“So how do we catch her? We can’t go running off to every big city that’s north of here to look for the woman. Or maybe she’s already out of the country. Maybe Canada.”
“I don’t think so. She runs too fast, she’ll make a mistake even with a prearranged exit strategy. And remember, her exit plan was predicated on a successful ending to her mission. No, she’ll take her time now.”
“And if she is on the train to Miami and the Feds bust her?”
“Then more power to them. But I really don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Okay, but where do we start looking?”
“We need information.”
“What sort?”
Stone thought about what Friedman had said. About the CIA keeping all the profits from her lucrative lobbying practice. That she could have retired in style if it had truly been her business. “She didn’t do this for free. Which means we have to follow the money.” He added cryptically, “And the muscle.”
“Muscle?”
“If she has someone like Carlos Montoya after her now, she’ll have a wall of pros around her. For protection. So to get to her we have to go through them.”
Chapman smiled. “Now that’s more my cup of tea.”
CHAPTER 89
Annabelle sat down across from Stone at his cottage.
“They let me see him,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Alex?”
She nodded as she traced her forehead with one of her fingers. “Piece of granite hit him right about here. An inch to the left it would have missed him and he wouldn’t be lying in that hospital bed in a coma.”
“Is his condition the same?”
“A bit worse, actually.” She stifled a sob. “His vitals aren’t as good today.”
Stone reached across his desk and gripped her hand. “All we can do is hope and pray, Annabelle. That’s all.”
“He’s such a good guy, Oliver. Solid as a rock. Always there even when I acted like a bitch to him.”
“We all have regrets, probably me more than anyone, when it comes to Alex.” He took his hand away and sat back in his chair.
“We have to get her, Oliver,” said Annabelle. Her eyes were no longer moist. She was staring earnestly at her friend.
“I know. And we will.”
She pulled some pieces of paper from her bag. “After you called me with your questions about the money trail I spoke with my contact in Bermuda.”
“Was he helpful?”
“You know the amount of illegal monies that are funneled around the Caribbean banks on a daily basis? Literally hundreds of billions.”
“Needle in a haystack, then,” said Stone doubtfully.
“It would have been except for one thing.” She looked at one of the papers. “Five hundred million dollars was wired into an account one month ago at a bank in the Caymans. It just sat there with a hold on it. A little over one week ago it was released. One hour after that another five hundred million was wired to the same account. It sat there for the full week. Then it was released. But it didn’t go forward into another account. It went backwards.”
“Return to sender?”
“Exactly. It was rescinded.”
“What day exactly?”
“The day Alex nearly died.”
“When they knew Friedman had failed?”
“That’s right.”
“So she got half the money when certain goals were met. Probably the explosion in Lafayette, the death of Tom Gross and cleaning up the loose ends like Sykes, Donohue and the Latinos.”
“What about Turkekul?” asked Annabelle.
“He’s a special case. At first I just thought that she had seized an opportunity that had presented itself, but now I’m not so sure.”
“I’m not getting what you mean.”
“I’m not sure I do either. We’ll just have to see how that plays out. Any way to see where the money went?”
She shook her head. “The cops have put pressure on Swiss banks to open up their records and they’ve complied. That’s pushed a lot of the illegal transactions to the Caribbean. And the islanders have not been as compliant as the Swiss. We’ll need some more expertise to get those answers.”
“I think I might have a way to find some,” said Stone.
“But Friedman has half a billion dollars at her disposal. That will fund an excellent escape plan.”
“Yes, it will. But she has some problems.”
“Her employer?”
“She tries to run now it puts up signals they can intercept. She may think if she bides her time they’ll lose their focus on her and move on to other matters.”
“But she may also be able to finger one or more of the cartels with the assassination attempts,” replied Annabelle. “They aren’t going to let that hang out there. Now she’s become a potential witness against them.”
“She’s a very smart woman and she’s undoubtedly thought the very same thing. All the more reason for her to take it slow. And that’s only one side of the equation.”
“Meaning the cops coming after her on the other end.”
“Yes. I’m sure by now Friedman knows we’re on to her.”
As Annabelle gathered her things in preparation to leave she said, “If Alex doesn’t make it, how are we going to get on without him, Oliver?”
She looked like she was going to start crying again. Stone put his arms around her, held her tightly. He let Annabelle Conroy, possibly the most gifted con artist of her generation, but a woman with a huge heart and a rock-solid understanding of loyalty, sob quietly into his shoulder.
When she was done Stone said, “We can never get on without him, Annabelle. All we can do is just survive each day as it comes. I think you and I have a better understanding of that than most people.”
She nodded dumbly and then left. Stone watched her drive off and then went back inside his cottage.
Stone made a call to someone he’d only recently met, but with whom he’d formed a permanent alliance.
Joe Knox said hello on the other end of the phone.
“Joe, it’s Oliver Stone.”
The man’s response was classic Joe Knox. “I was wondering how long it was going to take before you called me in on this. I’ll be at your place in an hour.”
CHAPTER 90
Joe Knox was a burly man who at age fifty still had the build of the college linebacker he had once been. He and Stone had spent time in a max security prison together, without having had the benefit of a trial much less a conviction. Knox had been assigned to hunt Stone down by what turned out to be a rogue superior at the CIA. But having survived the prison ordeal largely by trusting each other, Knox and Stone had developed a strong friendship.
“I’ve followed it all,” Knox told Stone as they sat across from each other in Stone’s caretaker’s cottage. “Either in the papers or else scuttlebutt, official or otherwise, at the Agency.” Alex Ford had helped Knox’s daughter find her father when he’d been kidnapped and slapped in that prison, and Knox had never forgotten that. The expression on the man’s face clearly revealed his desire to bring in the people who’d put Alex near death.
“Let’s not waste time then,” replied Stone. “Which Mexican cartel has recently moved large amounts of money in the Caribbean bank chains and then rescinded a half-billon-dollar payment?”
“It’s not good, Oliver.”
“Carlos Montoya?”
Knox nodded. “When the Russians came in they sliced up his mother and his wife and his three kids and left them in a ditch. So no love lost there. He’s based on the outskirts of Mexico City. And even though his business has shrunk by about ninety percent he still has muscle and reach all over the world.”