Stone Cold

by David Baldacci

  wrinkled-looking Caleb came out of the bathroom dressed in his clothes from the night before.

  “Caleb, when the men grabbed you last night, did they say anything?”

  Caleb scowled. “Oh, yes. They said if I made a sound they’d kill me! And to think that when I was putting the key in my door, all I was contemplating was having a nice glass of sherry and rereading the opening to Don Quixote.”

  “I meant did they mention that they were working for Jerry Bagger?”

  “No, they didn’t. Actually, they didn’t really say anything. They didn’t have to, they had guns.”

  “Did they mention Annabelle?”

  “No, nothing like that. Why?”

  “Did they mention someone named John Carr?”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Never mind. Did they say that name?”

  “No.”

  Stone really had no way of knowing if the kidnappers were after Annabelle or John Carr. They could have tracked him down through Caleb, Stone reasoned. He had been to the library before to visit his friend. They had all just assumed that the men were with Bagger. But what if they were part of the team that had been killing Triple Sixes? That had killed Carter Gray? Yet if they were after him, surely they could have discovered his alter ego and also where he lived.

  “So what do I do now?” Caleb asked, breaking in on Stone’s musings. “I should’ve left for work ten minutes ago. I’ve got no clothes, no toiletries, nothing.”

  Stone, annoyed at being interrupted, said curtly, “Call in sick.”

  “That takes care of today. What about tomorrow and the day after that?”

  “Do you have vacation time?”

  “Yes, but I work for the federal government. You can’t just up and take vacation time. You have to plan, you have to give notice.”

  “We’ll worry about that tomorrow. For now, just stay here and relax.”

  “Relax! After being kidnapped and almost being killed? After being shut out of my home and job because some maniac is after me? You expect me to relax?”

  “Well, it’s either that or slit your wrists. I’ll let you make the decision,” Stone snapped as he headed out the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see our friend.”

  “Great. You can tell Annabelle that I need more friends like her like I need a colonoscopy without anesthesia.”

  Paddy emerged from the bathroom, his hair wet from the shower. “What’s going on?”

  Stone said, “Caleb here was just about to make you some breakfast, right, Caleb?”

  “What?”

  Paddy looked from Stone to Caleb and smiled. “Well, that’s damn nice of you.”

  For an instant Caleb looked like he might start screaming, but he calmed just as quickly. While Paddy had been sleeping, Stone had told Caleb all about the man, including the fact that he was dying.

  Caleb said graciously, “I am a public servant after all.”

  “I’ll leave you to it then,” Stone replied.

  As Stone walked quickly out of the graveyard part of him was afraid that Annabelle would have fled again, after the close call the night before. Yet half an hour later he found her in her room at the new hotel. She’d just finished breakfast. She poured him a cup of coffee and perched on the edge of the bed in her hotel robe, looking tired and anxious.

  “How’s Paddy?”

  “He actually seems better this morning. More of a spring in his step.”

  “It’s because of the action last night. He thrives on that. Always has.”

  “We’re lucky he was there last night. He saved our lives.”

  “I know,” Annabelle said in a not-so-pleased tone. “It pisses me off. Now I sort of owe him.”

  Choosing his words carefully, Stone said, “Did you recognize the men last night? I mean as definitely being with Bagger?”

  “No, but who else could it be?”

  “You remember that little problem of mine I mentioned?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it might be possible that the men last night were after me, not you.”

  “What? Who would be after you?”

  “Get dressed. We’re going to take a little ride. There’s something you need to know about me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Arlington National Cemetery. There’s something I have to show you.”

  CHAPTER 53

  “OLIVER, DON’T YOU GET TIRED of graveyards? I mean, it seems a little obsessive,” Annabelle commented as they trudged along the asphalt at Arlington, the nation’s most exalted burial ground for its military dead. Most of the graves were represented by a simple white marker, although some of the statuary over the tombs of the famous, or else the very rich, were extraordinarily ostentatious, and often in rather poor taste. To Stone it seemed the less grandiose the grave marker the more the departed had actually done for his country.

  He said, “Come on. It’s not much farther.”

  He led her down the familiar path, counting off the rows in his head. This was a quiet section of the cemetery, one that he had often visited just to have some peace.

