Gray clicked off and continued to study the file while his four-course dinner was being finalized. Though computers and servers dominated his business these days, the old Cold Warrior loved the feel of paper between his fingers. He ate his sumptuous meal alone in front of a gas fire that gave the room an enchanting glow even this far underground. Gray never did things like others. Even dead he was fifty feet under the earth instead of the normal six and his “coffin” was far more luxurious than the rank and file got.

Taking a snifter of brandy into a wood-paneled library, he sat behind an ornate desk and continued to ponder the matter. He loved this part of the game. It was a battle of the minds, a perpetual chess match; one side trying to outmaneuver, outthink the other. And the United States had never had a man who could perform those tasks better than Carter Gray. His actions had saved so many Americans that he had long since lost count. The Medal of Freedom was the least his country could do. If he was a Brit he’d already have been knighted. And yet he’d been forced to resign, long before he was ready. Because John Carr had forced his hand.

The more Gray thought about this, the angrier he became. Yet from within that anger a cold-blooded idea took form. Whoever was killing Gray’s old assassination team one by one probably believed John Carr to be dead. Yet why should Carr be spared the thrill of being a target? And the man had given him the finger!

Gray picked up his secure phone and hit a button. “I want to get some information out using the normal channels. It has to do with the alleged death of a man named John Carr. I think the time has come to set the record straight.”

CHAPTER 45

FINN HELD UP THE DEVICE. Barely the size of his palm, combined with a few seemingly innocuous elements it could easily kill anyone within thirty feet. But it would only kill one man; Finn would make sure of that.

He tried on his disguise and thought through all the steps he would take to enter the Hart Building and penetrate where he needed to go.

Once Finn had gotten on Roger Simpson’s trail and dug deeply, he’d learned that the distinguished senior senator from Alabama had been a hellion early in life, with little regard for anyone or anything other than himself. Though the man was still like that, this flaw had been buried under layers of PR once his political career had begun. This was done with the full though invisible support of the CIA, where he had worked in a very special though undisclosed capacity. His c.v. was filled with accolades from the Agency and very little in the way of hard facts. Yet to his country he was a hero. And he was poised to make a run for the White House, Finn had heard.

I don’t think so.

Simpson had never forgotten his former employer’s support. As head of the powerful Senate Select Committee on Intelligence he’d let the CIA get away with whatever it wanted. There did not seem to be any action too extreme that Simpson did not find necessary for national security reasons. He had been Carter Gray’s champion or lapdog, depending on how one looked at it, for years. Finn considered it perfect justice to send them to the same place, and in the same manner.

He drove home late that night, but Mandy was still up waiting for him. Over a couple slices of pumpkin pie and some hot tea she said, “You were a big hit today at school. Susie waited up to tell you but she couldn’t stay awake.”

“I’m sorry I’m late, but something came up.”

“Are you sure everything’s okay? You haven’t really seemed yourself lately.”

“Just work. Lot to think about.”

“How’s Lily?”

Lily was Finn’s mother. Like Finn it wasn’t her real name. Harry Finn wouldn’t have known what it was like to use a real name for anything.

“The same. Actually, a little worse.” Finn didn’t use his mother’s word, “rotting.”

“I know we have a lot going on, but if you want your mother to come and live with us, I’m okay with that. We’ll make it work somehow.”

“Not a good idea, Mandy. She’s fine right where she is.”

“Okay, Harry, but there might come a time when we need to make that decision.”

“Maybe, but that time isn’t now. So let’s not worry about it. We have enough on our plates.”

“You’re sure there’s nothing bothering you?”

He shook his head, but didn’t look at his wife.

She touched his hand. “Harry, you seem to be drifting away from us.”

His response was delivered with a harshness that surprised even him. “I went to Susie’s school. I almost never miss a ball game or soccer match. The yard doesn’t have a weed in it. I help with all the homework and housework. I play chauffeur as much as you do. What more do you want from me, Mandy?”

She withdrew her hand slowly. “Nothing, I guess.”

They finished their pie in silence. Mandy slowly headed upstairs but Finn remained sitting in the kitchen staring at nothing.

“Not coming?” she said.

“Got a few things to do.”

“Don’t go out, Harry, not tonight.”

“Maybe just a walk. You know.”

“Yes, I know,” Mandy said to herself as she climbed the stairs.

“Mandy?”

She turned back around.

“Things will get better. I promise. They’ll get better soon.” I’m almost there.

“Sure, Harry, sure.”

CHAPTER 46

THERE WAS REALLY ONLY ONE PLACE for Annabelle to go: the graveyard. She had never had the opportunity to pay her respects to her mother. She was going to take care of that tonight.

She parked her rental, slipped through the gate and walked along the darkened pathways. The location of her mother’s grave was seared into her head. However, when she arrived there, she found that her mother already had a visitor. She ducked behind an evergreen and watched.

He was stretched out on the ground next to the grave. As Annabelle listened she could hear the words floating to her from the prone figure. He was singing an Irish ditty to the dead woman. It was a song that Annabelle had heard him sing to her mother when Annabelle was a little girl. The lyrics had to do with dreams and a green, lush land and a man and a woman very much in love. As she continued to listen tears started sliding down her cheeks, though she didn’t want them to. The sounds grew fainter and she finally realized her father had fallen asleep next to the grave of his wife-her mother.

Annabelle stepped out from behind the tree, strode quietly over to the burial plot and knelt down on the other side of the grave from where her father lay quietly snoring. Then she did something she hadn’t done since attending mass as a little girl. She crossed herself and prayed over her mother. More tears poured down her face as she spoke to God and tried to talk to her mother, telling her how much she missed her, how much she wanted her to be alive.

She prayed and spoke until her heart was nearly bursting. Then she rose, crossed herself again and, staring down at her slumbering father, made up her mind.

He was painfully light as she gripped him under the armpits, lifting him to his feet. He awakened slightly. She half carried him to her car, put him in, drove back to the inn and got him to bed in her room. She sat outside on the couch until she heard a tap on her door.

It was Stone. He looked worried. He filled her in on what had happened with Milton and Reuben. Then he glanced toward her bedroom door, from which loud snores were now pouring forth.

Stone didn’t say anything about that because the look on Annabelle’s face told him quite clearly that any questions would not be welcome.

“Do you want to go back home tomorrow?” he asked instead.

“I don’t have a home,” she replied. “But we can go back to your home tomorrow.”