by J. B. Turner
De Boer’s men could have followed Stone, but the death of Pieter had made him more cautious. The last thing he needed was a confrontation with Stone getting out of hand on the mainland. They needed to play it safe. They knew that the girl was in Cudjoe and that he would return to see her. When the time was right, they would finally get him and the girl together, without turning it into a war zone.
“He’s a nasty bastard,” Salerno said. “Why didn’t he kill her?”
“Good question,” de Boer answered. “I’ve been wondering that myself.”
“Doesn’t seem like the Nathan Stone I’ve heard about.” Salerno rubbed his face as if frustrated at the lack of action. “I say we should have followed him. We could have stabbed the fucker there and then. Sniper shot. All kinds of options.”
“We can’t have him bleeding out in public in the middle of the day.”
Salerno shook his head. “I say we should have shanked the fuck.”
“You underestimate him. Look where that got us with Pieter and then Bakker out in the fucking Everglades.”
“Point taken. Sorry, you’re right.”
“I want him dead more than anyone, trust me. But we do this correctly and we achieve all our objectives. And get the fuck out of here and back home.” De Boer was quiet for a few moments.
Salerno asked, “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking about Pieter. His wife doesn’t know yet. Neither do my parents.”
“Shit. When you going to deal with that side of things?”
“When Stone is gone. When this mess is finally finished. Then, and only then, can I think about that.”
De Boer’s cell phone rang.
“Kevin.” The voice belonged to Berenger. “Where are we?”
“Stone just left a nice little beach house in Cudjoe. He dropped off the girl.”
There was silence on the line, as if Berenger was weighing the significance of Stone’s actions. “Why would he do that?”
“I know, it’s weird.”
“I don’t get it. Do we have any rationale for why he’s keeping her there?”
“She might be terrified and doing exactly what he says. That’s why she’s staying put. He left a few minutes ago.”
Berenger swore. “Why hasn’t he been taken out?”
De Boer sighed. “We don’t want another fuck-up, okay? The kind of fuck-up that got my brother killed. We do things slow. Methodical. We don’t want a bloodbath. I’ve had my fill of this fuck.”
“Kevin, I understand your caution. But the job has to be completed now that we know where they are.”
“I’m in operational charge. And I say how we work this. He doesn’t know that we’ve tracked them down. He couldn’t have been aware of the drone. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have left the girl alone if he’d known.”
“Unless he’s hoping we kill her.”
“No, not buying that.”
Berenger sighed. “So, what’s the plan?”
“We need to do it clean. Easiest thing in the world would be to kill them inside the house. It’ll look like a double murder. The problem is that doesn’t happen in the Keys, at least not often. That’s when you get blowback. Serious fucking blowback. All sorts of attention you don’t need.”
“Agreed. What we need is for them to disappear. That’s the best kind of hit. They just disappear. As if they were never there.”
“You will have him, Mark. Believe me, I’d love to just grab the fucker and shoot him, pay him back for killing Pieter. But it’s about picking the right moment. We’re working on an operational plan as we speak. When it’s done, we go.”
“All right,” Berenger said. “Let me know when this is finished.”
De Boer ended the call and turned to Salerno. “How you feeling?”
“I want to get some action. All the boys do.”
De Boer stared at the cottage. “Think I have a little job for you and your friends to keep you occupied in the meantime.”
Forty-One
Stone felt uneasy leaving Beatrice at the cottage on Cudjoe. There was a risk that she was going to freak out and go straight to the police. But he needed some time away. He had to figure out his next move.
He headed straight to Lower Sugarloaf Key, a short drive away. He pulled up outside his other house, a four-bedroom, conch-style house on Bonefish Lane West.
Stone had registered the house under the name Helen O’Farrell, his mother’s maiden name. He bent down and picked up the key from under a rock next to the bushes in front of the window.
He opened the door, went inside, and locked the door behind him. He took a few moments to enjoy the silence—the constant talking was one thing he wouldn’t miss about Beatrice.
After he showered and dressed, Stone pulled down the blinds and lay back on the sofa. He needed to sleep to recharge his batteries. He closed his eyes.
His mind flashed back to the bar in South Beach where it had all begun. The Everglades. Beatrice getting attacked, then shot. And still trusting him.
His mind flashed to the photo she’d seen of him and his mother on the Lower East Side all those years ago. His mother had disappeared without any notice. Without a word. Without a kiss. Was that how Beatrice’s daughter would remember things if she didn’t make it back home?
The rage Stone had felt at being abandoned, left at the mercy of his psychotic father, still burned deep within him. But he had learned to deal with it better. Slowly, over the years, he had rationalized his mother’s abandonment. More or less. It was true what he’d told Beatrice. He didn’t blame his mother. Her choice was purely one of survival. If she had stayed, she would be dead.
He sometimes wondered what had happened to her. Was she still alive? He imagined her in the Pacific Northwest, remarried, maybe even with pictures of Nathan and his sister tucked away in a drawer somewhere. Maybe they were gathering dust in an attic. A reminder that her children existed. But they weren’t just ghosts from her past. They were flesh and blood.
