times a week and sitting in a chair in the private room of a man who was lying unconscious in the bed. The man was very high up in the CIA and his head was filled with secrets that could never be revealed to the public. Unfortunately, he’d had an aneurysm and was not quite himself. He could say things without knowing, disclosing vital national secrets unintentionally.
That could not be allowed, so men like Daschle came out and stayed with incapacitated Agency employees possessing such sensitive knowledge. There had been a man in the operating room when the surgery was done to relieve the pressure on the brain. There had been an agent stationed in the post-op, and there was 24/7 surveillance here at the nursing home, where it was hoped the man would eventually recover. Even the man’s own family was never allowed to be left alone with him. This had come as quite a shock, because the family was not aware that this husband, father and grandfather even worked for the CIA.
Twelve o’clock came and Daschle rose from his seat as a fellow agent, his replacement for the next shift, sat down. The two men exchanged pleasantries and Daschle mentioned a few items from his watch, nothing of importance. He left the room, dying for a cigarette, and wandered down the hall toward the snack room to buy a can of soda and some crackers before he left. The voices coming out of one room that he passed stopped him. It seemed to be Russian. Daschle knew that language well, having been stationed in Moscow for nearly nine years. Although if what he was hearing was Russian, it was a particularly mangled version. It actually sounded like an amalgam of several Slavic languages. He’d also been stationed in Poland and Bulgaria for a time. He edged closer to the door of the room, which was open just a crack, and listened a bit more. Then he heard enough to make him hustle out of the building. And it wasn’t for a cigarette.
As soon as he was gone, Oliver Stone stepped from around the corner where he too had been listening. He watched the fleeing man.
Damn.
Inside the room Lesya was speaking while Finn sat quietly in his chair.
“So now John Carr rises from the dead like the Phoenix,” she said in her tortured Cyrillic mishmash.
“It seems so,” Finn said. “But I can’t be sure.”
“And the senator still lives.”
“Not for long.”
“What about Carr?”
“I’m working on it. I told you that. But I have no idea where he is or even if he’s really alive. They just dug up his grave. That’s all anyone knows.”
She coughed hard. “Time grows short.”
For you or me? Finn wondered. He was still thinking about the encounter with his son. So close. Too close.
“But you will find out. I will help you find out.”
“Let me handle it.”
“I can tell you what I know about the man.”
“I know a lot about him already.” He paused. “I don’t think he’s like the others.”
She looked at him sharply. “What do you mean by that?”
“I think the Agency tried to kill him. I think they killed his wife. And perhaps his daughter. I believe he’s suffered a lot. And he was a war hero too.”
“He is just like the others. An evil man. A murderer!”
“Why, because he followed orders and killed my father and your husband?”
“You have no idea what you’re saying, Harry. No idea.”
“You know, I was just about to kill Simpson this morning, when David showed up. He almost caught me.”
“David your son?” Finn nodded and his mother clamped a hand to her mouth. “Good, God. Did he suspect?”
“No, but I promised myself that I would never let this part of my life impact on that part of my life. And now it has!”
Lesya sat down next to him, grasped his hand with her bony one. It felt slightly repulsive to him now.
“Harry, my son, my loving son, it will soon be over.”
“You can’t possibly know that. And it might end with me dead.”
She slowly withdrew her hand from his. “So what now?”
“Simpson and then Carr.”
“You will do this. You swear?”
Finn nodded.
His mother scrutinized him a bit longer and then shuffled over, opened her drawer and removed a photo. She handed it to him. “For Carr,” she said bitterly as she spat on the floor. Then she lay back on her bed. “Let me tell you a story, Harry.”
He sat back, but for the first time ever he wasn’t listening.
When the door to the room opened, they both turned to look.
“What do you want?” Lesya said angrily in English. “I have a visitor.”
When the man started speaking in Russian, the breath caught in her throat.
“Who are you?” Finn asked in English.
“They used to call me John Carr,” said Oliver Stone. He looked at Finn. “You’re right. I’m not like the others. And you both need to get out of here, just as fast as you can.”
CHAPTER 71
WHEN PADDY CALLED BACK, Bagger answered after the second ring.
“Yeah?” Bagger said.
“I’ll get the list. You need any help?”
Annabelle started to say no and then stopped. “How good are you on your feet?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you quick on your feet?”
“I’m a Secret Service agent. That’s what we do.”