“I don’t believe that it is. But that doesn’t mean she’s not involved. She was always very good at manipulation.”
“You know that much about her, but not her surname?”
“Actually, since she’s Russian, she would have three names: her given name or imia, a patronymic name or otchestvo, and a surname or familia.” By Gray’s condescending expression, he could’ve finished this mini-lecture off with the words “you idiot,” but he wisely refrained.
“Cold War baggage,” the director replied. “Not really our focus anymore.”
“You might want to rethink your priorities. While you’re placing all your bets on Muhammad, Putin, Chávez and Hu are eating this country’s lunch. And they make Al Qaeda look like kindergarteners as far as their potential for destruction on a large scale.”
The director cleared his throat. “Yes, well, how come you didn’t try to find this Lesya back then?”
“We had other priorities. Solomon had been eliminated. Lesya had gone deep underground. We made a tactical decision that using additional assets to pursue her was not worth the cost. We did believe that we had for all intents and purposes put her out of commission. And for over three decades she has been.”
“Until now, at least you believe. So any associates of this Lesya we have to account for?”
“We have to find that out.”
“What specifically do you know about the woman?”
“She was one of the best counterintelligence agents the Soviet Union ever produced. I’ve never seen her in person, only photo images. Tall and beautiful, she hardly fit the model of a spy because she tended to stick out. But she proved that stereotype wrong. She had more sheer nerve than just about anyone in the field. Indeed, she was aptly named, as Lesya means ‘bravery’ in Russian. She didn’t work directly for the KGB. She was a cut above that. We always believed that her chain of command went right to the Soviet leadership. She worked in this country for a time, then England, France, Japan, China and all the other typical high-level assignments. She did her best turning others. She recruited Solomon, secretly married him and turned him against his country. His treachery cost America dearly.”
“How do you know they were married?”
“Let me correct that. We believe that they were married. It was based on facts uncovered at the time. Largely circumstantial, but taken together, it looks like they walked down the aisle.”
“And he killed himself?”
“That’s what the file says, yes. I believe it was both from guilt at what he’d done to hurt his homeland and also the fact that we were closing in on him.”
“But you said before that ‘we’ got him. So did we kill him and the suicide was window dressing? Or did he really commit suicide?”
“Whether we did it or he killed himself, it doesn’t really matter; he would have been executed for treason in any event.” From Gray’s tone it was clear he was not going to say any more on that particular subject, even to the director of CIA.
“I looked at the file. There seem to be some gaps in it.”
“We didn’t have reliable computers back then. And paper files are notoriously incomplete from that era,” Gray replied smoothly.
The director apparently gave up on this line of inquiry. He had actually worked under Gray years ago and wasn’t nearly as smart as the man, and he knew it. “Fine, Carter. And you’ve alerted Senator Simpson?”
“Of course. He’s well-prepared.”
“Anyone else?”
“There was another man who was part of the team, a John Carr, but he’s long dead.”
The meeting ended there. It was obvious that Gray hadn’t told the entire truth. He had astutely gauged that that was for the best because no one wanted to hear the entire truth anyway. The country had too many current problems than to bother with what really occurred over thirty years ago to a man remembered only as a traitor.
Gray personally loathed what had happened to Solomon, but he could do nothing to change it. He had to look ahead, not to the past. And that meant finding a killer before he struck again. And Lesya, too, finally had to be run to ground.
The result of Gray’s meeting with the director was that a regiment of agents in the field were officially now “looking into the matter.” Though innocent-sounding, it actually meant that they were doing their best to find whoever was killing ex–CIA agents. And their orders were to terminate the person or persons responsible. No one wanted a trial on this. They simply wanted a body.
CHAPTER 42
HARRY FINN ESCAPED the third graders relatively unscathed. They’d asked a lot of questions, though, and once or twice Finn actually wished he had been a walrus instead of a SEAL.
When he’d finished Susie had given him a hug and said, “You have a really great rest of the day, Daddy.”
She sounded so grown-up, for a moment he felt like his heart would burst. His former SEAL team members would have been astonished to learn that beneath Finn’s stainless steel skin was a heart as vulnerable and susceptible to emotion as one could find. His only defense, his only way of keeping going, was to block it out. He led two lives and never let either of them mix. What he did for his mother would never wash over into his own family. And what he did with his family would never become part of his other life. At least he prayed to God it wouldn’t.
He drove to the office and met with his team to go over the hit on the Capitol. The session lasted for several hours as they carefully mapped out their strategy and then did more prep work. Toward the end of this meeting, Finn, whose mind worked best when multi-tasking, had reason to smile. He had just thought of a way to kill Simpson.
He grabbed some lunch and headed to his storage unit. He had a bomb to build.
Jerry Bagger screamed into the phone, “Nice going! That’s just great. Why don’t I come back to town and kick your asses too.” He calmed down when he heard the next bit of news. With a little more digging they’d ascertained that the little guy had won a ton of cash. And in a casino that meant one thing that was as certain as death: In order to get your money you had to fill out what amounted to a 1099 so Uncle Sam would know you’d won the money in case you forgot to pay tax on it.
Bagger took down this information and said, “Wait a minute, the guy’s from England?”
“That’s what it says.”
“Did he sound British?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know! Does anybody know?”
“I’ll have to check,” the man said nervously.
“Yeah, well after you check and then find out the ID’s total bullshit, why don’t you check back with me so I can strangle you.” Bagger slammed down the phone.
CHAPTER 43
WHEN STONE WALKED OUTSIDE the next day, a bleary-eyed Annabelle was sitting on the front steps of the B&B.
“What do you want from me?” she said bitterly.
“Nothing. What do you want from yourself?”
“Don’t play shrink with me.”
“Your father was in jail when your mother was murdered.”
“He was still the reason she was killed.”
“All right. But what’s wrong with giving him the benefit of the doubt and believing that he never intended your mother to be hurt by Bagger?”
“What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with that is that my father is a liar who has never cared about anyone except himself.”
“So he was really bad to your mother? Beat her, starved her?”