by Stuart Woods
Stone dozed, too, and when he awoke the moon had set, and it was pitch-dark: no lights in the house. As he shifted his weight, Rawls woke, too.
“Ah, good,” Ed said, “I feel better rested now.”
“What’s your plan?” Stone asked.
“I want to get a look inside that Mercedes,” Rawls said.
“What if it’s locked?”
“Who would lock his car out here in the wilderness?” He got out of the car, closed the door softly, and, followed by Stone, crossed the road and walked toward the house. At the entrance to the driveway, which was paved, Rawls stopped and took off his shoes, and Stone followed suit.
“Don’t use your flashlight unless you have to,” Rawls said. He walked silently up the driveway, stopped, and signaled for Stone to wait, then he went to the driver’s-side door of the Mercedes, shone his light inside briefly, and the trunk lid opened without a sound.
Rawls walked to the rear of the car, set his shoes inside the trunk, then played his light around the interior. He seemed to open a box, then he set down his light and worked for perhaps a minute at something, then he switched off the light, picked up his shoes, silently closed the trunk lid, and joined Stone.
“Let’s go have a look behind the garage,” Rawls said.
Stone followed him, keeping the garage between them and the house. Ed waited until they were standing on the edge of the dark pit before he switched on his flashlight. “Well,” Ed said, holding the beam steady, “you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for him, would you?”
“No,” Stone replied, “you wouldn’t.”
“Let’s go back to our car,” Rawls said.
Stone followed him back to the road, where they put their shoes back on and walked the few yards to the car. “Why aren’t we rousting Macher?” he asked.
“Well,” Rawls said, “I’d rather not tiptoe into the house and up the stairs to the bedroom, where he’s likely sleeping with a gun next to him. It’s an old house, and it’s creaky in places. I’d rather wait until he comes downstairs in the morning and gets into his car. I’ll give him the option of running.”
“I’ll take the backseat,” Stone said, opening the door and crawling in. He was, shortly, fast asleep.
—
STONE WAS AWAKENED at sunrise by the starting of the car. He sat up as Rawls put it into gear and drove the fifty yards that separated them from the house. To Stone’s surprise, Rawls parked on the opposite side of the road at the entrance to the driveway, leaving it clear.
Ed switched off the engine. “Now,” he said.
Stone got out of the car, peed into a ditch, then got into the front passenger seat. There was no traffic anywhere. “Now what?” he asked.
“Mr. Macher has stirred,” Ed said. “I caught a whiff of coffee on the air. He’ll be leaving soon.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because he won’t want to be here when the backhoe operator arrives, in case the fellow should notice that there’s a corpse in the hole with the tank. Macher will stop somewhere nearby where he has a view, and make sure the operator does his work and leaves without the cops arriving. That done, he’ll drive home a free man, with no evidence of anything against him. Then, in due course, he’ll find a way to murder you.”
“I’m tired of people trying to murder me,” Stone said.
“Well, he’s screwed up three times. Fourth time lucky, I reckon. He’ll take the greatest care next time.”
“You’re very encouraging,” Stone said.
“Not to worry,” Ed said, “he won’t get far, then he’ll have a terrible accident.”
“I don’t understand,” Stone said.
“You will in a little while. By the way, I think you should keep your weapon in its holster.”
“You won’t need help?”
“I’ll have all the help I need, and I and my weapon are legal in Virginia.”
“Whatever you say,” Stone said. He was hungry; he started thinking about eggs and bacon.
—
“HERE WE GO!” Rawls shouted. He began getting out of the car.
Stone looked up to see Macher, carrying a small suitcase, come out of the kitchen door and start for his car. He didn’t seem to notice the car parked across the road with a man leaning against it.
Macher got into the Mercedes, made a U-turn, drove to the head of the driveway, and stopped. Now he was staring straight ahead at Ed Rawls.
“Does he know you?” Stone asked.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Rawls replied. “Stop! Murder!” he whispered aloud.
Then Macher saw Stone.
