Дэвид Балдаччи - Hell's Corner

“I doubt it,” said Stone. “But I’ll try.”

“I’m fine,” bellowed Reuben as Stone came into his line of sight. “It’s not like this was the first time I’ve been shot. But I’ll take a damn bullet over Nurse Ratchet here poking me with needles in places I don’t want to be poked.”

The nurse taking his vitals merely rolled her eyes at Reuben’s comment. As she turned to leave she whispered to Stone, “Good luck.”

Stone looked down at Reuben. “I take it you want to leave?”

“What I want to do is get the assholes who did this to me.”

Stone pulled up a chair and sat down at about the time Caleb wandered in with a vase of flowers.

“What the hell are those?” snapped Reuben.

Caleb frowned at the man’s ungrateful attitude. “They’re peonies. Very hard to get this time of year.”

Reuben looked mortified. “Are you saying you brought me flowers?”

“Yes. To brighten up this very depressing room. Look, it’s all gray and blah. You’ll never get well because you’ll be too depressed.”

“I think they’re beautiful,” said Annabelle as she took the flowers from Caleb and smelled them.

“You would think that. You’re a girl,” said Reuben. “But guys don’t bring guys flowers.” He suddenly leveled a ferocious gaze at Caleb. “Did anyone see you bring those in?”

“What? I... Well, I suppose. A few. The people at the nurses’ station were admiring them.”

Reuben, who had been sitting up in bed, collapsed back. “Oh great. They probably think we’re dating.”

Caleb exclaimed, “I’m not gay.”

“Yeah, but you look like you are,” shot back Reuben.

Caleb scowled. “ I look like I am? How exactly do gay people look, Mr. stereotyping Neanderthal?”

Reuben moaned and put a pillow over his face. From under it they heard him grumble, “Next time bring me a beer, for Chrissakes. Or better yet, a Playboy .”

While Annabelle went in search of a vase for the flowers, Stone turned to Caleb. “I received your list of events coming up at Lafayette Park. I wanted to see you about it.”

Reuben took the pillow off his face and said, “Where are you going with that?”

Stone quickly explained things to him and added, “But there are a lot of events.”

“There are,” agreed Caleb. “But I’ve been doing some digging and I’ve been able to narrow it down.” He pulled some slips of paper from his pocket and laid them out on the end of the bed as Stone leaned over to see them.

Caleb explained, “I started with the assumption that this must be really big. Otherwise why go to all the trouble at Lafayette Park.”

“Agreed,” said Stone.

Annabelle came back into the room with the flowers in a vase, set it down on a counter and joined them.

“There are five events that I think fall into that category,” continued Caleb. “They all occur within the next month. First, there’s a climate change rally. Then an anti-tax protest. Lots of people and lots of potential casualties at each one of those. Next, the president is giving a speech to honor the soldiers killed in the wars in the Middle East, along with the French president.”

Reuben piped up, “That gets my vote. Two leaders with one pop. And all that stuff happened at the park when the British prime minister was there. Maybe they’re going after the E.U.”

Stone said, “Go on, Caleb, and finish the list.”

Caleb continued, “Fourth, there’s a world hunger protest. And last a demonstration against nuclear weapons.”

“I’m telling you, terrorists will go with quality over quantity,” said Reuben. “You take out a couple heads of state over killing lots of ordinary citizens.”

Annabelle shook her head. “Not necessarily. It depends on who’s behind the plot. If it’s some antiwar group or people who think climate change is a crock, those events could have been the targets.”

Stone said, “I doubt the Russians are all that interested in our tax policies.”

“The Russians!” exclaimed Caleb. “They’re behind this?”

Stone ignored his friend’s query and said thoughtfully, “I wonder how far away one would have to be to remotely detonate a bomb buried in the earth? And, second, how would the bombers know where the podium would be situated with the heads of state? I know they place the stages in different spots. Sometimes even on the sidewalk. This bomb would have done no damage to them in that event.”

Reuben said, “I’d ask Alex. If it turns out the stage was going to be set up near the Jackson statue then I think that confirms there’s a spy.”

Stone replied, “I think you’re right.”

Annabelle said, “I’ll call him. We’re getting together later anyway.”

Caleb added, “And I have to get back to work.”

“So do I,” said Stone.

“And what about me?” complained Reuben. “You guys go off having fun while I’m stuck in here.”

At that moment an attendant came in with Reuben’s lunch. She put the tray in front of him and took off the top to reveal a dark spongy mass that was apparently a piece of meat, some stringy vegetables, a doughy roll and a sippy cup with what looked like pee in it.

Reuben whimpered, “Please get me the hell out of here.”

“As soon as possible, Reuben, I promise,” said Stone as he hurried out.

“Enjoy your flowers,” snapped Caleb. “And next time I’ll be sure to bring my Village People’s greatest hits collection for all to hear. And I might just wear a very flamboyant scarf and my skinny jeans.” He stalked out.

Annabelle leaned over and kissed Reuben on the cheek and brushed back his matted hair. “Hang in there, big guy. And just remember we almost lost you. What would I do without my Reuben?”

He smiled at this comment and watched her leave. He waited for a few moments to make sure they were gone and then he picked up the vase. He took a deep sniff of the peonies and sat back with a contented look.

Mary Chapman let the water wash over her, the steam in the shower rising like morning mist over a lake. She slapped the wall of the shower in frustration, ducked her head under the cascading water and took a deep, controlling breath. She turned off the water, stepped out of the shower, toweled off and sat on the bed.

The meeting with Director Weaver and Sir James had been efficient and hit on all relevant points. This was part of the job. She should have no problem with any of it. It was the reason she’d been brought over here. But she did have a problem with it. And she didn’t know what to do about it.

She dried her hair, took her time choosing what to wear, slipped on her heels and jewelry, grabbed her bag and gun and walked down to the front of the hotel after calling for her car. She drove into D.C. fighting the rush-hour traffic. He was already there waiting for her.

She smiled at Stone, who’d changed clothes and was dressed in a pair of slacks and a white long-sleeved shirt that matched the color of his close-cropped hair and offset nicely the deep tan on his square-jawed face. He’d rolled the shirtsleeves up to reveal ropy forearms. At six two, he looked even taller because of his leanness. Yet when he’d grabbed her arm outside John Kravitz’s trailer she had felt the immense strength in his grip. Even at his age the man was still made of iron. She presumed he would be until the day he died. Which might be sooner than anyone expected.

When she thought this Chapman stopped smiling.

“I never thanked you for saving my life back at your cottage,” she said. “The flash-bang got me, but not you.”

“Well, we’d both be dead except for you. I’ve never seen anyone move that fast.”