Total Control

hung up on her father. She barely made it to the kitchen sink. The nausea made her dizzy. She poured cold water over her neck and forehead.

She managed to stumble back to the kitchen table, where she sobbed for some minutes. She had never felt such hopelessness. Then a sudden emotion invaded her body. Anger. She raced to her bedroom, threw on some clothes and two minutes later opened the door of the Ford Explorer. "Shit." The mail tumbled out and she bent down automatically to retrieve it. Her hands quickly sorted through the fallen pieces until she abruptly stopped as her fingers closed around the package addressed to Jason Archer. Her husband's handwriting on the package made her legs wobble. She could feel the slender object inside. She looked at the postmark. It had been sent i}from Seattle on the very day Jason had left for the airport. She involuntarily shuddered. Her husband had many mailing packs like this in his home office. They were specifically designed to send computer disks safely through the mail. She did not have time to think about this latest development. She threw the mail back in the truck, climbed in and roared off.

Thirty minutes later, a disheveled Sidney Archer, escorted by Richard Lucas, entered Nathan Gamble's office. Right behind them was an astonished Quentin Rowe. Sidney marched right up to Gamble's desk and tossed the Post in his lap.

"I hope to hell you have some really good defamation attorneys."

Her intense fury made Lucas step hastily forward until Gamble waved him off. The Triton chief gingerly picked up the paper and glanced down at the story. Then he looked up at her. "I didn't write this."

"The hell you didn't."

Gamble put out his cigarette and stood up. "Excuse me, but why am I thinking that I should be the one who's pissed off?"

"My husband blowing up planes, selling secrets, ripping you off.

It's a pack of lies and you know it."

Gamble stormed around the desk to face her. "Let me tell you what I know, lady. I'm out a ton of cash, that's a fact. And your husband gave RTG everything it needs to bury my company. That's also a fact. What am I supposed to do, give you a goddamned medal?"

"It's not true."

"Oh, yeah!" Gamble wheeled a chair around. "Sit down!"

Gamble unlocked a drawer in his desk, pulled out a videotape and tossed it over to Lucas. Then he hit a button on his desk console and part of the wall moved back, revealing a large TV and VCR combination unit. While Lucas popped the tape in, Sidney, her legs shaking, sank into the chair. She looked over at Quentin Rowe, who stood stock-still in the corner of the office, his wide eyes glued to her. She nervously licked her lips and turned to the TV.

Her heart almost stopped beating when she saw her husband.

Having only heard his voice ever since that horrible day, she felt as though he had been gone forever. At first she fixated on his fluid movements, so familiar to her. Then she focused on his face and gasped. She had never seen her husband more nervous, under more strain. The briefcase handed across, the plane roaring overhead, the smiles of the men, the papers examined, all of these things were in the background for her, far in the background; she kept her eyes on Jason. Her eyes drifted to the time and date stamp and her heart took another jolt when the significance of those numbers hit her.

When the tape went dark, she turned to find all eyes in the room on her.

"That exchange took place in an RTG facility in Seattle long after that plane went into the ground." Gamble stood behind her. "Now if you still want to sue me for defamation, go right ahead. Of course, if we lose CyberCom you might have trouble collecting any money," he added grimly.

Sidney stood up. Gamble reached behind his desk. "Here's your paper." He tossed it to her. Although she could barely stand, she managed to catch it neatly. In another moment she had fled the room.

Sidney pulled into her garage and listened to the door winding its way back down. Her limbs quivering and lungs expunging air heavily laced with sobs every few seconds, she gripped the newspaper.

When it fell open, revealing the bottom half of the front page, Sidney Archer received yet another shock. This one contained a distinct element of uncontrollable dread.

The man's photo was some years old, but there was no mistaking the face. His name was now revealed to her: Edward Page. He had been a local private detective for five years after spending ten years in New York City as a police officer. He had worked solo, his firm bearing the name Private Solutions, the story stated. Page had been the victim of a fatal robbery at a National Airport parking lot. Divorced, he left behind two teenage children, the paper reported.

The familiar eyes stared at her from the depths of the page, and a chill went through her body. It was more obvious to her than to anyone else, other than Page's killer, that his death was not the result of a search for cash and credit cards. A few minutes after talking to her, the man was dead. She would have to be damn foolish to dismiss his death as a coincidence. She jumped out of the truck and raced into the house.

She took out the gleaming silver metal Smith & Wesson Slim-Nine she had kept locked in the metal box in the bedroom closet and quickly loaded it. The Hydra-Shok hollowpoints would be highly effective against anyone wishing to perpetrate a deadly attack.

She checked her wallet. Her concealed-weapon permit was still valid.

When she reached up to return the box to the top of the closet, the pistol slipped out of her pocket and hit the nightstand before settling on the carpeted floor. Thank God she'd had the safety on.

As she picked it up, she noted that a small corner of the hard plastic grip had broken off from the impact, but everything else was intact.

