“I can just catch her myself. I came close the other night. And maybe you too if I get real lucky.”
“Then go for it. And two weeks from now when you realize she’s long gone, you can’t say old Paddy didn’t tell you the truth. Because the longer you wait, the more time she has to hide, and we both know the girl is good at what she does. Take your time, think about it. I’ll call you back.”
“When?”
“When I want to.”
In one motion, Paddy and Annabelle put down their phones.
She gripped his shoulder. “You did great. You baited him just right.”
He put his hand on top of hers. “We’ll give him a little time to stew on that. That’ll give your friend some time to get his end in gear. I have to say, I was surprised he agreed to help us, no questions asked.”
“Like I told you, he’s not your typical fed. One thing.” She paused, worried. Was her father really not up to this? “You didn’t poke around about where Jerry might be staying.”
He looked at her, a smile playing across his lips. “I’m not losing my touch, Annie, if that’s what you’re thinking. You don’t push too hard on the first go-round. Old pro like Jerry will sniff that out every time. Next call, I’ll let him make the slip. Then I’ll hit it.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean you didn’t know what you were doing.”
“Ninety percent of the con is preparation. The other ten percent is seat of the pants, being able to adapt on the fly.”
“But without the ten the ninety is worth shit.”
“Exactly.”
“That stuff you said to Bagger. About my ruining your life?”
“I ruined my own life, Annie. All I’m doing now is trying to get a little piece of it back.”
He gripped his daughter’s hand tightly. He now looked old, sick and scared; his body collapsed into the chair again. “You really think we can pull this off?”
“Yes,” she lied.
CHAPTER 69
DRESSED IN THE OUTFIT of a Capitol Grounds maintenance crewman, Harry Finn stood outside the Hart Senate Office Building with the remote detonator in his hand. He stared up the façade of the building until his gaze came to Simpson’s office. In his other hand was a small device that looked like an iPod. Actually, it was the receiving unit for the wireless pin video camera he’d hidden in Simpson’s office. The images on the small screen were razor-sharp. Simpson was meeting with several of his staff, no doubt reporting back on his vital “fact-finding” mission to the Caribbean.
Finn was waiting until Simpson was alone in his office, for only Simpson was going to die today. He tensed as the staff people rose and left. He then watched as Simpson checked his hair and face in the mirror on one wall, adjusted his tie, walked to his desk and sat down.
The end had finally come. Finn’s finger was poised over his BlackBerry. He would send the e-mail first. He would be able to tell from Simpson’s reaction on the screen that he had seen the photo of Rayfield Solomon, right before he died.
Finn’s thumb descended on the BlackBerry key. Good-bye, Roger.
“Hey, Dad!”
Finn glanced up, recognizing the voice. “Damn it,” he breathed.
David Finn came running up to him, smiling. “What are you doing here?”
Finn quickly slipped the devices into the duffel slung over his shoulder.
“Hey, Dave, what are you doing here?”
His son rolled his eyes. “You going senile on me, Pop? The school visit to the Capitol? You signed the permission slip? Mom gave me the money last night at dinner?”
Finn’s face paled. Oh shit. “Sorry, just a lot going on, son.”
David noticed his dad’s clothes. “What’s with the uniform?”
“I’m working,” he said quietly.
David’s face brightened. “Cool, you mean you’re undercover?”
“I really can’t talk about it, son. In fact, you better get going. It’s not really great that you’re here actually.” Finn’s heart was beating so hard it was a miracle his son didn’t seem to hear it.
David looked disappointed. “Hey, sure. I get it. Secret stuff.”
“Sorry, Dave. Sometimes I wish I had a normal job.”
“Yeah, me too.” He jogged back to his friends.
When Finn looked back at the screen, Simpson had left his office.
He stared over at David and his friends. His son glanced over at his father once and then looked away. The group of students marched down the sidewalk toward the Capitol.
Finn walked off in the opposite direction. He would have to try another day. Now he had to see his mother. He’d been hoping to report to her the news of Simpson’s death. So intent was he on what he was doing that he never saw the man emerge from behind a nearby tree and start following him.
After what Max Himmerling had told him the night before, Oliver Stone had come here to check out the office of Roger Simpson too, at least from a distance. Either Gray or Simpson had ordered Solomon’s death and the hit on Stone. Since he couldn’t get to Gray, Simpson was the next best thing. Now, however, there had come a detour. Stone had heard and seen enough of Finn to make him more than a little curious. Finn was good, to Stone’s experienced eye. Others around the area, even the police officers, would have noticed nothing suspicious about the man. But Stone was not like other people. He had run down many leads that led to nothing. His instinct told him this would not be one of them.
When Finn hopped on the subway at Capitol South, Stone did the same. The men rode it to National Airport. Stone followed Finn in. The latter went into a bathroom and came out dressed in street clothes, the duffel still over his shoulder. Now Stone believed that his hunch had just struck gold.
Finn bought a round-trip ticket for a short flight to upstate New York. Standing within earshot, Stone later did the same, using the fake ID and money Annabelle had given him. He went through security, his heartbeat ratcheting up a bit as TSA agents scrutinized his picture on the ID. They let him through and he allowed Finn to pass from his line of sight. He knew which gate the man was going to, after all.
Stone bought some coffee and a magazine. The flight was called. Finn was in the front of the full plane, Stone the rear. Forty minutes later they were wheels up. Less than an hour later, they touched down. Now it got dicey. The airport was small and the patrons few. Finn seemed preoccupied, but Stone couldn’t be certain. If he was the man running around murdering highly skilled killers in their own right, Stone could not underestimate him.
Stone was debating what to do when Finn surprised him. He bypassed the small rental car counter, ignored the taxi stand out front and walked down the road away from the airport.
Keeping an eye on him, Stone stepped over to a taxi and leaned in the window. “Got a layover. Anything within walking distance of here?”
“Some residences, some shops, a nursing home,” the driver said as he idly read his newspaper.
“Nursing home?”
“Yeah, you want to go there for a little R and R during your layover?” He chuckled.
Stone slid in the backseat. “Just drive for now, slow.”
The driver shrugged, put down his paper and the taxi pulled off.
CHAPTER 70
HERB DASCHLE WAS A VETERAN employee of the CIA. He’d done years of fieldwork, seen the world, ridden a desk for the last decade and then accepted his current position. It was not all that exciting, and the public was totally unaware of it, but it was vital to the security o
f the CIA and thus the nation. Or so said the Agency’s internal manual.
For two months Daschle had been coming to this nursing home three