David Baldacci - The Sixth Man

“I meant where are you going in your truck?”

“That would be none of your business.”

“Are you Southern girls always so rude?”

“Who says I’m from the South?”

“Please, I can tell from your accent.”

“Okay, I’m not trying to be rude. But I am an investigator looking into a series of murders. So when I say it’s none of your business, it’s just a polite way of telling you that it’s none of your business.”

Burke glanced down at Michelle’s waist. “Do you have to wear that thing around here?”

Michelle looked at her holstered pistol revealed through the opening in her coat. “Two people up here are dead. I would think you’d like someone with a gun around. Just in case the killer shows up here.”

Burke gasped and took a step back. “Why in the world would they do that? You’re just trying to scare an old woman. That’s not very nice.”

Since Burke did indeed look very frightened, Michelle sighed and said, “Maybe I was trying to scare you, but just because you got under my skin.”

“That was not my intent.”

“Sure it was,” she shot back.

At first Michelle thought Burke was going to launch into a tirade, but the old woman instead sat down in a chair, wrapping her sweater more tightly around her and said, “You’re right. It was.”

Michelle relaxed a notch. “Why?”

“You remind me a lot of my daughter. Well, when she was younger. Fiery, independent, her way or no way at all.”

“Okay.”

“We had our differences. We had our words.”

“Moms and daughters often do.”

“Are you close to your mother?”

Michelle hesitated. “I… was.”

Burke looked confused. “You were… Oh, yes, oh, I see, I’m sorry. Was it recent?”

“Recent enough, yeah.”

A few moments of silence lapsed. “So what happened to your daughter?” asked Michelle.

“She left to go to college. I just assumed she’d come back here. But she never did.”

“Where is she now?”

“Hawaii.”

“Long way away.”

“About as long as you can get and still be in America. I’m sure that was intentional on her part.”

“Do you ever see her?”

“No. It’s been decades now. It amazes me when I think about it. All those years. The time goes by so fast. She sends me pictures. I have three grandchildren. Before my husband died we had planned to fly out there and break the ice. But then he passed and… Well.”

“I think you should still go.”

She shook her head vigorously. “I think I would be too afraid. When my husband was alive he was the buffer. I could make the trip with him. But alone, no.”

“And not see your grandkids?”

“They don’t even know me.”

“But they will if you go out there.”

“I think it’s just too late.” She stood. “Well, you be careful out there. And I’ll leave some food for you in the fridge. And I’ll put on the coffee. You just have to turn it on.”

“I appreciate that.”

“And I’ll keep an eye on your young friend. She seems very withdrawn. Scared, even.”

“She’s under a lot of pressure.”

“When will Mr. King be back?”

“I’m not sure.”

“He’s very handsome.”

Michelle looked away. “Yes, I guess he is.”

“Are you two an item?”

Michelle did her best not to smile at this quaint term. “Maybe we are.”

“Then you should get married.”

“It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s only the people who make it complicated. Do you want to marry him?”

This question caught Michelle off guard. “What? I… I haven’t thought about it, really.”

Burke scrutinized her so closely that Michelle found her face growing warm.

“I see,” said Burke skeptically. “Well, good night.”

“Good night. And for what it’s worth, I think you should go see your daughter.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t get to see my mom again. I’ll always regret that. You have to take your chances when you have them.”

“Thank you, Michelle. I appreciate the advice.”

Michelle hurried outside, her thoughts now unfocused. A phone call was about to change all that.

“Hello?”

“Maxwell?”

“Who is this?”

“Murdock.”

“What’s up?”

“We need to meet.”

“Why?”

“About this case.”

“What about it?”

“Things you and your partner need to know. Things that I’ve found out.”

“Why are you suddenly playing nice?”

“Because I don’t know if I can trust anyone on my side.”

“That’s a hell of a statement coming from an FBI agent.”

“It’s a hell of a situation.”

“Where and when?”

“Ten o’clock. I’ll give you directions.”

She took down the information, started to walk to her truck but stopped.

This was all a little too fishy.

She pulled out her phone, called Sean. It didn’t go through.

“Crap!” She thought for a few moments and then called another number.

“Dobkin,” said the voice.

“Eric, it’s Michelle Maxwell. How would you like to provide me with a little backup tonight?”

CHAPTER

47

“THEY RECRUITED YOU?” exclaimed Sean.

Kelly Paul nodded. “Not to be the Analyst. I was smart, but my mental acuity did not come close to the level required.”

“What then?”

“They wanted me to run the program.”

“They? You mean Peter Bunting?”

She rose. “How about some coffee? I know a place close by where we can talk in private.”

It wasn’t a café or restaurant. It was a one-bedroom apartment three blocks off the park on a normal-looking residential street where little kids probably played on the sidewalk during good weather.

The inside was no more than what one needed to survive. It had a door with locks, a window, a kitchen, a bed, a TV, and a toilet. No paintings, no drapes, no plants; there was the original gray carpeting, eggshell white walls. A few pieces of furniture.

Paul made the coffee and brought two cups with sugar and cream into the living room. The decision to seek shelter had been a good one. The rain now lashed the window, and there were rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning.

Sean looked around the space while he sipped the hot coffee. “This yours?”

“Not just mine, no.”

“Shared facilities?”

“Everyone’s budget has been cut.”

“Must be nice to actually have a budget.”

She eyed him over the rim of her cup. “You would think.”

“We were talking about your recruitment. Bunting wanted to hire you?”

“Understand that the E-Program even seven years ago was not what it is today. It came on-line two years after 9/11. Since then it’s grown immeasurably both in fiscal appropriation and operational scope. Its budget is in the billions, and there’s not one intelligence arena it does not serve. That alone makes it totally unique. Well, my brother’s intellectual gifts made it even more special.”

“And he wanted you to run it. I’m sure you were more than capable, but wasn’t it his job to do that?”

“Bunting was expanding his business back then. He wanted to delegate. I’d had a very successful career. And to those in the field my successes were well known. I attracted his attention. We were contemporaries. Our philosophical identities weren’t so different. It would have made me a great deal of money and taken me out of what had become a very dangerous occupation. And it would free him up to pursue other business opportunities. On paper it seemed perfect.”

“On paper,” said Sean. “But not in practice?”