“Milton, you did great. That halon comment was perfectly timed to put the mar — I mean, to put Keller at ease.”

“It actually did feel good. Even though I felt like throwing up a couple of times.”

“Forget about it; that comes with the territory. And you showed some style too with that ‘got it all up here’ comment.”

Milton beamed. “You liked that one? It just came out.”

“I can tell you’re a natural at this.”

He glanced at her. “You seem to do this stuff really well too.”

She put the car in gear. “Just beginner’s luck.”

Chapter 34

While Annabelle and Milton were meeting with the architects, Stone had ventured into the neighborhood where Bob Bradley had lived. He’d dressed in a floppy hat, oversize coat and baggy pants, and he had on a leash Goff, Caleb’s mongrel dog, which had been named after the first director of the Rare Books Division. This was a dodge that he’d used before, and had actually originated in his old job with the government. People just could not bring themselves to be suspicious about someone walking a pet. Stone had no idea, of course, that Roger Seagraves had used the same ploy in making his escape after killing Bradley.

As he strolled down the street, he could see that all that was left of the town house was a blackened mass of toppled studs and a scorched brick chimney. The two attached homes on either side of Bradley’s residence had also been extensively damaged. Stone looked around the area. It was not a particularly affluent part of town. Being a congressman was not the financial windfall that some people thought it was. Members had to maintain two residences, one in their home state and one in the capital city, and the cost of housing in D.C. was extraordinarily high. Some congressmen, particularly newer ones, often shared homes in Washington or even slept in their offices for this reason. Yet the veteran Bradley had lived alone.

Milton managed to get Stone background information on the man, and Stone had also consulted the journals kept at his hiding place. Together they had presented an overall picture of Bradley. Born in Kansas, he had had a typical politician’s career, if there was such a thing, serving twelve terms in the House and rising through the ranks to head up the House Intelligence Committee for over a decade before assuming the position of Speaker. With his death at age fifty–nine, he left behind a wife and two grown children, all back in Kansas. From what Stone could learn the man had been honest and his career never threatened by scandal. His stated purpose of cleaning up the Congress could very well have made him many powerful enemies and led to his death. Some might conclude that assassinating a man who was third in line to succeed the president would be too audacious a move. However, Stone knew that was a pipe dream: If one could kill presidents, nobody was safe.

Officially, Bradley’s murder was still an ongoing investigation, although the media, after a flurry of stories about it, had been uncharacteristically mum. Perhaps the police were starting to suspect that the terrorist group didn’t really exist and Bradley’s death was due to something far more complex than the work of bigoted and violent lunatics.

He stopped next to a tree so Goff could take a leak. Stone could sense the presence of authority all around him. He’d been in the spy business long enough to know that the truck parked at the far end of the street was a recon vehicle, the two men inside assigned to ferret out any helpful details by watching the dead man’s home. One of the nearby townhomes had probably been commandeered by the FBI with an investigative team working there 24/7. Binoculars and cameras were no doubt trained on him right now. He pulled his hat down a bit lower, as though in response to the breeze.

As he was looking around, he caught sight of something, immediately turned around and walked the other way, dragging Goff along in his haste. A white D.C. Public Works van had turned the corner and was heading his way. He did not intend to find out if it was a real public works van or full of people who specialized in causing other humans enormous pain.

He turned right at the next corner and prayed that the van didn’t follow. Although the area was crawling with feds, he could not assume that would protect him. The FBI might very well toss him in the van with the torturers and wave a hearty good–bye. He walked two more blocks before slowing down and letting Goff fuss at a bush while he slowly glanced behind him. No sign of the van. Yet it could’ve been a ruse, distracting him while they came at Stone from another direction. With this thought he called Reuben on his cell phone. The big man had just punched out at the loading dock.

“I’ll be there in five minutes, Oliver,” he said. “There’s a police substation two blocks from where you are. Start heading that way. If the bastards make a move, you start screaming like bloody murder.”

Stone walked in that direction. Reuben, for all his faults, was as loyal and as brave a friend as Stone could possibly want.

True to his word, Reuben came roaring down the road in his pickup truck, and Stone and Goff climbed in.

“Where’s your motorcycle?” Stone asked.

“Jerk–offs have seen it. Figured I’d keep it on the q.t.”

When they were far away from the area, Reuben slowed and then stopped.

“I’ve been checking the side mirror, Oliver,” he reported. “I didn’t see anything.”

Stone didn’t look convinced. “They must have seen me on the street.”

“Your disguise fooled them.”

Stone shook his head. “People like that aren’t fooled so easily.”

“Well, maybe they’re keeping you on a short leash, hoping you’ll lead them to the pot of gold.”

“I’m afraid it’ll be a long wait, then.”

“Meant to tell you, buddy of mine from the Pentagon called me back. He didn’t have a lot to say about Behan and that military contract, but he did tell me something interesting. I know some things have been reported in the press about secrets being stolen and leaks occurring. But it’s a lot worse than the papers have reported. From what my friend said, there’re some moles selling this country down the river to our enemies in the Middle East and Asia, among others.”

Stone fiddled with Goff’s leash and said, “Reuben, have your friends at D.C. Homicide or the FBI gotten back to you?”

“You know, that’s really strange. Not one of them has called back. I don’t get it.”

Oh, I get it, Stone thought. I get it loud and clear.

Chapter 35

They met at Stone’s cottage later that evening, and Annabelle and Milton reported on their session with the architects. Relying on his astonishing memory, Milton had drawn out a detailed plan of the locations of both the fire room and the HVAC line.

Caleb studied the drawings. “I know exactly where that is. I thought it was just a storage room.”

“Is it locked?” Stone asked.

“I suppose it might be.”

“I’m sure I have some keys that will probably fit it,” Stone said.

Caleb looked startled. “Keys? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think it means he’s planning on breaking into the room,” Annabelle said.

“Oliver, you can’t be serious. Against my better judgment I let you impersonate a German scholar to get into the vault, but I absolutely draw the line on burglarizing the Library of Congress.”

Annabelle looked at Stone with new respect. “You played a German scholar? That’s impressive.”

“Please do not encourage him,” Caleb snapped. “Oliver, I am a federal employee.”

“And have we ever held that against you?” Reuben quipped.

Stone said, “Caleb, if we don’t get into that room, all the risk in getting the plan details will have been for nothing.” He pointed at the drawing. “And you can see that the HVAC line running to the vault is also located in the fire suppression room. We can check both out at the same time.”