The Sixth Man (27 page)

“I thought you said you were going to protect me, but all you do is go off and I don’t hear anything until you come back.”

“Look, Megan, you have a point, but we’re doing the best we can with the limited resources we have. In fact, Sean is running down a lead now, but he sent me back here to keep an eye on you.”

“A lead where?”

“D.C., apparently.”

Megan sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry. I know you all are doing the best you can. It’s just…”

“Scary?”

“I didn’t really intend to do any criminal defense work when I came to work for Mr. Bergin. This case just got dropped in my lap.”

“But Sean is a terrific lawyer and he’s done lots of criminal cases.”

“But he’s not here right now. I’m trying to draft these motions but it’s not easy.”

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you there.”

“Murdock came by to see me again.”

“What the hell did he want?”

“He seemed particularly interested in what you and Sean were up to.”

“I bet.”

“It seems with every step we take we get farther away from the truth.”

Michelle said, “But then one little piece falls into place and it’s off to the races.”

“You can’t count on that happening.”

“We try to make our own luck.”

“I guess.”

“Get some sleep. And how about we grab some breakfast around nine? We can talk more then. But right now I need some sleep.”

“Okay, but I’m going to lock my door and then slide the bureau against it.”

“Not a bad idea, actually.”

Michelle left the room and headed to her own. She yawned and stretched some kinks out, and then became fully awake. There was someone moving downstairs. At first she thought it might be Mrs. Burke, but the elderly landlady undoubtedly would have turned on a light in her own inn. Michelle crouched low and slipped over to the staircase, her pistol out. She focused on the movements downstairs.

It actually took a lot of energy to tread quietly. One had to hold his position, shift, and balance at optimal points.

Young. Fit. Trained.

Definitely not Mrs. Burke.

“Maxwell? Is that you?”

“Dobkin?”

“If you have your gun out, put it away. I don’t want to get shot accidentally.”

“Then stop breaking into places in the middle of the night.”

“I have a key. And I’m the police. I’m allowed.”

She holstered her weapon and came down the steps.

“Over here.”

He stepped in front of a window where the moonlight was coming through. Eric Dobkin was in uniform and looked anxious.

“Where’s your partner?” he said. “Upstairs?”

“No, he went out of town. What’s up?”

“Have you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“They found Carla Dukes dead about an hour ago in her home.”

T
HE PILOT EASILY HANDLED
the swirling winds off the East River, and the plane touched down on the runway at LaGuardia right on time. Sean was one of the last passengers off but picked up his pace once he left the jetway and entered the airport. The man he was tailing was up ahead, walking at a leisurely pace. Sean slowed but kept him in sight. The flight attendant on the Bangor-to-New York leg had announced the number of their next gate, and the connecting passengers headed to it. They reached it; the flight was not yet up on the marquee because they had a three-hour layover before the short hop to Virginia.

Sean grabbed some coffee and an egg sandwich. He remembered something, reached in his pocket, and turned his phone on. He immediately saw that Michelle had called numerous times. He quickly phoned her.

When she heard his voice she said, “Thank God. I tried calling you before, but it wouldn’t go through. Lots to fill you in on.”

“Don’t tell me—someone else is dead,” he said in a joking tone.

“How the hell did you know that?”

Sean’s face fell. “What? I wasn’t being serious. Who is it?”

“Carla Dukes. Dobkin came by the inn a little while after I got back and told me.”

“In the middle of the night? Why would he do that?” Sean said suspiciously.

“I’m not sure. Maybe he thinks he still owes us for covering for his guys with Murdock. Whatever the case, she’s dead and they have no leads. The FBI is handling it.”

Sean sipped his coffee and bit off a chunk of his sandwich. There
had been no food service on either flight. He wasn’t sure when he had eaten last but it had been a while. The grease and fatty calories felt spectacular going down. “Did you tell Dobkin about what we saw last night?”

“What, are you drunk? Of course I didn’t. Not without talking to you first.”

Sean frowned. “I don’t want to get hit with an obstruction charge, but I’m also not ready to commit us to anything.”

“So we say nothing for now?”

“Right. Nothing.”

“If Dukes was killed because she talked to the guy you’re following, things might get really hairy really fast.”

“But if I can crack who he’s with, we might just take a giant leap forward.”

“You also might end up getting yourself killed. ”

“I’ll be careful. You watch out for yourself and Megan.”

“How are you going to follow him once you get into D.C.?”

Sean glanced across at a gift shop located a little down the concourse from his gate. “I think I see an answer. I’ll call you when I run this guy to his base.”

He clicked off, checked to make sure the fellow was still sitting and working on his laptop, and walked quickly to the gift shop. It took him a couple of minutes but he finally saw what he needed.

A toy fireman’s hat. And a small bottle of glue. He ducked into the bathroom, grabbed an empty stall, opened the box, and pried the piece of gold plastic off the front of the hat. He opened the glue, pulled out his private investigator’s credentials and, using the glue, he attached the plastic piece inside a leaf of his ID. He slipped it back in his pocket, discarded the box, the hat, and the glue in the trash can, washed his hands and face, and stepped back out.