“What’s your plan, Ed?”
“I’m going to put a few rounds into the man’s trunk, where he has stored two bricks of gelignite.”
“I’ve got bad news for you, Ed.”
“What’s that?”
“You can fire all the bullets you like into gelignite, and they won’t ignite it.”
“We’ll see,” Ed said.
Macher decided it was time to move. He started a right turn into the road and accelerated. Ed began firing at the lower right of his trunk. The fourth round bore fruit.
Fortunately, the car was far enough away to protect the shooter and his friend, because the explosion was like what Stone thought would be produced by a missile from a passing fighter plane. Assisted by the fuel in the tank, the car erupted into an enormous fireball, and the noise pinned their ears back, and the shockwave knocked them down. Small bits of the car rained down around them, some of them flaming.
The two men got to their feet. “You’re right, Stone,” Ed said, “a bullet into the plastique wouldn’t ignite it, but if there were half a dozen detonators plugged into it and the bullet struck one of those, then that, as you can see, would do the job.”
“I can’t bring myself to disagree,” Stone said, brushing himself off.
Ed reached into the car and turned on the emergency blinkers. “Why don’t we go into the house, have some breakfast, call the cops, and get our stories straight?”
58
Stone and Rawls sat across the kitchen table from a Captain Sawyer, chief of the Virginia State Police Bureau of Criminal Investigation, who looked tired and a little baffled.
“Mr. Rawls,” Sawyer said, “I have to tell you, in thirty years of serving in law enforcement, that is the most complicated story I have ever heard.”
“That’s the way it happened,” Rawls replied. “Sometimes life is complicated.”
“Life is usually complicated,” Sawyer replied, “but not that complicated.” He looked at Stone, who had remained mostly mute. “Mr. Barrington, is that the way you saw it happen?”
“Captain, I’m Mr. Rawls’s attorney. I wouldn’t let him lie to a law enforcement officer.”
“Well, I spoke to Commissioner Bacchetti, in New York, as you suggested, and he backs you up about the threat constituted by Jacob Herman and Erik Macher. After hearing about them, I’m not surprised there were explosives in the trunk of Macher’s car.”
“I was surprised,” Rawls said. “I was aiming at his right rear tire, not his trunk.”
Stone kicked him under the table.
“But that’s all I’ve got to tell you,” Rawls said.
Stone breathed a sigh of relief.
“Lieutenant,” Sawyer said to the uniformed officer leaning against a kitchen counter, “I’m satisfied with Mr. Rawls’s and Mr. Barrington’s accounts of what happened here. You may remove Mr. Herman’s body to the state crime lab. Have you found any of Mr. Macher?”
“A few charred pieces of bone,” the lieutenant replied. “I guess everything else was just vaporized.”
“I’m not surprised,” Sawyer said. “That must have been some explosion. We got nine-one-one calls from miles around. Most folks thought there had been a plane crash.”
“I’m not surprised,” Rawls said.
Sawyer slapped his palms on the table. “Well, I’m outta here, Lieutenant. You go
t anything else?”
“That’s it for us, Captain.”
The officers shook hands with Stone and Ed and filed out of the house. A moment later, the last of their vehicles had left the property.
“I’m glad that’s over,” Stone said, then he jumped as there came a knock on the door.
Rawls answered it and found a man in work clothes standing there.
“Mornin’, Mr. Rawls,” he said. “Is it okay now if I fill up that hole and get my backhoe outta here?”
“Go right ahead,” Rawls said, “and send me a bill.” He came back and sat down at the table.
“I thought you were going to talk us right into prison,” Stone said.
“I’ve always been a good explainer.”
“I wish I had a transcript of what you said, in case they ask me any more questions.”
Rawls removed a small recorder from his shirt pocket. “I’ll send you a transcript,” he said. He got up, went to a drawer, and came back with a thick envelope. “And speaking of manuscripts, here’s mine. There are letters from three publishers inside. They saw one of the earlier ones we disseminated a while back. Will you call them and get me a deal?”
