The Sixth Man (39 page)

Bunting was awake because he wasn’t normal. Harkes was awake because he was abnormal. And Ellen Foster was probably at her executive desk right now plotting with Mason Quantrell to utterly destroy Bunting.

His phone rang again. It was Avery again. This time he answered it.

Before the other man could speak, Bunting said, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“What? How did you know?”

“They didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“It’s complicated, Avery, very complicated.”

“Mr. Bunting, I think they were going to kill me.”

“There was no thinking about it, they were.”

“But why?”

“Edgar Roy. Carla Dukes. Mistakes, Avery, mistakes.”

“So why didn’t they do it then, kill me?”

Bunting leaned against a wall of his mansion. “Proving a point.”

“To who? Me?”

“Realistically speaking, Avery, you mean nothing to them. They were making the point to me.”

“To
you
? Were you there?”

“I was in the next room.”

“My God. Could you see what was happening to me?”

Bunting debated whether to lie or not. “No, I couldn’t. I only heard about it later.”
I’m so weak I can’t even tell him what I did.

“Things are really getting out of hand.”

“They’ve been out of hand for a while, Avery.”

“What can we do? Can you call somebody?”

“I’ve tried. They’re not listening, apparently.”

“But you’re Peter Bunting, for God’s sake.”

“I’m sorry to inform you, but that means jack shit to these folks.”

“If they come and get me, next time I don’t think I’ll be as lucky.”

“Neither will I.”

“They wouldn’t harm you, sir.”

Bunting felt like laughing. He felt like sliding down the gilded banister in the two-story foyer of his insanely expensive home screaming at the top of his lungs. Instead he quietly said, “You think?”

“Is it that bad?”

“I’m afraid so.”

He heard the other man sigh. “I can’t believe we have no one to turn to.”

The man’s words perked up something in Bunting’s tired mind.

“Sir, did you hear me?”

Bunting said, “I’ll call you back. Get some sleep. And keep your head down.”

He clicked off and looked at his phone.

Did he have someone to turn to?

Did he dare?

Hell, did he have a choice?

He went to his bedroom and lay down next to his wife. He put an arm protectively across her. He had made up his mind.

I’m not going down without a fight
.

“W
HAT ARE YOU
two doing here?”

Eric Dobkin was dressed in jeans, thick socks, and a cotton sweater as he stood in the doorway of his house.

Sean and Michelle looked back at him.

Sean said, “We need to talk.”

When Dobkin made no move to open the door farther Michelle said, “Can we come in, or do we do the powwow out in the cold?”

“It’s not that cold.”

“I grew up in Tennessee, Eric.
This
is like Antarctica to me.”

He motioned them in and then glanced behind the pair as he closed the door.

Michelle noted this observation. “We made sure we weren’t followed.”

“You guys are putting me in a pretty awkward situation,” said Dobkin sourly.

“Everyone’s in an awkward situation,” retorted Sean.

“And I thought you wanted to be in the loop with us,” added Michelle.

“In a limited way.”

“Doesn’t work that way,” said Sean.

“In for a dime, in for a dollar,” added Michelle.

“What do you want?”

Sean and Michelle sat on the couch in the front room. Dobkin remained standing.

Michelle asked, “Where’re your wife and the kids?”

“Out. I had today off, just catching up on a few things.”

“Well, we have a few things to catch up on too.”

“Like what?”

Sean said, “Just to confirm, the same gun killed both Bergin and Dukes?”

Dobkin sat down across from them and nodded. “.32 ACP.”

“Anything else new on the case?” asked Sean.

“MSP is just pulling support, like I said. FBI is running the show. And Megan Riley is getting some police protection.”

“We know,” said Michelle.

“You two could probably use some protection too. The shooter who killed Murdock was firing at you too, Michelle.”

“Trust me, I know. But protection would really cramp my style.”

“Who cares about your style if you’re dead?”

“Eric, if you help us break the case it’ll do great things for your career,” said Michelle.

“And if I stick my nose in and mess things up, it’ll mean the
end
of my career,” retorted Dobkin.

“I thought you Maine guys were made of hardy stuff,” she said.

“We’re also born with brains!”

“Then why don’t you start using yours?” she snapped.

He rose. “Look, I don’t have to listen to this crap. I covered your butt when Murdock went down. I emptied my clip at where those shots came from. And I gave you info I didn’t have to. So lay off me.”

Sean sat forward. “Okay, okay, you know what, you’re right.” He fell silent, letting Dobkin calm down and retake his seat. “For a change of pace, would you like us to fill you in?”

“I don’t know,” Dobkin said warily. “How bad is it?”

“So you
have
been thinking about the case?” Sean said.

“If I weren’t thinking about it I don’t deserve to be a cop.”

“Before we tell you what we know, what do you think is going on?” asked Michelle.

Dobkin rubbed his chin. “If I had to guess, and that’s all it would be, I’d say Roy must have some sort of government connection beyond the IRS. I mean why else would the FBI be all over this?”

Sean said, “Without confirming or denying that, I can tell you that it has a lot to do with national security. And that Roy is on
America’s side. And that those six bodies came along awfully conveniently.”

