Stone Cold

by David Baldacci

  woman to be carrying around. It was a bear.

  “My granddaughter’s beloved bear. My beautiful Susie’s bear that I gave her when she was very little.”

  Everyone simply stared at her, no doubt wondering if she had at that very instant lost her mind.

  “It is with Susie’s permission that I do this.” She took a small penknife from her purse and cut the stitching holding the bear together. She parted the seam, reached in and pulled out a small box.

  “I had a craftsman in Russia make it for me.” She took out a key, unlocked the box and took out a thumb-size electronic device with a USB port. “Does anyone here have a computer?”

  The scene on the computer screen was a small sparsely furnished room. Four people were seated around a wooden table. A younger Lesya and Rayfield Solomon were on one side. Across from them was Roger Simpson as a young man. And next to Simpson was another man who hadn’t really changed all that much.

  “Carter Gray,” Alex said.

  Lesya nodded. “It was Rayfield’s idea to secretly film this. The mission was so monumental, you see.”

  As they watched the four discussed the assassination. It seemed that Andropov had already been killed, and they were now focusing on Konstantin Chernenko as the only man standing in the way of Gorbachev’s rise to power.

  “You did wonderfully the first time, Ray and Lesya,” Gray was saying. “There wasn’t the slightest doubt that Andropov died from natural causes.”

  “There are certain poisons that leave no trace,” Lesya commented. “And there are those high up in the Soviet Union who were not sad to see poor Yuri go.”

  “Perhaps it will be the same with Chernenko,” Simpson said, “now that he’s been named the general secretary.”

  Gray cut in. “But wait a bit. At least a year. It will allow us time to arrange things on our end and cut down on suspicion. All roads now point to Gorbachev taking power after Chernenko dies.”

  “If we wait, Konstantin may accommodate us without poison. He is not a well man,” Solomon pointed out.

  “So we give it a year,” Gray said again. “Then if he’s still alive, you and Lesya can make sure he isn’t living much longer.”

  “And the director and the president are on board with this too?” Solomon asked.

  Simpson answered, “Absolutely. They see it as critical to world peace and the destruction of the Soviet Union. As you know, there are many on the Soviet side who want this too.”

  Gray was beaming. “You’ll both be heroes,” he said. He turned to Lesya. “Your coming over to our side has made all the difference. If there is peace between the U.S. and what’s left of the Soviet Union, it will be in large measure because of you. And though it can never be made public, you will have earned the eternal gratitude of your adopted nation. You and Ray have risked your lives countless times on behalf of this country and I bring a message directly from the president that he expresses his heartfelt gratitude for all that you’ve done for America.”

  The film ran for a few more minutes and then stopped. Lesya said, “I have never seen any human beings who could lie as well as your Carter Gray and Roger Simpson. Next to them, I was but a rank amateur.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you show us this before?” Alex demanded.

  “When you gave us the written orders?” Finn added.

  “Only fools give up all they have on the first go-round. You keep something back always. I had the film saved and put on this device before I placed it inside the bear and gave it to Susie.”

  “My God, people died, Milton died,” Caleb said in a hushed tone.

  “I could do nothing about that,” she said simply. “If we had given them this too, where would we be? People would still be dead. Your friend would still be dead. And we would have nothing.”

  “But what do we do with this?” Alex said.

  “I want to meet with Carter Gray.”

  “What!” Finn exclaimed.

  “Gray and I must sit down face-to-face.”

  “What if he won’t?” Alex said.

  Lesya smiled. “Let me talk to him on the phone. Then he will see me.”

  CHAPTER 95

  “IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME, Lesya,” Gray said as the two sat across from each other. They were in a motel room in Fredericksburg, Virginia. “You’ve changed quite a bit,” he added politely.

  “Given recent events it is clear that you haven’t changed at all.”

  “You said on the phone that you had something I needed to see?”

  “I know you have men outside. You always have men outside, Carter.”

  “Yes, in my line of work one has to take precautions. The thing you wanted to show me? I don’t have a lot of time.”

  Lesya opened the laptop computer she’d brought with her. Gray sat watching it until the screen went dark. He looked over at her.

  “Was the film Rayfield’s idea?”

  “Yes.”

  “If he suspected the truth, why did he carry out the plan?”

  “He was loyal. You were not. But he really did it to protect me. He knew how vulnerable I would be. He at least had the cover of the Americans. I had nothing.”

  “What happened to you and Rayfield was something that I’ve always deeply regretted, Lesya. In many ways he was the best friend I ever had.”

  “He trusted you, Carter. I did not, but he did. It was Simpson he was always wary of.”

