Authors: David Baldacci
Tags: #Suspense, #Fiction, #General, #Thrillers, #FIC000000
“
P
ULL OVER
, O
LIVER
,” Annabelle barked.
“What are you going to do?”
“Right now, I’m trying hard not to throw up.” She rested her chin on the dashboard, but kept her gaze on her father. “God, it’s like I’m seeing a damn ghost.”
She slowly sat back up and wiped clammy sweat from her forehead.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“I don’t know. My mind pretty much just shut down on me.”
“Okay, I’ll make the call. We follow him. It might lead to something useful.”
“That bastard let my mother die.” Stone could see that Annabelle was clenching the armrest so tightly her fingers were turning white. He put a calming hand on her shoulder.
“I understand, Annabelle. I understand completely about how and why people get to live and die all for the wrong reasons. And I know it’s been a shock finding out that your father is, one, alive, and, two, right here. But we need to keep our wits about us. I can’t believe it’s a coincidence he’s here. Can you?”
She shook her head.
“So we’re going to follow him,” he said again. “You up for that? Or do you want me to drop you off? I can do it alone.”
“No, I want in on this,” she said sharply. Then she added more calmly, “I’m good now, Oliver. Thanks.” She gave his hand a grateful squeeze.
They both looked out the window where Paddy Conroy was climbing into a beat-up pickup truck parked on the street.
The drive only took ten minutes. By that time they were well away from the small downtown area and out in the country. When the truck turned in through the wrought-iron gates, Annabelle snatched a breath.
Stone waited a few moments and then pulled through the gates into Mt. Holy Cemetery. A few minutes later they were out of the car and slipping stealthily toward a stand of trees. They watched from this concealment while Paddy shuffled along until he came to a flat grave marker on the ground. He produced a few flowers from inside his shabby overcoat, knelt down and placed them on the sunken earth.
He took off his hat, revealing thick white hair, put his hands together and seemed to be praying. Once they heard a long, loud moan come from the man. He reached in his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face.
“Your mother’s grave?” Stone asked.
She nodded curtly. “Like I said, I’ve never been to see it, but I looked up the location.”
“He seems to be grieving.”
“He’s only doing it to make him feel better about what he did, the asshole. He’s never changed.”
“People do change,” Stone said.
“Not him, not ever.” She grabbed him as he stepped past her. “Oliver, what are you doing?”
“Putting your theory to the test.”
Before she could stop him he walked out into the open and headed toward Paddy. Stone slowed and seemed to be reading the grave markers before stopping at one two down from where Paddy was kneeling and crying.
Stone said softly, “I don’t mean to intrude on your privacy. I haven’t been by to see my aunt’s grave in a few years. I wanted to pay my respects.”
Paddy looked up, rubbed his wide face with the cloth. “It’s a public cemetery, friend.”
Stone knelt down in front of the grave marker he’d picked out, though he was also keeping Paddy in his peripheral vision. “Graveyards just seem to take all the energy out of you, don’t they?” he said quietly.
Paddy nodded. “It’s penance, you know, for the living. And a warning to us all.”
“A warning?” Stone turned to look at him. And now he knew. Paddy Conroy was terminal. He could see it in the gray tinges around the white sunken face, the emaciated body and the trembling hands.
Paddy nodded. “Look at all these graves.” He held up a shaky arm. “All these dead people waiting for the Almighty to come down and tell them where they’re headed. Waiting in the dirt or in Purgatory if you believe that way. Waiting for the Man to come down and tell them. For all eternity.”
“Heaven or hell,” Stone said, nodding.
“You a betting man?”
Stone shook his head.
“I spent all my life betting on one thing or another. But if you were a betting man, how many of ’em you reckon are going up and how many going down?”
“Hopefully far more going up than down,” Stone said.
“You’d lose your money, you would.”
“More people evil than not, is that it?”
“Take me. I might as well pick out a nice sunny spot in the pit of hell right now. Ain’t no question where this old boy’s headed.”
