Stone Cold

by David Baldacci

  Finally Finn eased the boy off and told David he had to go with Annabelle. “You have to help your mom,” he said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Dad, they’re going to kill you. They’re going to.”

  “I’ve been in tougher spots than this, believe me,” Finn said, managing a smile.

  Annabelle looked at Stone, took his hand and squeezed it. “Don’t die, Oliver. Please don’t die.”

  They helped her and David into the duct. Finn led Stone and Milton to another tunnel paralleling the one they had been in. It had been put in in case construction workers had to evacuate the place and they couldn’t get out for some reason through the visitor center’s exit.

  They came to a stop at a secured door. Stone shot the lock off, and Finn opened the door, revealing a long passageway.

  “That’ll take us to the Jefferson Building,” Finn said.

  Stone nodded. “Caleb told me how to get out of the Jefferson without anyone seeing us. Harry, you go first, Milton in the middle and I’ll bring up the rear.”

  Milton peered down the long, dark corridor. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  “As safe as—”

  Stone never knew where the shot came from. He barely heard it. He never saw Finn raise his gun and fire. He never saw the sniper fall.

  All he saw was the look on Milton’s face. The eyes widened slightly, as though he was only mildly surprised. Then he dropped to his knees, still looking up at Stone. The blood started dripping from his mouth. He only said one word: “Oliver?”

  Then Milton Farb dropped face-first to the hard floor, his body twitched once and he lay still, the large hole dead center of his back oozing red.

  Stone had seen many wounds just like that one, all of them fatal.

  Milton was dead.

  Finn stared down at the body. “My God.”

  Stone knelt down, lifted his friend’s body up, carried it over to a corner and placed him gently down. He closed the blank eyes and put the small, slender hands over the still chest. Then he rose, clenched his weapon and walked past Finn without a word. He wasn’t heading toward safety. He was heading back to the visitor center.

  Harry Finn eyed the door to the Jefferson Building and freedom. His son was safe. He could join him in a short time if he left now. This wasn’t his fight anymore. John Carr had killed his father. What did he owe the man?

  Everything. He saved me, my mother and my son. I owe him everything.

  He gripped his gun and raced after Oliver Stone.

  CHAPTER 92

  IT WASN’T MILD-MANNERED, middle-aged cemetery caretaker Oliver Stone who strode out into battle that night. It was a killing machine called John Carr, thirty years younger, with all the skills and ferocity of a lifetime spent ending other people’s lives in ways unimaginable to most people. He used every one of those skills that night. And yet there seemed a greater power at work. Bullets that should have ended his life numerous times missed by less than an inch. Disaster that should have struck never did. Maybe it was finally his time for justice. He only thought about that later. Tonight, he just killed. And the unfinished visitor center ran red with blood. Finn had killed only one more man. Stone had finished off the other six, two with shots that Finn had never seen anyone make before. He still couldn’t fathom how Stone had done it. It seemed the man had simply willed the bullets to find their marks.

  To Stone, there was another explanation as to how he had survived. Undoubtedly, Gray’s men were younger, stronger, faster, superbly trained. These days they always had overpowering force before they attacked. They had killed thousands of times—in practice.

  It was altogether different when one did it for real. And counting Vietnam, Stone had probably killed more people than all of Gray’s men combined. And he had never had overpowering force. He had often only had himself. That just made you better than the other guy.

  When the last man had dropped, Finn and Stone left via the emergency exit, reaching the Jefferson Building and leaving from there as Caleb had told them. An anguished Stone carried Milton’s body over his shoulder. While he waited behind some bushes with the body, Finn managed to sneak out and snare a spare EMT uniform from a body recovery truck stationed near the epicenter of the mock terrorist attack. Next he spotted an ambulance that was parked near the library with the keys still in the ignition. A few minutes later Milton’s body was loaded into the ambulance by Stone and Finn on a gurney, a sheet placed over his face. With all the chaos going on everywhere around them, no one could tell a fake corpse from a real one. With Stone riding in the back, Finn drove away, the ambulance lights flashing.

  Finn glanced in the rearview mirror. Stone was sitting next to his friend, his head hanging down. He had not escaped the battle unscathed. A bullet had sliced through his right arm, leaving a bloody gash. Another had left a crease on the left side of his head. The man took no notice of them. Finn had had to bandage them up using gauze and tape from the ambulance’s supplies while Stone had just stared down at his dead friend.

  Stone lifted the sheet, took Milton’s still warm hand in his and squeezed it. He started mouthing words that Finn could not hear clearly, but he instinctively knew what the man was saying.

