Stone Cold (21 page)

CHAPTER 58

A
LEX
F
ORD SAT AT HOME
worrying. He had been trying to reach Stone but the man wasn’t answering his phone. The story about the grave being dug up at Arlington was not front-page news but it had people talking. Alex didn’t know what had been found in that coffin. He knew, however, that it wasn’t the body of John Carr. He had learned much about Stone’s past when they both had nearly died at a place called Murder Mountain not too far from Washington. And yet Alex felt that there was a part of Oliver Stone/John Carr that neither he nor anyone else would ever know.

He tried to reach Stone by phone one more time, and then his own phone started ringing. He answered. It was the man himself.

“Oliver, what the hell is going on?”

“Not a lot of time to talk, Alex. You heard about the grave?”

“Yes.”

“It was Carter Gray’s doing.”

“But he’s—”

“No, he’s not. He’s alive and trying to set me up for a series of murders related to my past.”

“Oliver, what the—”

“Just listen! I can take care of myself. Reuben and Milton are laying low. So is Caleb. But I need you to do me a favor.”

“What is it?”

“My friend, Susan Hunter. You remember her?”

“Tall, leggy, with a fast mouth.”

“She’s in trouble and I offered to help her, but I can’t now. Will you step in for me?”

“Is she the reason we got called out last night?”

“That was my fault, not hers. But if you do help her you have to promise me something.”

“What?” Alex said warily.

“Her past is not exactly perfect. But she’s a good person with good motives. Don’t dig too deep there.”

“Oliver, if she’s a criminal—”

“Alex, you and I have been through a lot together. I would trust this woman with my life. I hope that means something to you.”

Alex sat back and let out a deep breath. “What do you want me to do?”

“Go to my cottage. On the desk are some notes. They will help you to understand the situation better. I’ll give you Susan’s phone number. You can contact her and tell her that I asked you to help.”

“This is really important to you, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t be asking this big of a favor if it weren’t.”

“Okay, Oliver, I’ll do it.”

“I appreciate it, Alex, more than you’ll ever know.”

“Are you sure I can’t help
you
?”

“No. This is something I have to handle on my own.”

Alex drove to Stone’s cottage. It looked empty, yet he still pulled his gun before unlocking the door, using a key Stone had once given him. It didn’t take long for him to see that no one was there. Following Stone’s instructions, he sat down at the desk and started going over the papers there, all in Stone’s precise handwriting.

There were names: Jerry Bagger, Annabelle Conroy with a circle around it, Paddy Conroy, Tammy Conroy and someone named Anthony Wallace. There were notes about Stone’s recent trip to Maine, along with some lines detailing conversations with Reuben, Milton and Caleb. And apparently Milton and Reuben had been to Atlantic City, to the Pompeii Casino.

Bagger’s place.

Alex stuffed the notes in his pocket, rose and stretched out his lean six-foot-three-inch frame, massaging the muscles in his neck with his hand. He’d broken his neck in an accident years ago while on presidential protection detail and the surgically installed metal there sometimes gave him fits. Next step was to contact this Susan Hunter, if that was really her name, which, after seeing these notes, he was pretty certain wasn’t the case.

The next instant he froze. Someone was coming. He slid over next to the bathroom door and waited.

The intruder came in, went immediately over to the desk and seemed to be very upset that nothing was there.

Alex stepped out and put his gun against the person’s head.

True to her unflappable nature, Annabelle Conroy didn’t scream, but she did say, “I hope to hell you have the safety on.”

He lowered his gun and stepped back. Annabelle was dressed in a short skirt, sandals and a jean jacket; her long blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail and partially covered under a ball cap. She took off her sunglasses and stared up at the tall federal agent.

“You’re Secret Service, right?”

He nodded. “Alex Ford. And I know you, you’re—”

“Unemployed.” She looked around. “He’s not here?”

Alex was staring at the small hook-shaped scar under Annabelle’s right eye. He caught himself and said, “No, he’s not.”

“Any idea where he might be?”

“Not really.”

“Good-bye then.”

As she headed to the door, Alex said sharply, “Annabelle!”

She jerked around.

