a reason.”
“I was just trying to think of one when you showed up.”
“If we work together we might just get there sooner rather than later.”
“I told you, I already have a team on this one.”
“We’re all on the same team.”
“You snatched me from my hospital bed before the FBI could get to me, played the bully at NIC, ridiculed my attempt to tell you what I knew or thought and then turned out the lights when I asked a question. If that’s your version of foreplay you’ll never get lucky.”
“Okay, I deserved that. I played the heavy with you and it backfired. I realize that now.”
“And you’re here now to play nice?”
“Is that too hard to believe?”
“Yes, it is. This is Washington, where they eat their young
and
their old. So one more time, why are you here?”
Stone counted ten seconds off in his head and the silence persisted. He lined up the silhouette of Weaver along his gunsight. He strained to hear the sounds of black boots moving in on him.
He can’t be that stupid,
thought Stone. Acting as a distraction. It didn’t matter to Stone that the men outside worked for the same government he did. He had enough experience to know that citizenship was no protection when you were in the middle of someone else’s agenda. Or conspiracy. Which in Stone’s mind were one and the same.
“I’m scared, Stone.”
This unexpected comment caused Stone to glance up from his sightline.
“Why?”
“Because something is going to happen. Something big, and I’m clueless about what it might be. And if the nation’s intelligence chief is clueless, well, it’s not good. I don’t want to be remembered for missing the big one.”
Stone relaxed a bit more. “Something big. Based on what? Chatter?”
“That and my gut. How did that bomb get in that hole? Why machine guns that hit nobody? And I’ve got another question that I don’t even think you’ve thought of.”
“What?”
“What happened to the original maple tree in the park? My sources tell me it just died, overnight. That’s why it had to be replaced. It’d been there for decades, hale and hearty, and then it just up and died and no one knows why.”
Stone seemed paralyzed by this statement. He’d been gone from Lafayette Park for some time. Still, he remembered that maple, tall, huge canopy, beautiful specimen. It had seemed healthy.
And then it just died. And no one knows why.
He sat down next to the man and slipped his gun in his waistband. When Weaver eyed the weapon, Stone said, “I’m authorized to carry one now.”
“No arguments from me. And you’re probably going to need it before this is over.”
“So you think the tree was deliberately sabotaged?”
“Either that or it’s a pretty big coincidence. No new tree needed, that bomb ain’t getting to Lafayette Park. Because it came inside that tree. I think we all realize that now.”
“Agent Gross with the FBI said they were tracking down that angle. But they aren’t finding much.”
“That’s interesting.”
“You’re telling me you didn’t know that already?”
“FBI has always gone its own way. I keep my ears to the ground, though. And I think what they’ll continue to find on that end is a big zip.”
“Why? Tracks too well covered?”
Weaver gazed over at Stone through the darkness. “They didn’t X-ray that root ball. It’s going in the park, in the dirt. It’s not the Christmas tree for the White House.”
“Canine sweep?”
“Not sure. But don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“No definitive answer on that.”
“ATF thinks it was a remote detonation setup.”
“Hmmph.”
“You disagree?”
“Let me put it to you this way. No bomb is foolproof. I almost got my hand blown off once dealing with a ‘foolproof’ explosive when I was in the Corps.”
“So what’s your theory?”
“Can we turn on some lights? I feel like I’m back in high school sneaking some of my old man’s hooch.”
“I prefer the dark.”
“Okay, suit yourself. The bomb goes in with a remote detonator. Probably a cell phone. Tree hole gets covered up. Then it’s detonated at the precise time they want. But instead we got a guy running from gunfire who jumps in a hole to save his ass, and boom.”
“But how did the bomb detonate?”
“Like I said, bombs are tricky things. Fat guy jumps and lands right on it, or maybe one of the slugs hits it. Detonates.”
“We’d actually discussed that possibility.”
“So I’m here wasting your time?”
“No, I hadn’t thought of the tree being killed on purpose. That’s one for you.”
“It only occurred to me tonight.”
“ATF thinks the bomb was in a basketball and then placed inside the root ball.”
“Doesn’t matter, still could have gone off accidentally.”
“But that makes no sense. The only reason the guy jumped in the hole and, according to your theory, prematurely detonated the bomb was because he was running from the gunfire. Why go to all the trouble to get a bomb there and then screw it up by shooting off the guns?”
“It makes perfect sense if you look at it in a different way.”
A few seconds later Stone said slowly, “You mean if the gunners and bombers were different.”
“Exactly. And if so, the bombers are pretty pissed off right now at whoever started shooting.”
Stone said, “The Yemeni group?”
“Those guys claim credit for lots of shit they had nothing to do with. Maybe they did the guns, okay. But then the bomb goes off and they figure, ‘Hell, let’s take credit for that too.’ Raises their profile with other terrorists. More street cred equals more funding. That’s how it works. Sort of like turf and budget wars in D.C.”
“Then that means the bomb was meant to kill someone else at the park at a completely different time.”
“That’s right. Only the question is who?”
T
WO HOURS AFTER
W
EAVER AND HIS MEN LEFT,
Stone could still not fall asleep. Weaver was obtaining a list of events to be held at Lafayette Park in the upcoming months and told Stone that he would share that information with him. For his part, Stone told Weaver all that they had uncovered about the jogger’s background and the other information he had learned from ATF and the FBI’s inquiries. He did not tell Weaver about Fuat Turkekul. If the NIC chief was meant to know about the operation to catch Osama bin Laden, people other than Stone would have to so inform him.
Stone lay on his cot thinking all of this through while the night burned onward to dawn. Finally his thoughts turned to the Camel Club. Caleb and Reuben had been friends of his for years. They had literally been through hell and back together. Alex Ford had been a more recent arrival to the ranks of the club, but he had twice saved Stone’s life and risked his career on at least five other occasions to help him and the others. Annabelle had blown into their lives only a short time ago but had quickly proved her loyalty to Stone. And Harry Finn had stood shoulder to shoulder with Stone in a firefight with a team of trained assassins even though Stone had killed Finn’s father more than three decades ago.
