To some degree, he’d understood Kallstrom’s position. The presence of a covert CIA sniper team working in Nicaragua would’ve been a major scandal, and sending a SEAL team in involved considerable risk of exposing that scandal. Besides, no one knew where Nathan was being held. Containment could’ve been lost. So why hadn’t it become a scandal? They had Nathan. Surely they must have known he was CIA. They’d had three weeks to wring it out of him. And they had tortured him to the brink of death. He didn’t like thinking about it.

Stone shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Now wasn’t the time to rattle this cage. If his son wanted to blame him for what happened, so be it, there was nothing he could do about it, but for now, he had more important things to worry about. If Nathan pursued this reckless manhunt of the Bridgestones and broke laws in the process, he was on his own. Impatient, he hit the intercom button again. Heidi informed him she was still waiting for return calls from Lansing and Ramsland.

“I also need you to call Commissioner Robert Price. I want the security patrolling all the Senate and House buildings tripled. If he gives you a hard time about it, put him through to me. And needless to say, no one talks to the media. I’ll personally skin anyone who even looks at a reporter.”

“Yes, Senator. I’ll see to everything right away.”

On impulse, Stone picked up the phone and called Frank Ortega.

“Hello.”

“Frank, it’s Stone.”

No answer.

“You okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. Why would I be okay?”

Stone didn’t respond. All he heard was the chime of Frank’s regulator clock in the background.

Finally Frank spoke. “Why didn’t your people know about the tunnel?”

The question caught Stone by surprise and he was shocked at the accusatory tone. They weren’t his people, the FBI had conducted all aspects of the operation. Maybe it was better if he ended this call as soon as possible. “Look, I just wanted see how you were doing. We’ll talk later, okay?”

The line went dead. Frank Ortega had hung up without saying good-bye. Stone felt sucker punched. Frank Ortega, a man he’d known for forty years, had just sounded like a complete stranger. For the first time in his life, he felt like an intruder, not a close friend. Maybe he just needed time, Stone reasoned. This was the second tragedy in his family. First his daughter, now his grandson. It had to be tearing him up.