Stone Cold (4 page)

CHAPTER 7

“
D
O YOU THINK
I’
M STUPID
?” screamed Jerry Bagger. The casino chief wedged his arm against the other man’s windpipe as he mashed him against the wall in Bagger’s luxurious office on the twenty-third floor of the Pompeii Casino. The drapes were closed. Bagger always closed the drapes when he was either going to bang a willing lady on his couch or kick the shit out of somebody who deserved it. These matters should always be kept private, he felt. It was a point of honor with him.

The man didn’t answer Bagger’s question chiefly because he couldn’t breathe. However, Bagger wasn’t waiting for a reply. His first blow caught the guy flush on the nose and broke it. The second one knocked a front tooth out. The man fell to the floor weeping. For good measure Bagger kicked him in the gut. That made the beaten fellow vomit on the carpet. As the puke spread across the expensive inlaid wool Bagger’s own security force had to pull their furious boss off the fallen man before real damage was done.

The guy was carted away, crying and bleeding and mumbling that he was sorry. Bagger sat down behind his desk and rubbed his cracked knuckles. Glaring at his security chief, he growled, “Bobby, you bring me any more pissants like that one who say they know something about Annabelle Conroy and end up trying to shake me down while feeding me a sack of shit, I swear to God I will kill your mother. And I like your mother but I will kill her. Do you
hear
me!”

The burly black security chief took a step back and swallowed nervously. “Never again, Mr. Bagger. I’m sorry, sir. Really, really sorry.”

“Everybody’s sorry but nobody’s doing a damn thing to get me the bitch, are they?” Bagger roared.

“We thought we had a lead on her. A good one.”

“You thought? You thought? Well, maybe you should stop thinking, then.”

Bagger hit a button on his desk and the drapes opened. He jumped up and looked out the window. “Forty million bucks she took from me. This could screw up my whole business, you know that? I don’t have enough reserves to meet the state regs. You get a government bean counter in here right now looking at my books he could shut me down. Me! You used to be able to pay those assholes off, but now with all this anticorruption and ethical bullshit going around, you can’t do that no more. You mark my word, that full disclosure crap is gonna destroy a great country.”

“We’ll find her, boss, and get the money back,” his security chief assured him.

Bagger didn’t appear to be listening. Staring down at the street far below, he said, “I see the bitch everywhere. In my dreams, in my food, when I’m shaving there she is in my mirror. Hell, even when I’m taking a leak, her face is in the toilet bowl staring at me. It’s driving me nuts!”

He sat on the couch and calmed down. “What’s the latest on our boy Tony Wallace?”

“We got somebody on the inside at the hospital in Portugal. Jerk’s still in a coma. But even if he comes out of it, there’s nothing there. Our source says the guy’s a permanent retard.”

“If you ask me he was a retard long before we got to him.”

“You know, boss, we probably should’ve just killed him like we did everybody else.”

“I gave him my word. He told me what he knew, he got to live; that was the deal. But in my book brain dead means you’re still alive. Lots of people live forty, fifty years like that. It’s like being a baby until you’re eighty. Get fed through a tube, get your ass wiped every day and you play with blocks. Granted, it’s not much of a life, but I didn’t go back on my word. People can say I’m violent and I got a bad temper and all that crap but they can never point to one time where I ever went back on my word. You know why?”

The security chief shook his head warily, obviously unsure whether his boss wanted an answer or not.

“Because I got standards, that’s why. Now get outta here.”

Alone, Bagger sat down behind his desk and put his head in his hands. He would never admit this to anyone, but mixed in with all the hatred he had for Annabelle Conroy was a sincere, if grudging, admiration. “Annabelle,” he said aloud. “You are without a doubt the greatest con artist in the world. It would’ve been a pleasure working with you. And you were probably the best piece of ass I’ve ever put my hand on. So it’s too bad you were so stupid as to take me on because now I gotta kill you. I gotta make an example of you. And it’s a waste, but that’s just the way it’s gotta be.”

