Hell's Corner (49 page)

“And,” said Stone, looking at Weaver again, “she was dismissed by the intelligence service because of her complicity in Turkekul’s
death. Which gave her the perfect opportunity to retire from the field with no questions asked. She played
all
of us perfectly.”

“You have no proof of that,” growled Weaver.

Ashburn spoke up. “Director Weaver, have you tried to get in touch with Marisa Friedman lately?”

All gazes swiveled to the NIC chief.

He said defensively, “I had no reason to try and reach her.”

“I would suggest that you now
do
have a reason,” said the FBI director firmly.

Weaver slowly pulled out his phone and drilled in a number with his thick index finger. Five, ten, twenty seconds went by. He left a message for her to call him.

He put away his phone. “Okay, she didn’t answer her phone. That proves nothing.”

“But if I’m right,” said Stone, “what do you think she’s doing right now?”

“Running like hell,” said Chapman.

“If you’re right. And it’s a big if,” replied Weaver.

The FBI director said to Ashburn, “We need to find Friedman. Right now.”

“Yes sir.” Ashburn picked up her phone and left the room.

Weaver shook his head and looked at the FBI director. “We cannot simply accept this man’s word for it. Friedman was one of the best field agents I’ve ever worked with.”

“I think she’s actually
the
best,” said Stone. “The only problem is she’s not working for us anymore.”

“Well, if you are right then she’s probably long gone,” said Weaver. “She would have her exit strategy down to the last detail.”

Stone turned to him. “She would, except for one little thing.”

The man looked contemptuously at him. “Really? And what’s that?”

“The presidents are still alive. Which means she
failed
. I doubt her employer is too happy about that. But it also gives us a shot at getting to her.”

CHAPTER 88

S
EVERAL HOURS LATER
they had a lead on Friedman. They were all still at the WFO when Ashburn came back into the conference room waving a piece of paper.

“Visual ID on Friedman getting on a train bound for Miami from Union Station in Washington. We checked the passenger manifest. She’s traveling under an alias, obviously. No Friedman on the list. Guess that confirms her complicity.”

They all looked at Weaver, who sat sullen-faced in a corner of the room.

Ashburn said, “I take it she never called you back, sir?”

Weaver didn’t even bother to answer.

Ashburn said, “Miami makes sense. She’s presumably working for a Mexican cartel. She gets to Miami and hops on a private plane headed west to Mexico. And her taking the train was a smart move. She probably thought we’d expect her to use wings to get away fast.”

Stone looked at Ashburn. “Visual ID? Did someone actually see her?”

“We have surveillance cameras set up at all the airports and train stations. We programmed her features into the loop and got a hit at Union Station.”

“Did you look at the video?” he asked. “To check to make sure it was her?”

“I did. It wasn’t a clear shot and she was obviously in disguise, but the computer can pick up on factors the human eye can’t. And the match came back. We’re going to hold the train at the next stop, go through it passenger by passenger and take her.”

They all hurried out of the room. Weaver was the last to leave.

He turned to Stone. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

“You don’t owe me anything. It’s complicated. I’ve been in the dark almost as long as everyone else.”

“You saved the president’s life.” He added, “Fair winds and following seas I believe are in your future permanently.”

Stone said nothing. He simply watched the man turn and go.

Chapman was eyeing him closely. “What was all that about?”

“Ancient history.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I keep saying it because it’s true.”

“Okay, you’re not buying the train theory, are you?”

Stone recalled the things Marisa Friedman had said to him. They were all lies of course. But that was how spies survived.

“She said she wanted to go to a desert island,” he said quietly.

Chapman perked up. “Really? When did she say that?”

“When I went to her office, to tell her I was sorry for destroying her career,” he added. “She said she wanted me to go with her. That we were so much alike.”

Chapman put a hand on his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you two could be more different. She’s a cold-blooded, ruthless bitch just interested in the money. And you, well, you’re obviously not that.” She looked away, perhaps embarrassed at her words.

“A desert island,” he said.

“Right, where she really wanted to go.”

“She’s a spy. She lies for a living.”

Chapman looked at him with renewed interest. “So not a desert island then?”

“Facial recognition software,” said Stone abruptly.

“I’ve heard the stuff is really very accurate.”

“It’s a machine doing it, so it’s only as good as what’s fed into the machine. Which makes me wonder something.”

“What’s that?”

“I wonder what database they used to compare the picture to?”

“You mean someone as obviously smart as Friedman would have thought of that? She would have known they’d use that measure against her?”

“And if she got into the right databases and fed slightly different parameters into them, that would register a hit on someone else that she made sure was at the train station on the way to Miami.”

“And the police stop the train and search it but don’t find Friedman, so that person isn’t even questioned. Home free.”

“Home free,” said Stone.

“So where is Friedman?”

“What’s the opposite of a desert island?”

“The opposite?” Chapman thought for a moment. “A place with lots of people. A big city?”

“Yes. And she didn’t go south. She wouldn’t go to Mexico.”

“Why?”

“She failed. Why would she go running to the likes of Carlos Montoya if she didn’t get the job done? He’d just put a bullet in her head.”

