“No one’s asking you to risk your job, Caleb. But I did find something out. In fact, it’s why I wanted to meet with all of you today.”
“What did you find out?” asked Reuben.
“That Oliver was leaving to go somewhere.”
“How do you know that?”
“I found a packed bag in his cottage. Along with several books written in what I think is Russian.”
“You mean you broke in his cottage and found it,” said Caleb heatedly. “You have absolutely no respect for property rights, Annabelle Conroy. None. It’s outrageous. It really is.”
She slipped a book from her pocket and showed it to the librarian.
“Yes, it is Russian,” said Caleb as he glanced at the title. He looked more closely at the title. “It’s a book on Russian politics, but it’s decades old. Why in the world would he be taking that with him?”
“Maybe he was going to Russia and he needed to bone up on his language skills,” suggested Finn. “One way to do that is read the language.”
“Why would Oliver be going to Russia?” asked Reuben. “Wait a minute, how would he even get there? He doesn’t have a passport. He doesn’t have any ID at all. Not to mention money for the trip.”
“There could only be one way he could go,” said Annabelle.
“You mean on behalf of the U.S. government?” replied Finn.
“Yes.”
“On behalf of the government!” exclaimed Caleb. “He doesn’t work for the government. At least not anymore.”
“Maybe that status has changed,” said Annabelle. “I mean, they offered the man the Medal of Honor.”
Reuben mused, “Oliver going back inside. After all these years, I can’t believe it.”
“And after all they did to him,” added Finn quietly.
“Why would he do that?” asked Caleb. “If there’s one thing we know about Oliver, it’s that he really doesn’t trust the government.”
“Maybe he really didn’t have a choice,” said Finn.
“But it’s not like he’s twenty anymore,” retorted Annabelle. “He was almost killed last night. If he goes to Russia, he may never come back.”
Reuben said, “He may be older but he’s also wiser. I wouldn’t discount how much he has left in the tank.”
“He almost died in that prison in Divine, Reuben,” she reminded him. “And Milton did die,” she added with brutal frankness.
Reuben, who’d been very close to Milton Farb, glanced down at his hands. “Maybe we’re all too old for this shit anymore.”
Finn said, “So how do you want to play this with Oliver? We all know he won’t ask for our help. Not after what happened in Divine.”
Caleb said, “That’s right. He’ll do nothing that puts us in any danger.”
“Then maybe we don’t wait for him to ask for our help,” said Annabelle. “Maybe we just become proactive.”
“Meaning what exactly?” asked Reuben. “Not spy on him?”
“No, but we can show a united front and tell him what we think.”
“I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” Reuben said.
Annabelle stood. “Fine. If you guys want to wait for his death notice, great. I’m not.” She turned and walked off.
“Annabelle!” Reuben called after her.
She never turned around.
“She’s very stubborn,” grumbled Caleb. “Like most women. It’s probably why I never got married.”
Reuben glowered at him. “Oh, I think there were a few other reasons for that, Caleb.”
CHAPTER 14
TRAFFIC IN D.C. WAS MUCH WORSE than normal, and all because someone had detonated a bomb across from the White House. At least that’s probably what some frustrated commuters were thinking. For blocks in all directions the street barriers had been thrown up, making the nation’s capital resemble a hodgepodge of corrals. Metro police cars and black Secret Service SUVs were dovetailed in front and behind these barriers to further discourage anyone from approaching.
Stone and Chapman, despite her credentials, were forced to abandon her car and walk. Phone calls were made at every checkpoint as the MI6 agent’s documents were scrutinized and her incremental passage authorized by off-site higher-ups. Stone could understand that none of the street cops or agents were willing to fall on the sword because they’d passed them through in error. This was why supervisors cashed the larger paychecks and had the slightly bigger offices. Their asses would be fried if someone further up the food chain decided to throw his weight around.
They finally cleared the last hurdle and approached ground zero, Lafayette Park. To Stone, who knew it perhaps better than anyone else, it was nearly unrecognizable. The center of the park was a blackened mass, trees and plants destroyed, the grass burned, the dirt piled up in mounds. The Jackson statue lay in ruins. A cannon wheel had nearly reached the sidewalk on the Pennsylvania Avenue side. A section of fence was embedded in a tree a good seventy feet away.
The ATF had set up its mobile command post in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue. The FBI’s counterpart unit was set up in Jackson Place to the west of the park. Dogs and armed security were everywhere. All the businesses and government offices located on Jackson Place and across the park on Madison Place had been shut down.
While the park looked like a cop’s convention, the people in uniform were still outnumbered by the swarm of suits. Stone and Chapman passed by a large Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms National Response Team, or NRT, truck. Stone knew that there were only three NRT vehicles in existence. The NRT members constituted the best bomb experts in the country and could go into any scenario and within a couple days tell what had gone boom and how.
Stone caught sight of some techs in hazmat suits parsing through the explosion site. He also eyed people in hermetic gear who looked like surgeons preparing for the OR. They were scrounging the area, looking for trace evidence. Small colored tents were scattered everywhere. He assumed each one marked a bit of evidence that had been found.
