The Sixth Man

CHAPTER 50

BECAUSE HE HAD ABSOLUTELY ZERO other options, Bunting made the trek once more, going from rich, busy Manhattan, to poor, just as busy Manhattan. He looked up and saw the sign: Pizza, $1 a Slice.

If only he were here for pepperoni and cheese. Right now he was so angry he could barely contain himself. He wanted to hit something. Or someone.

He walked up the six flights. He was in good shape, worked out regularly at his members-only club, but for some reason he felt winded and sweaty when he reached the top.

He knocked.

The door opened.

James Harkes stood there, dressed exactly as before. As Bunting was ushered in he wondered if the man’s entire wardrobe consisted of the same color suit, shirt, and tie, namely black, white, black.

The men sat at the same small table. A little fan buzzed and oscillated on a side table. It was the only airflow in the place, other than the men’s breathing. Bunting could feel the heat rising from the pizza ovens six floors below.

“Murdock!” began Bunting.

“What about him?”

“He’s dead, but I know you already knew that.”

Harkes said nothing. He just sat there, large hands resting on his flat stomach.

“He’s dead, Harkes,” Bunting said again.

“I heard you the first time, Mr. Bunting.”

“When we talked last night and you said you’d discovered that Murdock had stumbled onto the E-Program’s existence, I didn’t say to kill him.”

Harkes leaned forward just a bit. “You’re assuming certain actions on my part.”

“Did you kill him?”

“I’m here to protect you, Mr. Bunting.”

“But he’s a damned FBI agent. You had him murdered.”

“Your words, not mine.”

“Christ, are you really going to play semantics now?”

“I have a few other things to take care of. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yeah, you can stop killing people. You have just made a complicated situation nearly impossible.”

“I wouldn’t characterize it that way.”

“Well, I would.”

“Maxwell knows now. And King.”

“About Edgar Roy being the Analyst?”

“Yes,” said Harkes.

“How could they?”

“Outside source.”

“Who?”

“Kelly Paul.”

Bunting stared at him.

“Kelly Paul,” Harkes said again. “I know that you know her.”

“How is she involved?”

“She’s Edgar Roy’s half sister.” Harkes studied him. “But then you knew that.”

“Is that where King and Maxwell went when we lost track of them?”

“Possibly.”

Bunting pointed a finger at Harkes. “Listen very carefully. You are not to go near Kelly Paul. Or Sean King. Or Michelle Maxwell. Do you understand me?”

“I’m afraid you’re not grasping the seriousness of the situation.”

“So what the hell is the plan? Kill everybody?”

“Plans are ever evolving,” said Harkes with maddening calm.

“Why would Paul be working to harm her brother? That’s preposterous.”

“You’re assuming that Paul is still working for us. She’s been off the grid for a while. She could be freelancing for our enemies.”

“I don’t believe that. Kelly Paul is as patriotic as anyone I’ve ever met.”

“That is a dangerous perspective for someone in your position to have.”

“What perspective?” snapped Bunting.

“That someone can’t be corrupted.”

“I can’t be. I would never do anything to harm my country.”

“That’s a nice speech. But if the right inducement came along even you could be turned.”

“Never.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“If anybody else ends up dead, it’s over for you, Harkes. You have my word.”

“You have a good day, Mr. Bunting.”

Harkes opened the door, and Bunting stormed through it.