“But what about Ashburn? Isn’t she on the case now?”
“I’d prefer to handle it.”
“Just in case we lose another agent?” she said quietly.
Stone didn’t answer.
An hour later they were standing in front of George Sykes, who was wearing the uniform of the National Park Service. He was the supervisor previously identified by Tom Gross who’d overseen the installation of the tree. Sykes was a fit man with a crushing grip. Chapman discreetly rubbed her sore fingers together after shaking the man’s hand.
“The maple had shown no signs of disease or any other problem,” he said. “We did a survey of the park one morning and found that it was nearly dead. No way to save it. Broke my heart. That tree had been there a long time.”
Chapman said, “So you pulled it out, ordered a new one and installed it?”
“Right,” replied Sykes. “We’re very careful about the materials that go into the park. They have to be historically accurate.”
“So we understand. And the tree farm in Pennsylvania was one of your vetted suppliers?” said Stone.
“Yes. I told all this to Agent Gross.”
“We understand. But in light of what happened to him we needed to go back over this.”
“Absolutely,” said Sykes quickly. “What a nightmare. And they think one of the men at the tree farm was involved?”
“Apparently,” said Chapman vaguely. “What can you tell us about when the tree was delivered?”
“We kept it in a secure staging area a few blocks from the White House.”
“And then you had it craned in here?” asked Stone.
“That’s right,” said Sykes.
“And the tree was installed but the hole remained uncovered?” said Chapman.
“That’s right,” said Sykes.
Stone said, “Why not cover it up right away? In fact it was a hazard, wasn’t it? You had to put tape around it to keep people away.”
And keep the bomb detection dogs away from it, was Stone’s unspoken thought.
“Transplanting a tree of that size creates a lot of stress for the specimen. You have to do it in stages and check the health of the tree along the way. Craning it in and putting it in the hole was only one step in a series of them that started when it was dug up at the farm in Pennsylvania. The key is to take it slow and easy. We put it in the hole and left it uncovered to measure its health. The maple was to be examined the following morning by our arborist. He’d give us a report and tell us the correct mixture of fill dirt and nutrients the tree would need for this transition period.”
“Sounds complicated,” said Chapman.
“It can be. You’re talking about a living thing that weighs tons. And proper watering is very important to help establish the roots.”
“Okay,” Stone said slowly. “But you still don’t know what killed the first tree?”
Sykes shrugged. “It could be a number of things. While it is strange to see it die so quickly, it’s not unheard of.”
“Could it have been deliberately sabotaged?” asked Chapman.
Sykes looked at her in amazement. “Why would someone want to kill that tree?”
Stone explained, “Well, if the tree didn’t die, there would have been no need to replace it. No new tree, no bomb in the tree.”
“Oh,” said Sykes, looking thoroughly appalled. “You mean they killed the first tree and then blew up the second? Those bastards.”
Stone could sense he was far more upset about the demise of the trees than the human being who had been blown up.
“Well, thank you for your help,” Stone said.
Chapman and Stone walked back to her car. She said, “Clearly the bomb was in the root ball before it got here. And the fact that the hole wasn’t covered up isn’t that significant. Even with dirt in there the remote detonation presumably would have worked. Radio signals can certainly penetrate a few feet of dirt.”
“So it seems, despite my misgivings, that the tree farm was the key and any connection there was lost when Kravitz died.”
“They’ve certainly tidied up the trail behind them,” noted Chapman. “Wait a minute, were these nanobot things found at Kravitz’s trailer?”
“Not to my knowledge, no.”
“Well, wouldn’t they have been?”
“I don’t know. But that’s something we have to find out.”
Chapman checked her watch. “I need to go report in and also debrief Sir James.”
“I’m going to the Library of Congress to talk to Caleb.”
“I think they’re beautiful,” said Annabelle as she took the flowers from Caleb and smelled them.
“You would think that. You’re a girl,” said Reuben. “But guys don’t bring guys flowers.” He suddenly leveled a ferocious gaze at Caleb. “Did anyone see you bring those in?”
“What? I… Well, I suppose. A few. The people at the nurses’ station were admiring them.”
Reuben, who had been sitting up in bed, collapsed back. “Oh great. They probably think we’re dating.”
Caleb exclaimed, “I’m not gay.”