Дэвид Балдаччи - The Sixth Man

“Where’s your Beretta?”

“In my bedroom.”

Sean shook his head. “SOP for FBI undercover is to get into the part. Your office is barren. Not even one fake family picture on your desk.” He pointed to his gun. “And FYI, the FBI doesn’t use the Beretta. They carry either Glocks or Sigs.”

Dukes said nothing.

“So someone else put you at Cutter’s. Which means your loyalties lie elsewhere. The FBI really frowns on being played for chumps.”

“I was assigned to work at Cutter’s Rock. I have a long career in federal correctional institutions.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re here temporarily. You haven’t even bothered to move into your office. And this place is a rental. With a six-month lease.”

“You’ve been spying on me?” she said.

“I’m an investigator. I spent a productive afternoon digging up stuff on you. And I’m not the only one.”

Dukes paled at this statement. “What do you mean?”

“I mean there are lots of people interested in you, Carla. You didn’t think you could just waltz right into this, play both sides, and think no one would notice? That kind of naïveté could get you killed.”

“These are not people to play around with.”

“Believe me, I get that message loud and clear.”

“Then you know I can tell you nothing. Please leave. Now.”

“I’ll just subpoena you for the court case.”

“What court case?”

“Edgar Roy? Six bodies? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Edgar Roy is the only reason you’re at Cutter’s Rock, Carla. And since I represent Roy it’s my ethical duty to try to have him exonerated. In order to do that, I have to muddy the waters. It’s called reasonable doubt.”

“You’re a fool.”

“Are you any less of one?”

“Get out.”

“By the way, Murdock already knows the truth about you.”

“That’s impossi–” She caught herself too late.

“Say what you will about the FBI, they do tend to get the right answer.”

“I need you to leave. Now.”

He turned to the door. “One more thing – the Bureau has a tap on your phone and your e-mail.”

“Why warn me about that?”

“In the hopes that you come to your senses and want to make a deal with me instead of them.” He let that sink in. “Carla? Are you getting any of this?”

“I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Fine. Just don’t take too long.”

Sean walked down the street and climbed into the Land Cruiser he had earlier parked there. He started the engine and sped off. After he was out of sight of Dukes’s house, Michelle, who’d been hiding in the back of the truck, climbed into the passenger seat.

“Everything go okay?” asked Sean.

“Easy. She should watch the garage door come all the way down before she goes in the house. I was able to sneak in behind her.”

Sean checked his watch. “Okay, I spooked her about her phone and e-mail. Now she has only one avenue of communication.”

“Face-to-face. But if she believes she can’t communicate via phone or e-mail how will Dukes arrange a meeting?”

“Coded text, probably. Innocuous on its face, it’ll set up a time at a prearranged place.” He stared down at the electronic tracking device cradled in her hand. “What’s the range on that?”

“Couple of miles. Plenty for our purposes, even in the great wilds of Maine.”

“Where’d you put the bug?”

“On the underside of the rear windshield wiper mechanism. Nobody ever looks there. Then I just climbed out the garage window. I’m actually getting good at that.”

“So now we wait,” said Sean.

“I don’t think it’ll be for long.” She eyed the device more closely. “Looks like she’s already on the move. Boy, you really did scare her.”

“I had my lawyer hat on. We naturally scare the crap out of everybody.”

AFTER LANDING at LaGuardia and being driven into the city Peter Bunting did not go home to his lovely, socially active wife and his three privileged and accomplished children at their luxurious Fifth Avenue brownstone across from Central Park.

Nor did he return to his office. He had somewhere else to go because he was focused on keeping Edgar Roy alive.

And probably me, too.

He walked fifteen blocks to a rundown six-story building well off the famous boulevards of Manhattan. He took care to avoid being followed, going into lobbies of buildings and exiting by different ways. In the lower level of the six-story building was a pizzeria. In the upper levels were offices for small businesses. On the very top level were two rooms. He took the stairs and knocked.

The man ushered him in and closed the door behind him. Bunting moved through into the next room. The man followed him and closed the door to this room too. He motioned for Bunting to sit on a chair set next to a small table.

Bunting did so, unbuttoning his suit jacket and trying to get comfortable in a chair that was not designed for comfort. The man remained standing.

James Harkes was dressed, as always, in a black two-piece suit, starched white shirt, black straight tie. He would be anonymous among the millions of other men in this city.

“Thank you for meeting with me so quickly,” Bunting began.

“You know that I’m tasked to take care of you, Mr. Bunting,” said Harkes.

“You’ve done a good job so far.”

“So far.”

“The six bodies at the farm? I believe that Roy was framed.”

“And who would want to do that?”

Bunting hesitated before answering. “You’re joking, right?”

“I don’t normally employ humor in my job.”

“I meant there are obviously those who would have a problem with the program.”

“But why frame Roy? Either kill him or coopt him. That’s what I would do.”

Bunting didn’t look confident as he said, “But we can’t use him either. That weakens us.”

“But he may be free one day. Better for our enemies to kill him. Then he can’t come back to work ever.”

Bunting studied him closely. “Foster is talking about taking preemptive action with Edgar Roy. Do you know about that?”

Harkes said nothing.

“Harkes, did you take preemptive action with the lawyer, Ted Bergin?”

Harkes remained silent.

“Why kill him?”

Harkes’s gaze remained fixed on Bunting but he still said nothing.

“Who is authorizing this? Because I’m sure as hell not.”

“I don’t do anything without the requisite approval.”

“Who is it? Foster?”

“I’ll be in touch.”

“Harkes, once you go down that road, there’s no going back.”

“If there’s nothing else, sir?” Harkes opened the door for Bunting to pass through.

“Please don’t do this, Harkes. Edgar Roy is one of a kind. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s innocent. I know that he is.”

“Take care, Mr. Bunting.”

Once he reached the street Bunting started to walk back to his office but then veered away at the last moment. He went inside a bar, found a seat, and had a Bombay Sapphire and tonic. He checked e-mails, made a few phone calls, all routine, just to get his mind off the mess of Edgar Roy. He was caught right in the middle. People were getting killed and there was nothing he could do about it.

Lost in his own problems, he didn’t notice the tall woman who had come in after him. She settled into a chair at a table in the back of the bar, ordered an Arnold Palmer, and watched him closely without ever seeming to.

Kelly Paul patiently waited for Peter Bunting to finish drowning his worries in good gin.