The Sixth Man

by David Baldacci

  “Langley is a joke. The Pentagon listens to no one. The intelligence czar has no power, and don’t even get me started on NSA. It’s all very pathetic.”

  “But the E-Program had merit.”

  “Stop drinking the Kool-Aid. That was Peter Bunting’s world. He owned the space.”

  “And you didn’t.”

  “Now you’re getting with the program. Bunting’s an idealistic fool. Can you imagine putting the whole of this country’s security on the back of one analyst?”

  “But that’s not really the case, is it? There are still plenty of analysts out there doing what they do. The American intelligence agencies continue to hum along. And Bunting’s company does a lot more than the E-Program. They have their fingers in lots of intelligence pies. But Bunting’s person was tasked with seeing the big picture, connecting the dots. That’s always been lacking across the intelligence spectrum.”

  She shook her head. “That is a very dangerous philosophy to have.”

  “What, quality over quantity?”

  “We give them our hard-earned work and they get the credit for it. How is that fair?”

  “I didn’t think fairness was an issue when we’re talking about the nation’s security.”

  “I don’t want to discuss this with you anymore,” she said sharply.

  “All right. I was just playing devil’s advocate. It’s part of my job.”

  “You can be devilish, can’t you, Harkes? You have that reputation.”

  “I do what needs to be done.”

  “Bunting’s wife attempted suicide. Did you know that?”

  “I heard.”

  “Bunting must be frantic. I can’t stand the man professionally, but I have to admit, he does care for his family.” Her tone was gleeful.

  “And it also helps you,” he said.

  “Exactly. It takes him off his game. He’s not thinking about Edgar Roy. Or anything else. He knows we’ve set him up to take the blame. But he can’t do anything about it. All the people who matter have been dealt with.”

  “It was a good plan.”

  She eyed him thoughtfully. “You know, you can relax a bit. You look like you’re about to attack someone.”

  Harkes let his rock-hard body ease just a fraction.

  “You’ve done excellent work, Harkes. I’ve been impressed by you from day one. I plan on using you a lot in the future.”

  She crossed her legs and let her dress slip back liberally on her bare thighs as she sat back farther against the cushions.

  “I appreciate that, Secretary Foster.”

  “We’re off the clock, Harkes. You can call me Ellen.”

  Harkes said nothing to this.

  “You’ve had an interesting life, James,” she said. “That was one reason I selected you.”

  “I chose the path less traveled,” Harkes said simply.

  “Combat hero, field agent with a list of successes. You can shoot straight and go toe-to-toe intellectually with a Cabinet member,” she added. “As I can certainly attest.”

  Harkes said nothing.

  She smiled demurely. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

  “Should I be?”

  “I guess that all depends on how you want the evening to play out.”

  “Do you think that wise, ma’am?”

  “I’m not old enough to be a ma’am.”

  “Sorry.”

  “The staff is off until tomorrow. Security detail is outside and will stay there unless I tell them otherwise. I’m a big girl. You’re a big boy.”

  She stretched out one bare foot and touched his leg. “At least I hope you are.”

  Harkes sat in silence.

  “Have you ever done it with a Cabinet member?” she asked.

  “No. And since most of the Cabinet are male my options are limited.”

  “Well, then this is your lucky night.”

  Foster rose and went to him. She bent down and kissed him on the lips. “I hope you’re impressed. I don’t do this for just anybody.” She took one more sip of her drink and then put it down. She said casually, “I’m also in the market for a new chief of my personal security detail. I think you may like the fringe benefits offered.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What?” she said, startled.

  Harkes rose. “I don’t mix business with anything else. Now if there’s nothing else you need, I’ll be going.”

  “Harkes!”

  “You have a good night, Madame Secretary.”

  Harkes walked out the front door.

  CHAPTER

  69

  BUNTING AND PAUL FOLLOWED Sean and Michelle back to Machias. On the way Sean filled Michelle in on all that had been discussed at the restaurant. Hours later they pulled their vehicles up to the darkened cottage in the woods and cut their lights. Sean was first to notice something wrong. The door to the cottage was partially open. It was nearly four in the morning and still dark. Michelle noted the open door, too. She slipped out her gun.

