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She’s communicating with him via Morse code.
And then another noise arose. Sean glanced down. Roy was tapping against his leg. He was answering her. She tapped her response back.
Edgar Roy’s gaze returned to the spot on the ceiling.
Paul crumpled the paper, put it in her mouth, and swallowed it.
As they walked out Sean whispered to Paul, “What was that about?”
“I gave him details and asked him to analyze them.”
“What did he code back to you?”
“He wanted to know if I had told Bergin about the E-Program. I told him I hadn’t.”
“What do we do now?”
“Now we go on the attack,” replied Paul.
“How?”
“I’ll tell you exactly how, because you and Michelle will be the tip of the spear.”
“Is Bunting behind all this?”
“We’re going to find out.”
Roy was returned to his cell. Once there he immediately turned away from the camera so he could at least close his eyes. He was tired, but the visit had lifted his spirits considerably.
His sister had come. He had always thought that she would. Her message had made it clear that she understood his situation. And she had told him quite a bit more using Morse code. She’d taught him the code when he was a child.
He opened his eyes and stared at the blank block wall across from him. It was painted yellow for some reason. Perhaps they thought the color soothing to the inmates here, as if a mere color could overcome what being here clearly meant.
Ted Bergin, Hilary Cunningham, Carla Dukes, Brandon Murdock, all dead. Think about a pattern there.
That was what his sister had asked him to do.
And so he did, dutifully. He turned over every possible combination in his mind.
Bergin and Dukes up close with a handgun. Cunningham killed and her body moved to Bergin’s place. Murdock from a long distance with a rifle. Who had motive? Who had opportunity?
Roy’s mind powered through the possibilities at a pace that would have been astonishing to anyone who could have somehow witnessed the execution of his thought process, the speed with which he considered and then rejected possibilities that ordinary people would have muddled over for months.
His mind slowed down, his factual base exhausted. He had not been given much to work with, but for him it had been enough. He had not detected a single pattern.
He had detected four. But he had no way to let his sister know this. He might never see her again.
CHAPTER
53
LED BY AN ARMED ESCORT, Bunting walked down the halls of the new DHS headquarters in D.C. It was a sprawling complex whose true price tag had never been revealed because it was classified. That essentially meant one had a license to print money, Bunting knew.
He was ushered into the room, and the door was closed and automatically locked behind him. He looked around the empty room and wondered if he’d been shown into the wrong space. He stopped wondering when Mason Quantrell and Ellen Foster stepped through from an adjoining room.
“Sit, Peter, this shouldn’t take long,” said Foster.
She opened a laptop that rested in front of the chair she took while Quantrell sat beside her. He smiled at Bunting. “How goes it, Pete?”
