“I don’t believe that it is. But that doesn’t mean she’s not involved. She was always very good at manipulation.”
“You know that much about her, but not her surname?”
“Actually, since she’s Russian, she would have three names: her given name or imia, a patronymic name or otchestvo, and a surname or familia.” By Gray’s condescending expression, he could’ve finished this mini-lecture off with the words “you idiot,” but he wisely refrained.
“Cold War baggage,” the director replied. “Not really our focus anymore.”
“You might want to rethink your priorities. While you’re placing all your bets on Muhammad, Putin, Chávez and Hu are eating this country’s lunch. And they make Al Qaeda look like kindergarteners as far as their potential for destruction on a large scale.”
The director cleared his throat. “Yes, well, how come you didn’t try to find this Lesya back then?”
“We had other priorities. Solomon had been eliminated. Lesya had gone deep underground. We made a tactical decision that using additional assets to pursue her was not worth the cost. We did believe that we had for all intents and purposes put her out of commission. And for over three decades she has been.”
“Until now, at least you believe. So any associates of this Lesya we have to account for?”
“We have to find that out.”
“What specifically do you know about the woman?”
“She was one of the best counterintelligence agents the Soviet Union ever produced. I’ve never seen her in person, only photo images. Tall and beautiful, she hardly fit the model of a spy because she tended to stick out. But she proved that stereotype wrong. She had more sheer nerve than just about anyone in the field. Indeed, she was aptly named, as Lesya means ‘bravery’ in Russian. She didn’t work directly for the KGB. She was a cut above that. We always believed that her chain of command went right to the Soviet leadership. She worked in this country for a time, then England, France, Japan, China and all the other typical high-level assignments. She did her best turning others. She recruited Solomon, secretly married him and turned him against his country. His treachery cost America dearly.”
“How do you know they were married?”
“Let me correct that. We believe that they were married. It was based on facts uncovered at the time. Largely circumstantial, but taken together, it looks like they walked down the aisle.”
“And he killed himself?”
“That’s what the file says, yes. I believe it was both from guilt at what he’d done to hurt his homeland and also the fact that we were closing in on him.”
“But you said before that ‘we’ got him. So did we kill him and the suicide was window dressing? Or did he really commit suicide?”
“Whether we did it or he killed himself, it doesn’t really matter; he would have been executed for treason in any event.” From Gray’s tone it was clear he was not going to say any more on that particular subject, even to the director of CIA.
“I looked at the file. There seem to be some gaps in it.”
“We didn’t have reliable computers back then. And paper files are notoriously incomplete from that era,” Gray replied smoothly.
The director apparently gave up on this line of inquiry. He had actually worked under Gray years ago and wasn’t nearly as smart as the man, and he knew it. “Fine, Carter. And you’ve alerted Senator Simpson?”
“Of course. He’s well-prepared.”
“Anyone else?”
“There was another man who was part of the team, a John Carr, but he’s long dead.”
The meeting ended there. It was obvious that Gray hadn’t told the entire truth. He had astutely gauged that that was for the best because no one wanted to hear the entire truth anyway. The country had too many current problems than to bother with what really occurred over thirty years ago to a man remembered only as a traitor.
Gray personally loathed what had happened to Solomon, but he could do nothing to change it. He had to look ahead, not to the past. And that meant finding a killer before he struck again. And Lesya, too, finally had to be run to ground.
The result of Gray’s meeting with the director was that a regiment of agents in the field were officially now “looking into the matter.” Though innocent-sounding, it actually meant that they were doing their best to find whoever was killing ex–CIA agents. And their orders were to terminate the person or persons responsible. No one wanted a trial on this. They simply wanted a body.
CHAPTER 42
HARRY FINN ESCAPED the third graders relatively unscathed. They’d asked a lot of questions, though, and once or twice Finn actually wished he had been a walrus instead of a SEAL.
When he’d finished Susie had given him a hug and said, “You have a really great rest of the day, Daddy.”
She sounded so grown-up, for a moment he felt like his heart would burst. His former SEAL team members would have been astonished to learn that beneath Finn’s stainless steel skin was a heart as vulnerable and susceptible to emotion as one could find. His only defense, his only way of keeping going, was to block it out. He led two lives and never let either of them mix. What he did for his mother would never wash over into his own family. And what he did with his family would never become part of his other life. At least he prayed to God it wouldn’t.
