The Sixth Man

CHAPTER 45

“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.

“So where do they go on these jaunts?” asked Sean.

“They’ll go ten blocks, enter the park, make their way back, exit in the Sixties, turn north, and head back here. They talk, the kids can be kids, normal.”

“Because they’re not? Normal?”

“Bunting certainly isn’t. He exists in this world, but he doesn’t really live in it. If he had his preference he’d live only in his world. But of course he can’t, so he makes certain concessions. But I can tell you that even though he’s out now with his family and talking about school and grades and the next charity event Mrs. Bunting has planned, his mind is really working on what to do about my brother.”

“How much does his wife know about what he does?”

“Let’s just say she is not intellectually curious about that. She plays the good wife. She’s smart, ambitious to a certain degree, good with the kids. Exactly how her husband generates the money necessary to keep the brownstone and vacation house, private school tuition and all the rest going, she doesn’t really care.”

“You’ve really done an exacting study of the Buntings.”

“Once I knew my brother would be working for him, I thought it was my duty.”

“Did you want him to work there?”

“I thought I did. I was wrong, of course. Eddie was just fine right where he was. But I just wouldn’t let myself see it. Misguided loyalty. Putting country over family. It’s not a mistake I would repeat.”

“You feel guilt for this, then?”

“Yes.”

Sean stared at her, obviously more than a little surprised. It was a frank admission for someone who so clearly gave little away. He had just assumed that she would do what she often did, answer a question with a question. Sensing she might be receptive to opening up more now he said, “Can I ask something?”

“Certainly.”

“Are we going to follow them?”

“They are being followed. Just not by us.”

“You have help?”

“I have acquaintances that assist me from time to time,” she answered.

“Another question?”

She started walking in the direction opposite the Buntings and he followed, rolling his travel bag behind him.

He took her silence as acquiescence. “You talked about the E-Program before, but what is the recruitment like?”

“You never even get asked to come in unless you’re the best of the best based on your track record. A lot of preliminary testing that all ordinary people would fail, but that all potential E applicants pass with flying colors. Then the testing becomes more and more rigorous. People start to fall away at these intervals. Eventually it comes down to the Wall. Only about three percent make it that far.”

She had stepped inside one of the entrances to Central Park. They slowly made their way along one of the walkways. Sean remained silent until they had gone well into the park.

“The Wall?”

She nodded. “That’s what they call it. It’s the monster through which all intelligence flows. The Wall is like going from high school football straight to being MVP of the NFL. Very, very few make it.”

She stopped and sat down on a bench.

“How do you know all this? From your brother?”

She shook her head. “He would have, but I didn’t let Eddie talk to me about it. He could have gotten into trouble.”

“So, your inside sources again.”

She stared off into the darkness, the gloom dispelled only by the path lights overhead. The rain had picked up, and Sean could feel a chill seeping into his bones.

“No,” she finally said.

“So how then?”

“Peter Bunting recruited me for the program seven years ago.”