I can about such people.”
“How do we get to him?” asked Sean.
“Actually, I believe he’ll get to us,” replied Paul.
CHAPTER
61
BUNTING’S WIFE WAS WEARING the new sexy lingerie when he got home at three a.m. She had long since fallen asleep, and he had chosen not to wake her. With Harkes’s permission he had earlier texted her so she wouldn’t be worried and call the police. He passed through the bedroom where she slept and into the bathroom, where he cleaned up his face. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw the reflection of a man who had fallen a long way in a short time.
He took some ice from the minibar and held it against the nasty bruise on his head while he sat fully dressed in his walk-in closet. His phone would ring from time to time. He would glance at the screen. Three times it was Avery. He never answered it.
What would he say?
Sorry, Avery, I chickened out and sacrificed you and it’s only by the grace of God and the unfathomable tactics of the assholes I’m involved with that you’re not dead.
He had stood in the doorways of each of his kids’ bedrooms. They were lavish spaces, far beyond what any child, no matter how affluent, needed or probably even cared for. He was thrilled his kids were in New Jersey. But realistically they wouldn’t be any safer there. Harkes could reach them anywhere.
He walked back to his closet, sat in the chair there, and thought about it. Foster and Quantrell had him cornered right now. But what was the endgame here? Edgar Roy was still sitting in that prison; the E-Program was still operating, albeit at a slower pace. If Edgar were proved innocent, all would be right with Bunting’s world. But Foster and certainly Quantrell didn’t want that. They wanted to scrap the E-Program. Bunting understood now that there was only one way to guarantee that would happen.
He slipped off his tie and his jacket, kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks. He trudged into the bedroom and stood next to the sleigh bed. It had been imported from France and was made of some kind of unique leather and antique wood. He couldn’t remember the names. It had such a huge footprint that he and his wife almost needed a GPS to find one another within its confines. He watched the rise and fall of her chest. No trophy wife was she. His kids were her kids. They had so much. They had it good. No, they had it great.
But I’ve really got nothing because it can all be taken away. I can be taken away. Which means she has nothing. Which means my kids have nothing.
He kept imagining James Harkes coming through the door with knife and gun in hand and his wife and kids defenseless against him.
Bunting spent another hour wandering his New York City mansion. He passed the maid’s room, the chef’s quarters. The driver didn’t live on the premises. A second maid did. They had a nanny, too. She was asleep. Like all normal people, she would be at this hour.
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.
CHAPTER
62
“WHAT 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 car
eer,” 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.
CHAPTER
63
ELLEN FOSTER 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.”