Stone picked up the envelope and weighed it. “It seems to have grown a bit.”
“I added a few things.”
“Sure, Ed, I’ll get it done. Now, I’ve got some calls to make and then do you mind if I borrow a bed? I need a few hours of sleep.”
“Top of the stairs, to your left,” Ed said. “In fact, I’m headed up to my bed now.” He got up and headed for the stairs.
Stone conferenced in Mike Freeman and Charley Fox and gave them an abbreviated version of Ed’s account to the police. “It’s okay to pull all your people out of the Carlsson Clinic, Mike,” Stone said. “I’ll let them know.”
“Done,” Mike said, “and congratulations on a good outcome.”
Stone called Paul Carlsson and told him he would shortly be free of security guards.
Carlsson seemed to speak a little hesitantly. “Ah, Stone, have you, ah, read your e-mails this morning?”
“No, Paul, I’ve been kind of busy.”
“Well, Marisa has decided to stay on in Stockholm and run our clinic there. She’ll explain everything in her e-mail.”
“Thank you, Paul,” Stone said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“And thank you, Stone, for everything you’ve done for us.”
The two men hung up, and Stone went to his e-mail: there it was.
Dear Stone,
I have to tell you I’m staying on in Stockholm for the foreseeable future. I’m needed to run the clinic here. I have to tell you, too, that I’ve hired a childhood friend, a brilliant surgeon, to come aboard as chief of surgery. He and I have rekindled an old romance, and we will be married here in a few weeks. I’m sorry not to have been able to tell you this in person, but you weren’t answering your phone. I’ll treasure the memory of our time together.
Fondly,
Marisa
—
HIS SHOULDERS SLUMPED, and he realized he had been half expecting this. He’d just have to get over it. He was about to call Joan when his phone rang; private call.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Holly.”
Stone brightened. “Hi, there, how are you?”
“Very well, thanks. Listen, I know this is short notice, but Kate is in town overnight from the campaign trail, and she and Will want to talk to you about something. Can you fly down here and stay the night in the family quarters?”
“As it happens, I’m down here already, at Ed Rawls’s house, near Langley, and I’d love to.”
“Wonderful. I’ve gotta run right now, but we’ll catch up later. Use the West Wing entrance, and they’d like you there around six o’clock.”
“See you then.” He hung up, feeling much better, and called Joan.
“The Barrington Practice.”
“Hi, I’m going to be in D.C. overnight. I should be home around midday tomorrow. I’ll give Fred an ETA in the morning, and he can meet me at Teterboro.”
“Okeydoke.”
“Anything going on there?”
“Dino called and said he talked to the Virginia police, and not to call him until tomorrow. He’s in meetings all day today.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow.” He hung up, then trudged upstairs and found the guest room. He stretched out on the bed, fully clothed, and pulled a quilt over him. As he did, his phone rang again.
“Hello?”
“Stone, it’s Ed Eagle. How are you?”
“Just fine, Ed.”
“There’s something you need to think about.”
“What’s that?”
“You know the Dudleys, from Dallas, who have a place next door to you?”
“Never met them.”
“Well, they have three acres, a beautiful piece of land, with a house on it that’s smaller than yours. They want to sell, and the price is right. If you combine the two, you’d have five gorgeous acres and a big guesthouse. Interested?”
“Ed, I don’t have room in my brain for that right now, but I’ll think about it. Can I call you tomorrow?”
“Okay, but don’t wait any longer or they’ll give it to an agent to sell.”
“Thanks, Ed. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Stone stared at the ceiling. He felt relief at having Macher out of his way, and regret over Marisa’s decision. It didn’t take long for him to convince himself that it was better this way.
He drifted off into an untroubled sleep.
59
Stone entered the White House through the West Wing, was escorted upstairs to the family quarters by a Secret Service agent and installed in the Lincoln Bedroom. He freshened up, shook the wrinkles out of his blue blazer, and presented himself in the living room, where Kate and Will Lee and Holly were already on their first drink. A little boy was playing in front of the fireplace, and a glass of ice and a bottle of Knob Creek bourbon sat on the coffee table. All the domestic comforts.
