Дэвид Балдаччи - Hell's Corner

“I’m already involved.” He rose. “And I have one more question for you.”

“I promise no answer.”

“Turkekul wasn’t at the park to meet with you that night. So who was he really there to see?”

They left Adelphia’s apartment without the question being answered.

Chapman said, “How did you figure they weren’t going after bin Laden? And that Fuat Turkekul was meeting with someone else that night?”

“I suspected each was true. Adelphia confirmed both for me just now.”

“But she didn’t say anything.”

“That’s what confirmed it.”

“But why were you suspicious in the first place?” persisted Chapman.

“You don’t task a man to chase Osama bin Laden and then plunk him in a teaching position in a university in the West, unless you believe bin Laden is hiding out on the East Coast somewhere. It makes no sense. That’s why I had Harry tail him. Not really for protection, but to see what he was doing. Or rather not doing.”

“And the fact that Adelphia wasn’t at the park to meet with him?”

“You don’t arrange a meeting like that and then just not show up. They had a message board arrangement. The meeting was late at night. It’s a ten-minute cab ride from Georgetown to the park. Turkekul could have checked the board right before he left. If she couldn’t make the meeting, Adelphia could have posted that message up until a few minutes before he would leave for the rendezvous. She answered my post promptly, which tells me she checks it often. There was no need for him to stand around in the park waiting for her. That is inefficient and stupid. And potentially lethal.”

“But if not her, who? And did he meet with anyone?”

“Not that I saw, no.”

“What does that tell you?”

“That the meeting might have been off-schedule.” He added, “Not something his superiors knew about.”

“If that’s the case, why cover for him?”

“If Turkekul is a valuable asset he would be protected after the fact. And even if the meeting was off-schedule that doesn’t mean it was off-mission and thus could have been important to his superiors.”

“Could he have been set up, then?”

“They didn’t kill him. They could easily have done it by firing a few minutes earlier. No, he wasn’t the target.”

Chapman touched her temples. “My poor head is literally swimming with possibilities and none of them unfortunately make any sense.”

They returned to the park. Stone walked it from north to south and east to west while Chapman dutifully followed looking alternatively curious and bored.

She finally said, “Are you thinking if you walk the scene of the crime, inspiration will strike?”

“I’m not looking for inspiration, just answers.” He gazed back at the building where the shots had presumably come from. “Shots fired. Everyone runs. Padilla jumps into the tree hole. The bomb detonates.”

“The bomb was detonated prematurely. And we need to find out who the actual target was. It keeps coming back to that. That bomb was really supposed to go off when this park was filled with VIPs. If we can determine the target we can reverse engineer it back to the people behind the plot. At least hopefully we can.”

Stone shook his head. “We’re still missing something. The picture is still off. Way off.” He paused. “Okay, let’s change direction for a minute and do a simple process of elimination.”

“How?” she asked.

“If Turkekul wasn’t meeting with Adelphia, who was he going to meet with?” Stone looked around the park. “Not your security man. Not Alfredo Padilla obviously. Not me.”

Chapman gasped. “Wait a minute. You mean the woman?”

Stone nodded. “Marisa Friedman.”

“Why Friedman?” asked Chapman as they walked along H Street.

“She was at the park. As I said, simple process of elimination.”

“But she explained what she was doing here. She voluntarily came forward, in fact.”

“I would too, if I were guilty of something. Her face was caught on the video feed. If she didn’t come forward it would look very suspicious. This way she defused that suspicion and appeared to be an upright, law-abiding citizen.”

“An adulterous upright citizen. But she has an office right over there.” Chapman pointed to the line of town houses on Jackson Place. “It would make perfect sense for her to be in the park.”

“Please put your hand down just in case she’s watching. They’ve allowed the business owners back in now.”

Chapman dropped her hand and looked chagrined at her indiscreet action. “Sorry.”

“She said she’s a lobbyist, and maybe she is. But maybe she’s more than that.”

“So she could have been Turkekul’s unscheduled meeting?”

Stone said, “If he had such a meeting planned, she was the only one in the park he would be meeting with.”

“But if so, he might have told Sir James and the others about it.”

“Then perhaps they’re covering for her too.”

“Because she’s part of his mission, whatever that is?”

Stone nodded.

“So her being in the park was because of Turkekul being there?”

“If my theory is right, yes,” replied Stone.

“But did they meet?”

“They left at the same time. I saw no interaction between them while they were in the park. She was on her phone but he wasn’t.”

“And maybe they were going to meet but—”

“But then the guns and the bomb went off.”

“What do you think they were meeting about?”

“I have no idea. But I doubt it was about finding bin Laden.”

“So what do we do with this fresh angle?”

“If we try to go after her and she is being covered by higher-ups we might get our butts handed to us.”

“So we can’t touch her?”

“Officially, no. But there might be another way.”

“How?”

Stone took out his phone and made a call. “Annabelle? I have another assignment for you. If you’re willing.”

The next day Annabelle and Caleb walked into the office of Marisa Friedman. They had made an appointment and Friedman was waiting for them. Annabelle had changed her appearance greatly. The hair was short and blonde, her face made up, her clothes European, her accent an authentic mix of German and Dutch. Caleb was dressed all in black and had his thinning hair slicked back. He had on square-cut spectacles and a bit of stubble on his face. He carried an unlit cigarette and explained it by telling Friedman it was the only thing that worked for him in trying to quit.

She lifted up her sleeve and showed him the Nicorette patch on her arm. “I’m kind of in the same boat.”

Friedman led them back to her large office on the top floor with windows overlooking Lafayette Park. The space was decorated in a manner that suggested Friedman had traveled widely, had good taste, and the money to exercise those heightened sensibilities.

“We’re just now back in our space,” she said.

“Why is that?” asked Annabelle.

“There was a bombing in the park. And gunshots.”

“My God!” exclaimed Caleb.

“You didn’t hear?” said Friedman with a surprised look.

“As you might have deduced from my accent, I am not from this country,” said Annabelle.

“And I’m an expatriate myself,” added Caleb jauntily.

“But the Americans like their bombs and guns,” said Annabelle. “At least that is what we are told.” She shrugged. “So it is normal, then?”

“No, it’s not normal, thank God.” Friedman leaned forward. “I have to say that your phone call has intrigued me. You want to bring green jobs from Europe here? Can I ask why since green has already taken off where you are?”