Camel Club 05 - Hell's Corner

by David Baldacci

  “Pretty rookie mistake for such a man of your years,” added the agent at the far left of the table. “Leaving an agent in a vulnerable situation.” He leaned forward. “What would you suggest that we tell his wife? His four kids? Got any suggestions? Love to hear them, Agent Stone.”

  “I would tell them that her husband and their father died fighting. As a hero. That’s what I would tell them.”

  “I’m sure that’ll make it all better,” sneered Ashburn.

  Another agent said, “Have you ever been left all alone on assignment? I doubt it, since a guy like you probably covers himself at all times. Plenty of firepower at your back.”

  Chapman spoke up. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. He saved my life and the lives of two police officers today. He figured out there was a shooter in the woods while we were standing around with our thumbs up our arses. And if you knew half of this man’s history you wouldn’t be sitting here grilling him for—”

  “I don’t care about his history. I’m only concerned with the present,” Ashburn shot back.

  “Well then, maybe you need to check with your superiors because—”

  Stone put a hand on her arm. “Don’t,” he said quietly.

  Ashburn closed her binder. “We’ll be filing a detailed report on this, the chief element of which will be a strong recommendation that you be removed from this case and a full investigation launched to see if any disciplinary or criminal charges should be imposed against you.”

  “This is utterly ridiculous,” snapped Chapman.

  Ashburn leveled a withering gaze on her, the black dots resembling hollow-points about to be launched. “I don’t know how it is across the pond, but this is America. Here we have accountability for our actions.” She glanced at Stone. “Or inaction, as the case may be.” She looked back at Chapman. “Piece of advice? I’d find a new partner if I were you.”

  The agents all rose as one and filed out of the room.

  Chapman glanced over at Stone. “Do you blokes routinely beat up on each other like that?”

  “Usually only when it’s deserved.”

  “And you think it is here?”

  “A good man is dead. He shouldn’t be. Someone has to be blamed for it. And I’m as good a selection as anyone.” He rose. “And maybe they’re right. Maybe I am too old for this.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  Stone didn’t answer. He just left the room, left the WFO, hit the streets and kept walking. The night air was crisp, the sky cloudless. There was snarled traffic and honking over near the Verizon Center because some event was going on there.

  As he walked along, Stone thought of the last few moments he’d been with Tom Gross. He hadn’t really focused on the man’s safety. He’d wanted to go after John Kravitz. In truth, he’d believed that he was keeping Gross safer by going after the alleged bomber at his home berth and leaving Gross behind. It had never occurred to him that they would attack at the tree farm and kill Kravitz. They definitely had manpower and intelligence and nerve. A formidable combination.

  A sudden thought struck him and he called the number Riley Weaver had left for him. He wanted to know if Weaver had a list of the events that had been scheduled at Lafayette Park. If there was a lead in that list, Stone wanted to run it down. Someone answered the phone. Stone identified himself and asked for Weaver. The man put him on hold but was back within ten seconds.

  “Please don’t call this number again.”

  The line went dead and Stone slowly put his phone back in his pocket. The explanation for that brusque putdown was easy. Weaver knew that Stone had screwed up and cost an FBI agent his life. Because of that, Stone was off the cooperation list with NIC now. And forever.

  As he passed block after block, his focus continued to deepen, even as the D.C. nightlife went on all around him. Runners along the Mall, tourists with maps in hand, partiers packed in groups heading to the next entertainment and office-dwelling men and women in suits lugging thick briefcases and burdened with weary countenances as they trudged home, probably to keep working.

  Taking out Kravitz made perfect sense if he were involved in the bombing. One less mouth to betray the people behind it. They must have staked out the trailer park and were there ready to kill the man when Stone had shown up. But there was an alternative theory that if true was far more disquieting.

  They knew we were coming.

  In order to do that, they either would have needed to follow them or been ahead of them. Both scenarios carried serious implications and also the possibility of a mole in their ranks. But why the tree farm? Had Lloyd Wilder been involved as well? If so, the man was a consummate actor. The woman in the office? A long shot.

  Tom Gross? But why take him out? He was the lead investigator, but he would simply be replaced with another. And the murder of an FBI agent would only result in the formidable Bureau tripling its already heightened effort to find those behind the Lafayette Park incident. It made no sense at all. None.

  He arrived at his destination, flashed his badge to gain admittance and entered Lafayette Park. At least his credentials hadn’t been pulled. Yet. He sat on a bench, surveyed the surroundings where the investigative work was still going on. His mind swirled with recent events, not one bit of it solidifying into something useful. It was just mist, vapor. As soon as he focused on something promising, it vanished.

  His gaze shifted to the White House across the street. The bombing had no doubt popped the president’s bubble of safety that he believed he had here. Every security force involved in defending this bit of earth had suffered a hard blow to their professional egos.

  Hell’s Corner, Stone thought, was indeed living up to its name.

  When he looked up he saw the man approaching. A part of him was surprised, but another part was not. He drew a long breath and waited.