Will shook his hand, and Kate and Holly offered warm hugs and kisses, then Will poured his drink. “Good God,” he said, “is that your tiny baby?”
“Bill is three and a half now,” Kate said.
Stone had never picked up a child, so he just tousled his hair. “Hello, Bill,” he said. Bill ignored him.
“What have you been up to, Stone?” Kate asked.
“It would take me at least an hour to explain that,” Stone said, “so I’ll spare you.”
“I assume you’ve heard about Holly’s new job to come,” she said.
“I heard a very interesting rumor,” Stone replied.
“Well, it’s true, but not for spreading around just yet. Even though we’re ahead by double digits everywhere that matters, I don’t want to appear overconfident by making new cabinet appointments before the election.”
“I understand perfectly,” he said.
Will spoke up. “Before we get any drunker,” he said, “there’s something we want to talk to you about.”
“Please do.”
“The next four years are going to bring some important changes in our lives—in fact, they’ve already started. To begin with, our personal attorney, Kerwin Smith, is retiring, and his firm is merging with another, and we’re not really going to know the people there anymore. Kate and I would be very pleased if you would become our personal attorney.”
“Why, thank you, Will, I’d be delighted. You don’t feel the need of a Washington lawyer?”
“In the long run, we won’t be spending a lot of time in Washington after Kate’s second term. We’ll be making some big changes.”
“What sort of changes?”
“To begin with, my mother died a few months ago.”
“I saw the obituary, and I was sorry to hear it.”
“Thank you for your kind note. As a result, we’ve sold about five hundred acres of her land and her herd of cattle, along with the
mail-order steak business. We’re auctioning her bulls, not wishing to stay in the bull semen business, and they’re bringing big prices on the market. We’re keeping the house and about a hundred acres, and mine and Kate’s presidential libraries will be built there. I’ve also sold Dad’s and my law practice in Delano to our other partner.”
“Where are you going to live when you’re free people again?”
“We’ve got the apartment at the Carlyle in New York, and we’ll probably sell that and buy something on Fifth Avenue, with a view of the park. Also, we want to buy a house in Santa Fe and spend a lot of time there.”
“As you say, lots of changes.”
“Kate’s son, Peter Rule, has moved back from London and he’s working for New York’s Senator Saltonstall as his chief of staff. He’s thinking of running for the other Senate seat at the midterm elections, as Senator Slade will be retiring.”
“Great idea.”
“I think he wants to be the new Ted Kennedy,” Kate said.
“What will you do with the Georgetown house?” Stone asked.
“Peter seems to think it’s too much house for him, so, unless he changes his mind, we’ll sell it, I guess.”
“May I make a recommendation?”
“Of course.”
“Why don’t you rent it to Holly, with an option to buy. We can’t have a secretary of state living over an antiques shop on Pennsylvania Avenue.”
“What a good idea!” Kate enthused.
“I like that, too,” Will said.
“Is anybody going to ask me?” Holly said.
They ignored her.
“Maybe later,” Stone said, “if Peter doesn’t want to live there, I’ll buy it and give it to the State Department as a permanent home for the secretary of state.”
“I love it!” Kate said. “Actually, Peter already has a Georgetown house. When his father, Simon, died, he inherited that and everything else handed down by Simon’s family, including a New York apartment and a place in the Hamptons and a pot of money.”
“Lucky boy.”
“Smart, too.”
“Something else,” Stone said, “as you know, I bought a house in Santa Fe a few months ago, and I think I went a house too far, since I can’t spend much time there. It might suit your purposes very well. It has a nice master suite, a study, and a library, where you and Will can work on your memoirs, plus four guest bedrooms, two of them in a guesthouse, all on about two acres. And I heard yesterday that the property next door, which is about three acres, with a small house on it, is for sale. It might make a good headquarters for your Secret Service detail.”