“You have things you regret?”
“Regrets? Mister, if regrets were dollars, I’d be Mr. Bill Gates himself.”
Paddy bent forward and kissed the grave marker. “Good-bye, me darling Tammy. You rest easy now, girl.” He rose to his feet on rubbery legs and put his hat back on.
He turned to Stone. “Now this one here, she’ll be getting into heaven. You know why?” Stone shook his head. “Because she’s a saint. She’s a saint because she put up with the likes of me. And for that reason alone, come Judgment Day, old Saint Peter will welcome her with open arms. Only wish I could be there to see it.”
I
T WAS EARLY MORNING
. Jerry Bagger was sitting in his suite at his posh hotel seriously thinking that he should up the room rate at the Pompeii. For him a view of the White House was not worth a grand a night. As he was gazing out the window at the president’s house one member of his security team, Mike, came into the room. “We just got a call from the casino late last night but we didn’t want to wake you. There was a guy talking to Dolores.”
Bagger turned around. “Talking to Dolores about
what?
”
“From the little he overheard, the daughter’s name came up a couple times.”
“Old Cindy,” Bagger said slowly. “I guess Dolores is still pining away for her kid. Who’s the guy? Cop? Fed?”
“We’re running that down right now. And he’s got a big guy with him. We’ve got a tail on them. They’re staying at a dump outside the Boardwalk area.”
“Well, run it down fast.”
“And if it is a cop?”
“You let me know. Then we’ll see. Killing a cop is a whole other ball of wax. You kill one, a bunch pop up, same with feds. Keep on top of it. Check around to see where else this guy’s been.” Bagger sat down as Mike headed out. “Wait a minute, Mike, did that Republican Amish jerk-off call?”
“No sir.”
“You know his story sounded legit, so why do I think he was lying his ass off?”
“You got the best instincts of anybody I know, Mr. Bagger.”
Not good enough,
Bagger thought.
Annabelle Conroy took me right by the balls and squeezed me dry.
“You want us to have a chat with the guy?”
Bagger shook his head. “Not right now. But follow him. I wanta see where rare book boy goes at night.”
“So we gonna be in town for a while?”
Bagger looked through the window. “Why not? Place is starting to grow on me.” He pointed at the White House. “Look there, Mike. That’s the home of the president, the most powerful son of a bitch in the world. One nod of his head an entire country gets nuked. He farts funny, the stock market drops a thousand points. He’s got a freaking army surrounding him. Anything he wants, he gets it.” Bagger snapped his fingers. “Like that. Blow job in the Oval Office, tax breaks for the rich, invading other countries, pinching some queen’s ass, anything. Cause he’s the man. I respect that. The guy only makes four hundred thousand bucks a year, but the perks are sweet and he gets a free ride on a jet a lot bigger than mine. But with all that, you know what, Mike?”
“What, Mr. Bagger?”
“Once he’s out of office, he’s nothing. But I’m still Jerry Bagger.”
H
ARRY
F
INN WATCHED
his youngest son, Patrick, swing and miss on a ball that was at eye level. Parents in the stands next to Finn groaned, the third strike was called and the game was over. Patrick had left the tying run on second and the winning run was standing in the boy’s cleats at home plate. The ten-year-old walked dejectedly back to his dugout, bat dragging, while the other team started celebrating. Patrick’s coach gave them all a little pep talk, the boys had their after-game snack, which for many was the highlight of the entire evening, and parents started rounding up their future all-stars for the ride home.
Patrick was still sitting in the dugout, his helmet and batting gloves on as though he were just waiting for another shot to put the ball over the fence. Finn grabbed a snack for him and sat down next to him in the dugout.
“You played a great game, Pat,” he said, handing the boy a bag of Doritos and an orange Gatorade. “I’m proud of you.”
“I struck out, Dad. I
lost
the game for my team.”