  An instant later, he felt himself stagger, his balance suddenly gone. The area was not so quiet and peaceful today. At the thirty-ninth grave marker in the fourth row of this section of dead there was a great deal of activity in fact. Men were digging. As Stone and Annabelle watched, the coffin was raised out of the earth and carried past them to a waiting van that had been driven onto the path.

  “Oliver?” Annabelle said. “What is it? What’s wrong?” She put a hand on his shoulder as he steadied himself against a tree.

  Stone finally found his voice. “Do not follow me out of here. I’ll meet you back at the cottage.”

  “But—”

  “Just go.” He set off in the direction of the departing van.

  As the cemetery workers started to fill the hole back in, Annabelle strolled casually by the grave.

  “I thought they were supposed to put coffins in the graves, not take them out,” she said.

  One worker glanced up at her, but said nothing. He went back to his shoveling.

  She moved a bit closer, squinting to read the name on the marker.

  “Uh, can you tell me where they do the changing of the guard here?” she asked as she edged closer.

  As the worker told her she glanced over his shoulder and finally made out the name chiseled on the marker.

  “John Carr,” she said to herself.

  On foot, Stone followed the van until it hit the main road and then shot out of sight, after passing around the traffic circle leading away from the cemetery. It didn’t cross over Memorial Bridge into Washington. Instead the van headed west, farther into Virginia. Stone had a good idea where it and the coffin were going: Langley, home of the CIA.

  He called Reuben on his cell phone.

  “I want you to contact every friend you have at DIA and find out why a grave was exhumed at Arlington National Cemetery today.”

  “Whose grave?” Reuben asked.

  “A man by the name of John Carr.”

  “Did you know the guy?”

  “As well as I know myself. Hurry, Reuben, it’s important.”

  Stone clicked off and made another phone call, this time to Alex Ford, the only living person other than Annabelle Conroy who knew that Stone’s real name was John Carr.

  “You saw them dig it up?” Alex said.

  “Yes. Please find out what you can.”

  Stone walked back to his cottage, certain that Annabelle, who’d driven them both over to Arlington National, would beat him there.

  She was standing by his desk when he walked in. “You look good for a dead man.”

  He said, “Where are Paddy and Caleb?”

  “They went to the grocery store. You apparently don’t keep much food here. Caleb told me to tell you he was appalled.” She motioned to the papers on Stone’s desk. “You’ve got quite a file going on Jerry here.�
��

  “Jerry and you,” he said, startling her.

  “You dug up stuff on me?”

  “No, my friend only pulled Bagger’s file. The stuff on you is just conjecture.”

  He sat down behind his desk.

  “So the cemetery piece is bad, I take it.”

  Stone said, “Let’s put it this way—when they open that coffin, they’ll be surprised what they don’t find in it, namely me.”

  “Is there another body in the coffin?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t have any input in the decision. I was too busy avoiding being the body in the coffin.”

  “Why would they be digging it up now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So what was the problem you mentioned earlier?”

  “It’s not something I can really talk about.”

  Her face flushed angrily. “You’re telling me that? After I spilled my guts to you? And I’ve never done that with anybody. Ever! Now I want the truth.”

  Inwardly, Stone winced. For years he’d kept a sign in Lafayette Park that had read, “I want the truth.”

  “Annabelle, it’s not something I can talk—”

  “Don’t. Don’t try to make bullshit excuses. I took bullshit to an art form.”

  Stone simply sat there, while Annabelle tapped the heel of her shoe on the plank flooring. “Look, Oliver, or John, or whatever the hell your real name is.”

  “I told you my real name before. It’s John Carr.”

  “Good, that’s a start. Keep going.”

  He rose. “No. I won’t. And I can’t help you now with Jerry Bagger. In fact, the faster you can get away from me the better. Take your father and use all your money to run as far and as fast as you can. I’m sorry, Annabelle. I’m sorry. If you’re anywhere near me, you’ll die. I can’t have that on my conscience too.”

  He gripped her arm, walked her to the front door and closed it behind her.

  CHAPTER 54

  HARRY FINN’S MOTHER rose early. The pain, the gnawing at her bones, always made her rise before dawn.

  She used the bathroom, shuffled back to her bed and read through her newspapers with the discipline of a lifetime. The radio and TV news shows followed in her ritual of endless fact-finding. And that’s when she found herself staring at his face up there on the screen. She clawed at the remote control, and his grinning, smug countenance disappeared.

