Дэвид Балдаччи - The Sixth Man

She said, “Who’s playing the black chess pieces?”

Sean said, “Hold on, here comes our coffee.”

The waitress set down the mugs, creamer, and sugar and said, “Will you all want anything else? The kitchen is getting ready to close up.”

“No, thanks,” said Bunting. He handed the woman a hundred-dollar bill and told her to keep the change.

She walked off beaming, and Bunting turned back to Paul.

“The black pieces, Peter?” she said again. “I think I know but I want confirmation.”

Bunting pulled out two photos from his jacket. He laid them next to each other on the checkered tablecloth. “Just so we’re absolutely clear on the point.”

Paul nodded and said, “Thanks for the confirmation.”

“So you suspected?” he asked.

“Of course. She was the most logical choice.”

“Do you know who they are?” Bunting asked Sean.

Sean couldn’t seem to pull his gaze from the photos. “The lady is Ellen Foster from DHS. I don’t recognize the man.”

“Mason Quantrell, CEO of the Mercury Group.”

“They’re a big player in the intelligence field, right?” asked Sean.

“One of the biggest. And my chief competitor. Ever since the E-Program came on-line and supplanted what he was doing for the government, he’s been mostly relegated to low-hanging and far less valuable fruit. Though he still makes truckloads of money.”

“And that didn’t sit well with Mr. Quantrell, did it?” asked Paul.

“You know him?”

“Of him. He has a reputation for underperforming and overbilling. In most sectors that would lead to disaster. In the defense and intelligence-gathering world it simply gets you more of what you don’t deserve.”

“It’s not just about the money, it’s about the prestige. He doesn’t like playing second fiddle, getting my leftovers. He’s been after me ever since,” said Bunting. “His way is to throw a lot of expensive shit against the wall and see what sticks. No integration. No thought. God forbid any sharing of resources or results. With that philosophy it’s a wonder we only had one 9/11.”

Paul tapped the photo of Foster. “I knew Ellen Foster before she was Madame Secretary. You would be hard-pressed to find someone more ruthlessly ambitious. With the brains to match.”

Sean said, “But DHS? I thought it would be more likely CIA or NSA playing dirty games like this. DHS is homeland security. Are they that big on intelligence now?”

“They want to be the dominant player,” answered Bunting. “And they have the budget and manpower to accomplish that. Especially with someone like Foster at the helm. She’s a member of the Cabinet. The CIA director does the daily presidential briefings, but he’s not Cabinet level. Foster has figured out that she is in a prime position to take over the throne and run America’s intelligence empire. And she’s making a hard run to do just that. But the E-Program is based on integration among agencies and cooperation. That model does not fit into Foster’s plans.”

“And Quantrell?” asked Sean.

“Extremely capable and equally adept at playing all sides. He’s apparently riding Foster’s coattails on this one.” She gazed at Bunting. “The bodies in the barn?”

“I believe so, yes. Strongly believe, in fact.”

“Six bodies. Eddie was the first E-Six.”

Bunting grimaced. “Occurred to me too. Sick bastards’ idea of a joke.”

“The bodies were never identified,” noted Sean.

Bunting shrugged. “Easy enough to do. You wouldn’t believe the number of unidentifiable bodies floating around. Foster and Quantrell could get what they needed from multiple sources. Quantrell has assets all over Latin America, the Middle East, and Eastern Europe. Bodies are a dime a dozen in those places. You just ship them back.”

“But there was different dirt on the bodies,” said King. “That’s a red flag.”

“In an ordinary legal case, perhaps,” said Bunting impatiently. “This is not an ordinary legal case. I don’t envision any scenario where Edgar Roy goes on trial. They simply won’t let it happen. The dirt is irrelevant. Foster knows that.”

“And Eddie knows far too much,” added Paul. “Which begs the question of why my brother has been allowed to live this long.”

Sean looked at her in surprise at the unemotional way she was discussing her brother’s potential murder.

She noted his surprise and said, “If I had time to play the role of the ordinary sister, I would, Sean. I don’t.” She turned back to Bunting. “Why is he still alive?”

“My theory is that Foster is orchestrating this like some insane symphony. Every piece in its place. She wants to discredit the E-Program and destroy me. Your brother is an integral part of that, so he has to go too. But he has to go down in a way that will satisfy both Foster and the people she has to answer to.”

“Like the president?” commented Paul.

“Exactly. They framed him with the bodies in the barn to get him pulled off the E-Program. And I’m certain they’ve been feeding a pack of lies about me to the people who matter. Merely killing your brother is not enough. Now I have no doubt they plan to murder Edgar, I just don’t know when or how. Hell, they’ll probably try to blame that on me too, somehow. Bottom line is, I’ll be gone, the E-Program will be over, and a concept like that will never be revisited again. Then it’s business as usual. That’s their plan. And it’s actually a damn good one.”

“How long have you suspected their involvement?” asked Paul.

“I suspect everyone. But I didn’t seriously suspect them until recently. Frankly, though I know anything is possible in the intelligence field, even I didn’t think they’d go that far. I was wrong.”

“Foster needs political cover on this,” noted Paul.

“She’s been working that for some time. She’s managed to cut off all my critical sources of support. I know she also made a very recent trip to the White House. She probably painted me as the second coming of Attila the Hun. And I can almost guarantee that the discussion involved your brother.”

“And me, do you think?” Paul asked him.

“That I don’t know,” replied Bunting. “They know of your connection, obviously. And they may suspect that you wouldn’t just idly stand by while your brother is in such danger.”

Sean said, “And you visited your brother at Cutter’s. They have to know that.”

“I’m quite sure that Ellen Foster has built her political cover at the very highest level,” said Bunting. “She excels at stabbing people in the back. And chances are very good she’ll come out smelling like the proverbial rose.”

Sean said, “I worked on the federal side a long time. I know how dysfunctional it can be, but do you really think a Cabinet secretary is capable of something like this?”

Paul smiled wryly. “You were Secret Service, Sean. You were with the Mr. Cleans of the federal government. Peter and I play in a different neighborhood.”

Bunting nodded in agreement. “The intelligence side hoards its toys and scores the occasional triumph at the expense of a competing agency. They try to one-up each other every minute of every day. At least that’s how it worked ever since World War II.”

“And until you designed the E-Program and got them to sign off on it,” pointed out Paul.

Sean shook his head. “And Foster says to hell with the safety of the American people? Like you alluded to – what about another 9/11 happening?”

Bunting said, “Cost of doing business in their eyes, Sean. And blame can be deflected. You don’t reach for such lofty positions in life and not expect the power to come along with it. Believe me, I’ve met with both Foster and Quantrell recently. Their intentions could not have been clearer. And they’ve backed me right into a corner.”