“You also got on base twice, scored both times and drove in three more. And playing center field you caught a ball that was actually over the fence with two men on and two outs. That saved three runs right there.” He rubbed his son’s shoulder. “You played a good game. But you can’t win them all.”
“Is this where you tell me losing builds character?”
“Yeah, it is. Just don’t make a habit out of it. Everybody really hates a loser.” He playfully slapped his son’s helmet. “And if you’re not going to eat those chips I’ll take ’em.” He grabbed the bag.
“Hey, those are mine. I earned them.”
“I thought you lost the game for your team.”
“The game wouldn’t have been close except for me.”
“Finally figured that out, did you? I knew you had the Finns’ brains in there somewhere.” He rapped his knuckles on the helmet. “And take this thing off, you’re hardheaded enough already.”
“Gee, Dad, thanks for all your support.”
“How about we grab some dinner on the way home?”
Patrick looked pleasantly surprised. “Just you and me?”
“Just you and me.”
“Won’t David be mad?”
“Your brother is thirteen. He doesn’t really like having his old man around all that much right now. I’m just not that cool or smart. That’ll change in about ten years when he’s in debt from college, can’t find a job and I’m suddenly brilliant again.”
“I think you’re smart. And cool.”
“That’s what I love about you.” As they walked back to the car, Finn lifted Patrick on his shoulders and took off running. As they arrived at the parking lot, a breathless Finn put his son down.
Laughing, Patrick said, “Dad, why do you keep carrying me around on your shoulders?”
Finn’s smile eased off his face and his eyes grew a little moist. “Because pretty soon I won’t be able to do it anymore, son. You’ll be too big. And even if you weren’t you wouldn’t want me to anyway.”
“Is it that big of a deal?” Patrick said as he munched on his chips.
Finn unlocked the car and threw his son’s bag inside. “Yeah, it is. You’ll understand really well when you’re a dad.”
They ate at a local burger place about a mile from their house.
Patrick said, “I love this food; nothing but grease.”
“Enjoy it while you can. When you get to be my age, it’s not that easy on the body.”
Patrick stuffed a french fry in his mouth and said, “How’s Grandma?” Finn stiffened just a bit. “Mom said you went to visit her. How’s she doing?”
“Okay. Well, actually not too great.”
“How come we never visit her anymore?”
“I’m not sure she’d want you to see her like she is now.”
“I don’t care about stuff like that. She was fun even if she talked a little funny.”
“Yeah, she was,” Finn said, staring down at his half-eaten cheeseburger, his appetite suddenly gone. “Maybe we’ll go see her soon.”
“You know, Dad, she doesn’t look very Irish.”
Finn thought of the tall, broad-shouldered woman with the sharply chiseled, near-gaunt features so many Eastern Europeans from that generation possessed. He could barely reconcile that image with the shrunken mass his mother had become. His son was right, she didn’t look very Irish, because she wasn’t. Still, Finn looked far more like his mother than his father. He said quickly, “She’s not. Your grandfather was Irish.” He didn’t enjoy lying to his son, but he knew the truth was not possible on this subject. Yes, his father, the Irish Jew.
“You said he was a cool guy.”
“Very cool.”
“I wish I could’ve known him.”
Me too,
thought Finn.
For a lot longer than I did.
“So where’s Grandma from, then?”
“Your grandmother was really from all over,” he answered vaguely.
When they got home Mandy met them at the door. After sending Patrick to get changed for bed she said, “Harry, you’re supposed to go into Susie’s class tomorrow. It’s parents’ career day.”
“Mandy, I told you I really don’t feel comfortable doing that.”
“All the other kids’ parents are doing it. We can’t leave Susie out. I’d go but I’m not sure cooking, cleaning and driving qualifies as a career.”
He gave her a kiss. “It does with me. You work harder than anybody I know.”
“You have to go, Harry. Susie will be so disappointed if you don’t.”
“Honey, come on. Give me a break.”
