Total Control

by David Baldacci

  following me. I get real jumpy when people do that."

  "I got better things to do than follow you, believe me."

  "So?"

  "So what?" Gamble eyed him.

  "So how'd you know where I live?"

  "What's it to you?"

  "Actually, it's a lot to me. In my line of work you don't broadcast the place you call home."

  "Okay, let me see, then. What did we do? Look you up in the phone book?" Gamble abruptly shook his head and his eyes flickered amusement at Sawyer. "No, that wasn't it."

  "Good thing, since I don't happen to be listed."

  "Right. Well, I guess we just knew." Gamble blew a pair of perfect smoke rings to the ceiling. "You know, all our computer technology.

  We're Big Brother, we know everything." Gamble chuckled while he puffed on his cigar and looked over at Lucas.

  Lucas caught Sawyer's eye. "Actually, Frank Hardy told us. In confidence, of course. We don't intend to spread that information around. I understand your concern." Richard Lucas paused. "Just between us," he added, "I was with the CIA for ten years."

  "Ah, Rich, I just had him going too." The smell of liquor on Gamble's breath permeated the car. He reached across and opened a small door built into the wood paneling of the Rolls. A well-stocked bar was revealed. "You look like a scotch and soda man."

  "I had my fill at dinner."

  Gamble filled up an etched china glass with the contents of a bottle of Johnnie Walker. Sawyer glanced over at Lucas, who looked on calmly enough. Apparently this was fairly routine.

  "Actually, I didn't think I'd be hearing from you after our little chat the other day," said Sawyer.

  "The simple answer to that is you took me down a peg and I probably deserved it. Actually, I was testing you with my big-shot ass-hole routine and you passed with flying colors. As you can imagine, I don't meet that many people with the balls big enough to do that.

  When I do, I like to get better acquainted. Plus in light of recent developments I want to talk to you about the case."

  "Recent developments?"

  Gamble took a sip of his drink. "You know what I'm talking about. Sidney Archer? New Orleans? RTG? I just got off the horn with Hardy."

  "You work pretty fast. I just left him not more than twenty minutes ago."

  Gamble pulled a tiny portable phone from a receptacle on the Rolls's rear console. "Remember, Sawyer, I operate in the private sector.

  You don't move fast, you don't move at all, get it?"

  Sawyer pulled on his cigar before answering. "I'm beginning to.

  By the way, you never did say where we're going."

  "Didn't I? Well, sit tight. We'll be there shortly. And then we can have ourselves a nice little talk."

  USAir Arena was home to the NBA Washington Bullets and the NHL Washington Capitals, at least until the new downtown stadium was completed. The arena was packed for the Bullets-Knicks game. Nathan Gamble, Lucas and Sawyer rode the private elevator to the second floor of the arena, where the corporate luxury boxes were located. When Sawyer stepped down the hallway and through the door marked TRITON GLOBAL, he felt as if he had boarded a luxury liner. These weren't merely seats to a ball game; the place was about the size of his apartment.

  A young woman was tending bar and a hot and cold buffet was laid out on a long side table. There was a private bath, closet, overstuffed sofas and chairs and a giant-screen TV in one corner with the basketball game on. From Up a flight of stairs leading to the viewing section, Sawyer could hear the crowd cheering. He looked at the TV. The home-team Bullets were up by seven over the heavily favored Knicks.

  Sawyer took off his hat and coat and followed Gamble over to the bar area.

  "You've gotta have something now. Can't watch a ball game without a drink in your hand."

  Sawyer nodded toward the bartender. "Bud, if you've got it."

  The young woman reached in the refrigerator, popped open a can of Budweiser and started to pour it in a glass.

  "Can's good enough. Thanks."

  Sawyer looked around the spacious room again. No one else was there. He strayed over to the buffet. He was still full from dinner, but some chips and salsa were calling to him.

  "Place usually this empty?" he asked Gamble while he grabbed up a handful. Lucas assumed a hovering presence against the wall.

  "Usually it's packed," Gamble replied. "Damn good perk for the employees. Keeps 'em happy and hardworking." The bartender handed Gamble his drink. In response, Gamble flushed a wad of hundred-dollar bills out of his pocket, pulled a glass off the counter and stuffed the bills in the glass. "Here, bartender's got to have a tip jar. Go buy some growth stocks." The young woman almost fainted with joy as Gamble walked over to join Sawyer.

  Sawyer pointed his beer toward the TV. "Looks like a great game.

