The Sixth Man (34 page)

Sean heard it first, a long, low whistle that sounded like some tune Sean couldn’t place at the moment. He turned to find its source. Kelly Paul was against the wall, her face turned away from her brother. Sean whipped back around to Roy. The whistle had come right when Roy had been looking down, so his eyes could not be seen. Sean thought he noted the slightest flinch in Roy’s shoulder. They seated him behind the glass, locked him down to the floor ring. The guards slammed the door shut on the way out. Roy sat there, legs splayed out, face to the ceiling. Eyes fixed on that damn spot. As always.

Except for that flinch, thought Sean.

The whistled tune came again. Once again Sean turned. This time so did Michelle.

Kelly Paul was now facing her brother.

“Hello, Eddie, it’s good to see you,” she said, her voice calm, her smile genuine.

She walked toward him, curved around the glass wall, and stood in front of him. She did not bend down. In fact she seemed to be standing as tall as she could. Her hands came up to her chest.

Sean’s gaze flitted around the room and then, behind him, he saw it and wondered why he hadn’t before. A slight imperfection in the wall, up high. The camera lens was pointed right at the wall of glass, the chair. The prisoner. But now Paul was blocking its view of her brother.

Sean moved forward, skirted the glass wall, and came around to stand facing Paul. Now he understood why she had stood as tall as possible. The message she was holding was aligned perfectly with her brother’s angle of sight. She had written it in large block letters with a pencil.

I KNOW. E. BUNTING. FRAMED. SUSPICIONS?

Roy made no visible reaction to this, but as Sean glanced down at him, he could see that his eyes had finally come to life and that the tiniest fraction of a smile tugged at his lips as his image was safely shielded from the camera by his sister’s bulk.

The zombie, it seemed, had just arisen.

Paul started tapping her finger against the paper. She did it almost silently, but slowly and methodically. At first Sean couldn’t understand what she was doing. But then it finally hit him.

She’s communicating with him via Morse code.

And then another noise arose. Sean glanced down. Roy was tapping against his leg. He was answering her. She tapped her response back.

Edgar Roy’s gaze returned to the spot on the ceiling.

Paul crumpled the paper, put it in her mouth, and swallowed it.

As they walked out Sean whispered to Paul, “What was that about?”

“I gave him details and asked him to analyze them.”

“What did he code back to you?”

“He wanted to know if I had told Bergin about the E-Program. I told him I hadn’t.”

“What do we do now?”

“Now we go on the attack,” replied Paul.

“How?”

“I’ll tell you exactly how, because you and Michelle will be the tip of the spear.”

“Is Bunting behind all this?”

“We’re going to find out.”

Roy was returned to his cell. Once there he immediately turned away from the camera so he could at least close his eyes. He was tired, but the visit had lifted his spirits considerably.

His sister had come. He had always thought that she would. Her message had made it clear that she understood his situation. And she had told him quite a bit more using Morse code. She’d taught him the code when he was a child.

He opened his eyes and stared at the blank block wall across from him. It was painted yellow for some reason. Perhaps they thought the color soothing to the inmates here, as if a mere color could overcome what being here clearly meant.

Ted Bergin, Hilary Cunningham, Carla Dukes, Brandon Murdock, all dead. Think about a pattern there.

That was what his sister had asked him to do.

And so he did, dutifully. He turned over every possible combination in his mind.

Bergin and Dukes up close with a handgun. Cunningham killed and her body moved to Bergin’s place. Murdock from a long distance with a rifle. Who had motive? Who had opportunity?

Roy’s mind powered through the possibilities at a pace that would have been astonishing to anyone who could have somehow witnessed the execution of his thought process, the speed with which he considered and then rejected possibilities that ordinary people would have muddled over for months.

His mind slowed down, his factual base exhausted. He had not been given much to work with, but for him it had been enough. He had not detected a
single
pattern.

He had detected four. But he had no way to let his sister know this. He might never see her again.

L
ED BY AN ARMED ESCORT,
Bunting walked down the halls of the new DHS headquarters in D.C. It was a sprawling complex whose true price tag had never been revealed because it was classified. That essentially meant one had a license to print money, Bunting knew.

He was ushered into the room, and the door was closed and automatically locked behind him. He looked around the empty room and wondered if he’d been shown into the wrong space. He stopped wondering when Mason Quantrell and Ellen Foster stepped through from an adjoining room.

“Sit, Peter, this shouldn’t take long,” said Foster.

She opened a laptop that rested in front of the chair she took while Quantrell sat beside her. He smiled at Bunting. “How goes it, Pete?”

Bunting ignored him and said to Foster, “Secretary Foster. Again, I have to tell you that I’m extremely uncomfortable with having my chief competitor in the room during a confidential discussion.”

She said demurely, “Peter, we have no secrets from each other, do we?”

“Actually we do. I employ a large number of people who perform very specialized work using procedures, protocols, proprietary soft- and hardware, algorithms, and the like that I have spent years and a great deal of money creating.” He glanced at Quantrell, who continued to stare at him with what appeared to be an amused expression, making Bunting want to reach across the table and strangle him.

Quantrell said, “Well, Pete, under the current structure with the E-Program, all of
your
competitors have to send off their data collections for your use. I spent a lot of money putting my business together, too. But I share.”

On the contrary, Bunting knew that Quantrell had made only a pretense of doing this over the years and was still collecting his government check. He had simply been waiting for any chance to take Bunting down. And it was clear he thought he had one now.

