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twenty anymore,” retorted Annabelle. “He was almost killed last night. If he goes to Russia, he may never come back.”
    Reuben said, “He may be older but he’s also wiser. I wouldn’t discount how much he has left in the tank.”
    “He almost died in that prison in Divine, Reuben,” she reminded him. “And Milton did die,” she added with brutal frankness.
    Reuben, who’d been very close to Milton Farb, glanced down at his hands. “Maybe we’re all too old for this shit anymore.”
    Finn said, “So how do you want to play this with Oliver? We all know he won’t ask for our help. Not after what happened in Divine.”
    Caleb said, “That’s right. He’ll do nothing that puts us in any danger.”
    “Then maybe we don’t wait for him to ask for our help,” said Annabelle. “Maybe we just become proactive.”
    “Meaning what exactly?” asked Reuben. “Not spy on him?”
    “No, but we can show a united front and tell him what we think.”
    “I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” Reuben said.
    Annabelle stood. “Fine. If you guys want to wait for his death notice, great. I’m not.” She turned and walked off.
    “Annabelle!” Reuben called after her.
    She never turned around.
    “She’s very stubborn,” grumbled Caleb. “Like most women. It’s probably why I never got married.”
    Reuben glowered at him. “Oh, I think there were a few other reasons for that, Caleb.”

CHAPTER 14

    T RAFFIC IN D.C. WAS MUCH WORSE than normal, and all because someone had detonated a bomb across from the White House. At least that’s probably what some frustrated commuters were thinking. For blocks in all directions the street barriers had been thrown up, making the nation’s capital resemble a hodgepodge of corrals. Metro police cars and black Secret Service SUVs were dovetailed in front and behind these barriers to further discourage anyone from approaching.
    Stone and Chapman, despite her credentials, were forced to abandon her car and walk. Phone calls were made at every checkpoint as the MI6 agent’s documents were scrutinized and her incremental passage authorized by off-site higher-ups. Stone could understand that none of the street cops or agents were willing to fall on the sword because they’d passed them through in error. This was why supervisors cashed the larger paychecks and had the slightly bigger offices. Their asses would be fried if someone further up the food chain decided to throw his weight around.
    They finally cleared the last hurdle and approached ground zero, Lafayette Park. To Stone, who knew it perhaps better than anyone else, it was nearly unrecognizable. The center of the park was a blackened mass, trees and plants destroyed, the grass burned, the dirt piled up in mounds. The Jackson statue lay in ruins. A cannon wheel had nearly reached the sidewalk on the Pennsylvania Avenue side. A section of fence was embedded in a tree a good seventy feet away.
    The ATF had set up its mobile command post in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue. The FBI’s counterpart unit was set up inJackson Place to the west of the park. Dogs and armed security were everywhere. All the businesses and government offices located on Jackson Place and across the park on Madison Place had been shut down.
    While the park looked like a cop’s convention, the people in uniform were still outnumbered by the swarm of suits. Stone and Chapman passed by a large Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms National Response Team, or NRT, truck. Stone knew that there were only three NRT vehicles in existence. The NRT members constituted the best bomb experts in the country and could go into any scenario and within a couple days tell what had gone boom and how.
    Stone caught sight of some techs in hazmat suits parsing through the explosion site. He also eyed people in hermetic gear who looked like surgeons preparing for the OR. They were scrounging the area, looking for trace evidence. Small colored tents were scattered everywhere. He