  Bunting, who had fallen asleep in the other car, awoke and said groggily, “Are we here?”

  “Keep quiet,” warned Paul, who was driving his rental. “Something’s not right.”

  When Bunting saw that all three had their weapons out he sat upright, fully awake now. “What is it?” he hissed.

  “Stay here,” ordered Michelle, as she came up next to their vehicle. “And keep down.”

  Paul said, “I’ll stay with Peter.”

  Bunting instantly crouched down in the floorboard while Paul’s gaze swept the house and the surrounding woods.

  Michelle entered through the back door and Sean the front, and they met in the middle of the one-story house. Michelle picked up the overturned chair while Sean looked at the smashed glass cabinet that had sat against a wall, and the upside-down table. Megan Riley’s legal documents were scattered across the floor.

  But that was all secondary.

  “Damn,” said Sean in a low voice.

  Eric Dobkin lay sprawled on the floor next to the table. He was dressed in civilian clothes because he was doing them a favor. His last favor.

  Michelle knelt down next to him. “Looks to be a single GSW to the chest,” she said, examining the bloody hole in the man’s shirt. She edged him over. “Slug’s still in him. No exit wound.” Michelle laid the body back down, rose, and stepped back. “I can’t believe this happened.”

  “Front door’s been kicked in,” noted Sean. “And Megan is obviously not here.”

  That’s when he saw it over behind the couch. Sean picked it up. It was Megan’s sweater, with blood all over it. He poked a finger through a hole in the garment. “Not a bullet. Looks like maybe a knife.”

  “If she’s dead why take her body?” said Michelle.

  “I don’t know. But we have to call the cops.”

  “Wait.”

  They looked up to see Kelly Paul and Bunting standing in the front doorway.

  “We can’t wait, Kelly,” said Sean. “This guy is a state trooper. He was doing us a favor. And now he’s dead. He’s got a wife and three little kids. This is a nightmare.”

  Michelle said, “And Megan has been taken too.” She looked at Sean and added bitterly, “Some guardian angels we were.”

  They contacted the police. Sean and Michelle waited for them to arrive while Bunting and Paul left. It would have been far too complicated to explain the latter two’s involvement. They arranged to rendezvous later.

  Before she’d departed Paul had said, “It will be coming soon.”

  “How are they going to do it?” asked Sean.

  “The only way they really can,” replied Paul.

  “And our response will be?” asked Sean.

  “Unpredictable,” answered Paul.

  “And after that?” said Michelle.

  “The real work begins,” she said cryptically.

  A moment later she and Bunting were gone.

  Twenty minutes after that, two state troop
er cruisers slid to a stop outside the cottage. Sean and Michelle heard running feet. A few seconds later two troopers appeared in the doorway. Their gazes swung around the room before settling on Sean and Michelle and then, inevitably, on Dobkin’s body. They moved forward slowly. Sean recognized them from the Bergin crime scene. He assumed they were good friends of Eric Dobkin. The troopers in this area were probably all close friends.

  Another car pulled up outside and a moment later Colonel Mayhew and another trooper came inside.

  They all stood around Dobkin’s body, staring down at it.

  Mayhew finally eyed Sean and Michelle.

  “What the hell happened?” he said, his voice low but full of raw emotion.

  They both took turns explaining, leaving out the details concerning Peter Bunting and Kelly Paul.

  Sean concluded, “Bottom line was we asked Eric to watch Megan Riley for us. We were worried about her after what happened to Bergin.”

  “And where were you two when all of this happened?” asked Mayhew.

  “Portland, running down a lead,” answered Michelle.

  Mayhew drew a deep breath and said sharply, “Eric is a state trooper. Was a state trooper. You shouldn’t have been asking him to perform bodyguard services for you. That was not his job.”

  “You’re right,” agreed Sean. “We never intended for this to happen.”

  “You certainly should have known it might happen,” retorted Mayhew. “If you thought Riley was in danger then you had to assume that someone might try and harm her. Which would put Eric in danger.”

  “We feel as bad as anyone about this,” said Sean.