“Well, Mason, I’m sure if you’d been the one to come up with the E-Program you’d be smart enough to know it’s far better than the way we all used to operate in the Dark Ages. That was when you were top dog on the private-sector side and everybody was going in a hundred different directions at once. You know, when 9/11 happened?”

Quantrell’s patronizing smile faded and he snarled, “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, you little prick.”

“Okay, boys, we don’t have time for schoolyard posturing,” Foster admonished.

Bunting sat across from them and waited expectantly.

Foster entered her password and tapped some computer keys, read the information revealed on the screen, and showed it to Quantrell. He glanced over at Bunting and nodded.

If they were trying to intimidate him, thought Bunting, they were doing a spectacular job of it. But his face remained unreadable. He could play this game, too.

“Do we have an agenda?” he asked. “For the meeting?”

Foster motioned for him to wait just a moment while it appeared she was sending an e-mail. She closed the laptop and looked up at him.

“I do appreciate your meeting on such short notice, Peter.”

“Certainly, whatever I can do,” replied Bunting grudgingly.

She placed her elbows on the table. “I have one pertinent question and I’d like an honest reply.”

Bunting gazed blankly at her. “I hope that you believe I am always honest with you.”

“As it turns out, the question isn’t that difficult, but the answer may well be.” She paused. “Did you have Edgar Roy’s lawyer, Ted
Bergin; his secretary, Hilary Cunningham; the director of Cutter’s Rock, Carla Dukes; and FBI Special Agent Brandon Murdock murdered?”

Bunting’s brain momentarily shut down. Then he literally shouted, “Of course I didn’t! I can’t believe you’d even ask the question.”

“Please calm down. Now do you know who did kill them? If so, we really need to know.”

“I don’t have people murdered. I have no idea who did it.”

“Bluster won’t work. Do you know who killed them?” she asked again.

Bunting eyed Quantrell. “Why is he here?”

“Because I asked him to be here. In fact, he’s been quite helpful in piecing some things together for DHS.”

Bunting put a hand on the table to steady himself. “What sort of things?”

“Let’s just say that Mr. Quantrell’s people have done some digging and uncovered some interesting facts.”

“Such as?” demanded Bunting.

“Not prepared to discuss them with you right now.”

“If you’re making accusations, I think I have every right to know what they’re based on.” He shot a furious glance at Quantrell. “Particularly if this guy is involved. He’d kill his own mother to win back the business I took from him because I was smarter than he was.”

Quantrell rose and looked as though he was about to leap over the table at Bunting.

Foster put a restraining hand on his arm and eyed Bunting with contempt. “One more remark like that, Peter, and you’ll force me to take action I don’t really want to take right now.”

“I want the record to reflect that anything this man has told you about me is tainted by the fact that he wants to destroy the E-Program.”

“Willing to take a lie detector test?” inquired Foster.

“I’m not a suspect in the investigation.”

“So that’s a no?” asked Quantrell.

“Yes, that’s a no,” Bunting snapped.

Quantrell smiled and glanced at Foster and shook his head.

She said, “Peter, I hope you realize the serious trouble that you’re in.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Madame Secretary, I really don’t.”

If they had had a heart monitor on Bunting right now, they probably would have rushed him to the emergency room. But then again, he thought, these two assholes might just let him die right on the floor.

“Last chance, Bunting,” advised Quantrell.

“Last chance for what? To sit here and confess to crimes I didn’t commit?” he snapped. “And you, Mason, have no right to demand anything of me, so stop acting like you’re the FBI. It’s pathetic.”

Foster said, “That’s actually not true.”

“Excuse me?” said Bunting warily.

“You know that the private- and public-sector lines have become increasingly blurred over time. Mr. Quantrell’s company has been tasked with uncovering corruption and illegalities in the intelligence arena. For that purpose certain governmental authority has been given to him and his people.”

Bunting stared at Quantrell in disbelief. “Is this like the idiot mercenaries in the Middle East who shot first and asked questions later? That was a stunning triumph for America’s global reputation.”

“It is what it is,” said Foster. “And who else would have had a motive to kill those people? Is it that they had found out about the E-Program?”

“
Your
program,” amended Quantrell. “The one you keep throwing in the rest of our faces.”

“Where exactly is all of this coming from?” asked Bunting.

Foster said, “I’ll tell you. It’s
exactly
coming from the FBI director. He asked me questions, Peter, questions I was duty-bound to answer. As a result, I’m afraid that you are now a suspect.”

“I see,” said Bunting coldly. “What exactly did you tell the director?”

“I’m sorry. I really can’t say.”

“So I’m a suspect but you can’t tell me why?”

“It’s really out of my hands. I actually tried to protect you.”

Like hell you did.
“There’s no proof that I’ve done anything wrong,” said Bunting.

“Well, I’m sure the FBI is working on that right now,” replied Foster.

Bunting digested all of this and said, “Is that all?”

“I suppose it is,” said Foster.

Bunting rose. “Then I better get back to doing my job.”

“While you can,” said Quantrell.

Bunting said, “Six bodies in the barn. Interesting number.”

Quantrell and Foster stared back at him impassively.

“Six bodies. The E-Six Program? If I didn’t know better I’d think someone was playing a sick joke on me.”

As Bunting turned to go, Foster said, “Peter, if by some miracle you are innocent I hope you make it through this in one piece.”

He turned to face her. “I wish the same for you, Madame Secretary,” he said.