  I'm surprised there aren't Triton people packed in here."

  "I'd be real surprised if they were, since I instructed that no tickets be given out for tonight's game."

  "Why'd you do that?" Sawyer took a sip of his beer.

  Gamble hooked Sawyer's arm with his free hand. "Because I wanted to talk to you in private."

  Sawyer was led up the stairs to the viewing area. From up here the view was pretty much straight down onto the playing floor. Sawyer watched with a twinge of envy as two groups of tall, muscular and very rich young men ran up and down the court. The seating area he was in was closed in on three sides by Plexiglas. On either side were the occupants of other luxury boxes. However, with the glass shield, one could conduct a very private conversation amid a crowd of fifteen thousand.

  The two men settled in. Sawyer jerked his head toward where they had just come from. "Rich doesn't like basketball?"

  "Lucas is on duty."

  "Is he ever off duty?"

  "When he's sleeping. I occasionally let him do that." Gamble sat back in the comfortable chair and gulped his drink.

  Sawyer looked around curiously. He had never been in one of these things before, and after the fancy dinner with Hardy he was feeling a little out of his depth. At least he'd have some stories to tell Ray. When he glanced over at Gamble, he stopped smiling.

  Nada in life was free. Everything had its cost. He decided it was time to check the price tag.

  "So, what'd you want to talk about?"

  Gamble stared down at the sports contest without really seeing any of it. "The fact is we need CyberCom. We need it badly."

  "Look, Gamble, I'm not your business consultant, I'm a cop. I don't give a damn if you get CyberCom or not."

  Gamble sucked on an ice cube. He seemed not to have heard.

  "You work hard building something and it's never enough, you know? Always somebody trying to take it away from you. Always somebody trying to screw you."

  "If you're looking for sympathy, look someplace else. You can't spend all the money you've already got. What the hell do you care?"

  Gamble exploded. "Because you damn well get used to it, that's why." He calmed down quickly. "You get used to being on top. Having everybody measure themselves against you. But a lot of it is about the money." He looked over at Sawyer. "You want to know what my total income is per year?"

  Despite himself Sawyer was curious. "If I say no, why do I feel like you're going to tell me anyway?"

  "One billion dollars." Gamble unceremoniously dropped the ice cube from his mouth into his glass.

  Sawyer swallowed a mouthful of beer as he absorbed this stunning information.

  "My federal income tax bill alone this year will come to about four hundred million dollars. With that you'd think I'd qualify for a little TLC from you Feds."

  Sawyer glared at him. "If you're looking for TLC, try the hookers down on Fourteenth Street. They're a lot cheaper."

  Gamble stared over at him. "Shit, you guys just don't get the big picture, do you?"

  "Why don't you enlighten me as to what exactly that is."

  Gamble put down his glass. "You treat everybody the same
." His tone was one of disbelief.

  "Excuse me--are you saying that's wrong?"

  "It's not only wrong, it's stupid."

  "I guess you never bothered to read the Declaration of Independence-you know, that warm, fuzzy part about all men being created equal."

  "I'm talking reality. I'm talking about business."

  "I don't make distinctions."

  "Like I'm gonna treat the chairman of Citicorp the same as I would the janitor in the building. One guy can loan me billions of dollars and the other can scrub out my toilet."

  "My job is to hunt down criminals, rich, poor, in-between. It doesn't make any difference to me."

  "Yeah, well, I'm not a criminal. I'm a taxpayer, probably the biggest damned taxpayer in this whole country, and all I'm asking for is a little favor that I'd get in the private sector without even asking for it."

  "Hooray for the public sector."

  "That's not funny."

  "Not for one second was it supposed to be." Sawyer stared him down. When Gamble finally looked away, Sawyer glanced down at his hands and then took another swallow of beer. Every time he was around this guy his heartbeat seemed to double.

  Down on the court a slam dunk by the home team brought the crowd to its feet.

  "By the way, you ever think there's something wrong with you being richer than God?"

  Gamble laughed. "Like those guys down there?" He pointed at the basketball court. "Actually, based on the world's present condition, I think I had a better year than God." He rubbed at his eyes.

  "Like I said, it's not the cash anymore. You're right, I have more than I'll ever need. But I like the respect being on top brings. Everybody waits to see what you'll do."

  "Don't confuse respect with fear."