  “He was a good judge of character.” Gray sat forward, seeming eager to finally tell the truth. “Lesya, I did not order his death. That was Roger’s doing. I never would have done that to Ray. Never. I was furious when I found out, but there was nothing I could do. And I tried with all my might to have Ray’s name removed from the Wall of Shame at CIA. But Roger had fixed that up too neatly. He had built a very convincing story of Ray’s treason. And with Ray dead, and unable to defend himself, there was nothing I could do.”

  “I don’t want your explanations, Carter. What’s done is done. Nothing can bring my husband back.”

  “But the right result was achieved. You of all people understand what that meant for the world. Ray would have understood that.”

  “Oh yes, he would. But my husband died. And his name is now synonymous with traitor in the country of his birth. He died for his country and they call him a traitor. This I cannot live with.”

  “If there had been anything I could do about that, I would have. But my hands were tied. If I exposed Roger, I would have exposed myself. He knew that. He may be dishonorable, but he’s not stupid.”

  “So you would not expose yourself to save the reputation of your ‘best’ friend? You would not give up your career to do that? Rayfield might have been your best friend, but you were clearly not his friend.”

  “I admit that I was weak and selfish not to give myself up for Ray.”

  “Yes, you were,” she said bluntly. “So the assassinations were not authorized by your government? It was you and Simpson and a few others. None in political leadership positions. I know you won’t answer my question, but it is the truth. I’ve had many decades to think about it.” She sat back and studied him. Gray’s normally confident demeanor had faded markedly.

  He said, “Roger was afraid that if Ray found out the plan wasn’t authorized he would have exposed him. And the truth is Ray would have. Regardless of the damage it would have done to him personally.”

  “That is exactly right. My husband was an honorable man. And yet he was murdered and Roger Simpson has a fine career as a senator of this country.”

  “Lesya, you know how things were back then.”

  With a wave of her hand, she cut him off. “Things back then were exactly the same as they are today. Nothing has changed except the people. And the people who play these games are all the same. They talk of doing good, of making the world a better place. That is all bullshit. It is about power and about protecting their interests. That is all it is ever about. Always!”

  Gray sat back. “So what do
you want? I’m sure you’ve thought about that too over all these decades.”

  “Oh yes, I have thought about it. And I know exactly what I want. And I have been waiting to tell you for thirty years, you son of a bitch. And you’re going to sit there and listen. And then you’re going to do exactly as I say.”

  When she had finished, Gray rose to go. “Can I expect to have the original of that film and all copies in return for doing what you’ve asked?”

  “No, you cannot. You only have my word that I will take it to my grave. And you and Simpson should consider yourselves fortunate. I could destroy you both. Nothing would make me happier. But I am a person who actually thinks of things besides my own happiness. And that is the only thing that has saved you and the miserable Simpson. Now leave me. I do not want to see you again. Oh, but you can tell the good senator something for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve heard he wants to be president.”

  “Yes, he intends on running.”

  “Well, you can tell him to rethink his plans. Unless he wants to explain the contents of that film to the American people. You will tell him that.”

  “I will. Good-bye, Lesya. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  With another wave of her hand she dismissed a man who would shortly be running America’s intelligence empire once more.

  Rayfield Solomon’s picture was taken down from the Wall of Shame at CIA. A bogus reason was given for his revised history. It was hidden under the rubric, “New evidence coming to light.” And then the CIA classified the evidence. Scholars might get a shot at it in a hundred years or so. Solomon was then posthumously given the CIA’s highest award for fieldwork. Never again would his name be spoken in the same sentence as traitor.

  Lesya Solomon was awarded the Medal of Freedom, the first time it had been given to a former Russian spy. Again the reasons for this were classified, but it still made the national news. She even gave an interview praising the progress in American-Russian relations. She finished by saying that she wished her heroic husband, who did so much to end the Cold War, could have lived to see it. She refused all other interviews and once more disappeared.

  Not surprisingly, Gray’s nomination to be the intelligence chief sailed through the Senate. A chopper flew him from his highly secure Maryland retreat to his office in Virginia every day. His life was once again filled with clandestine activities, hard decisions that influenced the entire world. One word from Carter Gray and nations trembled, it was said. The man was in his element once more.

  But for those who knew him well, he had changed. The overpowering personality, the absolute intolerance for the smallest mistake, the stunning confidence front and center all these years had diminished. He was seen sitting in his office from time to time staring at the wall, an old photo in his hands. No one had ever seen what that picture was, because he kept it locked in a safe.

  In the photo Lesya, Rayfield Solomon and Carter Gray were decades younger and looked happy and full of life. They were doing exciting work, risking their lives so that billions could live in peace. In those countenances one could see the friendship, even the love that had formed among them. Sitting there staring at that photo, Carter Gray would occasionally cry.

