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“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
I can about such people.”
“How do we get to him?” asked Sean.
“Actually, I believe he’ll get to us,” replied Paul.
CHAPTER
61
BUNTING’S WIFE WAS WEARING the new sexy lingerie when he got home at three a.m. She had long since fallen asleep, and he had chosen not to wake her. With Harkes’s permission he had earlier texted her so she wouldn’t be worried and call the police. He passed through the bedroom where she slept and into the bathroom, where he cleaned up his face. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw the reflection of a man who had fallen a long way in a short time.
He took some ice from the minibar and held it against the nasty bruise on his head while he sat fully dressed in his walk-in closet. His phone would ring from time to time. He would glance at the screen. Three times it was Avery. He never answered it.
What would he say?
Sorry, Avery, I chickened out and sacrificed you and it’s only by the grace of God and the unfathomable tactics of the assholes I’m involved with that you’re not dead.
He had stood in the doorways of each of his kids’ bedrooms. They were lavish spaces, far beyond what any child, no matter how affluent, needed or probably even cared for. He was thrilled his kids were in New Jersey. But realistically they wouldn’t be any safer there. Harkes could reach them anywhere.
He walked back to his closet, sat in the chair there, and thought about it. Foster and Quantrell had him cornered right now. But what was the endgame here? Edgar Roy was still sitting in that prison; the E-Program was still operating, albeit at a slower pace. If Edgar were proved innocent, all would be right with Bunting’s world. But Foster and certainly Quantrell didn’t want that. They wanted to scrap the E-Program. Bunting understood now that there was only one way to guarantee that would happen.
He slipped off his tie and his jacket, kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks. He trudged into the bedroom and stood next to the sleigh bed. It had been imported from France and was made of some kind of unique leather and antique wood. He couldn’t remember the names. It had such a huge footprint that he and his wife almost needed a GPS to find one another within its confines. He watched the rise and fall of her chest. No trophy wife was she. His kids were her kids. They had so much. They had it good. No, they had it great.
But I’ve really got nothing because it can all be taken away. I can be taken away. Which means she has nothing. Which means my kids have nothing.
He kept imagining James Harkes coming through the door with knife and gun in hand and his wife and kids defenseless against him.
Bunting spent another hour wandering his New York City mansion. He passed the maid’s room, the chef’s quarters. The driver didn’t live on the premises. A second maid did. They had a nanny, too. She was asleep. Like all normal people, she would be at this hour.
Bunting was awake because he wasn’t normal. Harkes was awake because he was abnormal. And Ellen Foster was probably at her executive desk right now plotting with Mason Quantrell to utterly destroy Bunting.
His phone rang again. It was Avery again. This time he answered it.