Chapman sat back. “That’s right, he would.”

“So her ‘double’ headed south to lead us on a fruitless chase.”

“Opposite of south is north. But why would she go to a big city at all?”

“Best place to hide. Yes, you have lots of cops and cameras, but she’s too smart to get tripped up by that. She’ll lose herself among millions of people. She’ll wait to see how it falls out. Once she gets a read on that her options grow.”

“So how do we catch her? We can’t go running off to every big city that’s north of here to look for the woman. Or maybe she’s already out of the country. Maybe Canada.”

“I don’t think so. She runs too fast, she’ll make a mistake even with a prearranged exit strategy. And remember, her exit plan was predicated on a successful ending to her mission. No, she’ll take her time now.”

“And if she is on the train to Miami and the Feds bust her?”

“Then more power to them. But I really don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“Okay, but where do
we
start looking?”

“We need information.”

“What sort?”

Stone thought about what Friedman had said. About the CIA
keeping all the profits from her lucrative lobbying practice. That she could have retired in style if it had truly been her business. “She didn’t do this for free. Which means we have to follow the money.” He added cryptically, “And the muscle.”

“Muscle?”

“If she has someone like Carlos Montoya after her now, she’ll have a wall of pros around her. For protection. So to get to her we have to go through them.”

Chapman smiled. “Now that’s more my cup of tea.”

CHAPTER 89

A
NNABELLE SAT DOWN
across from Stone at his cottage.

“They let me see him,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Alex?”

She nodded as she traced her forehead with one of her fingers. “Piece of granite hit him right about here. An inch to the left it would have missed him and he wouldn’t be lying in that hospital bed in a coma.”

“Is his condition the same?”

“A bit worse, actually.” She stifled a sob. “His vitals aren’t as good today.”

Stone reached across his desk and gripped her hand. “All we can do is hope and pray, Annabelle. That’s all.”

“He’s such a good guy, Oliver. Solid as a rock. Always there even when I acted like a bitch to him.”

“We all have regrets, probably me more than anyone, when it comes to Alex.” He took his hand away and sat back in his chair.

“We have to get her, Oliver,” said Annabelle. Her eyes were no longer moist. She was staring earnestly at her friend.

“I know. And we will.”

She pulled some pieces of paper from her bag. “After you called me with your questions about the money trail I spoke with my contact in Bermuda.”

“Was he helpful?”

“You know the amount of illegal monies that are funneled around the Caribbean banks on a daily basis? Literally hundreds of billions.”

“Needle in a haystack, then,” said Stone doubtfully.

“It would have been except for one thing.” She looked at one of the papers. “Five hundred million dollars was wired into an account one month ago at a bank in the Caymans. It just sat there with a hold on it. A little over one week ago it was released. One hour after that another five hundred million was wired to the same account. It sat there for the full week. Then it was released. But it didn’t go forward into another account. It went backwards.”

“Return to sender?”

“Exactly. It was rescinded.”

“What day exactly?”

“The day Alex nearly died.”

“When they knew Friedman had failed?”

“That’s right.”

“So she got half the money when certain goals were met. Probably the explosion in Lafayette, the death of Tom Gross and cleaning up the loose ends like Sykes, Donohue and the Latinos.”

“What about Turkekul?” asked Annabelle.

“He’s a special case. At first I just thought that she had seized an opportunity that had presented itself, but now I’m not so sure.”

“I’m not getting what you mean.”

“I’m not sure I do either. We’ll just have to see how that plays out. Any way to see where the money went?”

She shook her head. “The cops have put pressure on Swiss banks to open up their records and they’ve complied. That’s pushed a lot of the illegal transactions to the Caribbean. And the islanders have not been as compliant as the Swiss. We’ll need some more expertise to get those answers.”

“I think I might have a way to find some,” said Stone.

“But Friedman has half a billion dollars at her disposal. That will fund an excellent escape plan.”

“Yes, it will. But she has some problems.”

“Her employer?”

“She tries to run now it puts up signals they can intercept. She may think if she bides her time they’ll lose their focus on her and move on to other matters.”

“But she may also be able to finger one or more of the cartels with the assassination attempts,” replied Annabelle. “They aren’t
going to let that hang out there. Now she’s become a potential witness against them.”

“She’s a very smart woman and she’s undoubtedly thought the very same thing. All the more reason for her to take it slow. And that’s only one side of the equation.”

“Meaning the cops coming after her on the other end.”

“Yes. I’m sure by now Friedman knows we’re on to her.”

As Annabelle gathered her things in preparation to leave she said, “If Alex doesn’t make it, how are we going to get on without him, Oliver?”

She looked like she was going to start crying again. Stone put his arms around her, held her tightly. He let Annabelle Conroy, possibly the most gifted con artist of her generation, but a woman with a huge heart and a rock-solid understanding of loyalty, sob quietly into his shoulder.

When she was done Stone said, “We can never get on without him, Annabelle. All we can do is just survive each day as it comes. I think you and I have a better understanding of that than most people.”