  “I’m sorry, Milton. I am so sorry.”

  A tear trickled down from Stone’s weathered face and dropped onto the sheet.

  Finn didn’t want to break into this very private moment but he had no choice. “Where do you want to take Milton?”

  “Home. We’re taking him home, Harry.”

  Leaving the ambulance about three blocks from the house, they carried Milton’s body through the woods at the rear of his neighborhood. Stone placed him gently in his bed and turned to Finn.

  “Give me a minute.”

  Finn nodded and respectfully withdrew from the room.

  Stone was a man who had suffered more heartbreak in life than any human being should have to. He had done so stoically, trying to look ahead rather than focusing on the past. Yet as he gazed down at his friend’s body, every memory of every personal tragedy in his life came charging at him from the darkness.

  And for one of the very few times in his life, Oliver Stone sobbed without restraint. He cried so hard his knees buckled and he ended up on the floor, his body curled tight like a child in distress, suffering the anguish of a million nightmares that had collected inside him all these decades, nightmares that had suddenly been released, like the crush of water over a collapsed dam.

  Thirty minutes later he had no more tears left to shed. Stone rose and touched his friend’s face with his hand. “Good-bye, Milton.”

  CHAPTER 93

  AFTER THE EXCHANGE, Gray and Simpson had left the Capitol area quickly.

  Simpson said, “How soon will you know when Carr and Lesya’s son are dead?”

  “Anytime now. You know, it was quite ballsy of you to confess to Carr that you were the one who ordered his execution.”

  “I didn’t want him to die without knowing. It would have left me unfulfilled.”

  “Still, I wouldn’t have done it,” Gray said.

  Simpson took the old orders from Gray and studied them. “The world is better off because of what we did.”

  “I agree. Two dead Soviet leaders. We cleared the way for peace.”

  “We never got the credit we deserved, though.”

  Gray said, “That’s because it wasn’t authorized. We took matters into our own hands.”

  “Patriots have to do what they have to do. So what now?”

  “The orders and this cell phone will be destroyed.” He took the papers back from Simpson.

  “What’s on the cell phone? I couldn’t hear.”

  “Be glad you couldn’t, Roger. Otherwise, I would’ve had to kill you too.”

  Simpson stared at him with an incredulous expression. “You’re joking.”

  “Of course I am,” Gray lied.

  At four o’clock in the morning, Carter Gray received the news. His men had be
en wiped out. Carr and Finn had escaped. Carr, the killing machine, obviously hadn’t lost his touch. He immediately called Simpson.

  “Well?” Simpson asked.

  “Just like we planned, Roger. Carr and Finn are dead. There’ll be nothing in the news. We’ll cover it all up.”

  “Excellent. Now we can finally put this behind us.”

  Gray hung up. Right.

  He met with the president later that day after he had taken care of sanitizing the visitor center.

  The commander in chief was not particularly happy about these events. “What the hell happened there last night? I was told they found blood in there and evidence of a gun battle.”

  “Sir, we were able to track down John Carr and Lesya’s son at the visitor center.”

  “My God, in the middle of the Capitol!”

  “I have no idea how they got in there, but they did. We received a tip, went down there with a detachment of paramilitary and had a very intense shoot-out.”

  “And what the hell happened?”

  “The appropriate people were terminated,” Gray said vaguely.

  “Did we take any casualties?”

  “Yes, unfortunately. Families are being notified.”

  “Where are the bodies?”

  “We’re having them flown overseas for discreet disposal. We have to keep this hush-hush, sir. The press would have a field day with all this.”

  “Look, Carter, I am the president. I want to know what all this is. And I want to know right now.”

  Gray sat back. He had of course been expecting this. He pulled the orders from his pocket. He’d destroyed the cell phone, but these orders were too valuable. Valuable principally because they didn’t have his name on them.

  The president read through the documents. “Roger Simpson?”

  Gray nodded. “Let me tell you the entire story, sir.” It was mostly fabrication, but Gray delivered it with such authority and assurance that when the president sat back, it was clear he accepted all of it as truth.

  “And Lesya and Rayfield Solomon’s involvement?” the president asked. “Solomon has been labeled a traitor to this country. Was he? If not, we have to make this right, somehow.”

  Gray hesitated. “I cannot say with assurance that he was a traitor, sir.”

  “But you said he was terminated. You said he was a traitor.”

  “Back then it seemed clear that he was. Now, perhaps less so. I have to investigate further.”