Stone felt himself drifting off. Deeper and deeper into a dreamless sleep.
The sun was shining in through the closed blinds when he woke. Stone stirred and got his bearings. He got up, went to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, brushed his teeth, and popped three steroid-and-amphetamine pills. He washed them down with a glass of cold water, then stared at his reflection in the mirror. The new face, specially crafted by plastic surgeons in Saudi Arabia, still looked strange to him, even after all this time. He still hadn’t accepted it. It looked like someone else.
He began to think about what lay ahead for him that day. He felt the adrenaline begin to surge. The edge was returning. He was mentally attuned to what he needed to do. A plan was in place. A new plan. He needed to get Beatrice to safety. But he also needed to consider the people who had been following them from Miami out to the Everglades. Whether they’d been able to track him after he blew up their boat was something he needed to know before he could move forward.
Stone got in Barney’s pickup truck and drove across to nearby Sugarloaf Lodge. He wolfed down a huge burger, fries, and a large Coke. Then he ordered a margherita pizza and four cans of Diet Coke. The waitress looked at him as if there was something wrong with him.
An idea was beginning to form as his mind got sharper. He ran the scenarios through his head before he acted.
Stone called the number of his house in Cudjoe.
The phone rang seven times before Beatrice picked up. “Hello?” Her voice was tentative.
“Hi. Wanted to give you a call to see if you’re okay.”
“I was terrified to pick up.”
“How’s the shoulder?”
“Hurts like a bitch,” she said.
“It’ll take a few days to settle down. Have you taken the morphine pill?”
“Yeah, just took one a few minutes ago.”
“Good. You’ll be feeling better in an hour or so.”
“I hope so. This pain’s driving me
nuts.”
“Other than that, how are you?”
“Just been sleeping. I feel kinda shitty, actually, if you must know.”
“Scared?”
“A little. Actually, a lot.”
Stone laughed. “That’s natural. It happens. It’ll pass.”
“What the fuck is so funny?” she said.
“You. You worry too much.”
“Of course I worry. What the hell is wrong with you? This is worrying. Do you understand?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t know if you do. I’m going to have to change my name, my life, start again.”
“Was your old life so great?”
“No . . . it wasn’t, if I’m being honest. But it was a life. My life. Now? Now . . . I’m scared. I want to get out of here. I feel like a sitting duck.”
“We’ll get you out. Have you eaten anything?”
“Yeah, I had some food. And drank gallons of water.”
“That’s good.”
“I don’t have any clothes.”
“If you want, go down to Key West, pick up some clothes, and then head back to the house. You’re only twenty minutes away.”
“Now?”
“Why not?”
“Is that okay?”
“Do not use credit cards. Use the cash I gave you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. And we can meet up later. I’ll give you a call.”
“Is this a date?”
“I wouldn’t call it that.”
“So what is it, then? A drink? A meal?”
“We could do both.”
A beat passed. “How long until it’s safe for me to go back to my family?”
“I don’t want to lie to you. It might be a while. But how about we meet up tonight and talk? Face-to-face. Me and you. Whatever’s on your mind. I’ll tell you how I think you can move forward, and you can tell me your thoughts.”
“And I can go to Key West?”
“What’s stopping you? You’ve got the Jeep, some cash, and it’s only a twenty-minute drive. It’s easy.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Pick up some provisions,” he lied. “Will you be okay to drive with your shoulder?”
“I’m fine . . . In the meantime, though, I’m going to have to use some old chinos of yours, tie them tight with a belt, and roll up the bottom.”
“Borrow whatever you want. Gotta go.”
“And you’ll call me tonight?”
“I promise.”
Forty-Two
Catherine Hudson was staring out of the windows of her office in Doral, contemplating the ongoing operation down in the Keys. She sensed they were reaching the endgame. Finally. She wanted the whole thing to be over.
The more she thought about how messed up things had gotten, both in the operation and her private life, the more she wondered if she shouldn’t be considering resigning. Suddenly, being a stay-at-home mom seemed more attractive than negotiating the quagmire that had become the Commission.
Hudson was surprised the thought had even crossed her mind. She had begun to consider her future without the Agency. She felt sick at how out of control things had gotten. The deaths of the members of the Commission in New York last year had shocked her to her core.
Deep down, she began to wonder if Stone would find her too. Was that too much of a stretch?
Hudson felt a pain in her temple. Another migraine. She popped a couple of Advil and washed them down with some cold coffee.
Her cell phone rang, and Hudson checked the caller ID. She saw her boss’s name, and her stomach tightened.
“Catherine,” Black said. “Sorry, I was in a meeting when you called earlier.”
“Sir, it was an update on the Everglades.”
Black sighed. “Jeez . . . isn’t this over yet?”
“Not quite, but soon, I believe.”