  "In my book they go hand in hand. Look, I got where I am by being one tough sonofabitch. You hurt me I'll hurt you back, only better. I grew up poorer than dirt, took a bus to New York when I was fifteen, started on Wall Street as a courier making a few bucks a day, worked my way to the top and I never looked back. Made fortunes, lost fortunes and then made them back. Hell, I got a half dozen bullshit honorary degrees from Ivy League colleges and I never finished the tenth grade. All you have to do is make donations."

  He arched his eyebrows and grinned.

  "Congratulations." Sawyer prepared to stand up. "I guess I'll be heading on, then."

  Gamble grabbed his arm and then immediately let it go. "Look, I read the paper. I've talked to Hardy. And I can feel RTG breathing down my neck."

  "Like I said before, that's not my problem."

  "I don't mind playing on a fair field, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna lose out because an employee sold me down the river."

  "Allegedly sold you down the river. We haven't proven anything yet. And whether you like it or not, that's all that matters in a court of law."

  "You saw the videotape. What more proof do you need? Hell, all I'm really asking you to do is your job. What's wrong with that?"

  "I saw Jason Archer giving some documents to some people. I have no idea what the documents were or who the people are."

  Gamble sat up. "See, the problem here is that if RTG knows my deal and outbids me for CyberCom, I'm screwed. I need you to prove they ripped me off. Once they get CyberCom, it's not going to matter how they got the deal, it's theirs. You hear where I'm coming from?"

  "I'm working as hard as I can, Gamble. But there's no way in hell I'm going to tailor my investigation to fit your business agenda. The murder of a hundred and eighty-one innocent people means a lot more to me than how much you pay in income taxes."

  Gamble didn't answer. "You hear where I'm coming from?" Gamble finally shrugged. "If it turns out RTG was behind it, then you can rest assured that I'll spend every waking moment making sure I bring them down."

  "But couldn't you put the screws hard to them right now? The FBI investigating them would probably knock them right out of the running for CyberCom."

  "We are looking into it, Gamble. These things take time. Bureaucracy with a capital B, remember?"

  "Time is something I don't have a lot of," he growled.

  "Sorry, the answer's still no. Now, is there anything else I can't do for you?"

  The two men watched the game in silence for a few minutes.

  Sawyer picked up a pair of binoculars from the table in front of him.

  As he watched the action up close he said, "So what's up with Tyler, Stone?"

  Gamble grimaced. "If we weren't so far into the CyberCom deal, I'd fire their ass right now. But the fact is I need their legal expertise and institutional memory. For now, anyway."

  "But not Sidney Archer's."

  He shook his head. "Never would've figured that lady to do something like that. Helluva lawyer. A real babe on top of it too. What a waste."

  "How's that?"

  Gamble looked at him, amazed. "Excuse me, did we read the same newspaper? She's in it up to her nice-looking ass."

  "You think so?"

  "Don't you?"

  Sawyer shrugged and finished his beer.

  "Lady takes off after her husband's memorial service," Gamble continued. "Hardy tells me she tried to give your guys the slip. You followed her all over New Orleans. She's acting suspicious, comes right home after getting a phone call. Hardy also said you thought somebody may have gone through her house while she drew all you guys off the scent. Brilliant how you let that happen, by the way."

  "I'm gonna have to be careful what I tell Frank in the future."

  "I pay him a hell of a lot of money. He better keep me informed."

  "I'm sure he's worth every penny."

  "Pennies, right! That's a joke."

  Sawyer gave Gamble a sidelong glance. "For all he's done for you, you don't seem to hold Frank in very high regard."

  Gamble chuckled. "Believe it or not, I have really high standards."

  "Frank was one of the best agents the bureau ever produced."

  "I have a short memory for good work. You have to keep showering me with it." Gamble's smile quickly turned to a glare. "On the other hand, I never forget screwups."

  They watched the game in silence. Finally Sawyer stirred.

  "Quentin Rowe ever screw anything up for you?"

  Gamble looked surprised by the question. "Why do you ask that?"

  "Because the guy's your golden egg and from all accounts you treat him like crap."

  "Who said he's my golden egg?"

  "You saying he's not?" Sawyer sat back and crossed his arms.

  Gamble didn't answer right away. He brooded over his glass of liquor. "They had a lot of golden eggs in my career. You don't get to where I am off one racehorse."

  "But Rowe is valuable to you."

  "If he wasn't, I wouldn't have much use for his company."

  "So you tolerate him?"

  "So long as the dollars keep pouring in."

  "Lucky you."

  Gamble's look was ferocious. "I took an ivory tower geek who