Hell's Corner by David Baldacci Read Free Book Online

parking spot on the street, an almost unheard-of event in the congested area.
    Stone told her so.
    “Right,” she said, clearly unimpressed by this. “Try parking in London.”
    They carried their coffees and sat outside at a small table. Chapman took off her pumps, hiked her skirt to mid-thigh, put her feet up on an empty chair, leaned back, closed her eyes and let the sun fall fully on her pale face and bare legs. “England rarely has sun this strong,” she explained. “And when it does it’s usually immediately interrupted by clouds and then rain. Makes a lot of us seriously suicidal. Particularly if it rains in bloody August and you have no holiday abroad planned.”
    “I know.”
    She opened her eyes. “Do you now?”
    “I lived in London for two years. It was a long time ago,” he added.
    “Business?”
    “You could say that, yes.”
    “John Carr?”
    Stone drank his coffee, said nothing.
    She sipped her coffee and let the silence linger.
    “John Carr?” she said again.
    “I heard you the first time,” he said politely, glancing sideways at her.
    She smiled. “Would you like to know where I heard that name for the first time?”
    Stone didn’t answer, but his silence apparently constituted enough of an assent for her to continue.
    “James McElroy. He’s a good bit older than you are.” She ran her eye over his tall, spare frame. “And not in nearly as good shape.”
    Stone again said nothing.
    “He’s a legend in British intelligence circles. Ran MI6 for decades.But I believe you know all that. Now he has some special title, I’m not really sure what it is. But he does what he wants. And bloody good for the country too, I can tell you that.”
    “Is he well?”
    “Yes. Apparently somewhat due to you. Iran, 1977? Six fanatics sent to place his head on the sharp end of a spear? Six dead men after you finished with them. He said he didn’t even have time to pull his weapon to help you. Then you were gone, just like that. Never had a chance to properly thank you.”
    “I didn’t require any thanks. He was our ally. It was my job.”
    “Well, irrespective, he said that for decades he wanted to buy you a pint for saving his arse, but you never turned up again. He still wants to, as a matter of fact.”
    “Again, not necessary.”
    Chapman stretched, put her feet back on the pavement, edged her skirt down and slipped her pumps back on. “By sheer coincidence he’s here in town.”
    “Is that why you came back?”
    “Yes and no.”
    He stared at her expectantly.
    “Yes, in that I knew he would want to see you. No in that I had my own reasons.”
    “Which are?”
    She leaned forward and Stone saw the Walther PPK pistol hanging from her black leather shoulder holster revealed through the gap between her jacket and shirt.
    He inclined his head at the pistol. “Tough trigger pull, isn’t it?”
    “You get used to it.” She paused, swirling her remaining coffee with a wooden stirrer. “Let’s face it, this has been a cock-up from start to finish. The Americans have so many agencies I can’t get a straight answer from any of them. My boss feels the same way. However, America is our chief ally and we intend to do nothing to disrupt that relationship, of course. But it was our PM put at risk and we have an obligation to see it through.”
    “And you’ve come to me? Why?”
    “James McElroy trusts you. Ergo, I trust you. And you were there last night. That makes you valuable.”
    “Maybe. But Iran was a long time ago, Agent Chapman.”
    “Some things don’t change. McElroy said you were one of them.”
    “That’s assuming that I really am John Carr.”
    “Oh, you are, I have no doubt of that.”
    “How can you be so sure?”
    “When I was here earlier I lifted a set of your prints from a glass in your loo when I went to take a pee. With my boss’s weight behind me, I was able to get a priority search on NIC’s database. Still, it took passing through eight levels of security, a