The Sixth Man (38 page)

Harkes handed him a remote control device. “Hit the red button.”

Bunting looked down at the instrument in his right hand. “Why?”

“Because I said to.”

“What will happen if I do?”

Harkes looked through the mirror at Avery. “You’re a smart man. What do
you
think will happen?”

“What is that stuff hooked up to Avery?”

“Two IV lines and a heart monitor.”

“Why?”

“When you push the red button you will put a series of steps in motion. Saline solution will begin flowing through both lines.”

“Saline?”

“To ensure the lines aren’t blocked so the chemicals that will be flowing through them next will not become mixed and possibly occlude the needles. If that happens the drugs don’t reach the body.”

“What drugs? Some sort of truth serum?”

An amused look eased across Harkes normally serious features. “The first one through is sodium thiopental. That’ll knock a lightweight like Avery out in three seconds. The next drug is pancuronium; it causes paralysis of the skeletal and respiratory muscles. The final drug through is potassium chloride.”

Bunting paled. “Potassium chloride? But that stops the heart. That’ll kill him.”

“That’s sort of the point. What do you think we’ve been talking about here, Bunting? A slap on the wrist?”

“I’m not pushing the button.”

“I would reconsider if I were you.”

“I’m not going to kill Avery.”

Harkes eased a .44 Magnum pistol from his shoulder holster and rested the muzzle against Bunting’s forehead. “I can hardly describe what the load chambered in this gun will do to your brain.”

Bunting started breathing fast and closed his eyes. “I don’t want to kill Avery.”

“That’s progress. You’ve gone from ‘I’m not going to kill Avery’ to ‘I don’t
want
to kill Avery.’ ” Harkes thumbed the hammer back on the Magnum. “One pull and most of your impressive gray matter will be on the back wall over there. Is that what you want?” He brushed the steel against Bunting’s cheek. “Think about it. You’re rich. Beautiful homes, your own jet. A sexy little wife who thinks
you’re hot shit. Three kids who’ll grow up and make you proud. You’ve got a lot to live for. Avery, on the other hand, is a completely replaceable nerd. A loser. A nothing.”

“If I push the button you’ll just kill me too.”

Harkes said, “Fair enough.” He holstered his gun, took an envelope out of his pocket and took out four photos, lining them up on the table. “Change of tactics.” He indicated the photos. “Tell me where you want me to start.”

Bunting looked down at the photos and his heart skipped a beat.

His wife and three children were all lined up in a neat little row.

When Bunting said nothing Harkes added, “I’ll give you a choice. We kill her, the kids get to live.”

Bunting’s grabbed the photos and held them against his chest, as though that simple action would protect them. “You will not hurt my family!”

“We either kill the lady or all three kids. It’s up to you. As a suggestion, if we nail the kids you and the missus can always adopt.”

“You bastard. You heartless, sick bastard!”

“If I don’t get an answer in five seconds, they’ll be dead in five minutes. All of them. We know the kids are sleeping over at your sister-in-law’s in Jersey. We have people there to do the termination right now. And please don’t think we won’t.”

Bunting picked up the remote and pushed the red button. He wouldn’t look in the direction of Avery. He couldn’t. He held the button down, closed his eyes.

Three minutes passed in silence.

“You can look now.”

“No.”

“I said look.” The slap across his face made Bunting’s eyes pop open. An iron grip around the base of his neck made him look at the mirrored wall. What he saw stunned him.

Avery was still there, alive. As Bunting continued to watch, men came in and unstrapped the lines from Avery and then freed the restraints on the gurney. He sat up, rubbed his wrists, and looked around in both bewilderment and relief.

Bunting tilted his head upward to look at Harkes, who relaxed his grip.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Get out,” said Harkes. As Bunting slowly rose Harkes ripped the pictures out of his grasp. “But keep in mind that anytime I want they’re dead. So if you’re thinking about talking to King again, or maybe the FBI, I would think real hard before you do.”

‘So this is a warning?” Bunting said shakily.

“It’s more than a warning. It’s inevitable.”