It wasn’t just the loss of the forty million that had enraged Bagger. Ever since word of the successful con had leaked out, cheaters had become far more brazen in his casino. Losses had quickly risen. And his competitors and business associates were also not quite as respectful as they had once been, sensing that Bagger was no longer at the top of his game, that he was vulnerable. Calls weren’t immediately returned. Action that he could always count on getting didn’t always come through now.

“An example,” Bagger said again. “To show these assholes that not only am I still at the top, I’m getting stronger every day. And I will find you, lady. I will find you.”

CHAPTER 8

T
HE CONTACT
O
LIVER
S
TONE
proposed using was an honorary member of the Camel Club named Alex Ford, a Secret Service agent. The two men trusted each other fully and Stone knew it was the one place he could turn to for discreet intelligence.

“Does this have something to do with that woman you were working with? Her name was Susan, right?” Alex asked when Stone called and relayed his request.

“It has nothing to do with her,” Stone lied. “She’s actually leaving town soon. This has to do with something else I’m involved in.”

“For a cemetery worker you get around a lot.”

“It keeps me young.”

“The Bureau can help out too. After what you did for them last time they owe you. When do you need to know?”

“As soon as you can get something.”

“Just so you know, I’ve heard of this Jerry Bagger guy. The Justice Department has been trying to get something on him for a long time.”

“I’m sure the attention is well-deserved. Thanks, Alex.”

Later that night, Reuben Rhodes and Caleb Shaw visited Stone at his cottage. Caleb was in a high state of indecision.

“They asked me, but I don’t know if I should accept or not. I just don’t know,” he wailed.

“So the Library of Congress wants you to become the director of the Rare Books Division,” Stone said. “That sounds like a great promotion, Caleb. What’s to decide?”

Caleb said stiffly, “Well, considering the fact that the position became available
only
because the former director was horribly murdered on the premises and the acting director after him suffered a nervous breakdown from what happened there, it
does
give one pause.”

Reuben growled, “Hell, Caleb, go for it. I mean, who’s going to mess with a fine young buck like you?”

Caleb, who was in his fifties, of medium height and a bit pudgy, with not a trace of athleticism or personal courage, was not amused by this comment.

“You said it
is
more money,” Stone reminded him. “In fact a good deal more.”

“Yes, but if that only means I can afford a much nicer funeral, I’m not sure I’m interested.”

Reuben added gruffly, “But when you die, you die knowing that you have more to leave to your friends. Now if that’s not true comfort, I don’t know what is.”

“Why I even bother to ask for your opinion I don’t know,” Caleb said hotly.

Reuben turned his attention to Stone. “You seen Susan lately?”

Only Stone knew Annabelle’s real name.

“She came by the other day, but only for a few minutes. She successfully completed her task with Milton. The item is back where it belongs.”

“I have to admit,” Caleb said. “She did what she said she was going to do.”

Reuben said, “Now if I could just get her to go out with me. She keeps having other plans. I’m not sure if she’s trying to brush me off or not. But I don’t get it. Look at me. What’s not to love?”

Reuben was nearly sixty, with a full beard and dark curly hair mixed with gray down to his shoulders. He was six-five with the build of an NFL left tackle. A highly decorated Vietnam War vet and former military intelligence officer, he had burned many professional bridges and nearly succumbed to pills and the bottle before Oliver Stone had brought him back from the edge. He now worked on a loading dock.

“I saw where your ‘friend’ Carter Gray received the Medal of Freedom,” Caleb said after giving Reuben an incredulous look. “Talk about your ironies. If that man had his way you two would be dead and the rest of us would be getting water-dunked in some CIA-run torture chamber.”

Reuben roared, “For the hundredth time it’s water-
boarding,
not water-dunking.”

“Well, whatever it is, he’s a nasty man.”

“He’s actually a man who believes his way is the right way, and he’s certainly not alone in that belief,” Stone said. “I went down to the White House and saw him off after he received his award.”