The men in some of the suits clearly represented the FBI. This was not a guess, since they were also wearing their FBI windbreakers. Other jacket and ties beyond that inner circle were members of the Secret Service, this given away by their ear buds and dour expressions as these “outsiders” trod their turf.
Stone and Chapman walked toward the group of FBI agents. However, before they reached the circle of investigators a tall man intercepted them.
“Mr. Stone?”
Stone eyed him. “Yes?”
“I need you to come with me, sir.”
“Where?”
The man pointed directly across the street.
“The White House? Why?”
“I believe you know Special Agent Alex Ford. He’s waiting there for you.”
Stone gazed at Chapman. “She’s with me.”
The man looked at her. “Agent Chapman?” She nodded. “ID please.”
She produced it.
“Let’s go.”
They were escorted through the front gates, although Chapman had to surrender her gun.
“I want it back,” she said to the confiscating officer, “in the exact same condition. I’m very partial to that weapon.”
“Yes ma’am,” responded the man politely.
They passed by a backhoe and a crew of men in green-and-khaki uniforms who were removing the stump of a tree inside the White House grounds. One of the men winked at Chapman. She scowled in response. As they entered the building and were led down the hall, Chapman whispered, “So this is the White House, eh?”
“Never been here?” Stone asked.
“No, you?”
Stone didn’t answer.
At that moment Alex Ford stepped from a doorway and joined them. He nodded to the agent escort. “Chuck, I’ve got it. Thanks.”
“Okay, Alex.” Chuck broke off and headed back the way they had come.
Stone made introductions and then said, “Why are we here?”
“I und
erstand you met with Sir James McElroy earlier?” said Alex.
“Sir? He didn’t tell me he’d been knighted.”
“Didn’t really want it,” remarked Chapman. “But you don’t turn down the queen, now do you?”
Stone said, “Yes, I met with him.”
“Just so you know, the decision for you to come back inside has not been very popular with certain other agencies.”
“Including yours?”
“And including some other folks here.”
“Who are we meeting with?”
“Chief of staff and the VP.”
“I’m impressed.”
“I think the VP is there to give it a bit more gravitas.”
“Have they been fully briefed?”
“Don’t know. Above my pay grade.”
They arrived at a door. Alex knocked.
“Enter,” a voice said.
“Ready?” said Alex, and Stone nodded.
Chapman adjusted her cuffs and whipped back a stray bit of hair. She muttered, “What the hell have I got myself into?”
“I was thinking the same thing,” commented Stone.
CHAPTER 15
FROM THE ANTEROOM THEY WERE ADMITTED into the office of the vice president. He was a tall, white-haired and well-fed man with a reassuring smile and a strong handshake, no doubt built up over thousands of campaign stops. The chief of staff was short and wiry with eyes that continually swept the space around him, like a radar array.
It suddenly occurred to Stone that the VP being here made sense beyond providing gravitas. He was on the president’s National Security Council. Still, Stone was actually surprised the man would agree to meet with him directly and not through an underling. But then again, it was hard to refuse your president.
The pleasantries were made and quickly dispensed with. Alex Ford stood by the door, a security presence now and not a friend.
The VP said, “The president asked that we meet with you.” He nodded in Chapman’s direction. “With you both. We obviously want to get to the bottom of this, uh, delicate matter as quickly as possible.”
In his mind Stone translated this into plain English. What the VP had actually just communicated was, “This is not my idea, and though I’m being somewhat loyal to my president I won’t take the blame if it blows up. That’s why the chief of staff is here. My boss might go down, but not me.”
Stone wondered if either man had been made aware of the original plan to ship Stone off to Mexico to help deal with the Russian cartel nightmare. American vice presidents often had been kept in the dark by the chief executive. Chiefs of staff typically knew everything the president did.
The VP inclined his head at the chief of staff, who held out a black leather card case to Stone. “Your credentials,” said the man.
Stone slowly took the offered item, opened it and gazed at his face, which was staring back at him from the depths of the official photo that was part of his new commission. He wondered when they had taken his picture. Perhaps when he was sitting in the room at the NIC, which meant that Riley Weaver knew all about this. He had to smile when he saw his typed name:
Oliver Stone.
Next to the photo was his ID card. On it, he had officially become a field agent of the national coordinator for security, infrastructure protection and counterterrorism. This all made sense, Stone thought. The national coordinator worked within the National Security Council and reported to the president through the national security advisor. There was a link to the White House, but with one step in between. The president was covering all the bases. Just as his savvy VP was now doing. He flipped to the next sleeve in the case and there was his shiny badge with the agency insignia.
He said, “Interesting choice of agencies.”
The VP smiled his winning and inscrutable smile. “Yes, isn’t it?”
Yet Stone had managed to read a thousand such inscrutable faces. And the VP’s was no exception.
He believes this is all insane, and he’s probably right.
