The Sixth Man Read online

  pleased him.

  “I got you into this and it’s my job to get you out,” she said.

  “My protector,” he said almost in a whisper.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you choose to continue to live at the farm after Mom died? You could have sold it and moved somewhere else.”

  “It’s my home.”

  “That’s not a good enough reason, Eddie. We both know that.” She paused. “I visited the place. Before you became the Analyst.”

  “Where was I?”

  “At work at the IRS.”

  “Why did you come when I wasn’t there?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I was afraid.”

  His face fell. “Afraid? To see me?”

  “No, of course not. To see you in that place, I guess.”

  “It was a long time ago, Kel.”

  “Not long enough. Not for me. Or you.”

  “You came back for me.”

  She put up a hand. “I never should have left you there in the first place. I knew. I… knew. That man. That animal.”

  “But he’s dead now. It’s over.”

  “It’s never over, Eddie. Not for you. Not for me. We both know that. Those scars run deep. I’ve never married. Never even thought of it. Never had kids. Never wanted them. You want to know why?”

  He nodded.

  “Because I didn’t think I could protect them. Easy way out, really. I was a coward, Eddie, plain and simple. A coward.”

  “Kel, it wasn’t your fault.”

  Paul rose and paced in small circles in front of him. “Of course it was, Eddie. I abandoned you. I’ve spent my whole life making penance for it by doing very dangerous things. And it just occurred to me recently that while I was making my penance I forgot one important thing.” This all came out like a blast of pent-up air finally released.

  “What was that?”

  “You.” She knelt in front of him, took his hand, and squeezed it. “I forgot you, Eddie.”

  “You never forgot me. You wrote. You came to see me sometimes.”

  “It’s not the same. You know that.” She sat back and put a hand up to her eyes.

  “Please don’t, Kel. Don’t be sad.”

  She rose abruptly. “I will get you out of this, Eddie. That I promise. Even if I die in the process.”

  Kelly Paul turned and walked unsteadily from the room, leaving her younger brother alone with thoughts not even his unique mind was really equipped to deal with.

  CHAPTER

  73

  ELLEN FOSTER WAS SEATED in a chair in an underground bunker she reserved for the most private of meetings. No notes, no recordings, no surveillance of any kind.

  She sat there looking at the man who stared back at her.

  “Can you even comprehend how furious I am about all this?” she said.

  Mason Quantrell said nothing. He nervously tapped his fingers on the wooden tabletop and simply eyed her with caution.

  She continued. “It was the neatest package I could possibly provide. It was perfect. All you had to do was your job. And now?” She slapped her hand against the table. “And now?”

  Quantrell’s face darkened and caution was thrown aside. “We were set up, Ellen. You have a spy in your operation, obviously. It wasn’t my fault. We hit all of our cues right on the mark.”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. They just played you. They outsmarted you.”

  “They outsmarted us,” he corrected in a high tone. “You and me. In this together.”

  Foster’s angry look was slowly replaced with something far subtler: apprehension.

  “I don’t like your tone, or your words,” she said.

  “This is not the time to fight with each other,” Quantrell said in a calmer tone. “They took one round from us, that’s all. We’ve been victorious in every other one.”

  “They have Roy. That’s a pretty big round to lose. That may be the knockout, in fact.”

  The other man in the room cleared his throat.

  James Harkes said, “I believe Mr. Quantrell is right, Secretary Foster.”

  She turned to him and her face hardened even more. His rejection of her from the other night was still stark in her features. He would not have even been here except that with the recent disaster she needed him.

  “And how do you figure that?” asked Foster icily.

  “The plan was always to extract Roy and then blame it on Bunting and his allies. Well, now they actually have him. We don’t have to fabricate the blame. It’s a fact.”

  Quantrell said, “That’s right.”

  Foster was already shaking her head. “You’ve forgotten one significant detail. The FBI convoy that took Roy from Cutter’s was fake. It was Quantrell’s people. His idiot people.”

  “That doesn’t really matter,” said Harkes. “Fake or not, Mr. Quantrell’s backup team was on the scene fifteen minutes after the attack on the convoy. They weren’t in time to stop them from taking Roy, obviously, but the scene was sterilized before anyone else arrived there. So as far as the world is concerned a fake FBI team lifted Edgar Roy from Cutter’s. And Roy is now in the hands of Peter Bunting. Ergo he must have been behind it.”

  “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.

  CHAPTER

  74

  “SIR, 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.