He drove to the office and met with his team to go over the hit on the Capitol. The session lasted for several hours as they carefully mapped out their strategy and then did more prep work. Toward the end of this meeting, Finn, whose mind worked best when multi-tasking, had reason to smile. He had just thought of a way to kill Simpson.
He grabbed some lunch and headed to his storage unit. He had a bomb to build.
Jerry Bagger screamed into the phone, “Nice going! That’s just great. Why don’t I come back to town and kick your asses too.” He calmed down when he heard the next bit of news. With a little more digging they’d ascertained that the little guy had won a ton of cash. And in a casino that meant one thing that was as certain as death: In order to get your money you had to fill out what amounted to a 1099 so Uncle Sam would know you’d won the money in case you forgot to pay tax on it.
Bagger took down this information and said, “Wait a minute, the guy’s from England?”
“That’s what it says.”
“Did he sound British?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know! Does anybody know?”
“I’ll have to check,” the man said nervously.
“Yeah, well after you check and then find out the ID’s total bullshit, why don’t you check back with me so I can strangle you.” Bagger slammed down the phone.
CHAPTER 43
WHEN STONE WALKED OUTSIDE the next day, a bleary-eyed Annabelle was sitting on the front steps of the B&B.
“What do you want from me?” she said bitterly.
“Nothing. What do you want from yourself?”
“Don’t play shrink with me.”
“Your father was in jail when your mother was murdered.”
“He was still the reason she was killed.”
“All right. But what’s wrong with giving him the benefit of the doubt and believing that he never intended your mother to be hurt by Bagger?”
“What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with that is that my father is a liar who has never cared about anyone except himself.”
“So he was really bad to your mother? Beat her, starved her?”
“Don’t make this into a joke!”
“I’m just trying to understand the situation.”
“No, he never abused her.”
“So he might have loved her.”
“Why are you doing this to me? Why are you taking his side?”
“I’m not taking sides, Annabelle. The man is dying. He was at your mother’s grave paying his respects. You thought he’d set your mom up but he didn’t.” Stone spread his hands. “All I’m saying is you might want to recon
sider the situation. Life is short. Family is not forever. I know that as well as anyone.”
Annabelle slouched against the car, hands tucked into her armpits.
“It took me two years to plan my hit on Bagger. Two shorts and then the long. I put nearly every dime I had into it. Took more risks than I ever had before. One little mistake in front of Jerry and I’d be dead. And I loved every minute of it. Do you know why?”
Stone shook his head. “Tell me.”
“Because I was finally getting back at the son of a bitch who killed my mother. After all those years he was finally going to pay. And I did it, I won. I conned more money from him than anybody ever had. Enough to really hurt him.”
“And?”
“And after I did it I realized it was all for nothing. Jerry was just being Jerry when he killed my mother. Jerry took his pound of flesh; that’s the law of the street we all live on. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll always hate the bastard for what he did. But the man I hated most of all was my father.”
“And today you found out he was innocent, at least of that.”
She pointed to the scar under her eye. “Some innocent. He gave me this when I was just a teenager, for blowing a claim in a casino. He said it was the only way to learn. And he’s the reason my mother’s dead. And what’s happened to him? Not a damn thing. Everything just bounces off the son of a bitch. He just goes along like the bullet in her brain never even happened.”
“I’m not seeing it that way, Annabelle. It doesn’t look like life has been kind to him. And he was here grieving over your mother. Doesn’t sound like a guy who got off scot-free.”
“I can never forget it, Oliver. I can never forget what he did.”
“I’m not asking you to forget. I’m just asking you to maybe think about forgiving. People do bad things all the time. It doesn’t necessarily make them bad people.”
“So what do you want me to do? Run and give him a hug?”
“This is something you need to deal with inside yourself. Before it destroys you. Because if we manage to nail Bagger you still won’t be satisfied because you have all this hate inside for Paddy. If you really want to get on with your life, you need to deal with that.”
Annabelle pulled her car keys out of her pocket. “Well, you know what? I don’t want to.”
She drove off in a spit of gravel.
As soon as she was out of sight Stone’s phone buzzed. It was Reuben recounting everything that had happened to them when they were in Atlantic City, including Milton’s big winnings and them being attacked by Bagger’s men. Stone told Reuben to not take Milton home, but to go to Reuben’s house instead.
“He didn’t use his real ID there when he collected his winnings, Oliver,” Reuben pointed out.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to take a chance. You recently moved. Your house doesn’t even have an address. It’d be very hard for Bagger to track you down.”
“How’s it going with Susan?”
“Couldn’t be better.” Stone clicked off and stared after the fleeing Annabelle.