Alex smiled. “Annabelle Conroy, pleased to meet you. Let me guess, father is Paddy, mother or maybe sister’s name is Tammy?” He pulled out the notes from his pocket. “And it seemed you might have been looking for these.”

She eyed the papers and said, “I thought Oliver was more discreet than that.”

“He is. I figured it out on my own.”

“Good for you. Well, I guess I’ll be leaving.”

“You want me to tell Oliver anything in case I see him?” Alex asked.

“No. I don’t think I have anything to say to him. Not anymore, anyway.”

“But you came to see him?”

“So? Why are
you
here?” she said.

“Because I’m his friend and I’m worried about him.”

“He can take care of himself.”

“Any idea why he disappeared?” Alex asked, though he knew the answer.

“It’s because they dug up a grave at Arlington Cemetery.
His
grave, apparently.” She watched Alex closely, presumably to see how he would react to this. “Did I pass your little test?”

He nodded. “Oliver must really trust you if he told you about that.”

“Let’s put it this way: I thought he did trust me, but it turns out he didn’t.”

“I heard Bagger can be pretty ruthless.”

If she was startled by this Annabelle didn’t show it. “What’s a Bagger? You mean like at a grocery store?”

He handed her one of his cards. “Oliver called me and told me to help you while he was otherwise engaged.”

This news did startle her. “He asked you to help me?”

“He insisted on it, in fact.”

“And you do what he tells you to?” she said.

“He said he’d trust you with his life. There aren’t many people he says that about. I happen to be one of them. We tend to look out for each other.”

She hesitated, before slipping the card in her purse. “Thanks.”

Alex watched in silence as she walked back to her car.

CHAPTER 59

C
AMP
D
AVID
, though it was often used as a working retreat, was also a place that allowed the president of the United States to get away from the stresses of the most impossible job on earth. The White House Press Office had issued a notice to journalists covering the president that this weekend was only for the president and his family. That was a lie, or at least a subterfuge, as statements issued by the press office sometimes were. The president was receiving a visitor, a very special visitor, and complete secrecy was necessary.

“Thank you, Mr. President, for seeing me so swiftly,” Carter Gray said as he sat down across from the man in his private office at the camp. As much as Gray had come to enjoy his bunker life, there was something to be said for venturing aboveground every once in a while.

“I’m just glad you’re all right,” the president said. “A very narrow escape for you.”

“Well, I can’t say it was the first time, but I hope it is the last. And I appreciate the latitude you’ve given me, on an unofficial basis of course, to pursue this matter.”

“I could sense its urgency when we spoke by phone. But I’d like a fuller understanding.”

“Of course.” Gray gave the president a thumbnail history of Lesya, the treachery of Rayfield Solomon and the recent murders of the Triple Sixes. “And now we come to the last member of that unit, John Carr.”

“The fellow who they dug up at Arlington? I’ve been briefed on that.”

“Yes, well, that coffin did not hold the remains of John Carr.”

“Who was it, then?”

“Not important, sir. What is critical is that John Carr escaped thirty years ago.”

“Escaped? Was he a prisoner?”

“No, a traitor. He worked for us, but we had cause to terminate his association with CIA because of his actions.”

“Terminate? Why not just prosecute him?”

“There were extenuating circumstances, sir. A public trial would not have been in the best interests of this country. So we had to take matters in our hands. Duly authorized of course by your predecessor.”

The president sat back and fingered his teacup. “Different times back then, I suppose. Dirty business.”

“Yes sir. That sort of thing is no longer done, of course,” Gray said quickly. “However, the termination attempt failed. And now I think it’s come back to haunt us.”

“How so?”

“It seems clear that the man behind the deaths of the three former CIA agents is Carr.”

“Why do you think that?”

“They were the ones who turned him in. And now he’s exacting his revenge.”

“Why would he wait three decades for that?”

“I can only speculate there, and that would hardly be a good use of your time, sir. However, there’s only one man who had grievances against all three, and that’s John Carr.”

“And he tried to kill you? Why?”

“I managed his unit. I was the one who brought him up on
internal
charges, in fact.”

“You ordered him terminated?”

“My superiors did with, as I said, all appropriate authorization.” Gray told this lie as though it was perfectly true. Perhaps he had convinced himself it was.

