The Sixth Man

by David Baldacci

  35

  “DO WE SHADOW Carla Dukes? Do we go see Edgar Roy again? Do we try to bust Murdock’s chops somehow? Do we dig into Kelly Paul’s background and see what turns up? Do we investigate Bergin’s and Hilary’s murders? Do we keep going after the six bodies in Edgar Roy’s barn?”

  Michelle fell silent and looked expectantly at Sean as they walked along the oceanfront near Martha’s Inn.

  “Or do we do all of that? And if so, how?” he replied. “There’s only the two of us.”

  “We multitask well.”

  “Nobody multitasks that well.”

  “But we have to do something.”

  “The six bodies can cut two ways. Either someone knew that he was the Analyst for the government and framed him. Or he killed those people and the government is trying to keep what Roy actually did from the public.”

  “But you don’t think he did it, do you?”

  “No, though I don’t have any solid reasons to back that up.”

  “So the people framing him must be enemies of this country. They know what he does and they’re trying to stop him? But why not just kill him? He lived alone on that farm. It would’ve been easy.”

  “Well he must have had security, so it might not have been that easy. But maybe they wanted to do more than simply deprive America of its brilliant analyst.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know,” Sean admitted.

  “Who do you think shot out our car windows?”

  “Either our side or the other side.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “Lot of dangerous folks out there.”

  “Exactly.” Michelle took his arm. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Ninety minutes later Sean was walking out of Fort Maine Guns with a new Sig 9mm.

  “I haven’t fired a pistol in a while.”

  “Which is why we’re going there next.” She pointed to a door in a building adjacent to Fort Maine with a sign outside that said Shooting Range.

  An hour later Sean studied his results.

  “Not bad,” Michelle said. “Total score of ninety percent. Your kill zone shots were right where they need to be.”

  He glanced at her targets. The holes were huge because the bullets had all congregated in the same spot.

  “What was your score?”

  “A bit better than yours. But just a bit.”

  “Liar.”

  When they got back to the inn Megan was hard at work at the round table in the parlor, with papers and files strewn around.

  She looked up when they walked in the room.

  “What are you doing?” asked Sean.

  “Working on some motion papers.”

  “Regarding what?”

  “Ms. Paul’s information was very intriguing. I want to know whatever the government knows about Edgar Roy’s background. And what he actually does for them.”

  Michelle said, “But if he is working in intelligence they won’t tell us anything. They’ll just bury it under national security mumbo-jumbo.”

  “That’s right. But if we can get that on the record it may be enough to raise reasonable doubt in a jury’s mind. It’s certainly critical evidence. And in order to try to get that evidence we have to pull the government’s chain. Hard.”

  “But the guy may never go to trial,” pointed out Michelle.

  Sean said, “But if he does, some of the forensics help us. The different dirt, for instance, found on the bodies. It’s possible the bodies were brought from somewhere else and dumped in Roy’s barn.”

  “Well, that could be all the exculpatory evidence we need,” said Megan hopefully.

  “Unless they argue Roy killed them somewhere else, hid the bodies for a while there, and then dug them up and brought them to Virginia.”

  “And buried them in his own barn so someone could find them and arrest him?” said Megan incredulously. “For such a smart guy that’s pretty dumb.”

  Sean said, “And then there’s the mysterious caller that conveniently tipped the police off about the bodies in the first place. Who is that person and how did he know about the bodies? Maybe the tipster killed the people and set Roy up.”

  “We still have to prove that,” noted Michelle.

  “No, proof of guilt is the government’s job. We just have to raise it as a way to get reasonable doubt in a jury’s mind,” responded Sean.

  Michelle said, “Murdock will be really pissed off when he sees the filings.”

  “Let him be.” He looked at Megan. “You cool with that?”

  She smiled. “The FBI doesn’t scare me anymore.”

  Sean and Michelle headed up to his room. “There are a lot of roads we could go down, but I want to focus on Carla Dukes.”

  “She’s probably an FBI agent.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why?”

  “You and I have dealt with lots of FBI agents. She’s no spring chicken, so if she were with the Bureau she’d have been with them for years now. She doesn’t have the walk or the talk of an FBI vet. And an FBI agent would have anticipated we’d pull the media card to get in to see Roy and would’ve had an answer for it. She didn’t.”

  “But still, to her we’re the enemy,” replied Michelle.

  “Enemies can still reach common ground.”

  She cocked her head. “You mean we find some leverage with her?”

  “Exactly.”

  “It’ll have to be some damn heavy-duty stuff.”

  “Yes it will,” said Sean.

  “Do you have any in mind?”

  “Yes I do.”

  “When do we do it?”

  “Tonight of course.”

  CHAPTER

  36

  CARLA DUKES PULLED her car into her garage around nine o’clock. She unlocked the door that led into the kitchen, put her bag down, and stood in front of the alarm code pad, her finger poised to hit the appropriate buttons. It took her a moment to realize that there was no high-pitched squeal from the alarm system telling her that she had to disarm it before the delay ran out.

  That was because the alarm wasn’t on.

  She whirled around.

  Sean stood there, the butt of his gun visible at the waist.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Dukes demanded.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “You broke into my house.”

  “No I didn’t. The door was open.”

  “Bullshit. I lock everything up before I leave and then arm the system.”

  “You must’ve forgotten. As you can see, the alarm system is off.”

  “Then you turned it off.”

  “I said, you said.”

  “You’re in my house. I’m calling the police.” She eyed his gun.

