Total Control

by David Baldacci

  "No. He could type much faster than he could speak. Why?"

  "So why did he have a microphone on his computer at work-?"

  Sidney thought about it for a moment. "I don't know. I think it was fairly recent. A few months or so, maybe a little longer. I've noticed them in other offices at Triton, if that helps. Why?"

  "I'm getting there, Sidney, just bear with an old, tired G-man."

  Sawyer tugged at his top lip. "When you talked to Jason, both times, you're sure it was him?"

  "Of course it was him. I know my own husband's voice."

  Sawyer's tone was deliberate and steady, as though he were trying to graft those traits onto Sidney. "I didn't ask you if you were sure it was your husband's voice." He stopped momentarily, took a slow breath and then continued. "I asked you if you were sure it was your husband both times."

  Sidney froze. When she finally found her own voice, it came out in a furious whisper. "What are you suggesting?"

  "I listened to your first conversation with Jason. You're right, he did sound panicked, breathing heavy, the works. You guys had a real conversation. But now you tell me the second time around, he sounded far different, that it really wasn't a conversation. He talked, you listened. No panic. Now, we know about this microphone in Jason's office, something that he never uses. If he never uses it, why is it really there?"

  "I... What other reason would it be there?"

  "A microphone, Sidney, is for recording things. Sounds...

  Voices."

  Sidney gripped the cell phone so hard her hand turned red. "Are you saying..."

  "I'm saying that I believe that you heard your husband's voice over the phone both times, all right. But I think what you heard the second time was a compilation of your husband's words derived from the recordings taken by the microphone, because that was its real purpose, I'm fairly certain. A recorder."

  "That can't be possible. Why?"

  "I don't know why, yet. But it seems clear enough. That explains why your second conversation with him was so different. The second time around I gather the vocabulary was pretty ordinary?" Sidney didn't answer. "Sidney?" Sawyer heard a sob come over the line.

  "Then you think... you believe that Jason is... dead?" Sidney fought back the tears. She had already lived through one episode of believing her husband dead, only to suddenly encounter him alive.

  Or so she thought. The tears started to slide down her cheeks as she contemplated having to grieve again for Jason.

  "I have no way of knowing that, Sidney. The fact that I believe Jason's recorded voice was used rather than the real thing leads me to think that he was not around to speak himself. Why, I don't know. Let's leave it at that for now."

  Sidney put down the phone and clutched her head. Every limb was now shaking like a slender elm in a windstorm.

  Alarmed, Sawyer spoke earnestly into the phone. "Sidney? Sidney?

  Don't hang up. Please! Sidney?"

  The line went dead.

  Sawyer slammed down the receiver. "Dammit! Sonofabitch!"

  A minute went by. Sawyer stomped around the small room.

  Working himself into a rage, he finally slammed a heavy fist right through the wall. He leaped for the phone when it rang again.

  "Hello?" His voice was shaking with anticipation.

  "Let's not talk anymore about whether Jason is ... is alive, all right?" Sidney's voice was devoid of any emotion.

  "All right," Sawyer said quietly. He sat down and paused for a moment, deciding what line of questioning to pursue.

  "Lee, why would someone at Triton want to record Jason's voice and then use it to communicate with me?"

  "Sidney, if I knew the answer to that, I'd be doing cartwheels down the hallway. You said a number of offices had them installed recently. That means that it could have been anyone at the company who could have jerry-built his mike into a recording device. Or maybe one of Triton's competitors could have done it somehow. I mean, if you knew he didn't use the microphone, other people would as well. I do know that it's no longer in his office. Maybe it has something to do with the secrets he sold RTG." Sawyer rubbed his scalp as he sorted through the additional questions he wanted to ask her.

  She beat him to it. "Only Jason selling secrets to RTG doesn't

  make any sense now."

  Amazed, Sawyer stood up. "Why not?"

  "Because Paul Brophy was working on the CyberCom deal too.

  He was present at all the strategy sessions. He even made an attempt

  to take over the lead role in the transaction. Brophy, I now know, was working with Goldman and RTG to learn Triton's final negotiating position and beat them to the punch. He would've known far

  more about Triton's bargaining position than Jason ever would. The

  precise deal terms were physically maintained at Tyler, Stone, not at

  Triton."

  Sawyer's eyes grew wide. "You're saying--"

  "I'm simply saying that since Brophy was working for RTG, they

  wouldn't have needed Jason."

  Sawyer sat down and swore under his breath. He had never made

  that connection. "Sidney, we both saw a video of your husband passing information to a group of men in a warehouse in Seattle on the

  day of the plane crash. If he wasn't giving them information on the

  CyberCom deal, then what the hell was it?"

  Sidney shook in frustration. "I don't know! I do know that when

  Brophy was cut out of the final rounds of the deal, they tried to

  blackmail me for it. I pretended to go along. My actual plan was to

  go to the authorities. But then we got in the limo." Sidney shuddered. "You know the rest."

