Stone stepped into the small wash of light from a table lamp. “You remember the Triple Sixes, don’t you, Max? How about John Carr? That name ring any bells for you? If it does, even after all these years, you can pretty much figure out how I got past the two idiots lying unconscious outside that you call guards.”
Max stared up fearfully into the face of the tall, lean man standing across the room from him. “John Carr? It can’t be. You’re dead.”
Stone stepped closer to him. “You know everything that goes on at CIA. So you knew John Carr wasn’t in that grave they dug up.”
Max slumped back down in his chair and looked pitifully at Stone. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“You’re the great brain. You always figured out the best logistics for our missions. They almost always went off without a hitch. And when they didn’t you were always thousands of miles away. So what the hell did you care? It was our asses on the line, not yours. So tell me, great brain, why am I here? And don’t disappoint me. You know how I hate to be disappointed.”
Max drew in a sharp breath. “You want information.”
Stone glided forward and put a vise grip on Max’s arm. “I want the truth.”
Max grimaced from the pressure on his arm, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. His strength was mental, not physical. “About what?”
“Rayfield Solomon. Carter Gray. And anyone else you know who had his finger in that debacle.”
Max had shuddered at the mention of Rayfield Solomon. “Gray’s dead,” he said quickly.
Stone’s long fingers tightened on the man’s arm until a bead of sweat broke over Max’s forehead. “That’s not what I meant by being truthful.”
“His home was blown up, damn it!”
“But he wasn’t in it. Now he’s out there, plotting and planning, just like he always did. Only I’m the target. Again. And I don’t like it, Max. Once was enough.” Stone squeezed harder.
“Look, you can crush my arm if you want, but I can’t tell you things I don’t know about.”
“I’m not going to crush your arm.” Stone let go and slid a knife out from his coat sleeve.
Max wailed, “John, you’re not a killer anymore. You got out. You were always different. We all knew that.”
“That didn’t seem to help me back then. My wanting to get out almost cost me my life.”
“Things were different back then.”
“So people keep telling me. But once a killer, always a killer. I did it very recently, in fact. In self-defense. But I still killed a man. Slit his throat from ten feet away. And he was a former Triple Six. I guess they’re not making ’em like they used to.”
“But I’m defenseless,” Max pleaded.
“I will kill you, Max. And it will be in self-defense. Because if you don’t help me, I’m a dead man. But I’m not going alone.” He placed the edge of the blade against Max’s quivering carotid artery.
“For God’s sake, John, think what you’re doing. And I lost my wife recently. I lost Kitty.”
“I lost my wife too. I didn’t have her nearly as long as you had your Kitty. But then you probably were the one who worked the logistics of the hit on me out on your nice, neat paper.”
“I had nothing to do with that. I only learned about it after the fact.”
“But you didn’t go running to the authorities about it, did you?”
“What the hell did you expect me to do? They would have killed me too.”
Stone pressed the blade harder against the man’s flesh. “For a genius you sometimes say stupid things. Tell me about Rayfield Solomon before I lose my patience. Because this is all about Solomon, isn’t it?”
“He was a traitor and you killed him, on orders.”
“We did kill him, as ordered. Roger Simpson said it came right from the top. But there’s obviously more to it. A lot more. Was Solomon innocent? And if he was, why were we ordered to kill him?”
“Damn it, John, just let it go! The past is dead.”
Stone’s knife cut into Max’s skin a millimeter beside the artery, and a drop of blood appeared. “Was Solomon innocent?” Himmerling said nothing. He just sat there with his eyes closed, his chest heaving.
“Max, if I sever this artery, you will bleed to death in less than five minutes. And I will stand here and watch while you do.”
Himmerling finally opened his eyes. “I’ve kept secrets for nearly forty years, and I’m not going to start talking now.”
Stone swung his gaze around the room and stopped at the pictures on the mantel. A young boy and girl.
“Grandkids?” he asked with an edge to his voice. “Must be nice.”
A trembling Max followed the man’s gaze. “You… you wouldn’t dare!”
“You people killed everyone I loved. Why should you get any better treatment? I’ll kill you first.” He pointed at the pictures. “And them next. And it won’t be painless.”
“You bastard!”
“That’s right. I am a bastard. CIA-built, owned and operated. You know that as well as anyone, don’t you?” Stone looked once more at the photos. “Your last chance, Max. I won’t ask again.”
And so for the first time in four decades, Max Himmerling let a secret slip out. “Solomon wasn’t a traitor. He knew some things, but he didn’t know all of it. People were afraid if he found out the truth, he’d talk.”
“People like who? Gray? Simpson?”
“I don’t know.”
Stone made another nick on Himmerling’s skin. “Max, I’m losing my patience.”
“It was Gray or Simpson. I never knew which.”
“And the secret?”
“Not even I knew that. It involved a mission Solomon and the Russian Lesya handled against the Soviet Union. The whole thing’s on the front burner now. I don’t know why.”
“One more question. Should be an easy one. Who ordered the hit on me?”
“John, please-”
Stone violently seized the man around the throat. “Who?”
“All I can say is you have the same choice as with the last answer,” Himmerling gasped.
So Gray or Simpson. Not that he was surprised.
Stone put the knife away and said, “If you try and tell anyone I’ve been here, you know what will happen. Gray will find out and he’ll suspect you told me things. And you can’t lie to him. He knows ways to get the truth out of the toughest people, much less someone like you. And when he finds out what you told me, guess what, Max?” Stone placed an imaginary pistol against the man’s head and pantomimed pulling the trigger. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“Would you have really killed my grandkids?” Himmerling asked in a quavering voice.
“Just be glad they don’t have to find out.”
CHAPTER 64
AFTER STONE LEFT, Max Himmerling breathed a sigh of relief; it caught in his throat. The guards. They’ll know someone came. They’ll contact... He ran to pack a bag. He had long ago worked out a doomsday scenario of having to flee. Ten minutes later he was on his way out the door, boarding pass printed out, fake ID in his pocket. The ringing phone made him stop. Should he answer it? Something told him to. He picked it up. The voice on the other end was very familiar to him.
“Hello, Max. What did you tell him?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Max, you’re a brilliant man, but a very bad liar. I don’t blame you. I’m sure he threatened you, and we both know what a dangerous man he is. So what did you tell him?”
Once more Himmerling spilled his guts.
“Thank you, Max, you did the right thing.” The line went dead.
Himmerling dropped the phone as the back door opened.
“Please,” he said. “Please.”
The silenced gun fired and the bullet hit him in the forehead. The body was placed into a black bag. In a minute the truck had carried it away. Officially Himmerling would be reassigned to a foreign post on short notice. When the next American chopper went down anywhere in the world, it would be recorded that Max Himmerling had been on it, his body burned beyond recognition. Thus would end the man’s near forty years of service to his country.