The Sixth Man

by David Baldacci

  “Not many do. At least voluntarily.”

  “Well, maybe we should think about it. Seriously think about it.”

  “Then what would we do?”

  “There’s more to life than this, Michelle.”

  “Is this because we slept together?”

  “Probably, yes,” he conceded.

  “So now we have something to lose?”

  “Us, we have us to lose. Maybe you could… you could do something else.”

  “Oh, I get it. I’m the girl. Let the big strong guy do the heavy lifting, play the hero while I stay home in pumps and pearls and bake the cookies and pop out the babies.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “In case you missed it, slick, I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m not denying that.”

  “So if you’re really gung ho on this domestication thing why don’t you stay home and play house, and I’ll kick down the doors and shoot the guns?”

  “I can’t live my life that way. Always worried that you wouldn’t come home.”

  She pulled off at an exit, drove the truck onto the shoulder, slammed the gear shift into park, and faced him.

  “Well, how do you think I’d feel if I were the one waiting at home?”

  “The same as me,” he said quietly.

  She nodded. “That’s right. The same as you. At least if we’re out here together, we have each other. We can rely on each other to get us both home every night.”

  “And if we both take it in the end? Like what almost happened tonight?”

  “I can’t think of any other way I’d want to go out. How about you?”

  After a long moment of silence he tapped the steering wheel. “Put it in gear. We’ve got a job to do.”

  “So we’re on the same page now?”

  “Actually I’m pretty sure we always were.”

  CHAPTER

  59

  THE SUV HAD SCREECHED to a halt on Fifth Avenue, the door had opened, two burly men had jumped out, lifted Peter Bunting completely off the pavement, and thrown him into the vehicle before he knew what was happening. The truck had raced off and he’d found himself squished between his two captors. They said nothing in response to his questions. They never even looked at him.

  The place they took him to was belowground and heavily secured. It was a location New Yorkers would walk over millions of times a day and never know was even there. The room was dark. Bunting stared up at the man in fear.

  James Harkes looked different than he had in past meetings. He was dressed the same; black suit that could barely restrain his muscular physique. But his demeanor was different. It was crystal clear that Bunting was no longer in charge.

  If I ever was.

  Harkes was. Or rather whomever Harkes was reporting to, and Bunting now had a solid idea of who that was.

  “Let’s go over your debrief one more time, Bunting.”

  There was no more Mr. Bunting.

  “We’ve been over it three times. I’ve told you everything.”

  “We’ll go over it until I’m satisfied.”

  When Bunting finished Harkes said, “Why did you meet with Sean King?”

  “Are you keeping my calendar now?”

  Harkes didn’t answer him. He was texting something on his BlackBerry. He looked up when he was finished. “There are certain people, all of whom would be familiar to you, that are not happy about your recent performance.”

  “I was already aware of that,” Bunting shot back. “If that’s all you wanted to tell me, I’d like to go now.”

  Harkes rose, went to the wall, and flicked a switch. The wall suddenly became transparent. As Bunting looked closer he saw that it was a one-way mirror. Seated in the brightly lit room was Avery. Bunting could see that he was strapped to a gurney. There was one intravenous cannula going to each of his arms. The young man was convulsed with fear. His head was turned and he seemed to be staring directly at Bunting, but it was apparent he couldn’t see him. With the special glass and the bright lights he would only be able to see his own terrified countenance reflected back. A heart monitor on a stand was next to the gurney with a line running to Avery’s neck.

  Bunting shouted, “What the hell is going on?”

  “Avery screwed up. King tracked you through him. And you were aware of it but didn’t bother to tell me.”

  “I don’t answer to you.”

  Harkes moved with astonishing speed. The blow hit Bunting right above the left eye. Harkes’s hand felt like a block of cement. The blood pouring from a gash on his forehead, Bunting fell forward in his chair, feeling sick to his stomach from the violence of the strike.

  He struggled to catch his breath. “Look, you bastard, Foster and Quantrell aren’t the only game in town—”

  Harkes hammered a fist into Bunting’s right kidney, doubling him over and dropping him to the floor. This time he did throw up. An instant after the vomit left his mouth he was yanked up and thrown back in the chair with such force that he nearly toppled over backward. When his breath returned Bunting said, “What the hell do you want from me?”

  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 not
hing 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.

  CHAPTER

  60

  SEAN AND MICHELLE 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