  “You do that, Carter. You do that. And if the truth is that this man was innocent, we will make it right, do you understand?”

  “I’d have it no other way. Ray Solomon was my friend.”

  “My God, two Soviet leaders assassinated by this country. I can’t believe it.”

  “Not many of us could, sir.”

  “You’re saying you didn’t know?” the president asked sharply.

  Gray chose his words carefully. “Things operated differently back then. We had evidence of Soviet plots to kill U.S. presidents from time to time, but we took measures to counter them. The truth couldn’t come out because it might have led to nuclear war. They were never official plots of the Soviet leadership, you have to understand, but the Cold War was played for all it was worth.”

  “So who the hell ordered the assassinations of Andropov and Chernenko?”

  “The orders didn’t come through me.”

  “Are you telling me that Roger Simpson, who if I recall was merely a case agent, did this on his own?”

  “No, not at all. He never would have done something like that by himself. He must have received authorization from higher channels.”

  “Channels that circumvented you? Why? You were his superior, were you not?”

  “Not for all matters, sir. And my feelings on assassinations of foreign leaders was clear. There was an executive order making it illegal, and that was where I drew the line.”

  “Well, perhaps I should talk to Roger about this directly.”

  “I’m not sure that’s wise, sir. He’s going to make his own run for the White House. He’s a fellow party member of yours. You start making inquiries, then there’re leaks to the press and eventually everything comes out. As you know it’s much harder these days to keep secrets.”

  “Damn whistleblowers; yes, I know.”

  “And what would Senator Simpson say? His signatures are on these orders. He will claim that higher-ups ordered the killings. He might even say I knew about it. You can hardly blame him for trying to cover his tracks. But the matter is over. Two men were killed. Illegally? Probably. Did the result justify the means? I think humanity would judge that it did. I say we let sleeping dogs lie, Mr. President. Just let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “I’ll think about it, Carter. But keep me informed of further developments.”

  “One more thing, sir.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like to come back to work. As the intelligence chief. I want to serve my country again.”

  “Well, as you know, that slot is presently unfilled. So it’s yours if you really want it. I doubt the Senate will have any problem confirming a Medal of Freedom winner.”

  “I really want it, Mr. President.”

  He shook Gray’s hand. “I appreciate your frankness today, Carter. You’re a true patriot. Wish we had more like you.”

  “I’m only doing my job, sir.” Actually, Gray was thinking that with Carr still out there, he wanted to be surrounded by as many heavily armed men as possible.

  “You know, I believe you’d make a good president.”

  Gray laughed. “Thank you, sir, but I don’t think I have the right qualifications.” What Gray left unsaid was he believed he was overqualified for the job. Plus, he wanted a position with real power. All a president could really do was start wars, and those came along all too infrequently. Other than that, the office was fairly impotent, Gray felt.

  He left the White House and climbed into his chopper. As it rose into the air, he knew he should feel good, victorious. Yet he didn’t. In fact, he had rarely felt this depressed in his life.

  CHAPTER 94

  OLIVER STONE DIDN’T ATTEND Milton’s funeral, though most of the others were present and grief-stricken. Caleb was so distraught at his friend’s death that Alex and Annabelle had to hold him upright. Harry Finn had wanted to come but he was still in hiding with his family.

  Alex had checked in with his supervisor and had found that all of his problems had gone away. “I don’t know what the hell it was all about,” the supervisor said, “and I don’t think I want to know.”

  They all gathered a week later at Caleb’s condo to honor Milton’s memory. This time Finn came with Lesya.

  “I can’t believe Oliver missed Milton’s funeral,” Reuben said, staring down into his beer. “Can’t believe it,” he said again, his eyes red.

  Annabelle looked at Alex. “No word from him at all?”

  Alex shook his head. “Harry, you were the last one to see him. Did he say anything about where he was going? What he was going to do?”

  Finn shook his head. “I know he blames himself for Milton’s death.”

  Caleb said angrily, “And I read in the paper where Carter Gray is going to be the head of the intelligence community again. Isn’t that just wonderful? We all know what he’s done. We know, but we have no proof.” He slumped down in a chair and stared at a photo of Milton that he’d placed on a shelf for all to see. Tears slid down his fat cheeks.

  Finn said, “My family and I will have to leave the country, somehow. Gray won’t stop until he gets us.”

  “I think not. It is time to end this foolishness.”

  All eyes swung around to Lesya, who sat in one corner.

  From her bag she pulled an item, a very unusual object for an elderly