"You see anybody pass this way this morning?"

"Not one car till you folks come tearing up. And we both been up before full light."

Stone limped over to the truck and started throwing wood in the cargo bed.

The agents looked at each other. One of them mumbled, "Let's roll."

A few seconds later they were gone.

Leroy walked over to the truck and started tossing wood in. "Wonder what man be dead?" he said, really to himself. "Important man, they say. Lot of important men in this world. But they die just like the rest of us. God's way of making life fair."

Stone let out a long, loud grunt.

Leroy looked over at him and grinned. "Hey man, now that's the smartest thing I heard all damn morning."

When the day's work was over, Stone pantomimed to Leroy that he was heading on. Leroy seemed to take it well. "Surprised you lasted long as you did. Good luck." He peeled off a few faded twenties and handed them over. Stone took the money, patted the man's back and limped off.

After packing his duffel, Stone set out on foot and hitchhiked to D.C. in the back of a truck, the driver unwilling to let the scruffy Stone ride with him in the warmth of the truck's cab. Stone didn't mind. It would give him time to think. And he had a lot to think about. He had just killed two of the most prominent men in the country on the same day, literally hours apart, using the rifle he'd earlier chucked into the ocean before taking the dive off the cliffs.

The truck dropped him off near the Foggy Bottom area of the capital and Stone set out for his old home at Mt. Zion Cemetery.

He had a letter to deliver.

And something to pick up.

And then it would be time to hit the road.

His alter ego John Carr was finally dead.

And the odds were awfully good that Oliver Stone might be right behind him.