  CHAPTER 37

  THE CAMEL CLUB MINUS ITS LEADER sat around Caleb Shaw’s condo in Alexandria, Virginia, overlooking the Potomac River. Caleb had just finished serving tea and coffee to everyone except Reuben. The big man had brought his own hip flask with something presumably stronger in it than Earl Grey or Maxwell House.

  Annabelle was dressed in a black skirt, loafers and a jean jacket. She spoke first and her tone was blunt. “How bad is it, Alex?”

  Alex Ford, still wearing a suit and tie from his workday, leaned forward on the hassock, took a sip of coffee and said, “Pretty bad. An FBI agent is dead along with three other people, including at least one bombing suspect.”

  “And they’re blaming Oliver?” asked Caleb with an air of indignation.

  “Yes,” Alex said. “Whether rightly or wrongly. I told Oliver that there were many people unhappy with him being involved in this case, and now it’s come home to roost.”

  Harry Finn was leaning against the wall. He’d finished his coffee and put his cup down. “Meaning making a scapegoat out of Oliver is a great way to kick him off the case?”

  “Right. Although knowing Oliver, he probably does blame himself for what happened.”

  Reuben growled, “You go after terrorists, people can get hurt. And they damn well asked him back into the fold, not the other way around.”

  “That’s what’s so infuriating, Alex,” said Annabelle. “He didn’t have to do this at all. Now he’s in there risking his life and they blame him for someone getting killed.”

  Alex spread his hands. “Annabelle, don’t be naïve. This is Washington. There’s nothing fair about any of it.”

  She flung her long hair out of her face. “That makes me feel so much better.”

  Caleb spoke up. “But what will happen now?”

  “An investigation is being conducted. Two of them, actually. The search for the terrorists goes on, obviously. But now there will be a secondary inquiry regarding what happened that led to the death of Agent Gross and the others. To determine if there’s any evidence of negligence or wrongdoing.”

  “With respect to Oli
ver, you mean,” interjected Annabelle.

  “Yes.”

  “What might happen to him, worst case?” asked Caleb.

  “Worst case? He might go to prison depending on how it plays out. But that’s unlikely. He might be kicked off the case. That’s far more likely. Even with his friends in high places, no one can stand that heat for long. Especially if the media starts riding that horse right into the ground.”

  “This is a nightmare,” said Caleb. “If the media does enter the fray then they’ll start investigating Oliver and his past.”

  “The man doesn’t have a past, at least officially,” noted Reuben in a deep grumble.

  “Exactly,” said Caleb. “That’s my point. They will be relentless in trying to find out exactly who he is.”

  “The government won’t want that,” said Alex.

  Reuben nodded in a knowing fashion. “He knows too damn much. A lot of stuff that would be embarrassing if it came out now.”

  Annabelle said, “Triple Six stuff, you mean?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You… you don’t think the government… might try to silence him?” she said in a halting voice.

  Caleb looked incredulous. “This isn’t the Soviet Union, Annabelle. We don’t assassinate our own people.”

  Annabelle glanced at Alex, who quickly looked away. She said, “All right. He’s helped all of us in one way or another. Which begs the question of why we’re here debating whether to help him or not.”

  “That’s not the question,” Alex said. “The question is, by trying to help him will we make it even worse for him?”

  “How is that possible?” she asked. “Right now he has everyone against him. He needs us. We’re all he has left.”

  “He made his position on that pretty clear,” said Alex. “He doesn’t want our help.”

  “Only because he doesn’t want us in danger,” she shot back. “And speaking for myself, that’s not a good enough reason.”

  She rose. “So I’m going to help him, whether he wants that help or not.”

  CHAPTER 38

  JAMES MCELROY SAT DOWN next to Stone on the bench while the Brit’s security team hovered in the background. He leaned his cane against the edge of the metal armrest.

  “Chapman has filled me in on the particulars,” said McElroy.

  “I’m sure.”

  “She said you saved her life.”

  Stone didn’t answer.

  “Still, not a particularly good day for any of us.”

  “You could say that.”

  “And do you blame yourself?”

  Stone looked at him. “And why wouldn’t I?”

  McElroy considered this. “I suppose I would’ve been disappointed if you’d answered any other way. I’ve grown used to finger-pointing over the years, accepting it as just the way the world works now. But I know it doesn’t work that way for you and never has. And neither does it for me.”

  “So am I going to be pulled from the case?”

  “Do you want to be?”

  “I don’t like unfinished business.”

  “I wish I could give you a definitive answer, but I can’t.”

  “The president wavering on me? He’s done it before.”

  “He’s a politician. It’s never easy. That’s mostly why I never threw my hat into the ring. A spy’s life is a bit easier in that department.”

  “So until I get the word either way am I free to continue my investigation?”

  “The answer to that would be yes.”

  “That’s all I needed to know.”

  “I understand that Riley Weaver came to visit you.”

  “He did.”

  “He’s scared, as I understand it. Sees something big coming over the horizon. And he thinks that what happened here plays into it somehow? That it was merely a first step?”

