Hell's Corner

CHAPTER 59

The three vehicles pulled up to the empty parking lot and stopped. It was one o’clock in the morning, and being a weekday, working Washingtonians had long since finished their collective entertainment for the evening and gone home to sleep. The security team piled out first, checking out obvious attack points and sending personnel scurrying into these hidden crevices before signaling that it was safe for Riley Weaver to exit his ride. He was dressed in a suit and striped tie, looking more ready to step in front of a camera and play the pundit’s role or host a global conference on terrorism than skirmish with an ex-assassin in an empty parking lot at the edge of the Potomac. The bulge at his chest indicated the body armor he wore. He looked around a bit uncertainly before taking a few steps toward the water’s edge.

“Stone?” he called out.

A phone rang. Everyone grabbed cells.

“Sir,” said one of the guards as he picked up the ringing phone from the top of a pier piling, right where Stone had placed it earlier. He handed it to Weaver.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Director,” said Stone. “What can I do for you?”

His voice was on speakerphone. When Weaver tried to disable it, he couldn’t.

“What the hell are you doing?” he exclaimed. “It won’t let me off the speakerphone.”

“I want everyone to hear this. So again, what can I do for you?”

“You can start by showing yourself.” Weaver looked nervously around at the darkness.

“And why is that necessary? I thought you wanted to talk. All we need are voices to do that.”

“I wanted to meet at NIC,” snapped Weaver.

“And I picked this place instead.”

“Why?”

“Frankly, your place gives me the creeps. Never quite sure if I’m going to walk out or not.”

“What is wrong with you? You are a federal employee.”

“Of an agency unaffiliated with yours.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“You brought the SWAT team with you. Again! And you’re wearing Kevlar. What are you afraid of?”

Weaver performed a 360-degree spin, trying to see where Stone might be lurking.

“I’ve got long-range eyes, Director, so don’t even bother.”

“I don’t like it that you can see me but I can’t see you.”

“I like it just fine. And as your messengers said, we’re all on the same team.”

“Which begs the question of why we have to meet in such a damn fool way,” barked Weaver into the phone.

“Depends on what you want.”

“Did you speak to Agent Chapman tonight?”

“You know I did. Or else you wouldn’t be here.”

“What did she tell you?”

“She told me lots of things. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“About our arrangement.”

“Meaning you and her?”

“Come on, Stone, don’t play stupid.”

“You were a Marine, Weaver.”

“Still am. Never leave the Corps no matter what other uniform you put on.”

“I was hoping that would be your answer. And in combat who do you rely on?”

“Marine next to you.”

“That’s right. And did you ever keep secrets about the fight in front of you from the Marine next to you?”

Weaver didn’t answer right away. He glanced around at his security detail. Several of them were eyeing him closely.

“This isn’t exactly combat, Stone. You know that as well as anyone. You carried a rifle for your country.”

“It’s looking an awful lot like a battlefield to me.”

“So you’re saying Chapman told you?”

“I’m saying partners don’t keep secrets. If you have a problem with that, then the problem is with me, not her.”

“She could get in a lot of trouble for this.”

“But she won’t.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Hit the speakerphone button twice, Weaver.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

Weaver did so and the speakerphone function was disabled. Weaver held the phone up to his ear. “What the hell are you playing at?”

“Nanobots.”

Weaver noticeably stiffened.

“And since you never got back to me with the list of events at Lafayette Park, I had someone do it for me. There’s a bunch of stuff on there that could have been the target for the bomb, but something tells me the answer isn’t anywhere on that list.”

“Where, then?”

“You know about the Pennsylvania adventure my friends had? And the executions of the Latinos?”

“Of course. I am the director of NIC.”

“Lot of trouble for a cover-up. Coupled with the fact that those shots into the park were fired from a government office building behind the Hay-Adams that one needed a pretty high security clearance to get into spells ‘traitor’ with a capital T.”

“Nothing new there. We’re looking into that angle.”

“Your ‘looking’ will show that the person who accessed the building used a stolen or cloned security card while the real card owner was halfway around the world.”

Weaver pursed his lips. “Cloned. Actual holder was in Tokyo.”

“And this person was with the State Department?”

“Jesus, Stone, what are you, a freaking mind reader?”

“No. The folks at State have always been lax about security. Thirty years ago half my missions were because they’d screwed up somehow. And I can see they haven’t changed.”

“Any thoughts on who the inside person might be?”

“Not yet. I need to keep digging. But, Weaver, if I have to spend all my time looking over my shoulder for your boys, that will be very distracting.”

“I can see why your superiors had such a hell of a time with you in the army. You don’t play well with others.”

“Sure I do. My problem was when my superiors said one thing and did another. And I can see that hasn’t changed either.”

“And when that happens what do you do? Eliminate the offender?”

Stone, who was sitting at the window of a building across from the parking lot that he’d accessed through a never-locked rear door, stared down at the NIC director.

Okay, next question answered. He knows I killed Gray and Simpson.

“The past is past.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then you’re a fool, and more than that you’re doing a disservice to the country you were sworn to protect.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” barked an enraged Weaver. “I’ve fought, bled and killed for my country.”

“So have I,” retorted Stone.

“What exactly do you want?”

“I want you to stop screwing with me. If you want to help, I welcome it. If not, just stay the hell out of my way.”

“I am the head of the nation’s intelligence service.”

“Yes, you are. So start acting like it, Marine.”

Weaver flinched. But before he could respond Stone said, “And the next time we meet it might be over a beer talking about old times, because the traitor who’s trying to pull something really catastrophic is either dead or awaiting trial. I can’t believe you’d have a problem with that.”

Weaver nodded slowly as he visibly calmed. “Okay, Stone. We’ll play it your way. For now. I guess I understand how you survived all those years.”

“I guess so.”

“Stone?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you think is going on?”

Stone stood there in the darkness deciding how to respond. “You were wrong. The guns and the bomb were done by the same party.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“There’s no way I believe in a coincidence that big.”

“Okay, why?”

“Something big, Weaver. On your watch. You were right to be concerned.”

“How big?” asked Weaver nervously.

“Big enough to make us forget the bullets and the bomb.”

“We have to stop it, Stone.”

“Yes, we do.”

A minute later Weaver and his security detail were gone. Stone came down from his hiding place. He heard the sound and whirled around in time to see Chapman emerge from behind another building. She holstered her gun and joined him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I saw what went down on the street with the two agents and followed you here.”

“Why?”

“You’re my partner. I needed to make sure you were okay.”

After a long gaze passed between them, Stone said, “I appreciate that.”

“And I heard the essentials. I appreciate you covering for me with Weaver.”

“It’s what partners do.”

“Come on, I’ll give you a lift home.”

This time Stone accepted the offer.

When they got there he said, “You take my cot, I’ll sleep in the chair.”

“What?”

“Cot and me in the chair.”

“I heard you the first time. But I’m okay to drive.”

“No you’re not. You almost hit two pedestrians and three parked cars on the way here.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said with a bit less confidence.

“The last thing I need is for my partner to be taken from me because she got busted for drunk driving.”

“Well then let me take the chair.”

He pointed to his cot and said, “Go.” He gave her a shove in the back.

Looking bemused, Chapman slipped off her heels, padded to the cot and drew the privacy blanket closed.