“You went down to the White House?” Caleb exclaimed.

“Well, he showed me his medal and I sort of
waved
at him.”

“What, you two are now best buds?” Reuben added with a snort. “From a man who tried to kill you a few times?”

“He also saved someone for me,” Stone said quietly.

“Care to explain that?” Reuben asked curiously.

“No.”

Someone banged on his door. Stone rose to answer it, thinking it might be Milton or perhaps Annabelle.

The man at the door was dressed in a dark suit and had a pistol under his jacket, Stone observed. He handed Stone a piece of paper and walked off. Stone opened the note.

Carter Gray wanted Stone to visit him at his house two days from today. A car would pick him up. There did not seem to be an opportunity to decline the command. When he told the others Caleb said, “Oliver, you’re not going.”

“Of course I am,” Stone said.

CHAPTER 9

H
ARRY
F
INN WAS CURRENTLY
sucking on oxygen and peering out of his specially designed headgear. They were going so fast there wasn’t a lot to see. A storm was raging and those on the deck of the boat were no doubt getting wet and jostled. It wasn’t any better where Finn was. Demonstrating once more his affinity for unusual choices in transportation, he was attached to the side of a ship in a very tight ball near the stern using a support device not available to the public. He had discovered a seam in the exterior video and human surveillance perimeters and was now an invisible bump against the gunmetal gray side of the naval ship. The ride was far less comfortable than the plane cargo hold had been. In fact, despite his special device, Finn was nearly jolted off his perch twice. Had he been, his life probably would have ended on impact with the twin screws that were thrusting the ship through the water. His ride had started at what should have been a highly secure military dock at the Norfolk Naval Station. However, the “highly secure” component had broken down completely when confronted by Harry Finn wearing one of his vast array of disguises and his air of belonging perfectly in whatever situation he found himself.

The boat slowed and swung around to the port side of the larger vessel. Finn let it drift to a stop before he slipped underneath the water, kicking away from the boat as he did so. He had a waterproof knapsack slung over his back and an electronic jammer around his waist making him invisible to any tracking gear on board either boat. He dove down farther and headed underneath the other ship, which rode quite low in the water, and for good reason. It weighed over 80,000 tons, carried nearly a hundred aircraft and 6,000 sea and air personnel, housed not one but two nuclear powered generators, and had set the American taxpayer back over $3 billion.

Once he reached the spot, it took him only two minutes to attach the device to the bottom of the ship’s hull, and then, keeping well away from the massive screws, he made his way back to the other boat, reattached himself, and rode it back in. He had accepted this mission largely because it would give him some practice for another upcoming task of a more personal nature. He actually thought about the details of that job as the boat he was piggybacking on made its jog back to land. After it docked, he slipped out from his hiding place, swam to a remote part of the pier, clambered out and stripped off his gear. He made his phone call and later reported to the duty officer’s chambers with a high-level military escort, the members of which had privately bet there was no way anyone could do what Finn had just done: place a bomb on the hull bottom of the navy’s prized Nimitz-class
George Washington
aircraft carrier as it sat off the coast of Virginia. It was a bomb powerful enough to sink the carrier and all hands on board along with a couple billion dollars’ worth of aircraft.

This time the admiral of the Atlantic fleet and everyone down his chain of command was given a ten-megaton blast by the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, who happened to be a four-star army general. The man could barely hide his delight at delivering this meltdown to his naval colleague, a dressing-down so loud, it was said the four-star could be heard all the way back at the Pentagon nearly two hundred miles away. This very public whipping was reinforced by the presence of the secretary of defense, who had been standing by in his chopper waiting to see if Harry Finn could actually pull it off. The fact that the man had scored an improbable triumph against massively high odds prompted the secdef immediately to offer Harry Finn a position on his staff.

