The Sixth Man (46 page)

“And Kelly Paul,” snapped Foster. “She has to be in the middle of all this. It’s her brother, after all.”

“And now we know Bunting was never at the hospital with his wife,” added Quantrell. “It was all a charade to draw us off.”

“And his family has gone into hiding,” said Harkes. “It was neatly done.”

Foster’s features hardened even more at this remark. “Neatly done? Why don’t you start applauding, Harkes, if you think so much of them?”

“Underestimating the opponent is the single most important error one can make, Secretary Foster. They are good. We have to acknowledge that. We simply have to be better.”

“So they have Roy,” said Quantrell. “What will they do with him? He knows nothing that can connect us to anything.”

“And since he’s an escaped prisoner,” added Harkes, “I’m not
sure how Bunting intends to use him. He can’t exactly put him back into the E-Program.”

“And if we can find him, and them…,” said Foster, her anger fading as she refocused on the problem.

“And tie it all together,” added Quantrell, “then we can still accomplish every goal we had. Roy will be dead, Bunting blamed for it all. The E-Program over and never to return.”

Foster rose and paced the room. “And with this latest development I received something this morning that might make our job easier.”

“What’s that?” asked Quantrell.

“Explicit approval from the president to take whatever means necessary to rectify this situation.”

“Any means?” asked Harkes sharply. “From the president?”

She looked at him. “Any. So I think you have your work cut out for you, Harkes.”

He looked at Quantrell and then returned his gaze to Foster. “Then I’m to be given the lead on this?”

“Are you not up to the task?” she snapped.

“I just want verification that we will do things my way.”

Quantrell said, “I have no problem with that. My men screwed up, obviously. But your reputation precedes you, Harkes.”

Harkes said, “Are you okay with that, Madame Secretary?”

“I want you to take care of it, Harkes, that’s all. Using whatever means you choose.”

“And who do you want standing at the end?” he asked.

Foster looked surprised. “I’m not sure I want any of them standing at the end. Why would I?”

“Again, I just like to be as explicit as possible in situations like this.”

She drew closer to him and leaned in. “Then here are your explicit instructions, Harkes. Edgar Roy, dead. Peter Bunting, dead. Kelly Paul, dead. Michelle Maxwell, dead. Sean King, dead. Is that precise enough for you?”

“Yes.”

She straightened and looked at Quantrell. “If that’s all, Mason, I’d like a private moment with Harkes. We have some unfinished business on an unrelated matter.”

After Quantrell left, Foster perched on the edge of the table next to Harkes.

“The other night did not please me. Your behavior was beyond ridiculous.”

“I can tell you believe that,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I could say that your behavior was actually the ridiculous one, but I doubt it would make an impression on you.”

“I’m not used to rejection at any level.”

“I can tell that too.”

“I can make your life a living hell.”

“Yes you can.”

“And on the other hand I can make it the exact opposite of a living hell.”

“I’m not a whore, Madame Secretary.”

“You are what I want you to be,” she corrected him. “So how do you want this to play out?”

“I have a mission. I will carry it out.”

“And after that?”

“After what?”

She slid one long nail across his hand. “I want you, Harkes. And I get what I want. It’s just that simple.”

He looked up at her. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You could have an ambassador. A senator. A rich Wall Street asshole. Anybody, really. So why me? What am I to you?”

“I’ve had all those types. It’s like ice cream. Now I crave something different.”

She leaned in closer. “So when this is over you will continue to work for me in any way I choose. Is that understood?”

“Understood.”

She ran a hand along his cheek. “Wonderful. Now go do what needs to be done.”

“I will,” he said.

“S
IR, IT’S HIM
. On the phone!”

Mason Quantrell’s secretary was standing in front of him in his office suite in northern Virginia.

Quantrell looked up from his work. “Who?”

“Peter Bunting.”

Quantrell forgot all about what he was doing. “Bunting? Calling me?”

“Line one.”

“Notify security and tell them to trace the call.”

“Yes, sir.” She hurried out.

Quantrell paused, staring down at the blinking light. Then he snatched it up. “Hello?”

Bunting said pleasantly, “Hello, Mason. I know your tech guys are trying to trace this. You can let them go through the motions if you want. You never could break my pipeline, mainly because your hardware is cheap crap that you sell to the Pentagon for fifty times what it’s worth, but I’ll still keep it brief.”

“Where is Edgar Roy, Bunting?”

“Funny you should ask, Mason. I know that was quite a curve we threw you when your boys got ambushed.”

“Don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Right, right, just in case I’m sitting at the Hoover Building and they’re recording this call.”

“I doubt you’d get anywhere near Hoover without being arrested. You’re in serious trouble, my friend.”

“You think so? Well, not nearly as serious as you are.”

“You never did lie well, Pete.”

“It was a blunder, you know.”

“What was?”

“The team you used to extract Roy. How in the hell did you forget about the surveillance cameras at Cutter’s?”

Quantrell felt his gut tighten just a notch. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Surveillance cameras, Mason. You get the concept, right? They
see
things.”

“I… I understood from the news reports that the power was knocked out as part of the escape plan.” He added in a loud voice, “A plan that
you
hatched.”

