Hell's Corner

CHAPTER 94

With Agent Ashburn at his heel, Stone strode down the hall at WFO like a plane gathering power to lift off the ground. He didn’t stop to knock on the door. He slammed it open and walked in.

The FBI director looked up at him, stunned. Across the conference table from him was seated Riley Weaver.

The director said, “What the hell is going on?”

Stone didn’t even look at him. His gaze went immediately to Weaver. “What did you tell her?”

“What?” snapped Weaver. “We’re in the middle of a meeting, in case you hadn’t noticed, Stone.”

Stone came around the table with such a threatening look that Weaver half rose out of his seat, his hands curled into fists, his body hunched into a defensive stance in case Stone attacked.

The director barked, “Ashburn, what is going on? Why did you let him in—”

Stone shouted, “What did you tell Friedman about me, Weaver?”

“I haven’t talked to the woman. I warned you before. If you start accusing me of crap—”

“I mean before I told you she was behind it all,” barked Stone. “You talked to her then, didn’t you?”

Weaver slowly sat back down in his chair. The FBI director stared over at him. Ashburn gazed at him from the doorway. Weaver looked at each of them before turning back to Stone.

“She was one of my field agents. I had every right to talk to her.”

“What did you tell her about me? That I figured it out? That I was the one who warned the Secret Service? That I was the reason the plan didn’t work?”

“So what if I did?” blustered Weaver. “I didn’t know she was a traitor then. And frankly, I still don’t know that she is. For all I know someone kidnapped her or even killed her.”

Chapman walked into the room. “They didn’t. And she is a traitor. She set us up. Diverted us while she had two of Stone’s friends kidnapped.”

“What!” exclaimed the FBI director and Ashburn in unison.

“How do you know that?” asked Weaver curiously. “We searched the train to Miami, she wasn’t on it. But something tells me you already knew that.” He glanced at the FBI director. “Holding out on us, Stone?”

“I’m no longer working for the government, in case you didn’t get the memo.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“What’s bullshit is you talking to Friedman and not telling any of us. In fact, I bet you kept her in the loop the whole time. I wondered how they always knew what we were going to do before we even did it. Now I know. It was you, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t owe you or anyone else an explanation for my actions.”

“I’ll tell that to my friends when I find their bodies,” snapped Stone.

Ashburn said, “Do you have any idea where she’s holding them?”

Stone calmed and finally looked away from Weaver. “No,” he lied. “I don’t.”

“So why’d you come here?” asked Weaver. “You want our help?”

“No. I just wanted to know who I had to thank for fingering me to Friedman.”

“Damn it, I didn’t do it intentionally,” roared Weaver.

But Stone had already left the room. They could hear him marching rapidly down the hall.

Ashburn looked at Chapman. “What is going on?”

“He told you. His friends have gone missing and Friedman has them.”

“You’re sure?” asked the director.

“Heard it from the horse’s mouth.”

Ashburn glanced down the hall. “What is he going to do?”

“What do you think he’s going to do?” replied Chapman.

“He can’t do this alone.”

The director added, “We have resources that he doesn’t.”

“That may be all well and good. But he’s John Carr. And quite frankly he’s got resources you lot don’t have either. And there’s no one on earth who has more motivation to get this woman than he does.”

“And you’re telling us he doesn’t know where they are being held?” asked Ashburn.

“If he does he hasn’t bothered to tell me.”

“Where did you find this information out?”

“In the South Bronx,” said Chapman.

“The South Bronx!” yelled Ashburn. “How did you get a line on the South Bronx?”

“You’ll have to ask Sherlock Holmes that question. I’m just good old Watson.”

“Agent Chapman,” began the director.

“Sir,” she said, heading him off. “If I knew something helpful I would tell you.”

“Why don’t I believe that?” He paused, studying her. “I think I can plainly see where your loyalties lie.”

“My loyalties, sir, lie about three thousand miles from here, to a dear old lady, an ambitious PM and an old man with dandruff and a brilliant mind.”

“Are you sure?” asked the director.

“I’ve always been sure of that,” replied Chapman.

She turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” demanded Weaver.

“Holmes needs his Watson.”

“Agent Chapman, this is not your fight.” said the director.

“Perhaps not. But it would be awfully bad form to stop now.”

“I can have you detained,” said the director.

“Yes, you can. But I don’t think you will.”

Chapman turned and hurried after Stone.