  Sawyer stabbed a hand into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

  He cradled the phone under his chin while he lit up. "You find out

  anything else?"

  "I spoke with Jason's secretary, Kay Vincent. She said the other

  major project Jason was working on other than CyberCom was an

  integration of Triton's backup files."

  "Tape backups? Is that important?" Sawyer asked.

  "I don't know, but Kay also told me that Triton had delivered financial records to CyberCom. On the very day of the plane crash."

  Sidney sounded exasperated.

  "So what's unusual about that? They're involved in a deal."

  Nathan Gamble because he didn't want to turn those very same records over to CyberCom."

  Sawyer rubbed at his forehead. "That doesn't make any sense. Do you think Gamble knew the records were turned over?"

  "I don't know. I mean, I can't be sure about that." Sidney paused.

  The damp cold was starting ro become painful. "In fact, I thought the CyberCom deal might blow up because of Gamble's refusal."

  "Well, I can tell you for a fact that it didn't. I attended the press conference today announcing the deal. Gamble was smiling like the Cheshire cat."

  "Well, with CyberCom in the fold I can understand him being very happy."

  "Can't say the same for Quentin Rowe."

  "They certainly are an odd pair."

  "Right. Like AL Capone and Gandhi."

  Sidney breathed deeply into the receiver but said nothing.

  "Sidney, I know you're not going to like this, but I'm going to say it anyway. You'd be a lot better off if you came in. We can protect you."

  "You mean imprison me, don't you?" she said, a bitter edge in her voice.

  "Sidney, I know you didn't kill anyone."

  "Can you prove it?"

  "I think I can."

  "You think ? I'm sorry, Lee. I really appreciate the vote of confidence, but I'm afraid that's not quite good enough. I know how the evidence stacks up. And the public's perception of things. They'd throw away the key."

  "You could really be in danger out there." Sawyer slowly fingered the FBI shield pinned to his belt. "Listen, tell me where you are and I'll come. No one else. Not my par
tner, nobody, just me. To get you, they go through me first. Then, meanwhile, we can try to figure this thing out together."

  "Lee, you're an FBI agent. There's a warrant for my arrest. It's your official duty to take me into custody the moment you lay eyes nn mo ('in tnn n( that you've already red for me once."

  Sawyer swallowed with difficulty. In his mind a pair of captivating emerald eyes blended together into the light of a train bearing right down on him. "Then let's just call it part of my unofficial duty."

  "And if it's found out, your career is over. On top of it, you could go to prison."

  'Tin a big boy, I'll take my chances about that. I give you my word it'll just be me coming." His voice trembled with suppressed excitement. Sidney could not speak. "Sidney, I'm shooting straight with you. I... I really want you to be okay, all right?"

  There was a catch in Sidney's throat. "! believe you, Lee. And I can't tell you how much that means to me. But I'm not going to let you throw your life away either. I'm not having that on my conscience too."

  "Sidney--"

  "I have to go now, Lee."

  "Wait! Don't."

  "I'll try to call back."

  "When?"

  Sidney stared straight ahead through the windshield, her face suddenly rigid, her eyes widening. "I'm... I'm not sure," she said vaguely. Then the line went dead.

  Sawyer put the phone down and fumbled in his pants pocket for the pack of Marlboros and lit another cigarette. He used his cupped hand for an ashtray while he paced around the room. He stopped and fingered the fist-sized hole in the wall and seriously contemplated giving it a twin. Instead he stepped to the window and looked out in complete despair at a frosty winter night.

  As soon as Sidney had gone back into the house, the man stepped from the dark shadows of the garage. His breath frosted in the freezing environment. He opened the door to the Land Rover. As the car's interior dome light came on, the deadly blue eyes shimmered like hideously carved jewels in the soft light. Kenneth Scales's gloved hands expertly searched the car but found nothing of interest. He then picked up the cell phone and hit the redial button. The phone rang only once before Lee Sawyer's excited voice came on the line.

  Scales smiled as he listened to the urgent tones of the FBI agent, who evidently thought Sidney Archer had called him back. Then Scales disconnected the call, quietly closed the car door and made his way up the stairs to the house. From a leather sheath on his belt he pulled the stiletto blade he had used to kill Edward Page. He would have taken care of Sidney Archer as she stepped from the Land Rover except he was uncertain whether she was armed. He had already seen her skill with a gun. Besides, his method of killing was based on the total surprise of his victims.

  He made his way through the first floor looking for the leather jacket Sidney had been wearing, but did not find it. Her purse was on the counter, but what he wanted wasn't in there. He proceeded over to the stairs leading up to the second floor. He paused at that point and cocked his head. Over the rush of the wind, the sound reaching his ears from the second floor made him smile once again.

