Stone Cold by David Baldacci Page A

that medal on you? Or are you over wanting to kill the man?”
    “Without directly answering your ridiculous question, circumstances change. It’s never personal. You should know that as well as any man alive.”
    “The point is, I
wouldn’t
have been alive if you’d had your way.” Before Gray could respond, Stone said, “I have some questions I want to ask you and I’d appreciate answers, truthful ones.”
    Gray put down his Scotch. “All right.”
    Stone turned from the window to look at him. “That easy?”
    “Why waste what time we have left playing games that don’t matter anymore? I take it you want to know about Elizabeth.”
    “I want to know about
Beth,
my daughter.”
    “I’ll answer what I can.”
    Stone sat down opposite him and asked question after question for about twenty minutes. His final one was articulated with some trepidation. “Did she ever ask about me, about her father?”
    “As you know, Senator Simpson and his wife raised her after they adopted her.”
    “But you told me you brought them Beth when Simpson was still at CIA. If she had said something, surely—”
    Gray put up a hand. “She did. It was actually after Simpson had left CIA and begun his political career. Understand she may have mentioned something about it before, but this was the first I’d heard of such a query. They had told her years before of her adoption. It’s not something Beth seemed to dwell on. In fact, I’m not sure she told many people about it.”
    Stone leaned forward. “What did she say about her real parents?”
    “In all fairness, you should know that she asked about her mother first. Girls, you understand, they want to know.”
    “Of course she should know about her mother.”
    “They had to be delicate, considering the . . . uh . . . the circumstances of her mother’s death.”
    “Of her
murder,
you mean. By people who were looking to kill me.”
    “As I told you, I had nothing to do with that. I sincerely liked your wife. And if truth be known, she’d be alive today if you had—”
    Stone rose and stared down at him with a look that chilled even Gray, who well knew how many ways John Carr could kill another human being. And no man he’d ever employed had been better at it. “I’m sorry, John—I mean, Oliver. I admit that was not your fault.” He paused while Stone slowly sat back down. “They told her a little about her mother, all positive I can assure you, and that she had died in an accident.”
    “And me?”
    “She was told her father was a soldier who was killed in the line of duty. I believe they even took her to your ‘grave’ at Arlington. To your daughter you died a hero.” Gray paused and added, “Does that satisfy you?”
    The way he said it made Stone wonder something. “Is this the real truth or the truth Carter Gray style, meaning a load of bullshit to appease me?”
    “What possible reason would I have to lie to you now? It doesn’t matter anymore, does it? You and me, we don’t matter anymore.”
    “Why did you ask me here tonight?”
    In answer Gray went behind his desk and picked up a file. He opened it and held up three color photos of men in their sixties. He placed them one by one in front of Stone. “This first man is Joel Walker, the second Douglas Bennett and the last Dan Ross.”
    “Those names mean nothing to me, and neither do these pictures.”
    Gray pulled three more photos from the file, all much older and in black and white. “I think these will look far more familiar to you. And the names as well: Judd Bingham, Bob Cole and Lou Cincetti.”
    Stone barely heard the names. He was staring at photos of men he’d lived, worked and nearly died beside for over a decade. He looked up at Gray.
    “Why are you showing me this?”
    “Because in the last two months all three of these former comrades of yours have died.”
    “Died how?”
    “Bingham was found in his bed. He had lupus. The autopsy found nothing unusual. Cole hanged himself. At