Hell's Corner (42 page)
“And what did you wish to meet about?” asked Turkekul.
“How are things going with Adelphia?”
“We work well together. I am getting my feet wet, so to speak. And Ms. Friedman is a good partner as well.”
“Fuat hopes to make some progress in the next several months,” volunteered Friedman. She stared at Stone perhaps a beat too long before breaking off and picking up the menu the waiter had just dropped off.
Turkekul put up a hand. “These things take time. Americans want everything done yesterday.” He chuckled.
“We have that reputation, yes,” agreed Stone. “But recent events are troubling.”
Turkekul broke off a piece of bread from the basket in the center of the table and bit into it. He brushed the crumbs off the cloth and onto the floor. “You speak of the bomb and such?”
“The death of an FBI agent. The second bombing. The murder of the Park Service man. We have to stop it.”
“Yes, yes, but what does that have to do with me?”
“A group in Yemen with known ties to Al-Qaeda has claimed responsibility, so I think it has a lot to do with you. You are tasked with finding the head of that organization.”
Turkekul was already shaking his head. “I told you before that the Yemeni group is unreliable. I do not believe that they are behind the bombing or any of the other criminal acts.”
“Why?” asked Stone evenly.
Turkekul held up one finger. “First, they are not sophisticated enough. This sort of long-term planning and execution is not their forte. They will put a bomb in a car and blow it up, but that is all.” He held up another finger. “And second, they simply do not have the assets required to do such a mission here. You speak of many deaths but all through separate incidents. No, it is not them.”
“Okay, then who do you think it is?” Stone paused and glanced
at Friedman. “Your old friend Osama? He certainly has the long-term planning skills. And the assets.”
Turkekul smiled and shook his head. “I think not.”
“And your reasons?”
“He has other, how do you say, fish to fry.”
“And what are those fish?”
“I am not prepared to say at the moment.”
Stone sat forward. “I wanted to meet with you to make a deal of sorts.”
Turkekul looked surprised. He glanced at Friedman before staring back at Stone. “I already have a deal with your government.”
“I didn’t say it was with my government.”
Turkekul looked taken aback. “I do not understand.” He gazed again at Friedman when he said this.
“We need to step things up a bit,” said Friedman. “And I think we now have the intel to do it.” She nodded at Stone.
Stone picked up this choreographed “tag” from the woman and said, “We’ve discovered that there’s a mole.”
Turkekul gazed in surprise at him. “A mole?” He shot Friedman another anxious look. “Where exactly?”
“Very close,” answered Stone. “We don’t have the person’s exact identity, but we do know that a significant event is being planned.”
“But how can you do anything about it if you don’t know the person’s identity?” Turkekul said with deliberate calm.
“That status is very near to changing,” said Stone. “For the last month we’ve had a source that we have been in the process of flipping. That’s principally why they brought me on, actually. And that’s why I was so interested in your presence, Fuat. I can call you Fuat, can’t I?”
“Of course. But I don’t understand why you would be interested in me in connection with this matter.”
Stone sat forward and dropped his voice. “Do you mind if we carry on this conversation elsewhere, somewhere more private?”
Turkekul again looked at Friedman, who nodded. “You really need to hear this, Fuat. It’s directly connected to you.”
The Turk glanced behind him, in the direction of his guards. “As Marisa knows, I do not travel alone.”
“It can be arranged,” said Stone.
“How?” Turkekul asked nervously.
“It can be arranged,” Stone said again. He motioned with his eyes in the direction of Chapman and Finn. Each nodded back when Turkekul glanced at them.
“Can’t you tell me here?” Turkekul asked.
Stone sat back. “You trust Marisa. And Marisa trusts me, or she wouldn’t have brought you here.”
“I do trust her.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“You obviously have never lived in the Middle East.”
“On the contrary, I have.”
When Stone next spoke it was in Pashto. Then he switched to Farsi. The effect on Turkekul was immediate.
“How do you know these languages?”
“My hair is white. I’ve been in this business a long time. But you’re referring to not trusting anyone because your friend is only a friend until he is your enemy?”
“Precisely.”
“Then I will chance being overheard and tell you why you need to be involved.”
“Yes?”
“A fatwa has been issued. A private one.”
“A fatwa? Against whom?”
“Against you.”
Turkekul looked stricken. “Against me? I do not understand.”
“Someone has found out you’re assisting the Americans, Fuat. They want to eliminate that assistance.”
Turkekul’s gaze swung between Stone and Friedman. “A fatwa? But I am an academic. I am no threat to anyone.”
“Someone has found out what you’re really doing. That is clear. The mole I spoke of? His target, it seems, was you. They know of your treachery.”
“This is… preposterous.”
“No, our information is rock solid. As you know, we’ve vastly improved our intelligence resources in that part of the world.”
“Who issued the fatwa?”
Stone said a name and the man’s face turned gray.
“They are…”
“Yes. And the group they have assigned to execute the fatwa have the reputation of never missing. I won’t mention their name, but trust me, you would recognize it.”
Turkekul looked shrunken now as he fidgeted with his hands.
Stone studied him. “I know your faith does not allow for the imbibing of alcohol, but perhaps an exception in this case? Then we can talk about what we would like for you to do.”
“Yes, I think. Perhaps some wine,” he said quickly.