  Water running in the tub. On this bitterly cold winter's night in rustic Maine, the sole occupant of the house was preparing to take a nice, hot, soothing bath. He made his way silently up the stairs.

  The bedroom door at the top of the landing was shut, but he could clearly hear the water running in the adjoining bathroom. Then the water was turned off. He waited a few more seconds as he envisioned Sidney Archer climbing into the tub, letting the hot water comfort her weary body. Then he stepped to the door of the bedroom.

  Scales would get the password first and then occupy himself for a while with the lady of the house. If he could not find what he wanted, he would promise to let her live in exchange for her secret and then he would kill her. He wondered briefly what the attractive lawyer would look like naked. From what he had seen of her, Scales concluded she would look very good indeed. And it wasn't as though he was in a rush. It had been a long, weary trip up the East Coast to Maine. He deserved a little R&R, he thought as he contemplated the upcoming event.

  Scales stood to the side of the door, his back against the wall, his knife at the ready, and placed one hand on the knob, turning it virtually noiselessly.

  The shotgun blast that disintegrated the door and embedded several pieces of the weapon's Magnum load in his left forearm was not nearly so quiet. He screamed and threw himself down the stairs, athletically rolling and landing virtually upright, gripping his bloody arm. He jerked his eyes upward as Sidney Archer, fully dressed, charged out of the bedroom. She racked the action of the shotgun again and Scales barely managed to throw himself out of the way before another blast hit the very spot where he had been standing. The house was almost totally dark, but if he moved again she would be able ro zero in on his location. He crouched down behind the sofa, his predicament evident. At some point Sidney Archer would risk turning on a light and the deadly power of the shotgun would quickly devastate everything in the small room, including him.

  Breathing quietly, he gripped his knife with his good hand, looked around the confines of the living room and waited. His arm stung terribly; Scales was far more used to inflicting pain than receiving it. He listened to Sidney's footsteps as she proceeded cautiously down the stairs. He was sure the shotgun was making wide sweeps of the area. From out of the darkness, he cautiously raised his head an inch or so above the top of the sofa. His eyes instantly riveted on her. She was halfway down the stairs. So intent was she on locating her quarry, she did not see a piece of the bedroom door that had landed on the stairs. When she unwittingly placed her weight fully on it, the piece slipped free and both her feet flew out from under her. With a scream, she tumbled down the stairs, the shotgun smashing against the railing. In an instant he pounced. As the pair rolled along the hardwood floor, he pounded her head against it. She kicked furiously against his chest and ribs with her heavy boots.

  Then she twisted away just as he struck savagely with his knife. The blow missed barely, tearing through the inside of her jacket instead of her flesh. A white object that had been in Sidney's pocket was dislodged from the impact of the blow and floated to the floor.

  Sidney managed to grab the shotgun and delivered a terrific blow to Scales's face with the butt of the solid Winchester, breaking his nose and knocking out several front teeth. Stunned, Scales dropped his knife and fell back for an instant. Then, furious, he wrenched the shotgun free, turning it on a dazed Sidney Archer. In a panic she hurled herself several feet away but was still easily in range. His finger pulled the trigger, but the muzzle remained silent. The fall down the stairs and the ensuing struggle had jammed the weapon.

  Sidney, her head bursting with pain from the earlier blow, desperately crawled away. With a vicious snarl, Scales threw the useless shotgun away and stood up, blood streaming down his shirt from his torn mouth and rearranged nose. He picked up his knife where it had fallen and advanced with murderous eyes toward Sidney. When he lifted the blade to strike, Sidney whirled around, the 9mm pointed right at him. A split second before she fired, however, he exploded into an acrobatic leap that carried him over the dining room table. She held the trigger down, throwing the 9mm into full auto maric fire, the Hydra-Shok slugs tracing an explosive pattern across the wall as she tried desperately to follow the path of his impromptu flight. Scales hit the polished wood floor hard, his momentum sending him headlong into the wall. As his torso whiplashed sideways from the impact with the wall, he crashed into the legs of an ornate mahogany sideboard. The slender mahogany legs snapped like matchsticks and the heavy piece collapsed right on top of him, spewing its contents across the room as drawers flew open from the fall. Scales did not move after that.

  Sidney jumped up, ran through the kitchen, grabbed her purse off the counter and fled down the stairs to the garage. A minute later the garage door splintered and erupted outward and the Land Rover careened through the savaged opening, did a 180-degree spin in the driveway and disa
ppeared into the snowstorm.

  As Sidney looked in her rearview mirror, she saw a pair of headlights.

  Her heart skipped a beat as she watched the big Cadillac pull into the driveway of the house she had just left. The blood drained from her face. Omigod! Her parents were finally here and the timing could not have been worse. She swung the truck around, plowing through a snowdrift, and raced back toward her parents' house.