Hell's Corner

CHAPTER 52

Stone was flown back to D.C., where he met Chapman by prearrangement at Lafayette Park.

“How did it go?” she asked anxiously.

“Informative.”

“In a helpful sort of way?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Come on! Any revelations? You met with the president, for God’s sake.”

Stone explained about the unknown bits of debris possibly being connected to nanotechnology. And also about the whereabouts of Agent Garchik.

“Did you know all that when you asked to meet with the president?”

“Let’s say I suspected it.”

“And you told him of your suspicions?”

“I thought the direct way was best.”

“Pretty ballsy. So nanobots? Bloody hell. What’s the world coming to when they stick stuff in stuff we can’t even see that could come back and kill us all?”

“I think some folks would call that progress, actually,” said Stone dryly.

“So the Russians are playing around in their laboratory again. Ominous development.”

“Drug trafficking is worth hundreds of billions of dollars. That’s one motivation. Couple that with science that could make Russia’s enemies wastelands, that’s something you can’t measure in mere treasure.”

“Russia’s enemies, meaning my country and yours.”

“Despite détente, Gorbachev and Yeltsin, things have never really been rosy among the three nations.”

“But why would they detonate a bomb in Lafayette Park that didn’t kill anyone?”

“I don’t know.”

He moved over toward ground zero and looked down at the crater.

“Riley Weaver’s questions are also still unanswered,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“How did the tree suddenly die? And why was the hole left open after the tree went in?”

“The arborist and stuff. Agent Gross told us about it.”

“Well, I guess we need to check it ourselves.”

“But what about Ashburn? Isn’t she on the case now?”

“I’d prefer to handle it.”

“Just in case we lose another agent?” she said quietly.

Stone didn’t answer.

An hour later they were standing in front of George Sykes, who was wearing the uniform of the National Park Service. He was the supervisor previously identified by Tom Gross who’d overseen the installation of the tree. Sykes was a fit man with a crushing grip. Chapman discreetly rubbed her sore fingers together after shaking the man’s hand.

“The maple had shown no signs of disease or any other problem,” he said. “We did a survey of the park one morning and found that it was nearly dead. No way to save it. Broke my heart. That tree had been there a long time.”

Chapman said, “So you pulled it out, ordered a new one and installed it?”

“Right,” replied Sykes. “We’re very careful about the materials that go into the park. They have to be historically accurate.”

“So we understand. And the tree farm in Pennsylvania was one of your vetted suppliers?” said Stone.

“Yes. I told all this to Agent Gross.”

“We understand. But in light of what happened to him we needed to go back over this.”

“Absolutely,” said Sykes quickly. “What a nightmare. And they think one of the men at the tree farm was involved?”

“Apparently,” said Chapman vaguely. “What can you tell us about when the tree was delivered?”

“We kept it in a secure staging area a few blocks from the White House.”

“And then you had it craned in here?” asked Stone.

“That’s right,” said Sykes.

“And the tree was installed but the hole remained uncovered?” said Chapman.

“That’s right,” said Sykes.

Stone said, “Why not cover it up right away? In fact it was a hazard, wasn’t it? You had to put tape around it to keep people away.”

And keep the bomb detection dogs away from it, was Stone’s unspoken thought.

“Transplanting a tree of that size creates a lot of stress for the specimen. You have to do it in stages and check the health of the tree along the way. Craning it in and putting it in the hole was only one step in a series of them that started when it was dug up at the farm in Pennsylvania. The key is to take it slow and easy. We put it in the hole and left it uncovered to measure its health. The maple was to be examined the following morning by our arborist. He’d give us a report and tell us the correct mixture of fill dirt and nutrients the tree would need for this transition period.”

“Sounds complicated,” said Chapman.

“It can be. You’re talking about a living thing that weighs tons. And proper watering is very important to help establish the roots.”

“Okay,” Stone said slowly. “But you still don’t know what killed the first tree?”

Sykes shrugged. “It could be a number of things. While it is strange to see it die so quickly, it’s not unheard of.”

“Could it have been deliberately sabotaged?” asked Chapman.

Sykes looked at her in amazement. “Why would someone want to kill that tree?”

Stone explained, “Well, if the tree didn’t die, there would have been no need to replace it. No new tree, no bomb in the tree.”

“Oh,” said Sykes, looking thoroughly appalled. “You mean they killed the first tree and then blew up the second? Those bastards.”

Stone could sense he was far more upset about the demise of the trees than the human being who had been blown up.

“Well, thank you for your help,” Stone said.

Chapman and Stone walked back to her car. She said, “Clearly the bomb was in the root ball before it got here. And the fact that the hole wasn’t covered up isn’t that significant. Even with dirt in there the remote detonation presumably would have worked. Radio signals can certainly penetrate a few feet of dirt.”

“So it seems, despite my misgivings, that the tree farm was the key and any connection there was lost when Kravitz died.”

“They’ve certainly tidied up the trail behind them,” noted Chapman. “Wait a minute, were these nanobot things found at Kravitz’s trailer?”

“Not to my knowledge, no.”

“Well, wouldn’t they have been?”

“I don’t know. But that’s something we have to find out.”

Chapman checked her watch. “I need to go report in and also debrief Sir James.”

“I’m going to the Library of Congress to talk to Caleb.”

“Your intrepid researcher?”

Stone smiled. “He is quite good if you know his strengths.”

“How about dinner tonight?” she asked suddenly.

Stone turned to look at her. “All right,” he said slowly. “Where?”

“Restaurant on Fourteenth Street called Ceiba. Been wanting to go there. We can compare notes. Say around seven?”

Stone nodded and walked off while Chapman hurried back to her car and drove not to the British embassy but to a hotel in Tysons Corner, Virginia. She rode the elevator to the sixth floor. She opened the door to a room and went in. It was a large suite made up of a spacious living room, bedroom and dining area. She looked out at the views from the window, took off her jacket and shoes and rubbed her feet as she sat on the couch. She pulled her gun and studied it. When the knock came she put the Walther away.

She padded across the room and opened the door.

The man entered and she resumed her seat and looked up at him.

“I don’t bloody well like this,” she snapped. “Not at all.”

NIC director Riley Weaver stared down at her. “It doesn’t really matter what you like or not. And the authorization goes to the top on both sides.”

“How do I know that for sure?” she snarled.

“Because it’s true, Mary,” said James McElroy as he limped in from the bedroom.