“If there had been anything I could do about that, I would have. But my hands were tied. If I exposed Roger, I would have exposed myself. He knew that. He may be dishonorable, but he’s not stupid.”
“So you would not expose yourself to save the reputation of
“I admit that I was weak and selfish not to give myself up for Ray.”
“Yes, you were,” she said bluntly. “So the assassinations were not authorized by your government? It was you and Simpson and a few others. None in political leadership positions. I know you won’t answer my question, but it is the truth. I’ve had many decades to think about it.” She sat back and studied him. Gray’s normally confident demeanor had faded markedly.
He said, “Roger was afraid that if Ray found out the plan wasn’t authorized he would have exposed him. And the truth is Ray would have. Regardless of the damage it would have done to him personally.”
“That is exactly right. My husband was an honorable man. And yet he was murdered and Roger Simpson has a fine career as a senator of this country.”
“Lesya, you know how things were back then.”
With a wave of her hand, she cut him off. “Things back then were exactly the same as they are today. Nothing has changed except the people. And the people who play these games are all the same. They talk of doing good, of making the world a better place. That is all bullshit. It is about power and about protecting their interests. That is all it is ever about. Always!”
Gray sat back. “So what do you want? I’m sure you’ve thought about that too over all these decades.”
“Oh yes, I have thought about it. And I know exactly what I want. And I have been waiting to tell you for thirty years, you son of a bitch. And you’re going to sit there and listen. And then you’re going to do
When she had finished, Gray rose to go. “Can I expect to have the original of that film and all copies in return for doing what you’ve asked?”
“No, you cannot. You only have my word that I will take it to my grave. And you and Simpson should consider yourselves fortunate. I could destroy you both. Nothing would make me happier. But I am a person who actually thinks of things besides my own happiness. And that is the only thing that has saved you and the miserable Simpson. Now leave me. I do not want to see you again. Oh, but you can tell the good senator something for me.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve heard he wants to be president.”
“Yes, he intends on running.”
“Well, you can tell him to rethink his plans. Unless he wants to explain the contents of that film to the American people. You will tell him that.”
“I will. Good-bye, Lesya. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
With another wave of her hand she dismissed a man who would shortly be running America’s intelligence empire once more.
Rayfield Solomon’s picture was taken down from the Wall of Shame at CIA. A bogus reason was given for his revised history. It was hidden under the rubric, “New evidence coming to light.” And then the CIA classified the evidence. Scholars might get a shot at it in a hundred years or so. Solomon was then posthumously given the CIA’s highest award for fieldwork. Never again would his name be spoken in the same sentence as traitor.
Lesya Solomon was awarded the Medal of Freedom, the first time it had been given to a former Russian spy. Again the reasons for this were classified, but it still made the national news. She even gave an interview praising the progress in American-Russian relations. She finished by saying that she wished her heroic husband, who did so much to end the Cold War, could have lived to see it. She refused all other interviews and once more disappeared.
Not surprisingly, Gray’s nomination to be the intelligence chief sailed through the Senate. A chopper flew him from his highly secure Maryland retreat to his office in Virginia every day. His life was once again filled with clandestine activities, hard decisions that influenced the entire world. One word from Carter Gray and nations trembled, it was said. The man was in his element once more.
But for those who knew him well, he had changed. The overpowering personality, the absolute intolerance for the smallest mistake, the stunning confidence front and center all these years had diminished. He was seen sitting in his office from time to time staring at the wall, an old photo in his hands. No one had ever seen what that picture was, because he kept it locked in a safe.
In the photo Lesya, Rayfield Solomon and Carter Gray were decades younger and looked happy and full of life. They were doing exciting work, risking their lives so that billions could live in peace. In those countenances one could see the friendship, even the love that had formed among them. Sitting there staring at that photo, Carter Gray would occasionally cry.
CHAPTER 96
SIX MONTHS PASSED and no one had heard a word from Oliver Stone. Caleb returned to work at the library, but the old books that had given him so much pleasure now seemed just like, well, old books. Reuben went back to work at the loading dock and then came home and sat on his couch, beer in hand, and yet he never drank any of it. He would pour it down the sink and go to bed.
With one member dead and its leader having disappeared, the Camel Club seemed officially disbanded.
Harry Finn rejoined his red cell team and started doing work for Homeland Security again. Because of Lesya’s demand and the evidence she held, it was certain that Carter Gray would make no move against him or his family ever again. And it was also certain that Finn would never stand trial for killing three men and attempting to kill Carter Gray.
Yet Finn did not have the soul of a killer, and what he had done haunted him. He finally took a six-month leave of absence. He spent all his time with his family, shuttling his kids to school and sports, and holding his wife as she slept. He kept in contact with his mother, but she refused his pleas for her to come and live with them. He wanted to come to know her in a way that didn’t involve secrets and plotting violent deaths, but his mother apparently didn’t want this. If this wounded Finn, he did not show it.
Annabelle could have left D.C. and spent the rest of her life living on the millions she’d conned from Bagger, but she didn’t. After she and Alex finished explaining things to the FBI about Bagger and Paddy Conroy, an explanation that left out any details of Annabelle’s multimillion-dollar rip-off of Bagger, the lady worked another con. The target this time was the church that owned Stone’s cottage. She convinced them that she was Stone’s daughter and she volunteered to move in and keep the cemetery in decent shape until her father returned from what she described as a much-needed vacation.
She had the place fixed up, brought new furniture in, all while carefully preserving Stone’s things. Then she started taking care of the grounds. Alex came by to help her often. They would sit on the porch in the evening.
“Amazing stuff you’ve done to this place,” Alex said.
“It had good bones to start with,” Annabelle said.
“Most cemeteries do.” Alex gave her a sideways grin. “So you think you might hang around here for a while?”
“I’ve never really been able to call a place home before. I used to kid Oliver about living in a cemetery but I sort of like it here.”
“I can show you around town. If you want.”
“Save me, now date me? You’re quite the full-service cop.”
“All in the line of duty.”
