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CHAPTER
66
THE PRIVATE WINGS TOUCHED DOWN, the stairs were lowered, and Peter Bunting stepped off into the chilly air flowing into Portland, Maine, from the ocean. He had not used the company jet; that was too easily followed. He’d flown in on a rental jet hired by one of his companies. During the flight he’d gotten a text from the man impersonating him.
It said simply, GTG, which was their code for “good to go.” If Bunting had gotten any other message he would have known they were compromised.
He walked quickly to the car. There was no driver. No security detail. The wheels were just waiting for him. He climbed in and drove off. As both a New Yorker and a pampered CEO he hadn’t driven a car by himself in years. It actually felt good.
Sean edged his head around a corner of the building. Clancy’s Restaurant was just across the main street. There were few people about because of the lateness of the hour and the cold weather. Sean huddled in his coat and glanced down the road to his left. Somewhere out there was Michelle, holding a sniper rifle chambering 7.62 175-grain NATO rounds that had an overabundance of knockdown power. She had brought the weapon back with her from Virginia. She had carried the rifle and her sniper stand, disassembled in a black nylon bag, off into the darkness. But Sean was in communication with her through his earbud and power pack. He had lived with a communications bud in his ear for years while standing post as a Secret Service agent. Back then it was his job to look for threats against the president and sacrifice his life for the man if it came to it. Now the threats he would be looking for would be aimed directly at him.
Before leaving for Portland they had arranged for Megan to be brought to the cottage. The local police could manage only a single deputy to guard her at Martha’s Inn, and he was nearing retirement. On meeting him Sean had not been impressed with either his skill or his enthusiasm.
Sean had called Eric Dobkin and asked him to watch over Megan while they were gone. He had come immediately. Sean had told him some more of what was going on.
“Real heavy hitters,” Dobkin had said. “You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
“We need you here with Megan,” said Sean. “No one knows we’re here, but then again, there are no guarantees they won’t find out.”
“I’ll do my best, Sean.”
“That’s all I can ask. And I really appreciate it.”
Megan had once more complained bitterly about not being kept in the loop, and while Sean was sympathetic to this plea, he was in no mood to discuss it.
Finally he’d said testily, “The less you know about it, Megan, the safer you’ll be. If anything happens you do exactly what Officer Dobkin tells you to do, understood?”
Megan had stood in the middle of the cottage, a defiant look on her face. “Fine, but just so you understand, when you get back, I’m out of here.”
“You ready?” Sean now said into his wrist mic, as his gaze swept the street.
“Affirmative.” Michelle’s voice floated into his ear.
“Location?”
“High ground, a hundred yards west of you. I can see everything from here. Perfect sight line to Clancy’s.”
“How’d you get high ground?”
“Empty building, pathetic back door lock. Everything in place?”
“Affirmative.”
“Good, stand by. Let me know when you see him.”
“Roger that.”
Sean did another turkey peek around the corner. He counted off the minutes in his head and then looked at his watch. One minute to ten. They’d gotten here early in case either Bunting was thinking of setting up an ambush or he hadn’t been able to get away from the people watching him and they had come in his place.
The car moved down the street, slowed, and then came to a stop. It turned into a parking spot and the tall man got out.
Sean stiffened.
Michelle’s voice came to him. “That’s him.”
“I see. Do a sweep and report back.”
Thirty seconds went by.