“Are these superiors still around?”

“No, all dead. As is, as you know, the president in office at the time.”

“How does this tie into Solomon and this Lesya person?”

“That was the reason Carr was terminated. We believed he’d been turned by Solomon and Lesya.”

“But Solomon died. Suicide, I think the report said.”

“Yes, but presumably Lesya is still out there. And I recall that Carr and Lesya had grown especially close. They could be working together now.”

“Why would this Lesya help Carr kill the CIA’s former Triple Sixes?”

Inwardly Gray sighed. This president was not as stupid as others he’d served under. “Let’s put it this way, sir. Rayfield Solomon officially committed suicide. But that’s only the official version. It could be that he had help.”

“Help? From us?”

“He was a traitor, sir. He cost many Americans their lives. He would’ve been executed in any event. He’s on the ‘Wall of Shame’ at Langley next to Aldrich Ames and other spies. The lives he cost this country, incalculable. A venomous traitor if ever there was one.” It pained even Gray’s hardened conscience to say these things about his deceased friend, but Solomon was dead. Gray wanted to remain alive.

“So we terminated
him,
too!”

“It was, as you said, a different world then. I for one applaud the more open and public face of the CIA and the government in general that we have today. But back then we were fighting against the possible annihilation of the world.”

“So Carr and Lesya may be out there. Anyone else on their target list?”

“Only one—Roger Simpson.”

“That’s right, he was with the CIA way back. So Roger was involved with this?”

“Only tangentially. We’ve taken appropriate precautions to ensure his safety.”

“I certainly hope so. We don’t have much of a majority in the senate. Every vote counts.”

Gray’s features remained inscrutable, but his mind did reflect for a moment on the president’s concern for maintaining a majority in the Senate over the life of an individual senator. “Certainly,” he said. “I can see why that’s important to you.”

The president said quickly, “Of course a man’s life has to take priority.”

“I never doubted that,” Gray said. He suddenly wondered if there were recorders in the room and the commander in chief was making that statement for posterity.

“So what do you propose? John Carr’s name has been all over the news. The man must’ve heard about it by now. I don’t think I would have done it that way, Carter. I would’ve kept it on the QT while I hunted for him.”

The president didn’t know that Gray knew exactly where John Carr lived and that he was now known as Oliver Stone. Stone certainly would have found out by now that his grave had been dug up and his secret exposed. He was no doubt now on the run. As quick-witted as the man was, he’d also probably deduced that Gray was alive and actually plotting against him. Gray
could
have kept it on the QT, and then simply gone to Stone’s cottage and arrested him. Or killed him. But he couldn’t do that, because Stone had a piece of incriminating evidence against him. And Gray wanted it back. Now he had something to bargain with: the evidence in exchange for letting John Carr live. He had wanted Carr to know. He had wanted Carr to go on the run, with Gray’s men keeping him on a long leash. It would make him more amenable to negotiating.

Gray said, “In hindsight that would probably be the best strategy. But we have to keep in mind that we need to avoid dredging up a lot of Cold War history with Solomon, Lesya and the others. Russia is in a fragile state right now, and the last thing we want is for accounts of our old skirmishes to surface. Frankly, sir, both sides played dirty back then, and public sentiment needs to be kept in check here and in Russia. Contact has been made with the Russians and they understand what is at stake. They’ve pledged their support to eliminating the problem.”

“Of course. Well, you can count on my full support too, Carter. Good to have you back in the saddle. Never understood why you resigned in the first place.”

“Perhaps neither did I.”
And I never would have if it hadn’t been for John Carr.

Gray was taken by chopper back to his bunker. He looked out the window of the helicopter as it soared along over the Maryland countryside. Down there Carr was running hard, with Gray’s men right behind. And Lesya’s son was probably planning his next attack: on that same John Carr. Which was why Gray had wanted this to become public; he
wanted
Carr to become a target.

Now all he had to do was get to Carr first, pretend to give him back his life in exchange for the evidence, and then Lesya’s son could have him. And then they would kill the son and Lesya and finally put an end to this once and for all. As for Roger Simpson, he didn’t care whether the man survived or not.

Admittedly, it was a complicated plan. Yet in Gray’s world, nothing seemed to be simple.