  CHAPTER 96

  SIX MONTHS PASSED and no one had heard a word from Oliver Stone. Caleb returned to work at the library, but the old books that had given him so much pleasure now seemed just like, well, old books. Reuben went back to work at the loading dock and then came home and sat on his couch, beer in hand, and yet he never drank any of it. He would pour it down the sink and go to bed.

  With one member dead and its leader having disappeared, the Camel Club seemed officially disbanded.

  Harry Finn rejoined his red cell team and started doing work for Homeland Security again. Because of Lesya’s demand and the evidence she held, it was certain that Carter Gray would make no move against him or his family ever again. And it was also certain that Finn would never stand trial for killing three men and attempting to kill Carter Gray.

  Yet Finn did not have the soul of a killer, and what he had done haunted him. He finally took a six-month leave of absence. He spent all his time with his family, shuttling his kids to school and sports, and holding his wife as she slept. He kept in contact with his mother, but she refused his pleas for her to come and live with them. He wanted to come to know her in a way that didn’t involve secrets and plotting violent deaths, but his mother apparently didn’t want this. If this wounded Finn, he did not show it.

  Annabelle could have left D.C. and spent the rest of her life living on the millions she’d conned from Bagger, but she didn’t. After she and Alex finished explaining things to the FBI about Bagger and Paddy Conroy, an explanation that left out any details of Annabelle’s multimillion-dollar rip-off of Bagger, the lady worked another con. The target this time was the church that owned Stone’s cottage. She convinced them that she was Stone’s daughter and she volunteered to move in and keep the cemetery in decent shape until her father returned from what she described as a much-needed vacation.

  She had the place fixed up, brought new furniture in, all while carefully preserving Stone’s things. Then she started taking care of the grounds. Alex came by to help her often. They would sit on the porch in the evening.

  “Amazing stuff you’ve done to this place,” Alex said.

  “It had good bones to start with,” Annabelle said.

  “Most cemeteries do.” Alex gave her a sideways grin. “So you think you might hang around here for a while?”

  “I’ve never really been able to call a place home before. I used to kid Oliver about living in a cemetery but I sort of like it here.”

  “I can show you around town. If you want.”

  “Save me, now date me? You’re quite the full-service cop.”

  “All in the line of duty.”

  “Right. I’m the con, remember? That’s my line.”

  “Let’s make that ‘retired’ con, okay?”

  “Absolutely.” For once she didn’t sound that convincing.

  They sat back in their chairs and looked out over the tombstones. “Do you think he’s still alive?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I hope so, but I just don’t know.”

  “Will he come back, Alex?”

  He said nothing, because only Oliver Stone could make that decision. He had to want to come back. And with each passing day Alex was growing more certain that he would never see his old friend again.

  CHAPTER 97

  WHEN CARTER GRAY HAD INFORMED Roger Simpson of Lesya’s demand, the senator’s initial response had been predictable.

  “There must be something we can do,” Simpson had wailed. “I’ve worked my whole life to make this run for the White House.” He eyed Gray hopefully.

  “I don’t see what can be done,” Gray replied.

  “You know where she is? If we can—”

  “No, Roger. Lesya has suffered enough. This is about more than you or me. She gets to live out what’s left of her life in peace.”

  It was clear from Simpson’s expression that he was not in agreement with this. Gray gave him one more warning to leave it alone and then left.

  Months passed and still Simpson brooded. Solomon’s name cleared. Lesya given a medal! Gray was back in power. It was all so unjust. This all gnawed at the man, making him even more morose and insufferable than usual. Indeed, his wife started spending more time in Alabama; friends and colleagues avoided him.

  In the predawn hours one morning Simpson sat moodily in his bathrobe, which he typically did, after retrieving the newspaper from outside the front door of his condo. His wife was visiting friends in Birmingham. That had been another thing that had infuriated him. No one had kidnapped his wife. That simply had been a bluff that Finn and Carr had used to get him to go quietly. Once out of his office and away from the bomb he could have had Carr arrested immediately. Only he had been too afraid. This just made him
angrier.

  Well, he’d really had the last laugh. Both Finn and John Carr were dead. Simpson had not bothered to check up on Finn, and Carr had vanished. Yet it was also true that he would now only be a senator, his shot at the Oval Office gone. The destruction of his lifelong dream made Simpson throw his cup of coffee against the wall.

  He slumped down at the kitchen table and stared out the window into the darkness; the sun was still hours away from making its creep up the wall of the eastern seaboard.

  “There must be a way, there must be,” he told himself. He could not let a former Russian spy, who by all rights should be dead, deny him the highest office in the land, an office he felt he was predestined to hold.