Дэвид Балдаччи - The Sixth Man

Fifteen minutes later the stretcher came out with a haggard and pale Julie Bunting lying on it; an IV was running into her arm. Moments later the Bunting children came out, all looking terrified and the youngest one crying real tears. The man impersonating Peter Bunting held this child in his arms. All bundled up because of the cold and surrounded by EMTs, the fake Bunting was well obscured from the surveillance going on across the street. They all climbed in the ambulance with Julie Bunting and it headed off, with one cop car in front and one behind.

The same man from across the street called this in.

“Looks like the wife is really sick. The whole family went with them to the hospital, including Bunting.”

He listened, nodded. “Right. Got it.”

Most of his men stayed at their current location while he sent two of his people after the ambulance.

THE PRIVATE WINGS TOUCHED DOWN, the stairs were lowered, and Peter Bunting stepped off into the chilly air flowing into Portland, Maine, from the ocean. He had not used the company jet; that was too easily followed. He’d flown in on a rental jet hired by one of his companies. During the flight he’d gotten a text from the man impersonating him.

It said simply, GTG , which was their code for “good to go.” If Bunting had gotten any other message he would have known they were compromised.

He walked quickly to the car. There was no driver. No security detail. The wheels were just waiting for him. He climbed in and drove off. As both a New Yorker and a pampered CEO he hadn’t driven a car by himself in years. It actually felt good.

Sean edged his head around a corner of the building. Clancy’s Restaurant was just across the main street. There were few people about because of the lateness of the hour and the cold weather. Sean huddled in his coat and glanced down the road to his left. Somewhere out there was Michelle, holding a sniper rifle chambering 7.62 175-grain NATO rounds that had an overabundance of knockdown power. She had brought the weapon back with her from Virginia. She had carried the rifle and her sniper stand, disassembled in a black nylon bag, off into the darkness. But Sean was in communication with her through his earbud and power pack. He had lived with a communications bud in his ear for years while standing post as a Secret Service agent. Back then it was his job to look for threats against the president and sacrifice his life for the man if it came to it. Now the threats he would be looking for would be aimed directly at him.

Before leaving for Portland they had arranged for Megan to be brought to the cottage. The local police could manage only a single deputy to guard her at Martha’s Inn, and he was nearing retirement. On meeting him Sean had not been impressed with either his skill or his enthusiasm.

Sean had called Eric Dobkin and asked him to watch over Megan while they were gone. He had come immediately. Sean had told him some more of what was going on.

“Real heavy hitters,” Dobkin had said. “You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“We need you here with Megan,” said Sean. “No one knows we’re here, but then again, there are no guarantees they won’t find out.”

“I’ll do my best, Sean.”

“That’s all I can ask. And I really appreciate it.”

Megan had once more complained bitterly about not being kept in the loop, and while Sean was sympathetic to this plea, he was in no mood to discuss it.

Finally he’d said testily, “The less you know about it, Megan, the safer you’ll be. If anything happens you do exactly what Officer Dobkin tells you to do, understood?”

Megan had stood in the middle of the cottage, a defiant look on her face. “Fine, but just so you understand, when you get back, I’m out of here.”

“You ready?” Sean now said into his wrist mic, as his gaze swept the street.

“Affirmative.” Michelle’s voice floated into his ear.

“Location?”

“High ground, a hundred yards west of you. I can see everything from here. Perfect sight line to Clancy’s.”

“How’d you get high ground?”

“Empty building, pathetic back door lock. Everything in place?”

“Affirmative.”

“Good, stand by. Let me know when you see him.”

“Roger that.”

Sean did another turkey peek around the corner. He counted off the minutes in his head and then looked at his watch. One minute to ten. They’d gotten here early in case either Bunting was thinking of setting up an ambush or he hadn’t been able to get away from the people watching him and they had come in his place.

The car moved down the street, slowed, and then came to a stop. It turned into a parking spot and the tall man got out.

Sean stiffened.

Michelle’s voice came to him. “That’s him.”

“I see. Do a sweep and report back.”

Thirty seconds went by.

“Clear,” said Michelle. “No tail.”

Sean stepped out onto the sidewalk, his gaze on the tall man across the street. Instead of taking a straight-line path to him, Sean skirted down the sidewalk, keeping close to the storefronts until he was fifty feet past Bunting and behind him.

Sean watched as Bunting stood in front of Clancy’s looking around for him. Once he checked his watch.

“Hello, Mr. Bunting. Good to see you again.”

Bunting whirled around.

“You startled me. Didn’t hear you coming.”

“That’s the point,” said Sean.

“Where’s your partner, Maxwell?”

“Around.”

“No one followed me.”

“Good to know.”

Bunting looked at the door to Clancy’s. “I think they’re still serving. You want to go in?”

“Let’s do it.”

THE RESTAURANT APPEARED EMPTY. No one came to greet them, so Sean led Bunting around a corner and into a smaller room set off the main one. There was only one person in the dining area.

Bunting gasped and stopped when he saw her sitting there.

Kelly Paul looked at him from where she sat at a table with her back against the wall.

“Hello, Peter, it’s been a long time,” she said quietly.

Bunting shot a glance at Sean. “I didn’t know she was going to be here.”

“Problem with that?”

“No, I’m actually thrilled to see her.”

Bunting sat across from Paul while Sean settled down next to her, his hand in his pocket clenching his pistol.

Bunting said, “I presume you’re both armed.”

Sean picked up his menu with his free hand. “Why? Make you feel safer?”

“Yes.”

She studied Bunting. “Your family?”

“I took certain steps. They’re safe, for now. I got confirmation. Thanks for asking.”

“I have family in danger too, Peter.”

“Yes, I know,” he said, looking guilty.

“Is it as bad as I think it is?”

“Probably worse–” Bunting paused because the waitress came over to take their orders. She was wide of hip and weary of face, and her calves were red and puffy, probably from being on her feet for ten hours carrying large platters of seafood and mugs of beer. They ordered coffees and she departed, looking relieved that that was all they desired.

Bunting put down his menu and took off his glasses.

“Tell us,” said Paul simply.

“They want to shut down the E-Program. They want to destroy me. They want to do the same to your brother.”

“In fact they want things the way they were, you mean,” said Paul.

“Yes.”

“You had to know this day would come.”

“Knowing and doing something about it are two very different things. And I guess I had hoped, however naïvely, that the climate had changed for the better. I was wrong, obviously.”