Ten minutes later Bunting was in a car heading back to his house. His face hurt, his heart ached, tears soaked the collar of his shirt. He made six calls, all to people high up in the government. These numbers were for his use only, so there would be no doubt as to who was calling. They were monitored 24/7. Bunting rarely called them, but when he did they were always answered.

Six calls. And not one of them picked up.

S
EAN AND
M
ICHELLE FINALLY REACHED
Portsmouth, where they stopped at a pancake house and ate a quick breakfast, paying in cash. Then, exhausted, they slept in the truck in the parking lot for one hour. When Michelle’s cell phone alarm went off they awoke and looked groggily at each other.

Sean checked his watch. “Six more hours to go. Be there by lunchtime.”

Michelle said, “After this is over I am never, ever, driving to Maine again.”

“I never even want to get in a car again.”

“We can’t go back to the inn.”

“I know. That’s why I’m calling Kelly Paul right now.”

“What if they can trace your phone?”

“I swapped out the SIM card for another one I got while we were in New York. I texted her with the new info.”

“How’d you leave it with Bunting?”

“He said he’d think about it. I left him my new contact info too.”

“Think we’ll hear from him?”

“I hope to God we do.”

“And what about the guys in the park? They were definitely set on killing us. If Bunting was involved with them?”

“I looked the guy in the eye, Michelle. He’s scared. And not just for himself. He’s terrified for his family. My gut tells me he had nothing to do with the attack against us.”

“You think he might be dead?”

“What do you mean?”

“They obviously knew you two met. They might have taken it out on him.”

“I don’t know. If he is dead we’ll know soon enough.”

They reached Machias by one thirty. After receiving Sean’s call, Kelly Paul had arranged another place for them to stay. She’d moved their things there and given them directions to it.

When they pulled up in front of the rustic cottage that was set near an isolated stretch of coast about five miles from Martha’s Inn, Kelly Paul came outside to greet them.

“Thanks for the help down south,” said Michelle, as she stretched and did a couple of deep knee bends to work the road kinks out.

“I never send people on a mission without backup. It’s an essential part of the equation.”

Sean said, “Well, it would have been nice to know about it. I almost shot one of your guys.”

“I tend to keep things close to the vest. Maybe too close,” she admitted.

“But you did save our lives.”

“After risking them by having you make contact with Bunting.”

“Well, without risk there is no reward,” said Michelle.

“Where’s Megan?” asked Sean.

“Still at Martha’s Inn.”

“By herself?”

“No, she’s got police protection there.”

“How did that happen?”

“I made a few phone calls and the people I called made a few phone calls. It’s the best we can do right now. You two are obviously marked. How did it go with Bunting?”

“He’s stuck right in the middle and growing desperate. He said he had nothing to do with the murders, and I believe him. We’re afraid he might be dead.”

Michelle said, “Did you know all along Bunting wasn’t behind this?”

“Not for certain, no. But the picture is getting clearer by the minute. And your meeting with him served one important purpose.”

“What was that?” asked Sean.

“James Harkes will now be turned loose to clip his wings.”

“So you
do
think he might already be dead?” said Michelle.

“No, at least not yet. When they went after you, I’m sure they also sent a very direct message to Bunting: ‘Talk about this again to anyone and you will suffer.’ They probably threatened his family too.”

“And that’s good for us why?” asked Michelle.

“Because now Bunting can be convinced to work with us.”

“But according to you they just told him if he tried anything he was dead,” said Sean.

“One thing you have to understand about Peter Bunting is that he is very smart and very resourceful. He is no doubt feeling cornered now. Maybe even beaten. But then he will start to think about it. He hates to lose. That’s why he makes such a brilliant watchdog for this country. And on top of it, he’s truly patriotic. His father was in the military. He bleeds red, white, and blue. He will defend his country to the last.”

“You seem to know a lot about him,” said Michelle.

“I almost went to work for him. I make a point of knowing as much as I can about such people.”

“How do we get to him?” asked Sean.

“Actually, I believe he’ll get to us,” replied Paul.

B
UNTING’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.