The secretary of Homeland Security was not amenable to this co-opting of a prized contractor. The two cabinet members went at it like schoolboys on a playground until the president himself interceded by secure video conference call and decreed that Harry Finn would stay right where he was, as an independent contractor to DHS. The defeated and miffed secdef climbed on his private chopper and flew back to Washington.

Harry Finn stayed down in Norfolk to give a briefing to a group of chagrined naval security personnel. While he was always courteous and unfailingly respectful, his comments were not watered down. Failures had happened, here is how I did it, and here is what you need to do to prevent a bona fide terrorist from doing it for real.

What Finn did for a living was often referred to in the field as “red cells.” The term had been coined by a former Navy SEAL who’d helped start the program. The red cell project had commenced after the Vietnam War at the request of a vice admiral to test the security of military installations. After 9/11, it had been expanded to test the security of nonmilitary facilities to penetration by terrorists and other criminal organizations.

People with Finn’s special skills, almost all of whom were formerly in the military, were tasked to impersonate terrorist cells and attempt to overcome a facility’s security. Often the penetrations were conducted in a nontraditional way, something also referred to as humanizing the task. That meant that Finn and his team members would emulate the skill levels of the terrorists they were attacking. Presently, Muslim terrorists were not deemed to have sophisticated skill levels. Even after 9/11 there was disbelief in American intelligence circles that such terror cells could take over a major facility or do what Finn had done that night with the aircraft carrier. They were good at blowing themselves and others up in public or driving planes into skyscrapers, but attacking a nuclear power plant or military installation was a whole different ball game.

However, it had finally occurred to both politicians and higher-ups in the military that Muslims were not the only potential terrorists in the world. China, Russia and other former Soviet bloc countries, as well as several nations in America’s own hemisphere, might well want to do harm to the United States. And these countries
did
have the infrastructure, personnel and access to intelligence to make determined and possibly successful attacks on secure American installations. Thus, Finn had been instructed to pull out the stops, use all his skills and cutting-edge equipment to break through the navy’s defenses. And he had.

Other men, including several on red cell teams Finn had worked with, might have stayed out all night celebrating this dramatic triumph. However, Finn was not like most people. He had stayed down in the Norfolk area an extra day for one very important reason. His oldest son, David, was on a soccer travel team that had a match in the area. The day after his briefing Finn attended his son’s match and then drove the victorious—and in high spirits—David back home that night. Along the way they talked about school, girls, sports. And then David, who at thirteen was nearly as tall as his dad, asked his father, “So what were you doing down there? Was it work-related?”

Finn nodded. “Some people were having problems with a security issue and asked me to come down and help them with it.”

“Did you get it figured out?”

“Oh, yeah. Everyone’s on the same page now. It actually wasn’t that complicated once the problems were identified.”

“Security with what?”

“A wide range of things. Nothing too exciting.”

“So can you tell me about it?”

“I doubt you’d find it interesting. It’s the same stuff lots of people do across the country. The only good thing is I don’t have to sit behind a desk every day.”

“I asked Mom about it once. She said she wasn’t sure what you did.”

“I think your mother was just kidding you.”

“You’re not a spy, are you?”

Finn smiled. “Well, if I were I couldn’t tell you.”

“Or if you did you’d have to kill me, right?” David said, laughing.

“All I do is help people run things better by pointing out flaws in their systems.”

“Like a computer guy does with bugs? So you’re like a debugger.”

“Exactly. Like I said, pretty boring stuff, but it pays well and keeps food on the table, which by the way, you seem to be eating about a hundred pounds of a day.”

“I’m a growing boy, Pop. Hey, did you know that Barry Waller’s dad chased a guy in his police car down an alleyway and wrestled a gun out of his hand after the dude robbed a bank? Barry said the guy almost shot his dad.”

“Police work can be very dangerous. Barry’s dad is a brave man.”

“I’m glad you don’t do stuff like that.”

“Me too.”

“So just keep doing your boring debugging stuff, Pop.” David gave his father a playful punch in the arm. “And stay out of trouble, will ya?”

“I will, son. I will,” said Harry Finn.