Pistol in hand, she returned to the garage and climbed back into the Ford.

She suddenly froze. A sound floated toward her from inside her house. She flipped off the pistol's safety, keeping one eye and the barrel of the Smith & Wesson on the door leading back into the house. With her free hand she struggled with her car keys. One of the keys slid across her finger, gashing it. She hit the garage door opener clipped to the truck's sun visor. Her heart pounded while she waited for the damn door to finish its agonizingly slow ascent. She kept her eyes glued to the door to the house, expecting any moment for it to burst open.





Her mind darted back to the news story detailing Edward Page's demise. Two teenagers left behind. Her features grew deadly in their own right. She was not leaving her little girl behind. Her grip tightened on the butt of the pistol. She hit a button on the driver's-side armrest and the passenger window slid down. Now she would have an unobstructed firing line at the door leading into the house. She had never used her weapon on anything other than shooting range targets. But she was going to do her best to kill whoever was about to come through that door.

She did not notice the man bending low to come through the garage door as it was opening. He stepped quickly to the driver's-side door, pistol drawn. At that instant, the door from the house into the garage started to open. Sidney's grip tightened even more on her weapon until the veins rode high on her hands. Her finger started to descend on the trigger.

"Jesus Christ, lady! Put it down. Now!" The man next to the car yelled, his pistol pointed right at the driver's window and through it to Sidney's left temple.

Sidney whirled around in the car and found herself eye to eye with Agent Ray Jackson. Suddenly the house door to the garage was thrown open and crashed against the wall. Sidney jerked her head back in that direction and watched the massive bulk of Lee Sawyer hurtle through the door, his arm making wide arcs in the direction of the vehicles. Sidney slumped back in her seat, sweat streaming off her forehead.

Ray Jackson, gun still in hand, threw open the door of the Explorer and eyed both Sidney Archer and the gun that had almost taken a considerable hole out of his partner. "Are you crazy?" He leaned across her lap and snatched away the pistol, flipping on the safety. Sidney made no move to stop him, but fury suddenly sprawled across her features. "What are you doing, breaking into my house? I could have shot you."

Lee Sawyer slipped his pistol back into his belt holster and moved over to the Ford.

"Front door was open, Ms. Archer. We thought something might be wrong when you didn't answer our knock." His frankness made the fury evaporate as quickly as it had surfaced. She had left the front door open when she had raced inside to answer the phone call from her father. She put her head down on the steering wheel. She struggled not to be sick. Her entire body was soaked with perspiration.

She shivered as a chilly wind invaded the garage from the open door.

"Going somewhere?" Sawyer eyed the Ford and then rested his gaze on the woman who sat back up dejectedly.

"Just for a drive." Her voice was weak. She did not look at him.

She ran her hands over the steering wheel. The sweat from her palms glistened on the padded surface.

Sawyer looked over at the stack of mail on the passenger seat.

"You always carry your mail in your car?"

Sidney followed his stare. "I don't know how it got here. Maybe my father put it there before he left."

"That's right. Right after you left. How was New Orleans, by the way? You have a good time?"

Sidney stared dully at the man.

Sawyer placed one hand firmly under her elbow. "Let's go have a chat, Ms. Archer."

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Before exiting the car, Sidney carefully gathered up the mail and slid the Post under her arm. Out of the agents' sight she slipped the disk into her jacket pocket. Climbing out of the car, she eyed the pistol Jackson had abruptly confiscated. "I have a concealed weapons permit for that." Sidney handed over the authorization.

"Mind if I unload it before I give it back?"

"If it'll make you feel safer," she said, hitting the button on the garage door opener, closing the door of the Ford and heading toward the house. "Just make sure you leave the bullets."

Jackson stared after her, amazement on his features. The two FBI agents followed her into the house.

"Would you like coffee? Something to eat? It's still pretty early."

These last words Sidney said in an accusatory fashion.

"Coffee would be fine," Sawyer answered, ignoring her tone. Jackson nodded his assent.

While Sidney poured out three cups of coffee, Sawyer methodically looked her over. Her unwashed blond hair hung limply around her face, which bore no makeup and was more drawn and haggard than the last time he had been here. Her clothes hung loosely on her tall frame. Her green eyes were as bewitching as usual, however. He picked up on the slight shake in her hands while she handled the coffeepot. She was clearly on the edge. He had to grudgingly admire how she was holding up under a nightmare that seemed to metastasize with every passing day. But then everybody had limits. He expected to learn Sidney Archer's before it was all over.

Sidney placed the cups of coffee on a tray with sugar and creamer.

She reached into the breadbox and pulled out an assortment of doughnuts and muffins. She loaded the tray and placed it in the middle of the kitchen table. While the agents helped themselves, she took out some Rolaids and slowly crunched them.

"Good doughnut. Thanks. By the way, you usually carry a gun with you?" Sawyer looked at her expectantly.

