“And today you found out he was innocent, at least of that.”
She pointed to the scar under her eye. “Some innocent. He gave me this when I was just a teenager, for blowing a claim in a casino. He said it was the only way to learn. And he’s the reason my mother’s dead. And what’s happened to him? Not a damn thing. Everything just bounces off the son of a bitch. He just goes along like the bullet in her brain never even happened.”
“I’m not seeing it that way, Annabelle. It doesn’t look like life has been kind to him. And he was here grieving over your mother. Doesn’t sound like a guy who got off scot-free.”
“I can never forget it, Oliver. I can never forget what he did.”
“I’m not asking you to forget. I’m just asking you to maybe think about forgiving. People do bad things all the time. It doesn’t necessarily make them bad people.”
“So what do you want me to do? Run and give him a hug?”
“This is something you need to deal with inside yourself. Before it destroys you. Because if we manage to nail Bagger you still won’t be satisfied because you have all this hate inside for Paddy. If you really want to get on with your life, you need to deal with that.”
Annabelle pulled her car keys out of her pocket. “Well, you know what? I don’t want to.”
She drove off in a spit of gravel.
As soon as she was out of sight Stone’s phone buzzed. It was Reuben recounting everything that had happened to them when they were in Atlantic City, including Milton’s big winnings and them being attacked by Bagger’s men. Stone told Reuben to not take Milton home, but to go to Reuben’s house instead.
“He didn’t use his real ID there when he collected his winnings, Oliver,” Reuben pointed out.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to take a chance. You recently moved. Your house doesn’t even have an address. It’d be very hard for Bagger to track you down.”
“How’s it going with Susan?”
“Couldn’t be better.” Stone clicked off and stared after the fleeing Annabelle.
Family. It just doesn’t get any more complicated than that.
CHAPTER 44
GRAY WAS ON A SECURE PHONE in a bunker the CIA had arranged for him to use. The president had been briefed on the matter and had used his executive powers to give Gray, even in an unofficial capacity, any and all resources of the United States government that he required to set the situation right. Gray of course had only communicated his version of the truth to the president and his top people, but it had been enough to allow him the carte blanche he needed to carry out the required mission.
Though set fifty feet in the dirt, the bunker had all the amenities of a five-star hotel in downtown Manhattan, including its own valet and a chef. Gray had always been treated like a rock star by the intelligence community.
Into the phone he said, “If Lesya and Rayfield Solomon were married there has to be a record of it somewhere. I know we couldn’t find it back then, but times have changed. The Russians are, at least in public, our ally. Run down every lead you can on that angle. There are some old codgers still running around the reincarnation of the KGB that may be able to help us. Bring euros, they prefer them to dollars, at least these days.” He nodded as the man on the other end said something. “The former Russian ambassador to this country, Gregori Tupikov, is an old friend of mine. It might just be worth a phone call to him. Tell him you’re doing it in connection with the investigation of my murder. Vodka by the barrel, two-pound lobsters and a natural redhead, that’s all you ever needed to corrupt old Gregori.”
Gray clicked off and continued to study the file while his four-course dinner was being finalized. Though computers and servers dominated his business these days, the old Cold Warrior loved the feel of paper between his fingers. He ate his sumptuous meal alone in front of a gas fire that gave the room an enchanting glow even this far underground. Gray never did things like others. Even dead he was fifty feet under the earth instead of the normal six and his “coffin” was far more luxurious than the rank and file got.
Taking a snifter of brandy into a wood-paneled library, he sat behind an ornate desk and continued to ponder the matter. He loved this part of the game. It was a battle of the minds, a perpetual chess match; one side trying to outmaneuver, outthink the other. And the United States had never had a man who could perform those tasks better than Carter Gray. His actions had saved so many Americans that he had long since lost count. The Medal of Freedom was the least his country could do. If he was a Brit he’d already have been knighted. And yet he’d been forced to resign, long before he was ready. Because John Carr had forced his hand.
The more Gray thought about this, the angrier he became. Yet from within that anger a cold-blooded idea took form. Whoever was killing Gray’s old assassination team one by one probably believed John Carr to be dead. Yet why should Carr be spared the thrill of being a target? And the man had given him the finger!
Gray picked up his secure phone and hit a button. “I want to get some information out using the normal channels. It has to do with the alleged death of a man named John Carr. I think the time has come to set the record straight.”
CHAPTER 45
FINN HELD UP THE DEVICE. Barely the size of his palm, combined with a few seemingly innocuous elements it could easily kill anyone within thirty feet. But it would only kill one man; Finn would make sure of that.
He tried on his disguise and thought through all the steps he would take to enter the Hart Building and penetrate where he needed to go.
Once Finn had gotten on Roger Simpson’s trail and dug deeply, he’d learned that the distinguished senior senator from Alabama had been a hellion early in life, with little regard for anyone or anything other than himself. Though the man was still like that, this flaw had been buried under layers of PR once his political career had begun. This was done with the full though invisible support of the CIA, where he had worked in a very special though undisclosed capacity. His c.v. was filled with accolades from the Agency and very little in the way of hard facts. Yet to his country he was a hero. And he was poised to make a run for the White House, Finn had heard.
I don’t think so.
Simpson had never forgotten his former employer’s support. As head of the powerful Senate Select Committee on Intelligence he’d let the CIA get away with whatever it wanted. There did not seem to be any action too extreme that Simpson did not find necessary for national security reasons. He had been Carter Gray’s champion or lapdog, depending on how one looked at it, for years. Finn considered it perfect justice to send them to the same place, and in the same manner.
He drove home late that night, but Mandy was still up waiting for him. Over a couple slices of pumpkin pie and some hot tea she said, “You were a big hit today at school. Susie waited up to tell you but she couldn’t stay awake.”
“I’m sorry I’m late, but something came up.”
“Are you sure everything’s okay? You haven’t really seemed yourself lately.”
“Just work. Lot to think about.”
“How’s Lily?”
Lily was Finn’s mother. Like Finn it wasn’t her real name. Harry Finn wouldn’t have known what it was like to use a real name for anything.
“The same. Actually, a little worse.” Finn didn’t use his mother’s word, “rotting.”
“I know we have a lot going on, but if you want your mother to come and live with us, I’m okay with that. We’ll make it work somehow.”
“Not a good idea, Mandy. She’s fine right where she is.”