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“THAT’S IT,” SAID KELLY PAUL.
She and Sean were standing outside a block of four-story brownstones on Fifth Avenue up in the East Seventies.
“Which one specifically?” he asked, as they stood there on the sidewalk opposite, a tree canopy shielding them from the rain.
She pointed to the largest one that had moldings and pediments and columns handcrafted by skilled workmen from over a century ago. “Nine thousand square feet. A lovely treetop view of the park from the front windows. And the inside is as splendid as the outside.”
“Have you been inside it?”
“Once.”
“How?”
“I never reveal my sources.”
“Is he there now?”
“Yes.”
“Describe him.”
“I can do better.” She pulled out a photo and showed it to him.
“He looks arrogant.”
“He is. But no more so than others in his position. He’s also paranoid, which makes him careful. Sometimes too careful, which can be exploited.”
“Why did you bring me here, really?”
“For this.”
She took his arm and drew him further back into the shadows.
A few minutes later five people came out of the brownstone; all were carrying large, open umbrellas. Bunting, his wife, and their three children: two girls and a boy. The kids wore two-hundred-dollar sweaters and equally expensive shoes. Their heads had never seen the inside of a barbershop, only a salon. The wife was beautiful, refined, tall, slender, and exquisitely dressed, her hair and makeup at the level of a black-tie event. Bunting had on a tweed jacket, pressed jeans, thousand dollar Crocs boots, and a swagger.
They were the epitome of the American Dream, displayed on the illustrious cement of New York’s high-dollar area.
“The family?”
Paul nodded. “And their guards.”
Sean turned his head to see the two men appear from the shadows and trail the Buntings.
“One is a former SEAL. The other is ex-DEA. Both are contractors working for a sub of BIC. He has two other men in his security detail. Sometimes they run four on, particularly when traveling abroad. Other times they rotate two on and off. Like now.”
“How did you know they would be coming out tonight?”
“They do this four times a week at roughly the same time. I believe the wife insists. Bunting doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like routines as a general rule, but he likes to keep the peace at home, too. He actually loves his wife and family very much.”
“How do you know that?”
“Sources again, Sean.”
As they watched, Bunting reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone to receive a call. He stopped walking and motioned to his wife that he would catch up. Sean noted that one guard stayed with Bunting.
Paul said, “He seems to have gotten an interesting call just now.”
They watched as Bunting walked in a tight circle while his guard stood by patiently. He was gesticulating and obviously not happy. He clicked off and immediately made another call. This took less than five minutes. Then he put the phone away and jogged onward to catch up with his family.
