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“There could only be one way he could go,” said Annabelle.
“You mean on behalf of the U.S. government?” replied Finn.
“Yes.”
“On behalf of the government!” exclaimed James. “He doesn’t work for the government. At least not anymore.”
“Maybe that status has changed,” said Annabelle. “I mean, they offered the man the Medal of Honor.”
Reuben mused, “Oliver going back inside. After all these years, I can’t believe it.”
“And after all they did to him,” added Finn quietly.
“Why would he do that?” asked James. “If there’s one thing we know about Oliver, it’s that he really doesn’t trust the government.”
“Maybe he really didn’t have a choice,” said Finn.
“But it’s not like he’s twenty anymore,” retorted Annabelle. “He was almost killed last night. If he goes to Russia, he may never come back.”
Reuben said, “He may be older but he’s also wiser. I wouldn’t discount how much he has left in the tank.”
“He almost died in that prison in Divine, Reuben,” she reminded him. “And Milton did die,” she added with brutal frankness.
Reuben, who’d been very close to Milton Farb, glanced down at his hands. “Maybe we’re all too old for this s**t anymore.”
Finn said, “So how do you want to play this with Oliver? We all know he won’t ask for our help. Not after what happened in Divine.”
James said, “That’s right. He’ll do nothing that puts us in any danger.”
“Then maybe we don’t wait for him to ask for our help,” said Annabelle. “Maybe we just become proactive.”
“Meaning what exactly?” asked Reuben. “Not spy on him?”
“No, but we can show a united front and tell him what we think.”
“I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” Reuben said.
Annabelle stood. “Fine. If you guys want to wait for his death notice, great. I’m not.” She turned and walked off.
“Annabelle!” Reuben called after her.
She never turned around.
“She’s very stubborn,” grumbled James. “Like most women. It’s probably why I never got married.”
Reuben glowered at him. “Oh, I think there were a few other reasons for that, James.”
TRAFFIC IN D.C. WAS MUCH WORSE than normal, and all because someone had detonated a bomb across from the White House. At least that’s probably what some frustrated commuters were thinking. For blocks in all directions the street barriers had been thrown up, making the nation’s capital resemble a hodgepodge of corrals. Metro police cars and black Secret Service SUVs were dovetailed in front and behind these barriers to further discourage anyone from approaching.
Herbertand Anthony, despite her credentials, were forced to abandon her car and walk. Phone calls were made at every checkpoint as the MI6 agent’s documents were scrutinized and her incremental passage authorized by off-site higher-ups. Herbertcould understand that none of the street cops or agents were willing to fall on the sword because they’d passed them through in error. This was why supervisors cashed the larger paychecks and had the slightly bigger offices. Their asses would be fried if someone further up the food chain decided to throw his weight around.
They finally cleared the last hurdle and approached ground zero, Lafayette Park. To Stone, who knew it perhaps better than anyone else, it was nearly unrecognizable. The center of the park was a blackened mass, trees and plants destroyed, the grass burned, the dirt piled up in mounds. The Jackson statue lay in ruins. A cannon wheel had nearly reached the sidewalk on the Pennsylvania Avenue side. A section of fence was embedded in a tree a good seventy feet away.
The ATF had set up its mobile command post in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue. The FBI’s counterpart unit was set up in Jackson Place to the west of the park. Dogs and armed security were everywhere. All the businesses and government offices located on Jackson Place and across the park on Madison Place had been shut down.
While the park looked like a cop’s convention, the people in uniform were still outnumbered by the swarm of suits. Herbertand Anthony passed by a large Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms National Response Team, or NRT, truck. Herbertknew that there were only three NRT vehicles in existence. The NRT members constituted the best bomb experts in the country and could go into any scenario and within a couple days tell what had gone boom and how.
Herbertcaught sight of some techs in hazmat suits parsing through the explosion site. He also eyed people in hermetic gear who looked like surgeons preparing for the OR. They were scrounging the area, looking for trace evidence. Small colored tents were scattered everywhere. He assumed each one marked a bit of evidence that had been found.
The men in some of the suits clearly represented the FBI. This was not a guess, since they were also wearing their FBI windbreakers. Other jacket and ties beyond that inner circle were members of the Secret Service, this given away by their ear buds and dour expressions as these “outsiders” trod their turf.
Herbertand Anthony walked toward the group of FBI agents. However, before they reached the circle of investigators a tall man intercepted them.
“Mr. Stone?”
Herberteyed him. “Yes?”
“I need you to come with me, sir.”
“Where?”
The man pointed directly across the street.
“The White House? Why?”
“I believe you know Special Agent Alex Ford. He’s waiting there for you.”
Herbertgazed at Anthony. “She’s with me.”
The man looked at her. “Agent Anthony?” She nodded. “ID please.”
She produced it.
“Let’s go.”
They were escorted through the front gates, although Anthony had to surrender her g*n.
“I want it back,” she said to the confiscating officer, “in the exact same condition. I’m very partial to that weapon.”
“Yes ma’am,” responded the man politely.
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