"There have been some break-ins nearby. I've received professional instruction on how to use it. Besides, I'm no stranger to guns.

My dad and oldest brother, Kenny, were in the Marine Corps.

They're also avid hunters. Kenny has an extensive firearms collection.

When I was growing up, my dad used to take me skeet and target shooting. I've fired just about every type of weapon you can think of and I'm a very good shot."

Ray Jackson said, "You were handling the piece pretty good back there in the garage." He noted the crack in the grip. "I hope you didn't drop it while it was loaded."

"I'm very careful with firearms, Mr. Jackson, but I appreciate your concern."

Jackson looked at the pistol once more before sliding it and the full magazine over to her. "Nice piece of hardware. Lightweight. I use Hydra-Shok ammo too-excellent stopping force. There's still a round in the firing chamber," he reminded her.

"It's equipped with a magazine safety. No mag, no fire." Sidney touched the pistol gingerly. "But I don't like having to keep it in the house, especially with Amy, although it's kept unloaded and in a locked box."

"Not much good, then, in the event of a burglary," Sawyer said between a bite of doughnut and a gulp of hot coffee.

"Only if you get surprised. I try never to be." After the events of the morning, she struggled mightily not to perceptibly wince at that remark.

Sliding the plate of bakery goods away, he asked, "You mind telling me why you took that little trip to New Orleans?"

Sidney held up the morning's newspaper so the headline was fully exposed. "Why? Are you moonlighting as a reporter and need to file your next story? By the way, thanks for ruining my life." She angrily tossed the paper on the table and looked away. A twitch erupted over her left eye. She gripped the edge of the weathered pine table as she felt herself trembling.

Sawyer ran his eye down the story. "I don't see anything here that isn't true. Your husband/s suspected of being involved in a theft of secrets from his company. On top of that, he wasn't on a plane he was supposed to be on. That plane ends up in a cornfield. Your husband is alive and kicking." When she didn't respond, Sawyer reached across the table and touched her elbow. "I said your husband is alive, Ms. Archer. That doesn't seem to surprise you. You want to tell me about New Orleans now?"

She slowly turned to look at him, her features surprisingly calm.

"You say he's alive?"

Sawyer nodded.

"Then why don't you tell me where he is?"

"I was about to ask you that question."

Sidney dug her fingers into her thigh. "I haven't seen my husband since that morning."

Sawyer edged closer to her. "Look, Ms. Archer, let's cut through the crap. You get a mysterious phone call and then you take a plane to New Orleans after you hold a friggin' memorial service for your dearly departed, who, as it turns out, isn't. You jump out of a cab and onto the subway, leaving your suitcase behind. You lose my guys and hightail it south. You check into a hotel, where I'm betting you're waiting for a rendezvous with your husband." Sidney Archer, to her credit, did not even flinch. Sawyer continued. "You take a walk, get a shoe shine from a very amiable old guy who's the only street person in my experience who refuses a tip. You make a phone call, and wham, you're back on a plane to D.C. What do you say to that?"

Sidney took an invisible breath and then stared hard at Sawyer.

"You said I got a mysterious phone call. Who told you that?"

The agents exchanged looks. "We've got our sources, Ms. Archer.

We also checked your phone log," Sawyer said.

Sidney crossed her legs and leaned forward. "You mean the call from Henry Wharton?"

Sawyer eyed her calmly. "You're saying you talked to Wharton?"

He didn't expect her to walk into that easy a trap, and he wasn't disappointed.

"No. I'm saying someone called here identifying himself as Henry Wharton."

"But you spoke with someone."

Sawyer sighed. "We've got a record of the phone call. You were on that phone for about five minutes. Were you just listening to heavy breathing or what?"

"I don't have to sir here and be insulted by you or anyone else. Do you understand that?"

"All right, my apologies. So who was it?"

"I don't know."

Sawyer jerked upright in his chair and slammed his big fist down on the table. Sidney almost jumped out of her chair. "Jesus Christ, come on--"

'Tin telling you I don't know," Sidney interrupted angrily. "I thought it was Henry, but it wasn't. The person never said anything.

I hung up the phone after a few seconds." Her heart started racing as it occurred to her that she was lying to the FBI.

Sawyer looked at her wearily. "Computers don't lie, Ms. Archer."

Sawyer inwardly winced at this statement as his mind dwelled for an instant on the Riker fiasco. "The phone log says five minutes."

"My father answered the phone in the kitchen and then laid it down on the counter to come and tell me. You two showed up at about the same time. Do you think it's beyond the realm of possibility that he forgot to hang it back up? Wouldn't that account for the five minutes? Maybe you'd like to call and ask him. You can use the phone right over there." Sidney pointed to the kitchen wall next to the doorway.

Sawyer looked over at the phone and took a moment to think. He felt sure the lady was lying, but what she was saying was plausible.