Family. It just doesn’t get any more complicated than that.
CHAPTER 44
GRAY WAS ON A SECURE PHONE in a bunker the CIA had arranged for him to use. The president had been briefed on the matter and had used his executive powers to give Gray, even in an unofficial capacity, any and all resources of the United States government that he required to set the situation right. Gray of course had only communicated his version of the truth to the president and his top people, but it had been enough to allow him the carte blanche he needed to carry out the required mission.
Though set fifty feet in the dirt, the bunker had all the amenities of a five-star hotel in downtown Manhattan, including its own valet and a chef. Gray had always been treated like a rock star by the intelligence community.
Into the phone he said, “If Lesya and Rayfield Solomon were married there has to be a record of it somewhere. I know we couldn’t find it back then, but times have changed. The Russians are, at least in public, our ally. Run down every lead you can on that angle. There are some old codgers still running around the reincarnation of the KGB that may be able to help us. Bring euros, they prefer them to dollars, at least these days.” He nodded as the man on the other end said something. “The former Russian ambassador to this country, Gregori Tupikov, is an old friend of mine. It might just be worth a phone call to him. Tell him you’re doing it in connection with the investigation of my murder. Vodka by the barrel, two-pound lobsters and a natural redhead, that’s all you ever needed to corrupt old Gregori.”
Gray clicked off and continued to study the file while his four-course dinner was being finalized. Though computers and servers dominated his business these days, the old Cold Warrior loved the feel of paper between his fingers. He ate his sumptuous meal alone in front of a gas fire that gave the room an enchanting glow even this far underground. Gray never did things like others. Even dead he was fifty feet under the earth instead of the normal six and his “coffin” was far more luxurious than the rank and file got.
Taking a snifter of brandy into a wood-paneled library, he sat behind an ornate desk and continued to ponder the matter. He loved this part of the game. It was a battle of the minds, a perpetual chess match; one side trying to outmaneuver, outthink the other. And the United States had never had a man who could perform those tasks better than Carter Gray. His actions had saved so many Americans that he had long since lost count. The Medal of Freedom was the least his country could do. If he was a Brit he’d already have been knighted. And yet he’d been forced to resign, long before he was ready. Because John Carr had forced his hand.
The more Gray thought about this, the angrier he became. Yet from within that anger a cold-blooded idea took form. Whoever was killing Gray’s old assassination team one by one probably believed John Carr to be dead. Yet why should Carr be spared the thrill of being a target? And the man had given him the finger!
Gray picked up his secure phone and hit a button. “I want to get some information out using the normal channels. It has to do with the alleged death of a man named John Carr. I think the time has come to set the record straight.”
CHAPTER 45
FINN HELD UP THE DEVICE. Barely the size of his palm, combined with a few seemingly innocuous elements it could easily kill anyone within thirty feet. But it would only kill one man; Finn would make sure of that.
He tried on his disguise and thought through all the steps he would take to enter the Hart Building and penetrate where he needed to go.
Once Finn had gotten on Roger Simpson’s trail and dug deeply, he’d learned that the distinguished senior senator from Alabama had been a hellion early in life, with little regard for anyone or anything other than himself. Though the man was still like that, this flaw had been buried under layers of PR once his political career had begun. This was done with the full though invisible support of the CIA, where he had worked in a very special though undisclosed capacity. His c.v. was filled with accolades from the Agency and very little in the way of hard facts. Yet to his country he was a hero. And he was poised to make a run for the White House, Finn had heard.
I don’t think so.
Simpson had never forgotten his former employer’s support. As head of the powerful Senate Select Committee on Intelligence he’d let the CIA get away with whatever it wanted. There did not seem to be any action too extreme that Simpson did not find necessary for national security reasons. He had been Carter Gray’s champion or lapdog, depending on how one looked at it, for years. Finn considered it perfect justice to send them to the same place, and in the same manner.
He drove home late that night, but Mandy was still up waiting for him. Over a couple slices of pumpkin pie and some hot tea she said, “You were a big hit today at school. Susie waited up to tell you but she couldn’t stay awake.”
“I’m sorry I’m late, but something came up.”
“Are you sure everything’s okay? You haven�
��t really seemed yourself lately.”
“Just work. Lot to think about.”
“How’s Lily?”
Lily was Finn’s mother. Like Finn it wasn’t her real name. Harry Finn wouldn’t have known what it was like to use a real name for anything.
“The same. Actually, a little worse.” Finn didn’t use his mother’s word, “rotting.”
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