“Fine, but if you’re copping out, you go and tell her. She’s waiting up in bed.”
Mandy walked off, leaving Finn standing by the door. Groaning, he trudged up the stairs.
Susie was sitting up in bed, surrounded by her stuffed animals. She had eleven of them she kept on her bed; she couldn’t go to sleep without them. She called them her guardian angels. Around the foot of the bed were ten more stuffed animals. These were her “Knights of the Round Table.”
Her big blue eyes looked up at him as she got right to the point. “Are you coming tomorrow, Daddy?”
“I was just talking to Mom about that.”
“Jimmy Potts’ mom came in today. She’s a marine biologist.” Susie formed the words slowly while she scratched her cheek. “I don’t know what that is, but, Daddy, she brought live fish.”
“That sounds really cool.”
“I know you’ll be cool too. I’ve been telling everybody about you.”
“What have you been telling them?” Susie had no idea what he did for a living.
“That you were a soldier.”
“Oh, that’s right, I was.”
“I’ve been telling everybody that you were in the navy. And that you were a
walrus,
” she added importantly.
Finn tried hard not to laugh as he patiently explained that he had been a Navy
SEAL,
not a walrus. “Remember, sweetie, up in this area there are a lot of people who used to be in the military. It’s not that special.”
“But you’ll be the best, Daddy, I know you will. Please come, please.” She tugged on his sleeve and then wrapped her arms around him.
In the face of this, what father could say no? “Okay, honey, I’ll be there.”
As he turned out the light and was leaving, Susie said, “Daddy, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, what is it?”
“When you were a soldier, did you ever kill anybody?”
Finn leaned back against the door. This was not the question he’d been expecting.
Susie added, “ ’Cause Joey Menkel said his dad killed lots of bad people in Iraq. And he’s a soldier too. So did you?”
Finn sat back down next to her, took his daughter’s hand and said slowly, “When people fight, people get hurt, sweetie. It’s never a good thing to hurt someone else. And soldiers only do it to protect themselves and their country, where their families live.”
“So did you?” she persisted.
“I’ll see you at school tomorrow, baby. Hope you sleep well.” He kissed her on the forehead and nearly sprinted from the room.
A minute later he was in the garage. He kept his gun safe here. It weighed nearly a thousand pounds and had a key, combo and biometric lock system that only he could open. He unlocked the heavy door and took out another, smaller box that also was key and combo protected. Opening that, he carried the file over to his workbench and started looking through it. The photos, the reports, were both now faded, yet they never failed to incite in him a nearly uncontrollable rage. He read the words aloud to himself: “Rayfield Solomon, Alleged Traitor, Commits Suicide in South America.” He looked at the photo of Rayfield Solomon, his father, a dead man with a hole in his right temple, and the legacy of having betrayed his country.
Finn still felt rage tonight, but it was not the same as all the other times he had looked at the final wreckage of his father’s past, and that was due to a little girl’s question:
Did you ever kill anybody, Daddy?
Yes, honey, Daddy
has
.
He locked the items back up and turned out the garage light. He didn’t return to the house. He went for a walk. He walked until it was midnight. When he got back to the house, everyone was long since asleep. His wife was used to his late-night ramblings around the neighborhood. He slipped into Susie’s room, sat on her bed and watched her chest rise and fall as she clutched one of her precious guardian angels.
When dawn came, Finn left his daughter, showered, dressed and got ready to go to school, to talk about being a soldier. Of course, he would not talk to them about being a killer. Though a killer he was.
As he walked through the hall to his daughter’s third grade class, a tiny crack appeared in the wall of his mind that separated Harry Finn from the other man he had to be. It was doubtful he even knew it had happened. He opened the door to the class and was nearly knocked down by his daughter, who flew across the room to give him a hug.
“This is my daddy,” she announced proudly to her classmates. “And he’s a seal, not a walrus. And he’s a good guy.”
Am I?
thought Harry Finn.