“Let’s stop thinking about who can kill who,” Rodgers suggested. He extended his left arm slowly and opened his hand. “Let’s do as Kat suggested and talk this thing over. Give me the weapon so we can start to ratchet this thing back.”
Stone said nothing. Often, that meant the individual was ready to capitulate. It was usually noticeable in a softening of the tension around the mouth and eyes, in the sinew of the neck. Unfortunately, none of that was happening here. The thumping of the helicopter probably was not helping Stone to think straight.
“I’ll tell you what, Eric,” Rodgers said. “I’m going to have Lieutenant Murdock, who is standing right behind me, get on the radio. He’ll send the helicopter away. It will be easier to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk!” Stone cried. “I want to finish what we started!”
“What who started?” Rodgers asked.
“The admiral, Kendra, and myself.”
“What did you start?”
“The counterprocess,” Stone said. “That was the code name the admiral devised. It was his idea, and it was the right idea!”
The young man was under both internal and external stress. More than intent and desire, physical strain could cause the handgun to discharge. Rodgers had to take precautions. He held his right arm straight down, the index finger pointed toward the floor. That was a sign to the marines. If the general crooked his finger, that meant to ice the target. If he raised his arm again, it meant to stand down.
“Talk to me about the counterprocess,” Rodgers said.
“It was conceived to work within the senator’s plan.”
“Like a virus or a mole,” Rodgers said.
“Yes.”
“What was the senator’s plan?”
“To kill his enemies,” Stone replied.
“That’s a lie!” Kat shot back.
“Let him talk!” Rodgers cautioned.
Rodgers watched Stone’s grip on the handgun. There was no change. The general continued to walk toward him.
Stone turned slightly to address Rodgers directly. “Killing William Wilson was Orr’s idea,” Stone said. “Kat fleshed it out. It was a way of drawing attention to a problem and solving it at the same time.”
“The problem of anti-American economic activities,” Rodgers said.
“Exactly.”
“How do you know the senator was behind the killing of Mr. Wilson?” Rodgers asked. He wanted to draw Stone deeper into conversation, focused on him and not on the senator.
“Orr told the admiral, and the admiral told me,” Stone said.
“Did you ask the senator yourself?” Rodgers asked.
“Why bother? He would have lied to me. Anyway, the admiral never lied. Not to me.”
Rodgers was just a few paces away. “If this is true, I need you to tell me everything. Then I can pass it along to Op-Center.”
“Op-Center!” Stone snarled. He turned a little more. “They were the ones who screwed this up for all of us—”
Rodgers saw an opening and took it. Stone had raised his arm slightly so the Glock was pointed away from both Donald Orr and Kat Lockley. Rodgers reached across Stone and grabbed the man’s right wrist with his own right hand. He forced the gun toward the floor as he simultaneously swung his left hand toward the gun. Rodgers pressed left with his right hand, against the back of Stone’s forearm, and right with his left hand. Stone’s wrist snapped audibly. The gun hung loosely in his trembling fingers, and Rodgers snatched it.
The marines moved in. One of them secured Stone by pushing him facedown on the carpet. The other ran to look after Kat and the senator. He told Kat to call downstairs for the hotel physician. Rodgers picked up the Glock.
“You don’t know what you’re doing!” Stone said.
“Saving you from death by lethal injection, I think,” Rodgers replied. He motioned for the marine to let Stone sit up. Then the general crouched beside him. “Where is Admiral Link?”
“I don’t know,” Stone replied.
“I don’t believe you,” Rodgers replied. “You were filibustering outside the hotel while his limo was being hijacked. You wanted to keep me from seeing anything.”
“That doesn’t mean I know where he went,” Stone said.
Rodgers shook his head. “Don’t you get it? The counterprocess is over. Whatever it is, whatever it was supposed to be, this whole thing is done. Cooked. The only way you save any part of your own ass is by cooperating.”
“I believe that what we have done is right,” Stone replied. “And I won’t rat out my boss. Neither will Ms. Peterson.”
“This gentleman says he will,” said a voice from the bedroom door.
Rodgers looked over. The other male member of Stone’s party was standing there. His short marine guard was behind him, the assault rifle lowered. There was something contrite in the manner of the big man.
“Who are you?” Rodgers asked, rising.
“Thomas Mandor, sir.”
“What is your role in all this?” Rodgers asked.
“Just muscle,” Mandor replied.
“He was hired by Admiral Link’s staff, supposedly as a personal security officer for the senator,” Kat said bitterly.
“I was hired by Mr. Stone, but to escort the senator to another location,” Mandor said. “And I happen to know where Admiral Link is.”
“I’m listening,” Rodgers replied.
“My partner has him. If I tell you where they are, can we cut some kind of deal?”
“No,” Rodgers said. “If you don’t, I’ll do my damnedest to make sure the state of California adds obstruction of justice to whatever else you may have done.”
Mandor considered that for just a moment. Then he told Rodgers where Kenneth Link had gone.
FIFTY-FOUR
Rodgers and his marine unit charged back up the stairs to the roof of the hotel. They left Stone, Kendra, and Mandor in the custody of the local police. The three were charged with assault, a felony weapons charge, and conspiracy to kidnapping. Kat remained with Senator Orr and the hotel physician. Rodgers had questions for Kat, but this was not the time or place to pose them. He needed more information and suspected that only Kenneth Link had it.
Thomas Mandor had directed them to a cabin in the mountains of nearby Fallbrook. The pilot phoned the address to the county sheriff. The marine explained that they needed to get to the site without the chopper being seen or heard, which meant landing some distance away. He said that he did not need backup, just a spotter, someone to point out the residence. The sheriff sent Deputy Andy Belmont ahead to meet them. He said the young man would be waiting in an open field at elevation 1963 feet, three miles due northwest of the Mission Road exit in the foothills of the Coastal Range. That was just a quarter mile or so from the target. The dispatcher said that Deputy Belmont was familiar with the area and also had met Mr. Richmond. He would be able to point out the cabin. The pilot was told to look for a black Jeep with a large white star on the hood.
The Apache flew over Highway 163 and then followed 15 east. The pilot kept the helicopter under five hundred feet. Navy fighter pilots trained along this corridor, and he did not want to risk a collision. He ascended when he reached the foothills. Rodgers was sitting behind the pilot, watching for the deputy’s Jeep. There was one marine to his right and three more in the snug jump seats behind them. They were actually more like paddles, recent additions to the Longbows that allowed them to shuttle small special ops units into hostile territory. The seats, even the fixed ones, vibrated like those old quarter-fed motel beds, and removing the headphones was guaranteed to leave a passenger’s ears ringing for a week. This was not an aircraft designed for comfort. As the pilot proudly put it, “The Longbow was built for roughing things up.” In addition to the chain gun, the helicopter could be equipped with air-to-surface Hellfire missiles on four-rail launchers and air-to-air Stinger missiles. This particular Apache did not carry Stingers. Part of that was a virtue of the quick launch protocol the crew had used to reach Rodgers as quickly as possible. Part of that was to protect the civilian population in the event technical failure brought the chopper down.