Hell's Corner (31 page)
M
ARY
C
HAPMAN LET THE WATER
wash over her, the steam in the shower rising like morning mist over a lake. She slapped the wall of the shower in frustration, ducked her head under the cascading water and took a deep, controlling breath. She turned off the water, stepped out of the shower, toweled off and sat on the bed.
The meeting with Director Weaver and Sir James had been efficient and hit on all relevant points. This was part of the job. She should have no problem with any of it. It was the reason she’d been brought over here. But she did have a problem with it. And she didn’t know what to do about it.
She dried her hair, took her time choosing what to wear, slipped on her heels and jewelry, grabbed her bag and gun and walked down to the front of the hotel after calling for her car. She drove into D.C. fighting the rush-hour traffic. He was already there waiting for her.
She smiled at Stone, who’d changed clothes and was dressed in a pair of slacks and a white long-sleeved shirt that matched the color of his close-cropped hair and offset nicely the deep tan on his square-jawed face. He’d rolled the shirtsleeves up to reveal ropy forearms. At six-two, he looked even taller because of his leanness. Yet when he’d grabbed her arm outside John Kravitz’s trailer she had felt the immense strength in his grip. Even at his age the man was still made of iron. She presumed he would be until the day he died. Which might be sooner than anyone expected.
When she thought this Chapman stopped smiling.
“I never thanked you for saving my life back at your cottage,” she said. “The flash-bang got me, but not you.”
“Well, we’d both be dead except for you. I’ve never seen anyone move that fast.”
“High praise coming from you.”
He momentarily put a hand on the small of her back as they were escorted to a table overlooking Fourteenth Street. He was more than twenty years older than her, but still, there was something about him that was unlike any man she’d ever met. How he had survived so long doing what he did. And he had the most intense pair of eyes she’d ever seen.
His light touch made Chapman feel protected and comforted, but when he removed his hand her depression set in once more. She ordered a mojito and he a beer. They scanned their menus.
“Productive afternoon?” he asked, eyeing her over the menu.
She felt her face growing warm as she looked over at him. “A little boring, actually. Reports and briefings are not my strong suits. How about you?”
Stone’s cell phone buzzed. He looked at the number and answered it.
He mouthed the name
Agent Ashburn.
He listened. His eyes twitched. He shot a glance at Chapman. “Right, thanks for the heads-up.”
“What’s up?” Chapman asked after he put his phone away.
“They just found the Latinos from the tree farm in Pennsylvania.”
“What do you mean they
found
them?”
“Dead. Execution style. Bodies dumped in a ravine.”
Chapman sat back, her face pale. “But why kill them?”
“The guy saw someone taking down a basketball hoop. He didn’t tell the cops. He told Annabelle. And now they’re all dead.”
Chapman nodded. “They’re cleaning up loose ends.”
“Looks to be. Probably the only reason they didn’t kill everyone at the tree farm along with Gross and the supervisor is because they knew we were coming.”
“How?”
“Sniper who killed Kravitz called and told them we’d gone off in a hurry. Where else would we have been going?”
“Right.” Chapman looked chagrined at missing such an obvious
point. “But again, he saw someone take down a basketball hoop. So what? It’s not like he could identify him in a lineup, right?”
“Maybe he could.”
“What do you mean? He didn’t tell Annabelle that.”
“He didn’t know Annabelle from Adam. And we know someone was at that bar listening in.”
Chapman sipped her drink. “That’s right, they came after them later.”
“So maybe he was holding that back from someone. Blackmail?”
“He got a bunch of bullet wounds instead of cash. So who do you think he might have seen?”
“Maybe Lloyd Wilder.”
Chapman’s jaw fell open. “Lloyd Wilder?”
“Possible. Kill him and the others, two birds with one stone.”
“So
he
was part of the bombing too?”
“I’m not sure what part if any he played, actually. But the fact that they took him out as soon as we showed up tells me he was expendable from day one.”
“So we need to check into Wilder’s background?” She shook her head, looking frustrated. “This thing just keeps on growing.”
“We’ll let Ashburn and the Bureau dig into Wilder’s history. They’ll probably find some money in an offshore account somewhere.”
“And I thought conspiracies were confined to Hollywood films.”
“Actually you’ll come to see that D.C. is just one big conspiracy.”
“That’s comforting.”
“I also spoke with Harry about Turkekul.”
Stone paused as the waiter came over and took their orders. After he was gone Stone resumed. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“I guess that’s good.”
“Maybe or maybe not.”
“I’m not following.”
“The man has been tasked to take out the number one terrorist in the world and he’s teaching a course at Georgetown?”
“It’s background cover for him.”
Stone didn’t look convinced.
“But Sir James is aware of this. You trust him, right?” she said, even as she felt her stomach tighten and her skin grow cold.
“I trust you,” he said.
“Why?”
“I just do. Let’s leave it at that.”
A
S THEY ATE
Chapman kept shooting glances at Stone. If he noticed, Stone made no reaction. She downed several more mojitos and a glass of port after the meal was done.
“You have a car?” he asked after the bill was paid.
“Yes, but why don’t we walk for a bit? It’s a nice evening.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“Really?” she said smiling.