The flight to Dulles Airport was on a Canadian Regional twin-engine jet operated by United Express. Sean got on ahead of the man he was following. He settled in the back in an aisle seat and opened a newspaper someone had left in the seat pocket. He alternated between reading the paper and eyeing his target as the man took off his jacket, folded it quite deliberately, placed it in the overhead bin, and sat down. He had his phone out and was talking to
someone, but there was no way for Sean to hear any part of the conversation. When the jet door closed and the flight attendants made their announcements about electronic devices, the man turned off his phone. A minute later the jet pushed back and the man gripped his armrest as they began to taxi to the runway.

Nervous flyer, thought Sean.

They lifted off into the airspace over New York City. They turned south, accelerating on the climb out, and once they hit their cruising altitude the onboard computer punched the throttles forward and they were soon soaring along at nearly 550 miles per hour.

Thirty minutes later they began their descent into Dulles through quite a bit of cloud cover. They raced along, fighting a decent headwind and changing altitudes. Sean watched the man’s right hand tighten on the armrest with every little interruption of the relatively smooth flight path.

The guy would never have cut it in the Secret Service, thought Sean.

They landed and taxied to the gate. The passengers deplaned and headed to the main terminal. They had come in through Terminal B, so they didn’t need to use the people movers that transported passengers to and from the more distant terminals.

Sean followed the guy down moving walkways and up and down escalators until they came out into the main terminal. When the guy headed to the baggage claim Sean knew what to expect next. The guy had had no baggage. He must be meeting his driver.

And so here comes the dicey part.

As they approached the baggage area, the limo drivers were lined up holding white placards with names written on them. Sean tensed when the man he was following pointed at one of the drivers. Sean eyed the sign the burly driver held.

Mr. Avery?

Sean followed them through the airport and out the exit. He eyed the Dulles Flyer taxi lines. Pretty full. He watched as Avery and the driver headed to the area across from the terminal where the car services routinely parked.

Sean made his move.

He butted in front of the people waiting in line for taxis. When
they complained and an airport employee whose job it was to get folks in and out of cabs approached, Sean pulled his ID and flashed his gold plastic badge and identification card. He did so quickly but confidently, giving none of them time to focus on it.

“FBI. I need to commandeer this taxi. I’ve got a suspect under surveillance.”

The people in line backed off when they glimpsed the badge, and the airport employee even held the door open for him.

“Go get him,” he told Sean.

Feeling a little guilty, Sean managed a smile. “I will.”

The cab headed off and Sean gave the driver instructions. They exited the airport and pulled in behind the Lincoln Town Car. He wrote down the license plate number just in case he might need it later. They drove along the Dulles Toll Road, which was also known as Silicon Valley East because of the large number of tech companies headquartered along it. There were also numerous defense contractors and companies working in the intelligence field located here, Sean knew. Several former Secret Service agents he’d worked with now made far more money on the private side toiling away at some of these for-profit outfits.

The car ahead turned off at an exit and proceeded west. The cab followed. When the Town Car pulled into an office complex, Sean told the taxi driver to stop. He got out and handed a twenty to the man, who refused to accept it.

“Just keep us safe,” the guy said before driving off.

A little embarrassed, Sean put the cash away and looked at the office building. He quickly discovered that it didn’t belong to simply one company. It housed a number of firms. That was problematic, but he had to keep going. You typically got only one true break on any case, and this might be it.

He watched as the Town Car driver headed off. Sean watched Avery walk into the building. He reached the lobby at about the time the elevator arrived to take Avery up. A quick glance allowed Sean to see that Avery was the only one in the car. There was a security guard in the lobby behind a marble console, and he glanced at Sean.

“Visitors sign in over here, sir.”

Sean walked over and pulled out his wallet. He dropped it and
took his time picking it back up and pushing some cards back into place in their respective slots. When he stood and turned he saw that the elevator carrying Avery had stopped on the sixth floor.

Then the car began to descend. Avery must’ve gotten off.

He turned to the guard.

“You may not believe this, but I’m from out of town and I’m a little lost.”

“It happens,” said the guard, though he didn’t look pleased by Sean’s confession.

“I’m looking for the Kryton Corporation. They’re supposed to be somewhere around here, but I think my secretary got the damn address wrong.”

The guard frowned. “Kryton? Never heard of them. I know they’re not in this building.”

“They’re on the sixth floor. That I do know.”

The guard was shaking his head. “Only company on the sixth floor here is BIC Corp.”

“BIC. Doesn’t sound anything like Kryton.”

“No, it sure doesn’t,” said the guard firmly.

“Kryton’s in the intelligence field. Government contractor.”

“So is just about every company in this area. All looking for Uncle Sam’s last dollar. That is to say, my last dollar as a taxpayer.”

Sean grinned. “I hear you loud and clear. Well, thanks.” He turned to leave but then said, “BIC. Is that like the pen?”

“No, Bunting International Corp.”

“Bunting? Wasn’t he a baseball player and then a senator?”

“That’s Jim Bunning you’re thinking of. From Kentucky. Retired now.”

Sensing the guard’s patience was coming to an end and his suspicions were heightening, he said, “Well, I better get going or I’m going to miss my meeting.” He pulled out his phone. “But right now I’m going to give my secretary hell.”

“Have a nice day, sir.”

Sean walked out the door and called Michelle. “We finally got a break,” he said triumphantly.