Simpson stared at him with an incredulous expression. “You’re joking.”
“Of course I am,” Gray lied.
At four o’clock in the morning, Carter Gray received the news. His men had been wiped out. Carr and Finn had escaped. Carr, the killing machine, obviously hadn’t lost his touch. He immediately called Simpson.
“Well?” Simpson asked.
“Just like we planned, Roger. Carr and Finn are dead. There’ll be nothing in the news. We’ll cover it all up.”
“Excellent. Now we can finally put this behind us.”
Gray hung up. Right.
He met with the president later that day after he had taken care of sanitizing the visitor center.
The commander in chief was not particularly happy about these events. “What the hell happened there last night? I was told they found blood in there and evidence of a gun battle.”
“Sir, we were able to track down John Carr and Lesya’s son at the visitor center.”
“My God, in the middle of the Capitol!”
“I have no idea how they got in there, but they did. We received a tip, went down there with a detachment of paramilitary and had a very intense shoot-out.”
“And what the hell happened?”
“The appropriate people were terminated,” Gray said vaguely.
“Did we take any casualties?”
“Yes, unfortunately. Families are being notified.”
“Where are the bodies?”
“We’re having them flown overseas for discreet disposal. We have to keep this hush-hush, sir. The press would have a field day with all this.”
“Look, Carter, I am the president. I want to know what all this is. And I want to know right now.”
Gray sat back. He had of course been expecting this. He pulled the orders from his pocket. He’d destroyed the cell phone, but these orders were too valuable. Valuable principally because they didn’t have his name on them.
The president read through the documents. “Roger Simpson?”
Gray nodded. “Let me tell you the entire story, sir.” It was mostly fabrication, but Gray delivered it with such authority and assurance that when the president sat back, it was clear he accepted all of it as truth.
“And Lesya and Rayfield Solomon’s involvement?” the president asked. “Solomon has been labeled a traitor to this country. Was he? If not, we have to make this right, somehow.”
Gray hesitated. “I cannot say with assurance that he was a traitor, sir.”
“But you said he was terminated. You said he was a traitor.”
“Back then it seemed clear that he was. Now, perhaps less so. I have to investigate further.”
“You do that, Carter. You do that. And if the truth is that this man was innocent, we will make it right, do you understand?”
“I’d have it no other way. Ray Solomon was my friend.”
“My God, two Soviet leaders assassinated by this country. I can’t believe it.”
“Not many of us could, sir.”
“You’re saying you didn’t know?” the president asked sharply.
Gray chose his words carefully. “Things operated differently back then. We had evidence of Soviet plots to kill U.S. presidents from time to time, but we took measures to counter them. The truth couldn’t come out because it might have led to nuclear war. They were never official plots of the Soviet leadership, you have to understand, but the Cold War was played for all it was worth.”
“So who the hell ordered the assassinations of Andropov and Chernenko?”
“The orders didn’t come through me.”
“Are you telling me that Roger Simpson, who if I recall was merely a case agent, did this on his own?”
“No, not at all. He never would have done something like that by himself. He must have received authorization from higher channels.”
“Channels that circumvented you? Why? You were his superior, were you not?”
“Not for all matters, sir. And my feelings on assassinations of foreign leaders was clear. There was an executive order making it illegal, and that was where I drew the line.”
“Well, perhaps I should talk to Roger about this directly.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise, sir. He’s going to make his own run for the White House. He’s a fellow party member of yours. You start making inquiries, then there’re leaks to the press and eventually everything comes out. As you know it’s much harder these days to keep secrets.”
“Damn whistleblowers; yes, I know.”
“And what would Senator Simpson say? His signatures are on these orders. He will claim that higher-ups ordered the killings. He might even say I knew about it. You can hardly blame him for trying to cover his tracks. But the matter is over. Two men were killed. Illegally? Probably. Did the result justify the means? I think humanity would judge that it did. I say we let sleeping dogs lie, Mr. President. Just let sleeping dogs lie.”
“I’ll think about it, Carter. But keep me informed of further developments.”
“One more thing, sir.”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to come back to work. As the intelligence chief. I want to serve my country again.”
“Well, as you know, that slot is presently unfilled. So it’s yours if you really want it. I doubt the Senate will have any problem confirming a Medal of Freedom winner.”
“I really want it, Mr. President.”
He shook Gray’s hand. “I appreciate your frankness today, Carter. You’re a true patriot. Wish we had more like you.”
“I’m only doing my job, sir.” Actually, Gray was thinking that with Carr still out there, he wanted to be surrounded by as many heavily armed men as possible.
“You know, I believe you’d make a good president.”
Gray laughed. “Thank you, sir, but I don’t think I have the right qualifications.” What Gray left unsaid was he believed he was overqualified for the job. Plus, he wanted a position with real power. All a president could really do was start wars, and those came along all too infrequently. Other than that, the office was fairly impotent, Gray felt.
He left the White House and climbed into his chopper. As it rose into the air, he knew he should feel good, victorious. Yet he didn’t. In fact, he had rarely felt this depressed in his life.
CHAPTER 94
OLIVER STONE DIDN’T ATTEND Milton’s funeral, though most of the others were present and grief-stricken. Caleb was so distraught at his friend’s death that Alex and Annabelle had to hold him upright. Harry Finn had wanted to come but he was still in hiding with his family.
Alex had checked in with his supervisor and had found that all of his problems had gone away. “I don’t know what the hell it was all about,” the supervisor said, “and I don’t think I want to know.”
They all gathered a week later at Caleb’s condo to honor Milton’s memory. This time Finn came with Lesya.
“I can’t believe Oliver missed Milton’s funeral,” Reuben said, staring down into his beer. “Can’t believe it,” he said again, his eyes red.
Annabelle looked at Alex. “No word from him at all?”
Alex shook his head. “Harry, you were the last one to see him. Did he say anything about where he was going? What he was going to do?”
Finn shook his head. “I know he blames himself for Milton’s death.”
Caleb said angrily, “And I read in the paper where Carter Gray is going to be the head of the intelligence community again. Isn’t that just wonderful? We all know what he’s done. We know, but we have no proof.” He slumped down in a chair and stared at a photo of Milton that he’d placed on a shelf for all to see. Tears slid down his fat cheeks.
Finn said, “My family and I will have to leave the country, somehow. Gray won’t stop until he gets us.”
“I think not. It is time to end this foolishness.”
All eyes swung around to Lesya, who sat in one corner.