Hudson relayed the information from the intercepted call that Stone was going to be meeting up with the actress that evening in the Keys. She also let him know that the woman was headed down to Key West to do some shopping.
“That sounds like the best break we’ve had in days. We need to get this done.”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s the problem?”
Hudson looked at the dashcam feed from de Boer’s SUV in the Lower Keys. “I don’t like it. Maybe Stone has me spooked, I don’t know. It almost feels too easy.”
“Let’s try and not overthink this. We get to the location and we end this.”
Hudson sighed. “I hope you’re right. Maybe I’m just frazzled. It’s all been a lot to handle, to be honest.”
“Are you okay, Catherine? You don’t sound quite like your usual self. You don’t sound like you’re in a good place.”
“Honestly, sir, I’m not. This thing has thrown me for a loop. But I want to reassure you that I’m on it. I’ll get this mess cleaned up. One way or the other.”
“Is there anything else?”
Hudson closed her eyes and sighed. “It’s also . . .” She watched the images from the SUV. It was on the move again. “Just an old college friend. Remember I mentioned her . . .”
“Yeah, the one in London?”
“Right. Well, she gave me a call saying she wanted to meet up again in DC. It all sounds strange.”
Black was silent for a few moments, as if contemplating his answer. “Tell me what’s really bothering you about this, Catherine.”
Hudson sighed. “Sir, I think part of me is wondering if this relates to my work.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I’m wondering if she’s Agency too. I guess that’s what’s bothering me.”
Black didn’t answer.
“I’m wondering if her State Department role is cover.”
Black sighed. “I don’t know anything about her. And I know a lot of people and everything that’s going on.”
“I’m sorry to bother you with this. It feels strange to even be raising this question.”
“It’s fine. We’ve all been there. Had our doubts. Bad days. Bad weeks. We envision things that aren’t quite as they seem. I get it. But somehow we manage to muddle through in the end.”
Hudson felt tears on her cheeks. She was angry with herself for allowing her emotions to come to the surface.
“We need to press on. Do what has to be done. And live to fight another day.”
“You’re absolutely right, sir. And I appreciate your time on this.”
Black paused, then added, “I think you need a vacation when this is over, Catherine. Overthinking things is always a sign you need a break. Take some time off. What do you say?”
“I have too much going on, sir.”
“When was the last time you took a vacation?”
“Couple of years ago.”
“Three years. I checked. You need to unwind and get your mojo back.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“On a related note, at the meeting I was just in I was discussing the Commission with a couple of my senior colleagues—men I trust, men with great judgment—who are aware of what is going on. We talked it over at length. The meeting lasted almost four hours. And I relayed to them your concerns and that it might be time to wind up the operation.”
Hudson sat down in her chair and leaned back, gazing at the feed from de Boer’s team as they followed the actress. She was in a Jeep, driving down US 1 toward Key West. “I’m listening, sir.”
“They, like me, believe that the Commission is a great vehicle to allow us to shape the political and economic landscape. And so it would be premature to abandon that project. Premature in the extreme.”
Hudson feared that would be the response. “If that’s the case, then I suggest the two constants, our friend in Wyoming and Dr. Berenger, be replaced. That’s how I see things moving forward.”
There was a len
gthy silence. Hudson sensed that she had either said something wrong or something terribly presumptuous.
“What I mean by that, sir, is that new people who aren’t linked to the previous iterations of the Commission could be recruited and a new wealthy backer put in place. I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard finding new blood whose aims align with ours.”
A beat. “You know, Catherine, this world we inhabit, sometimes there’s no right or wrong. No black or white. It’s usually gray. What I mean by that—and bear with me while I go off on a tangent—is that our business is rarely so cut and dried. It’s always a winding route to the final destination, so to speak. You know who told me that?”
Hudson wondered where her boss was going with his musings. “I don’t know, sir.”
“It was your grandfather.”
“It sounds like the sort of thing he would say.”
“He was a master of sensing what needed to be done while also realizing there were different and surprising paths to the destination.”
“Indeed.”
“Catherine, your grandfather taught me everything I know about the business we’re in. The obligations. The sacrifices. And you know what else he said?”
“What’s that, sir?”
“We must always subsume our egos, our personalities, wishes, and desires for the mission. For the country. For the flag. What he meant is that we shouldn’t get sentimental about the harsh decisions that have to be made. Eisenhower said it best. Sometimes it is a distasteful but vital necessity. We all make these decisions. Our heart might be breaking at the course of action we’re forced to take. But we push those thoughts aside because we must allow this country to flourish, to be free, and we have to see the big picture.”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“We all know that the National Security Act of 1947 gave us five main functions.”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Four pertain to the collection and dissemination of intelligence.”
Hudson sensed he was going to be talking about the other function. The fifth.
“What you and I are involved with,” Black said, “are very sensitive aspects of our work. Work your grandfather excelled at. I remember he referred to a quote in the act, that the CIA is to perform such other functions and duties related to intelligence affecting the national security as the National Security Council may from time to time direct.”