  Her breaths coming in gasps, she looked down at the cell phone her son had given her. She had never called him on it; it was only reserved for emergencies, he’d told her. She kept it tied to a string that she wore around her neck. She only took it off to bathe. She needed to call him. She needed to know about the man. The face on the TV. Was it true? Could it be true?

  She heard someone coming and quickly slipped back on the bed. The door opened and the attendant came in, whistling.

  “How are we today, Miss Queenie?” the attendant said. The nickname had come from her patient’s imperious manner.

  The old woman’s face had assumed a vacant expression. She muttered a few words in the odd language she spoke. To anyone else it would sound like mindless ramblings, which was exactly what she intended. The attendant was very familiar with this speech.

  “Okay, you just go right on jabbering while I get your dirty clothes and clean up the bathroom. Whatever makes you happy, Miss Queenie.” The attendant glanced over at the well-thumbed newspapers and smiled. Miss Queenie wasn’t nearly as out of it as she wanted people to think.

  The woman performed her duties and left. Only then did she sit up and look at the phone again. It was odd that when one grew old decisions that were made quickly when young now required extensive internal deliberation. To call or not to call?

  Before she had actually made up her mind her fingers punched in the numbers.

  It was answered before the first ring was even finished. He had obviously recognized the number on the caller ID.

  Finn’s voice was low but clear. “What’s happened? Are you hurt?’ he asked firmly.

  “No. I am fine.”

  “Then why did you call?”

  “I saw on the news that he left the country. The man is going on vacation. This man can take a holiday? Is this true? Tell me!”

  “I’ll take care of it. Hang up, now.”

  “But he must—”

  “Don’t say it. Hang up. Now.”

  “No one can understand what we’re saying.”

  “Now!”

  She clicked off and put the phone back around her neck. Harry was angry with her. She should not have called. But she could not help herself. All day and all night she sat here, in this place, in this hell, rotting, and thinking only of it. And then to see the man on the TV.

  She scuttled over to the window and looked out. It was a beautiful day and it didn’t matter to her. She did not belong to this world anymore. She belonged to the past and that was nearly gone as well. Her family, her friends, her husband, all dead. Only Harry was left. And now he was angry at her. Yet he would get over it. He always got over it. He was a good son; a mother could have no better son than she did. She opened the drawer and pulled out the single remaining photo she had of her husband.

  She lay back on her bed, the photo over her heart, and dreamed of the death of Roger Simpson.

  Harry Finn slowly put the phone back in his pocket and returned to the kitchen, where Mandy and the children stared anxiously at him. When his phone had rung and he saw the number come up, he’d forgotten that he even had a family. He had raced from the room, certain that his mother was calling to tell him they had found her. That she was about to die.

  Susie had a bit of oatmeal dangling from her mouth. Patrick had dropped his fork on the floor, where George the Labradoodle was licking the egg off it. David had stopped stuffing his backpack with schoolbooks and was staring worriedly at his dad. Mandy was standing by the stove, spatula in hand, the pancake in the pan turning black.

  She said anxiously, “Harry, is everything okay?”

  He tried to smile, but his mouth couldn’t manage it. “False alarm. Thought something weird was happening, my mistake.”

  Susie, perhaps because of the look on her dad’s face, or the unnatural tremor in his voice, started to cry. He picked her up and pressed her face against his. “Hey, baby, it’s okay. Daddy just made a mistake. That’s all.”

  She cupped his face with her soft hands and gave him the kind of penetrating stare that only little kids seemed able to muster. “You promise?” she said in a tiny voice. The undercurrents of fear in her question cut right through Finn’s soul.

  He kissed her on the cheek, partly so he wouldn’t have to look into those pleading, piercing eyes. “I promise. Even daddies make mistakes.” He looked over at his wife, who had recovered a bit from her own terror. “But mommies don’t, right?” He gave Susie a tickle and with his other hand squeezed Patrick’s slender shoulder. “Right?”

  “Right, Daddy,” Susie said.

  “Right,” Patrick agreed.

  Finn drove the kids to school and dropped them off. David was the last out of the car. He leaned back in, pretending to fiddle with his shoelaces while his siblings headed into the building.

  “Hey, Pop, you sure everything’s cool?”