Hell's Corner

CHAPTER 12

When he and Chapman returned to the caretaker’s cottage, Stone put on a pot of hot water for tea while the MI6 agent took the files from her briefcase and spread them out over Stone’s desk. She also loaded a DVD into her laptop.

With a frown she said, “You know I would prefer to meet in a more secure place. These files are all classified.”

Stone looked up from the stove and said cheerfully, “Not to worry, I don’t have any security clearances, so as soon as I look at them they’ll be immediately declassified.”

“Bloody hell,” murmured Chapman.

Teacups in hand, they sat at the desk and began to go over the documents and reports. Stone’s gaze flew swiftly over the papers and photos, his agile and experienced mind separating the important from the trivial.

After he was finished Chapman said, “Would you like to see the full feed?”

He nodded. “I’m wondering why I was shown the edited version at NIC.”

“Don’t ask me. It’s your blokes’ doing, not mine.”

“I’m also wondering if the edited version is the only one they have.”

To this, Chapman simply stared stoically at the screen.

They watched the feed. It was picture only, no audio. After the explosion happened, the feed went to static, but only for a second as though the detonation had momentarily disabled the electronic surveillance’s signals. When the video resumed, Stone saw the remainder of the feed. Flames and white smoke covered Jackson’s statue, or where it used to be. The fence and cannons had also been flung away like feathers. It was a miracle no one had been killed. Luckily, at that time of night the park had been nearly deserted, and the security teams typically kept to the perimeter of the park.

Stone saw himself lying on the ground unconscious while the British agent slowly rose and staggered away.

“Your man looks all right. Except for his tooth.”

“He’s a tough chap, but he did say colliding with you was like hitting a brick wall.”

Stone continued to focus on the feed. The suit and woman were no longer visible. He saw people running; the security bollards on Pennsylvania retracted into the street and police cars and Secret Service vans raced away. Blair House was quickly sealed off.

“Can you show me the last thirty seconds again?”

She hit a couple of keystrokes and Stone watched the explosion happen again. He sat back puzzled.

“What’s the problem?” said Chapman as she stopped the video.

“Can you slow it down even more?”

“I’ll try.” She worked some keystrokes. “This is the best I can do, I’m afraid.”

They watched it again with everything in ultraslow motion.

Stone followed the path of the jogger as he passed by a pair of uniformed Secret Service officers and a canine before entering the park.

“Fat chap to be in trainers,” noted Chapman. “Doesn’t look like a runner, does he?”

“People who wear jogging suits aren’t always runners. He might have just been out for a walk.”

“If you say so.”

“Bomb could have been on that iPod.”

Chapman nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. C-4 or Semtex. Or something even more powerful. If so, there will be evidence of that in the debris field.”

“Yes and no. Yes, the iPod will be blown apart, but it would be regardless of whether it was part of an explosive device or not.”

“But they’ll be able to tell,” said Chapman. “From scorching marks, from the deformity angles of the parts, outward as opposed to inward, and so on.”

Stone turned to her. “You know about explosives?”

“Another reason they sent for me. I spent three years chasing some nasty Irishmen who didn’t believe the IRA had actually signed a peace treaty. They liked to make things go boom. Learned a lot.”

“I’m sure.” Stone looked back at the screen. “He dove into the planting hole.”

“And the explosion happened a few seconds later. Maybe a suicide bomber, then.”

Stone looked skeptical. “Who kills only himself by diving in a hole?”

“So what do you think the lay of the land is, then?”

He looked at her curiously. “Lay of what land?”

“Your land of too many bloody American agencies. I’ve only been on this case less than a day and already I feel claustrophobic.”

“Ever heard of Hell’s Corner?”

Chapman shook her head.

Stone leaned forward and tapped the frozen screen, which showed Lafayette Park. “This is Hell’s Corner,” he said. “Pennsylvania Avenue, the actual street, belongs to the D.C. metro cops. The sidewalks around Lafayette Park are the Secret Service’s turf and the park itself comes under the jurisdiction of the Park Police. Secret Service agents are actually taught to grab a person of interest from the street or park, carry him to the sidewalk and then arrest him there to prevent a pissing contest over jurisdiction.”

“Okay,” Chapman said slowly.

“Hell’s Corner,” he said again. “The Feds and cops hate it, but they all have to dance to the same song. The explosion is a case in point. The Park Police will control the scene, but the FBI, and the ATF, because an explosive was involved, will control the investigation. And Homeland Security, Secret Service, NIC and CIA will be hovering like vultures.”

Chapman took a sip of tea. “So what now?”

“We’ll have to go to the park, talk to the investigators and track down the jogger’s identity and that of the woman and the guy in the suit too.” He gazed at Chapman. “Your guy? Where is he?”

“Available for questioning. But we have his full report. He saw less than you.”

“All right.”

She reached for her jacket. “So on to the park?”

“Yes.”

“You want to use my car?”

“I think we should, since I don’t happen to own one.”