“But Cutter’s is a very special federal facility. And Maine is a very green state.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Didn’t you ever notice the solar panels, Mason?”

Quantrell remained silent.

“Or have you never personally been to Cutter’s? Maybe you just let your lackeys do all the recon. Well, they have the diesel backup generator but they also have solar backup. It’s not all that powerful. Can’t run the facility. Can’t even power the fence. But it can run the cameras for up to twenty-four hours.”

“Solar backup?” Quantrell said slowly.

“So they got really good pictures of all of your guys. Really good ones. Even in their fake FBI gear the images were very revealing.”

“You’re not going to spin this, Bunting,” said Quantrell, but his voice was weak.

“What I’m trying to do, Mason, is give you an out.”

Quantrell had to laugh. “Not that I need an out, but why the hell would you do that?”

“Two of the guys caught on the cameras were identified as having worked for you in the past, Mason. The recent past. Were you that hard up for hired help that you couldn’t send in sterilized personnel? I mean, I know you have the director in your pocket, but it’s the little details that are the most important. So you blew it on two fronts: camera oversight and using traceable goons.”

“I don’t believe a word of what you’re telling me.”

“I don’t blame you, actually.”

Quantrell looked up as a man appeared in his office doorway. It was his head of security. He was shaking his head, his features edged with failure.

Quantrell dismissed him with a sharp wave of his hand.

“Mason, are you still with me? Did your security guy just report back failure to you?”

Quantrell almost knocked his chair over as he jumped up and looked wildly around his office for a set of eyes, electronic or human, peering at him from somewhere.

“Calm down, Mason. Just calm down. I can’t see you. I just know you. I know you very well. You’re predictable with a capital P.”

“What the hell game are you playing, Bunting?” Quantrell yelled into the phone.

“No game, Mason. But it’s obvious you have no interest in what I have to say. Now when Foster’s men come to arrest you, what are you going to do?”

Quantrell’s gut clenched so hard this time, he nearly doubled over. “Foster?”

“Did you really think you were going to walk away on equal terms with her? She’s way too smart for that.”

Quantrell slumped in his chair. “What are you getting at?”

“It was your guys who did all the heavy lifting, am I right? Planted the six bodies in Edgar’s barn. Killed Murdock, Dukes—”

“Now wait just a minute.”

“She played you, Mason. And now it’s unraveling, so she’s activated her survival plan. She’s going to wipe the floor with you. Poor, trusting Cabinet secretary and sleazy defense contractor. Don’t feel bad. It’s not that original. It’s the same trap you laid for me. At least I was nimble enough to get the hell out of town. You, on the other hand, are sitting in your big, fancy office with a bull’s-eye on your head.”

“You… there is no proof. I can… I have friends. Allies.”

“Yeah, I thought I had them, too. That is, before Foster turned them all against me. Which is what she’s probably doing to you right now. And you know how persuasive the lady can be. I wonder if she’s met with the president yet to update him on your treachery?”

“What treachery?” Quantrell snapped.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? The memory cards from the surveillance cameras were delivered to her this morning along with a detailed report of what they represent. You see, I had a secret asset still at Cutter’s who came through for me in the clutch. Just call it a nice present from me. It’ll be more than enough for an indictment. Your business will be disqualified from performing any more government work, and since that’s all you do, you have no more business. But you won’t care. You’ll be in a federal cage where big, tough guys with time on their hands will want to get to know you very well.”

“But I can take that bitch Foster down. I can—I know things—”

“She’s too smart for that, Mason. He said, she said. And she’s a Cabinet secretary, and your reputation proceeds you. And it’s not a good one. Why do you think she chose you to work with, you moron?”

The blood slowly drained from Quantrell’s face as this all sank in. He licked his lips and said slowly, “You spoke about an out.”

“Yeah, I did. Want to hear it?”

Quantrell coughed, trying to clear his suddenly dry throat. He croaked, “Yes, I do.”

“Good. Sit tight and I’ll get back to you.”

Quantrell screamed into the phone, but Bunting had already clicked off.

I
T WAS A FUND-RAISING GALA
at Lincoln Center. The stars were out from both coasts. Peter Bunting’s wife was on the Lincoln board and had helped spearhead the event. She was not here tonight because of her recent illness, but she had found someone who could use her comp ticket.

Kelly Paul, tall and regal, and wearing a long gown with her hair tucked up except for a few dangling strands, walked along one of the corridors of the Center, a glass of Bordeaux in hand. People stared and commented on her, though they didn’t know who she was.

Paul was here for only one reason. And she had finally spotted it.

Or, more accurately, spotted
her
.

Ellen Foster did not look very comfortable. It was not just the problem of Edgar Roy weighing on her mind. It was a matter of being at an event where she was far from the center of attention. Her public fame was limited, though she had more public power than anyone in the building. But that didn’t seem to matter when a gaggle of guests nearly ran over you in their quest to corner the latest Hollywood or singing sensation.

Foster walked along with a glass of champagne in hand, stealthily looking for anyone who might recognize her so she could do a bit of preening. Failing to find anyone interested in her, Foster decided to visit the ladies’ room.