“Yes. You’ve had a lot to drink. A walk will help clear your head,” he added in a strange voice.
They strolled along, passing by restaurants teeming with hungry, boisterous patrons. Car horns honked and people walked past.
“Troubled?” Stone said.
She glanced at him sharply. “Just thinking about things. Why?”
“No reason. Just a lot to think about.”
“So Director Weaver never got back to you?”
“I have to assume he never will. That’s why I had Caleb research for me.”
“And after reviewing his research, what are your conclusions?”
“I don’t have any,” he admitted. “I just have more questions.” He paused. “Weaver did say one interesting thing before he cut me off.”
“What?” she said, perhaps a tad too quickly.
“He said things might not be as they seem. I think he meant that we were all looking at this the wrong way. That if we could find the right way to look at things we might make sense out of everything.”
“Do you believe that?” she said.
“I don’t disbelieve it. At least not yet.”
She stopped at a street vendor and bought a ball cap with “FBI” on it. When Stone looked at her, puzzled, she explained, “Got a nephew back in London who’s keen on them.”
“Does he know you work for MI6?”
“No, he thinks I’m in the computer business. I’d be much cooler to him if he knew the truth.”
As they continued to walk along she said, “Okay, let’s go back through what we know. Gunfire and bombing. Maybe unrelated. The Hay-Adams Hotel was a distraction and the gunfire actually came from a U.S. government building undergoing renovation. Padilla runs for his life and triggers the bomb that was probably in a basketball in the tree’s root ball. That leads us to the tree and from there to the tree farm.”
Stone picked it up from there. “The tree farm leads to John Kravitz, who had bomb-making elements under his trailer. He’s killed to prevent him from talking to us. Agent Gross and the other two are killed for reasons yet unknown, but Wilder might’ve been involved. The bomb had some unusual elements that tentatively have been identified as nanobots. Why they were in the bomb is unknown. Agent Garchik has been ‘relieved’ of his field duties pending further developments. We have several pieces of evidence that show either the Russian government or Russian drug cartels, or perhaps both, may be behind this.”
“And the Latinos were killed because they might have seen something or else they might have been part of the plot.”
“Yes. And the actual target of the bomb is still unknown. We have a number of possibilities but no definitive answer.”
Chapman stopped walking and looked at him. “Okay, there’s the list. We’ve checked it twice.”
“We left out one thing. Fuat Turkekul.”
“But his presence has been explained.”
“Has it?”
“Sir James explained it. And I know you trust him, despite what you said earlier.”
“No, I said I trusted
you
.”
Chapman’s cheeks reddened slightly. Stone gazed at her for a moment and then looked away. He checked his watch.
“You have another date?” she said with an attempt at a smile.
“No, I was just wondering how long it would take before you told me.”
“Told you what?”
“Whatever it is you’re keeping from me.”
C
HAPMAN TURNED
and took a few hesitant steps away from Stone. When she turned back he hadn’t moved. He was just looking at her.
She came back to him. “What do you want from me?”
“The truth.”
“I thought you said you trusted me?”
“All trust has limits. And it has to be constantly earned.”
“You didn’t tell me that part.”
“I didn’t think I had to.”
“You’re putting me in a very awkward position.”
“I know.”
“I need a drink.”
Stone raised his eyebrows at this. “Okay. But it would be nice if you remained sober.”
“You should’ve seen me doing pub crawls whilst at university. I can hold my bloody liquor.”
She turned and headed off.
“Agent Chapman?”
She turned back to him. “What!” she snapped.
He pointed behind him. “There’s a bar right there.”
She looked where he was pointing. “Right. Well done.” She pushed past him and into the bar.
Five minutes later she’d downed two vodka tonics while Stone sipped on a bottle of ginger ale and eyed her steadily. “You sure you’ll be able to drive home okay?”
“It’s a bloody breeze driving here after London.”
“Not if you’re drunk. A British agent arrested for DUI?”
“I’m not drunk!”
“Okay. Then let’s move on.” He stared at her, waiting.
“I can’t tell you everything. I hope you understand that,” she said.
“I don’t.”
“Well, too bad. That’s just the way it has to be.”
Stone rose. “Take care of yourself.”
She gazed up at him in amazement. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Stone!”
He turned and left.
He walked block after block, his long legs eating up the pavement in great chunks as adrenaline roared through his body. He thought she was different. He was wrong.
Same old shit,
he thought.
Same old shit.
He passed the Capitol building and kept going until he recognized the area he was in. Whether he had meant to come here or not he wasn’t sure, but he was a man who almost always followed his instincts. He passed throngs of young men on the street. When several seemed overly interested in him, he stuck his federal badge on his belt and let them see his gun. They immediately backed off.
“It’s cool,” one said.
Another said with a grin, “Hey, Gramps, ever kill anybody with that gun?”
“No,” lied Stone. He held up a finger. “But I have with this.”
The young men looked skeptical.
One said, “You killed somebody with just your pinky? Right.”
He showed them the finger again. “Not the pinky. This is the index finger. It gives far more leverage against the carotid, so it’s easier to crush.”