  “I think he believes that, yes.”

  “And do you?”

  “Since the attack at the park made no sense, then it seems likely that it was part of something else.”

  “Bigger than exploding a bomb and scattering machine-gun fire across from your president’s humble abode? Goodness, we might be in serious trouble.”

  The man’s words were said in a jesting tone, but it was apparent from the look of concern in his eyes that McElroy too had a sense of foreboding. “Any inkling as to what that something else might be?”

  Stone turned to him. “Fuat Turkekul.”

  “What about him?”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “Meaning his being in the park at the same time of the attack.”

  “I think someone in your food chain knows something about it.”

  “So why didn’t they kill him, then?”

  “That would make the answer simple. This isn’t simple.” He eyed the security team. “Feel like a bit of a walk?”

  “If you’ll lend me a hand, yes. Knees aren’t what they used to be, and what they used to be was never much, I’m afraid.”

  The two old allies walked along the brick path. Stone supported McElroy with a firm hand under his elbow as the spy chief made his way slowly along using his cane.

  “Theories?” said McElroy.

  “They know everything before we do. And more to the point, they seem to know what we’re going to do at the same time we decide to do it.”

  “So a traitor assuredly?”

  Stone nodded. “Any possibilities?”

  “I’ve looked that issue up one side and down the other and I can’t find a viable suspect. Damn infuriating.”

  “So you suspected something like that too?”

  “I always suspect something like that. And it usually turns out to be true. I agree with you that the other side seems to be always ahead of us. But I don’t know how they’re doing it.”

  “We could lay a trap. Channel information through one source only and see if it ends up in the wrong hands.”

  “I don’t think whoever it is will fall for that.”

  “Worth a try?”

  “Then we warn them we suspect.”

  “If they’re as good as I think they are, they already know that we suspect.”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to sit down, Oliver.”

  Stone helped his friend to another bench and then sat next to him. “Tell me something,” said Stone. “Did what happened at the park cause Turkekul to change his plans in any way? Was the mission altered at all?”

  McElroy didn’t answer right away. “Of course it would have been completely altered if Fuat had been killed,” he pointed out. “Altered to the point of being abandoned. One would think that would have been the goal of the attack.”

  “Since the man didn’t die, we have to think of alternative reasons.”

  “I can think of none.”

  “For now, but we have to keep trying.”

  “It won’t be easy for you. The FBI is looking to crush you. Its director has already had a meeting with your president. I have also had the pleasure of your leader’s company, and have done my utmost to dissuade him from giving in to the entreaty that you be removed from the case.”

  “Until they make me stop I’ll keep going.”

  “Pretty much sums up our professional lives, Oliver.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “I wish you luck.”

  “I’ll need it.”

  “You’ll also need this.”

  McElroy took a memory stick from his pocket and handed it to Stone.

  “What is it?”

  “The FBI’s preliminary report on the attack at the tree farm.” As Stone looked uncertainly at the USB stick, McElroy added, “By the by, I had a computer delivered to your cottage earlier.” He paused. “You do know how to work a computer, don’t you?”

  “I can manage. And thanks.”

  “Cheers.”

  McElroy rose on stiffened legs and slowly walked off.

  CHAPTER 39

  STONE SAT BACK, RUBBED HIS
EYES and yawned. He poured out a last cup of coffee and surveyed the miniscule interior of his cottage before his gaze alighted once more on his shiny new laptop computer. It looked almost as out of place in his dingy surroundings as a Picasso hanging on the wall would have.

  What was on the memory stick McElroy had given him was far more interesting than the computer itself. The FBI, motivated no doubt by the murder of one of its own, had done an intensely thorough investigation of the tree farm and the trailer. What they had found was incriminating if not wholly surprising.

  Stone ticked off the points in his head.

  A sharp-eyed agent had noticed that a narrow section of the cement blocks forming the foundation of Kravitz’s trailer home was of a slightly lighter color. They had removed this stack and entered the open space underneath and found bomb-making materials, along with two basketballs, both of which had been cut in half.

  A review of John Kravitz’s personal history had found him to be a college graduate as his boss Lloyd Wilder had noted. But what Wilder hadn’t told them, or more likely didn’t know, was that Kravitz had been arrested twice in the past during rallies against the government for items ranging from antiwar protests to stem cell research. Also found on his cell phone were names and addresses of certain people on government watch lists.

  His neighbors had reported that Kravitz had acted suspiciously over the last few weeks, though Stone discounted that as witness bias since there had been no specific examples from any of these neighbors as to why they thought that other than the police and FBI showing up at the man’s door.

  From the records at the tree farm and the accounts of those working there, Kravitz had full access to the maple tree before it was loaded on a truck and sent to D.C. This included during after hours, because he had a key to the special storeroom where the tree was being prepared for shipping. The insertion of a bomb in the root ball of a tree that large, even housed inside a basketball, would not be difficult for an experienced hand like Kravitz, the report had found. Any disturbance at the site of entry could be easily covered up and then further disguised by the burlap container.