  “I doubt that,” barked Mayhew. “You certainly won’t feel as bad as Sally Dobkin when she finds out she’s a widow.”

  Sean looked down.

  Michelle said, “Colonel Mayhew, we needed help. Eric was a first-rate man. That’s why we asked him for assistance. But we didn’t force him to do it. He wanted to help us. He wanted to get to the truth too.”

  Mayhew didn’t look satisfied by this but he broke off gazing at her and looked around. “Any idea who did this?”

  Sean and Michelle exchanged a quick glance. They had discussed and decided how they were going to answer this question.

  “We don’t have the person’s identity, but we have to assume it’s the same person who killed Bergin,” said Sean.

  Mayhew looked at the bloody sweater. “And your call to the dispatcher said that Megan Riley is missing?”

  “She must’ve been the target.”

  Mayhew said absently, “The forensic team is on its way.”

  “Okay,” said Sean. “We’re prepared to help in any way we can.”

  “It’s been a long time since we lost anyone,” said Mayhew. “And never under my watch.”

  “We understand,” said Michelle.

  “I have to go tell Sally,” Mayhew said, his voice hoarse.

  “Would you like me to go with you?” asked Michelle.

  “No, no, that’s my job,” said Mayhew firmly.

  He gazed once more at Dobkin’s body. “I recruited Eric. Watched him grow into a fine officer.”

  “I’m sure,” said Sean quietly.

  “Did you find the truth?” asked Mayhew.

  “What?” said Sean.

  “Down in Portland? Did you find the truth?”

  “I think we’re getting there.”

  “This is a lot more complicated than it appeared initially to be, isn’t it?” said Mayhew shrewdly. “Bergin, Dukes, Agent Murdock. Edgar Roy is smack in the middle of all this, and I seriously doubt he is who we’ve been told he is.”

  “I couldn’t disagree with any of your conclusions, sir,” said Sean diplomatically.

  “Could you do me a favor?” asked Mayhew.

  “Certainly.”

  “When you do find who did this to Eric, I want to personally arrest them and see that they’re tried here for murder.”

  “I’ll do my best, Colonel Mayhew. I’ll certainly do my best.”

  “Thank you.” Mayhew turned and left.

  He had to go and deliver the tragic news to a young woman with three kids and a fourth on the way.

  CHAPTER

  70

  TWO NIGHTS LATER Edgar Roy could feel it coming, almost like how animals react so early to an approaching storm. He hunched down in the darkness, his face pressed against the flimsy mattress that he slept on each night. He heard footsteps. Routine guard patrols. Ordinary chatter. But he still knew.

  The lights flickered, went out, and then came back on.

  He scrunched down further into his bed, his feet hanging off one end of it. He didn’t care if the camera saw him moving now. It didn’t matter. The lights flickered again, like there was a storm outside and Mother Nature was playing games with Cutter’s electrical supply. Then the lights went back out and stayed out a long time.

  He heard cries from the guards. He heard calls from some of the prisoners.

  Feet were running.

  Doors clanged open and then shut with a crash of steel on steel.

  A siren started up.

  Then the lights came back on. From somewhere there was an enormous rush of noise, like a jet plane powering up for takeoff.

  The backup generator. Roy had heard it come on once before, only then it was a test. It had the power to run the entire facility, even the electrified fence. It was huge, contained in its own structure just outside the main building. It ran on fuel. They had enough fuel here for the generator to run the facility for an entire week. He had heard this, too, from conversations among the guards. They never expected anyone was listening or caring about this. But Roy listened and cared about everything. And he remembered it all. The generator was the fail-safe. After that there was nothing else.

  The rush of power ceased. The instant it did the lights went back out. It was so black inside here that Roy could not even see his own hands. He looked out between the bars of his cell. Guards were hustling around with emergency lights. With no heat the poured concrete building quickly cooled. Roy started to shiver. He covered himself with the blanket. He tried to burrow down into the bed. But there was no hiding. Not really.

  The caravan of black SUVs with government plates stormed the causeway and roared toward the entrance at Cutter’s. Six men jumped out and approached the first layer of guards. Behind them Cutter’s lay black and nearly invisible. The darkness was interrupted only by the weak moonlight