Дэвид Балдаччи - Hell's Corner

“Wow, Big Brother is alive and well,” she said casually, but her long forehead bunched into neat rows of skin. “Can I ask why it’s relevant who I was talking to?”

Gross said, “We can easily enough get that information. But you can save us time by cooperating. However, if you don’t...”

She looked at him with a weary expression. “I know, I know, then you think I’m up to no good. Look, it was just a friend.”

Gross poised his pen over his notepad. “Your friend’s name?”

“Do you really have to check that out? I mean, it seems silly. It was just a friend.”

Gross said, “Ms. Friedman, a bomb exploded across from the White House. No detail is too small in an investigation like this. And the question is not silly. Now, your friend’s name and the subject of your conversation?”

“It’s just a man that I know.”

“Name?” Gross said again, this time with a harder edge to his voice. This obviously would be the last time the FBI agent would ask politely.

She sat forward and her voice dropped. “Look, this friend I was talking to is married.”

“Okay,” said Stone.

“And so?” prompted Chapman with a malicious look.

“And not to me, obviously. And maybe we’re more than just friends.”

She did the leg cross, skirt flick again, but this time her hands jerked and she didn’t seem nearly as confident.

Stone saw Chapman shoot the woman a contemptuous look at this bungled ploy to distract. Even Gross didn’t drop his gaze to her legs this time.

Gross said, “We’re not really concerned with your, um, friend’s marital issues.”

Friedman sat back, relieved. “Okay, thank you.”

“But I still need his name and what you were talking to him about.”

She sighed resignedly. “Fine. Willis Kraft. He lives in Potomac. We were just talking about... personal stuff.”

“And his wife doesn’t understand him?” said Chapman, still gazing at the woman in disgust.

Friedman’s gaze hardened and she and Chapman did a brief staredown that the Brit ended up winning.

“I didn’t voluntarily come down here to be judged on my personal choices,” Friedman said to Gross as she broke off looking at Chapman.

“And that’s not what we’re concerned about,” said Gross quickly.

“So does it all have to come out?”

“As I said, your friend’s marital issues don’t concern us and we can be very discreet. Give me his contact information and we’ll take it from there,” said Gross.

She did so, and then Stone said, “The guy in the jogger’s suit in the park?”

“Yes, I saw him,” she replied. “What about him?”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

“Not really.” She wrinkled her nose. “He was so over-weight I remember thinking he was the last person you’d expect to see in workout clothes.”

“Did you see the man in the suit with the briefcase?” asked Stone. “He was over near the statue of von Steuben in the northwest corner.”

“No, I don’t think so. There are some trees there. And even with the park lights it was dark.”

“Yes, it was,” agreed Stone. “But you left about the same time heading toward H Street.”

“I wasn’t aware of his movements. I was fumbling in my bag for my metro card.”

“McPherson Square?” asked Stone quickly. “Or Farragut West station?”

“McPherson. It’s a bit closer to the park. I live in Falls Church. I don’t own a car, so I always take the metro.”

“So you didn’t actually see the explosion?” asked Gross.

“No, I wasn’t facing the park, obviously. When the guns started firing I instinctively ducked and ran. Hell, everybody did.”

“Did you have any sense of where the gunfire was coming from?”

She thought for a few moments. “It all happened so fast. I was just trying to get low and out of the way. It was somewhere above me, at least I think so.”

Stone said, “Did you look back toward the park when the bomb exploded?”

She nodded.

“What did you see, exactly?”

Friedman sat back, furrowed her brow again and pursed her lips in concentration. “A lot of smoke, some flames shot up, really high. It was near the Jackson statue in the middle of the park. It was hard to tell at night and because of the trees in the way, but at least that’s where it seemed to be.”

Chapman asked, “Did you see anyone running away from the scene?”

“Like I said, everyone was running once the gunfire started up. And they ran faster when the bomb went off. There were a couple of cops and a dog I remember seeing. The dog was barking and the cops pulled their guns and I think they headed toward the park. I couldn’t swear to that because I was going the other way, fast.”

“And the man in the suit?” asked Gross. “He must’ve been somewhere close to you at that point.”

“He might’ve been, but I never saw him.”

“Okay, anything else?” asked Stone.

“I felt the ground shake a bit. It must’ve been a very powerful bomb. It seems ridiculous that with all the police down there no one noticed an explosive somewhere in the park. I mean, how did that happen?”

Gross sat back. “What did you do after that?”

“Grabbed a train home. I got lucky. I heard they closed the metro station a few minutes after I got on.”

Gross rose and handed her a card. “If you think of anything else let us know.”

After she left Gross looked at the other three. “Well?”

“She didn’t add much to what we already knew,” said Stone.

“What a simpering sot,” snapped Chapman. “I was surprised she didn’t pull her bloody dress up over her fake blonde hair.”

Stone ignored this barb and said, “Okay, we have gunfire that should have never happened. A bomb that shouldn’t have gone off. And a target that wasn’t even there.”

Gross’s phone rang. Ten seconds later he clicked off. “Okay, this sucker just got even more complicated. A group in Yemen has claimed responsibility for the attack.”

The next day Stone watched on TV along with Tom Gross from the latter’s office as the media reported that a group based in Yemen had opened fire on Lafayette Park and also set off a bomb there. It was done to show that it could reach inside the very heart of the American government. At least that’s what the loose translation of the group’s message released to the Western media had implied. Afterward there was a brief press conference at which the FBI director spoke, and then the ADIC answered a few questions from the media, without really telling them anything at all.

Stone asked, “Are we sure the Yemen message is authentic?”

Gross nodded. “Whoever called it in had the proper authorization codes.”

Stone added, “But that just authenticates the group making the statement. It doesn’t prove they actually did it.”

“That’s true. And they sometimes lie.”

“I don’t suppose they gave any helpful details on how they managed the guns and the bomb right under our noses?” asked Stone.

“No. What scares the crap out of me is that if they can hit Lafayette Park successfully, what’s next? What place is safe? It’s like they said, it’s symbolic. And you know every American is right now thinking the same thing.”

Stone said, “And can the terrorists hop across the street and hit the White House?”

Gross nodded. “That possibility is on the mind of every person in this building.”

“In lots of buildings,” added Stone.

Gross said, “Where’s your British sidekick?”

“Not really sure,” said Stone.

“What’s your take on her?” asked Gross.

“She’s one of their best or she wouldn’t be involved in this.”