The chief of staff added, “It carries the same weight as DHS and the FBI. If not a bit more, actually. There are few doors that won’t open. And most of them are in this building.”
Well then, let’s hope I won’t have to try and open any doors here, thought Stone. He said to the chief of staff, “You serve at his pleasure.” Before the startled man could say anything, Stone turned to the VP. “And you obviously trust your running mate’s judgment, or at least hope he’s not making a serious miscalculation by conferring this authority on me.”
Both men now appeared to look at Stone in a different light.
The VP nodded. “He’s a good man. So I hope that his trust is justified when this is all said and done. I assume you feel the same way.”
Stone pocketed his new credentials without answering.
The chief of staff said, “You will be sworn in after this meeting by a representative of the national coordinator’s office. Thus you will also have arresting authority. You are also entitled to a sidearm. If you so choose,” he added in a dubious tone.
It was clear the chief of staff too thought it was madness to be handing over this much authority to a man like him. Stone briefly wondered how long the chief of staff had argued with the president over this decision before the latter had won out.
Stone glanced at Chapman. “My friend from MI6 here has a very nice Walther PPK. I think that will do for now.”
“All right.” The VP rose, signaling an end to the meeting. Stone knew that his working hours were measured in fifteen-minute increments and he had added incentive to have this particular encounter over.
Wait much longer and the smell of all this might permanently attach to you, sir.
They all shook hands. The VP said, “Good luck, Agent Stone.”
As they followed Alex back down the hall, Chapman said wryly, “Hell, if I knew it was this easy to become an American agent I would’ve come over here a long time ago.”
“It did go a bit too smoothly,” said Stone as he eyed Alex.
The Secret Service agent said, “Things have changed in the last fifteen years. We’ve got more contractors walking around with guns and badges than you can imagine. Both in force protection in overseas military campaigns and right here at home. Just the nature of the beast.”
Out of Chapman’s earshot he added, “Look, you need to understand that people know John Carr is back.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“You have a lot of secrets, Oliver. Too many for some.”
“Yes, that had occurred to me too.”
“You don’t need to do this.”
“Yes, actually I do.”
“Why?” demanded Alex.
“For a number of reasons.”
Looking highly disgruntled, Alex said nothing.
Stone said, “After we finish here we’re going back over to the park. Can you come with us?”
Alex shook his head. “I’m on protection duty here. And like I told you before, I’m not allowed anywhere near this investigation. They’ve built a Chinese wall around this sucker for obvious reasons.”
Stone studied him. “Because someone believes there’s a mole in the Service?”
The other man looked uncomfortable about this observation but nodded. “I think it’s a load of crap, but you have to cover all the bases.”
In another room of the White House Stone was sworn in. Next, Chapman got her beloved gun back and they left the White House. She and Stone headed to the park.
“Pretty nice to have the president of the only remaining superpower on your side.”
“Maybe.”
“Am I ever going to hear the full story on that?”
“No, you’re not.”
CHAPTER 16
STONE AND CHAPMAN flashed their badges and passed through the gauntlet of security at the park.
“What first?” she asked.
Stone pointed to a man encircled by suits. “Let’s go right to the top.�
��
They again showed their IDs. When the man saw Stone’s agency he motioned the pair over to a clear space.
“Tom Gross, FBI,” he said. “I’m the case agent. Out of WFO’s Domestic Counterterrorism Unit.” Gross was in his late forties, a bit shorter than Stone, stockier, with thinning dark hair and a serious expression that had probably been permanently stamped on his features one week after joining the Counterterrorism Unit.
Stone began, “We’re here because—”
Gross interrupted. “I got a phone call. You can expect the Bureau’s full cooperation.” He looked at Chapman. “Really glad your prime minister was unhurt.”
“Thanks,” replied Chapman.
Stone asked, “Has any group claimed responsibility?”
“Not yet.”
Gross led them to the point of origin of the explosion while Stone explained that he had been at the park last night. The small colored tents marking where evidence had been found had increased greatly in number while they had been across the street.
Gross said, “The media’s been all over this thing, of course, even though we’ve kept them well back from the crime scene. Damn mess, really. We’ve had to shut down everything within a full-block radius with the park as the center. Lot of pissed-off people.”
“I’m sure,” said Stone.
“The director has held a press conference in which he said very little, because we don’t know very much. The ADIC will handle the rest of the media through the MR Office,” he added, referring to the assistant director in charge and the FBI’s Media Relations Office. “We’re taking the lead over ATF, but they’re handling the heavy work on the bomb piece.”
Stone eyed Gross. “So you’ve concluded it’s international terrorism as opposed to domestic?”
“Can’t say that, no,” admitted Gross. “But because of the geographic proximity and the PM’s presence.”
“Right,” said Stone. “Have you seen the surveillance video of the park from last night?”
“Got it all set up at the mobile command post. Unfortunately, the damn cameras were knocked out by the blast. Surprised about that, because there’s about a dozen recorders stationed all around here and manned by probably five different agencies. The bomb might have been designed to jam them, though, for some reason.”
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