Friedman motioned for a waiter.
Ten minutes later Turkekul left with Friedman. After he had gone, Stone and Chapman departed by a rear exit and climbed into a black Yukon with bulletproof windows and armor plating.
“Well done, Oliver,” said a booming voice from the backseat.
James McElroy was sitting there. “The audio feed was loud and clear. I heard everything.”
Stone sat back against the leather seat. “Well, let’s see if the man takes the bait.”
“
H
E’S ON THE MOVE
,” Agent Ashburn said. She was sitting in the front seat of the SUV wearing a headset. She turned to look at Stone and Chapman. “I hope this works.”
“If it doesn’t, we’ll know soon enough,” said Stone.
“How about his security?” asked Chapman.
“They were told to give him an out.”
“He won’t get suspicious?”
“Their job is to protect him from others. Not from himself. He said he was going to bed. They’re not expecting him to sneak out, which he just did.”
A voice came over Ashburn’s headset. “Okay, he just got in a cab. He must’ve called for one from his apartment. He’s heading west.”
“West?” said Stone. “Out of the city?”
Ashburn nodded. “He just crossed the Key Bridge. Okay, he’s turning right onto the GW Parkway and heading into Virginia.” She tapped the driver. “Let’s roll.”
The truck sped off and crossed the river and then hung a right onto the parkway.
“Keep back a bit,” Ashburn instructed the driver. “We’ve got assets all around. There’s no way we’ll lose him.”
Stone did not seem convinced of this. He glanced at Chapman with an uneasy expression.
Ashburn looked back. “Riley Weaver gets wind of what we’re doing he will throw a hissy. You know that.”
“It won’t be the first time,” replied Stone.
He was peering out the windows into the darkness. The GW Parkway was one of the most beautiful stretches of road in the
D.C. metro area. There were thick woods on both sides of the asphalt, stone walls lining the road, steep terrain heading down to the Potomac River and the lighted expanse of Georgetown north of the water. Stone wasn’t focused on this aspect of the trip, however. He was watching the distant taillights of the cab that had just now come into view.
“He’s pulling off,” Ashburn said a minute later. “Onto the scenic overlook.”
Stone had already seen this. The lights of the cab vanished as it made the turn.
“Pull past and then slow down,” Ashburn ordered the driver. She gave this same command into her headset.
Stone didn’t know how many vehicles the FBI had on the scene, but the Bureau typically brought overwhelming force to any task. However, the mission here was not to arrest Turkekul and anyone he was meeting with, but to follow the person he was meeting with and hope that trail led them up the chain of command. Perhaps all the way to the president of Russia himself.
“We’ve got infrared eyes on the entire scene,” said Ashburn. “He’s getting out of the cab and walking over to the wall fronting the parking area.”
“Is there another vehicle there?” asked Stone. “I didn’t see one when we drove past.”
Ashburn looked confused and spoke into her headset. “Well, how is he meeting with someone, then? Are they flying up here?”
She flinched. “A light just came on in the woods near the wall.”
Stone said, “They could have hiked up from the riverbank.”
“Quite a hike,” said Ashburn. She spoke into her headset. “Everyone stand by. Do not intervene. Repeat, do not intervene. This is a—”
The sound of the shot made them all jump. Stone grabbed the driver’s shoulder. “Go! Go!”
The SUV whipped around, plowed across the median and sped back toward the pull-off.
“Move in,” Ashburn called into her headset. “All positions move in!”
SUVs poured into the parking lot. Stone and Chapman were out
of the truck before it even stopped. Stone ran toward the still figure sprawled on the asphalt. He knelt down next to Turkekul. Chapman stood next to him.
“He’s dead,” said Stone. “Exit wound from the front. He was facing the river. That means the shot came from the other side of the road.”
Ashburn was already screaming instructions at her troops. A pack of agents raced toward the woods on the other side of the road where the shot had originated. Two other agents were pulling a terrified cab driver from his ride. Chapman slipped over the wall and looked down.
“The light was from a battery-operated lantern with a timer switch,” she said.
She rejoined Stone and looked down at Turkekul.
“Could there really have been a fatwa on him?” she asked.
Stone just shook his head. “We got played. Again,” he added bitterly.
“What happens now?”
“We’re screwed,” he muttered. “That’s what happens now. We’re completely and totally screwed.”
T
HERE WAS NO ONE LEFT STANDING
after the NIC chief found out about an unauthorized operation that had cost him his sole asset in the biggest counterintelligence investigation of his brief career as the nation’s head spy. If Weaver could have issued a hit on Stone, Chapman and Ashburn and gotten away with it, he would have. Even Sir James McElroy, who immediately owned up to his part in the fiasco, was not spared.
When Stone and Chapman met with him later at the British embassy McElroy looked older and frailer than before. The spark that was usually in his eye had receded. Chapman looked crushed at having let the man down. Stone’s expression was unfathomable. There were few who could discern the smoldering anger within him.
“No leads on the shooter?” asked McElroy quietly as he held his side tightly.
Chapman answered, “None. By the time the FBI got there the sniper was long gone. There’s a road near the location. Takes a minute for a car to disappear into a dozen different directions.”
“Well, MI6 has been officially taken off the case,” said McElroy. He looked at Chapman. “I’m on the next flight out. Care to ride with me?”