“You saying he was set up?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Can you prove it?”

“Working on it. But there are some heavy hitters on this. Real heavy. We encountered them down in New York and almost didn’t make it back to Maine.”

“What happened in New York?” asked Dobkin.

“Let’s just say we have seen the enemy and they play for keeps.”

Michelle added, “And they carry creds that would get them into just about any secure location in this country.”

Dobkin stared at her with an incredulous look. “Wait a minute. Are you saying the bad guys are
our
guys?”

“Well,” said Michelle, “it’s always been my philosophy that if they’re bad guys they can’t be our guys.”

Dobkin sat back and rubbed his thighs. “Look, I’m just a state trooper. I don’t know anything about stuff like this. I don’t know how the federal side works.”

“Or doesn’t work,” said Sean.

“So what do you want from me?” Dobkin said abruptly.

“We need to make sure if we need another gun you’ll be there.”

“Like you were for me the night Murdock was killed,” said Michelle.

“I don’t mind helping folks out. But the bottom line is I’m a cop. I can’t run around being a vigilante. They’d throw me out of the MSP.”

Sean said, “We’re not asking you to do anything like that. I’m just asking you to step up to the plate in case enemies of this country come to town looking to hurt America.”

“But you said our guys basically are the enemy. And you still haven’t given me any proof of that.”

“Like I said, we’re working on that. But we have limited resources and the other side has no such problem. So we’re here to ask for your help if we need it. And I promise not to ask for it unless we really need it because from what we’ve seen so far, it’s dangerous as hell.”

Dobkin studied the floor. When he looked up he said, “I’m not going to let anybody screw with my country without a fight.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” said Sean.

“Thanks, Eric,” added Michelle. “It means a lot.”

“So do you think you can really pull this off?”

“With a little luck and a little help from some friends,” said Sean.

E
LLEN
F
OSTER WALKED
down the hall as though she owned the place, nodding and smiling to people she knew. They all smiled back, for she was a Cabinet secretary and thus was owed substantial deference. While it was true that a person had never gone from being secretary of Homeland Security to the office of the president, there was something in Foster’s demeanor that hinted the woman believed she could be the first.

The Secret Service agent respectfully nodded to her and opened the door. She was not in the Oval Office that was used primarily for ceremonial purposes. She was instead in the president’s working chambers in the West Wing. This was where the real action took place.

The man himself rose to greet her. The only other person in the room was the president’s national security advisor, a bulky man with a perpetual scowl and a twenty-year-old comb-over. They all sat and engaged in some perfunctory pleasantries that none of them gave a damn about. Then they settled down to business. This was a hastily arranged meeting crammed between two others, so Foster knew her time was limited. She got to the point as soon as the president sat back, the cue for her to present her agenda.

“Mr. President. I hoped to be bringing you better news, but I’m sorry to have to inform you that the E-Program matter has become untenable.”

The president slid off his glasses and put them on the desk. He aimed a glance at his national security advisor, whose expression could hardly become any more melancholy. The notepad he was holding quivered slightly in his hands. He put it down on the table next to him and capped his pen. No notes of this.

“Give me the essential details, Ellen,” said the president.

When she finished, the president leaned back in his chair. “This is truly unbelievable.”

“I concur, sir,” said Foster smoothly. “It’s one reason that I kept requesting more control over the E-Program. Because of its
limited
success, Peter Bunting really has been given a free hand to operate. Oversight measures that would routinely be in place weren’t. It’s far more due to the relevant congressional bodies, Mr. President, than the executive side. But the situation has become fraught with risk for
everyone
.”

The president’s face flushed. “It’s a nightmare enough that our top analyst is sitting in Cutter’s Rock accused of six murders. I talked to Bunting directly about this. He assured me the situation was under control. That whatever happened with Edgar Roy would not affect the program’s ongoing viability.”

“I can’t speak for Mr. Bunting, of course, sir, but from what I’ve seen the situation could not be more out of control.”

“And now you’re telling me that you suspect Bunting of orchestrating a series of killings, including that of an FBI agent. My God.” He aimed another glance at his advisor, who sat with his hands in his lap but chose not to speak.

“I know it comes as a shock, sir,” said Foster. “As it did to me when I learned about it barely an hour ago. That’s why I requested this meeting. And to make matters even worse, we actually suspect him of involvement in a fifth death.”

Both men stared at her, waiting for an elaboration.

“There was an E-Program recruit named Sohan Sharma. He made it all the way to the Wall. He failed that test miserably and was supposedly discharged through the normal protocols.”

“But you suspect otherwise?” asked the president.

“Shortly after he failed the Wall, Sohan Sharma was killed in a car accident. I’ve seen the autopsy report. His neck was broken. But the ME suspects that Sharma was already dead when the accident occurred.”

“Meaning Bunting had him killed? Why?” asked the president.

“My sources tell me that Sharma was his last hope to find a suitable replacement for the outgoing Analyst. When Sharma failed, I
believe that Bunting simply snapped and had him killed. Bunting is under enormous pressure with the E-Program, sir. Another of its drawbacks. I really don’t think the man is stable.”