  He looked at where she was looking. “It’s a Beretta nine mil. Standard issue for the FBI, ironically enough.”

  She slid her cell phone from her purse. “Good, why don’t we call them to come over and collect it and you?”

  Before she could hit even one button, Sean said, “Would Agent Murdock want to know you’re working for someone else?”

  “All right. I am with the FBI. And therefore I can arrest you right now. But instead I’ll give you five seconds to get the hell out of here.”

  Sean didn’t move. He just looked at her, a tight smile edging across his features. “Just so you understand, Carla, the next minute or so will determine whether you end up in a federal prison or not.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You just made a big mistake.”

  “I’m warning you.”

  “You’re not FBI. You’re not even close to being FBI. So if anybody’s going to call the Feds I think that’ll be me.” He took out his phone and poised his finger over the numbers. She watched him dumbly. “But maybe you want to talk first,” he said.

  “Maybe,” she said nervously.<
br />
  Sean reached out and slipped the cell phone from her hand, and set it down on the kitchen counter.

  “I think you want the FBI to believe you’re working with them. You’re certainly going through the motions. You have Murdock convinced. But he didn’t put you into play at Cutter’s Rock.”

  “Look, I told you I’m with the FBI.”

  “Then show me your creds.”

  “I’m undercover. I don’t carry them.”

  “Where’s your Beretta?”

  “In my bedroom.”

  Sean shook his head. “SOP for FBI undercover is to get into the part. Your office is barren. Not even one fake family picture on your desk.” He pointed to his gun. “And FYI, the FBI doesn’t use the Beretta. They carry either Glocks or Sigs.”

  Dukes said nothing.

  “So someone else put you at Cutter’s. Which means your loyalties lie elsewhere. The FBI really frowns on being played for chumps.”

  “I was assigned to work at Cutter’s Rock. I have a long career in federal correctional institutions.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re here temporarily. You haven’t even bothered to move into your office. And this place is a rental. With a six-month lease.”

  “You’ve been spying on me?” she said.

  “I’m an investigator. I spent a productive afternoon digging up stuff on you. And I’m not the only one.”

  Dukes paled at this statement. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean there are lots of people interested in you, Carla. You didn’t think you could just waltz right into this, play both sides, and think no one would notice? That kind of naïveté could get you killed.”

  “These are not people to play around with.”

  “Believe me, I get that message loud and clear.”

  “Then you know I can tell you nothing. Please leave. Now.”

  “I’ll just subpoena you for the court case.”

  “What court case?”

  “Edgar Roy? Six bodies? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Edgar Roy is the only reason you’re at Cutter’s Rock, Carla. And since I represent Roy it’s my ethical duty to try to have him exonerated. In order to do that, I have to muddy the waters. It’s called reasonable doubt.”

  “You’re a fool.”

  “Are you any less of one?”

  “Get out.”

  “By the way, Murdock already knows the truth about you.”

  “That’s impossi—” She caught herself too late.

  “Say what you will about the FBI, they do tend to get the right answer.”

  “I need you to leave. Now.”

  He turned to the door. “One more thing—the Bureau has a tap on your phone and your e-mail.”

  “Why warn me about that?”

  “In the hopes that you come to your senses and want to make a deal with me instead of them.” He let that sink in. “Carla? Are you getting any of this?”

  “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

  “Fine. Just don’t take too long.”

  Sean walked down the street and climbed into the Land Cruiser he had earlier parked there. He started the engine and sped off. After he was out of sight of Dukes’s house, Michelle, who’d been hiding in the back of the truck, climbed into the passenger seat.

  “Everything go okay?” asked Sean.

  “Easy. She should watch the garage door come all the way down before she goes in the house. I was able to sneak in behind her.”

  Sean checked his watch. “Okay, I spooked her about her phone and e-mail. Now she has only one avenue of communication.”

  “Face-to-face. But if she believes she can’t communicate via phone or e-mail how will Dukes arrange a meeting?”

  “Coded text, probably. Innocuous on its face, it’ll set up a time at a prearranged place.” He stared down at the electronic tracking device cradled in her hand. “What’s the range on that?”

  “Couple of miles. Plenty for our purposes, even in the great wilds of Maine.”

  “Where’d you put the bug?”

  “On the underside of the rear windshield wiper mechanism. Nobody ever looks there. Then I just climbed out the garage window. I’m actually getting good at that.”

  “So now we wait,” said Sean.

  “I don’t think it’ll be for long.” She eyed the device more closely. “Looks like she’s already on the move. Boy, you really did scare her.”

  “I had my lawyer hat on. We naturally scare the crap out of everybody.”

  CHAPTER

  37

  AFTER LANDING at LaGuardia and being driven into the city Peter Bunting did not go home to his lovely, socially active wife and his three privileged and accomplished children at their luxurious Fifth Avenue brownstone across from Central Park.

  Nor did he return to his office. He had somewhere else to go because he was focused on keeping Edgar Roy alive.

  And probably me, too.

  He walked fifteen blocks to a rundown six-story building well off the famous boulevards of Manhattan. He took care to avoid being followed, going into lobbies of buildings and exiting by different ways. In the lower level of the six-story building was a pizzeria. In the upper levels were offices for small businesses. On the very top level were two rooms. He took the stairs and knocked.

  The man ushered him in and closed the door behind him. Bunting moved through into the next room. The man followed him and closed the door to this room too. He motioned for Bunting to sit on a chair set next to a small table.

  Bunting did so, unbuttoning his suit jacket and trying to get comfortable in a chair that was not designed for comfort. The man