Total Control (20 page)

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

Charlie's expression was calm. "I've got rounds to make. That's part of my job." He bent down to the smaller man's height when he said it. Charlie started out the door and then turned back. "Oh, it might help avoid confusion in the future if you let me know you're still around." He touched his sidearm. "We don't want no unfortunate accidents, you know?" Rowe went pale at the sight of the gun.

"You hear any more noises, you come get me, okay, Mr. Rowe?"

After Charlie turned away, he broke out in a broad smile.

Rowe stood at the doorway for a minute longer, thinking intently.

Then he turned and went back into the office.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Lee Sawyer eyed the small three-story apartment building, which was located about five miles from Dulles International Airport. Residents enjoyed a complete fitness center, Olympic-size pool and Jacuzzi, and huge party room. It was home to mostly young single professionals who got up early to make the traffic-stifling trek into downtown. The parking lot was littered with low-end Beemers, Saabs and the occasional Porsche.

Sawyer was interested in only one of the occupants of this community.

He was not a young lawyer, marketing executive or holder of an MBA. Sawyer briefly spoke into his walkie-talkie. Three other agents were seated in the sedan with him. Stationed around the area were five other teams of FBI agents. A black-clad squadron of the elite FBI Hostage Rescue Team (HRT) was also zeroing in on Sawyer's target. A battalion of local authorities was backing up the federal lawmen. A lot of innocent people were around, and great pains were being taken to ensure that if anyone was going to get hurt, it would be only the man whom Sawyer believed had already killed almost two hundred people.

Sawyer's plan of attack was textbook FBI. Bring overwhelming force to a completely unsuspecting target, force so overpowering, in a situation so totally controlled, that resistance was useless. Controlling the situation completely meant you could control the outcome too. Or so the theory went.

Every agent carried a 9mm semiautomatic pistol with extra clips.

Each team of agents also had one member with an appropriately named Franchi Law-12 semiautomatic shotgun and another member sporting a Colt assault rifle. The HRT members all carried heavy-caliber automatic weapons, most with electronic laser sights.

Sawyer gave the signal to move in and the teams moved forward.

In less than one minute members of the HRT had reached the door of apartment number 321. Two other teams covered the only other possible escape, the two back windows of the apartment that overlooked the pool area. Snipers had already set up there, their laser sights fixed immovably on the twin apertures. After listening intently at the door of 321 for a few seconds, the HRT members exploded through the opening. No gunfire disturbed the peaceful stillness of the night. Within a minute, Sawyer received the all-clear signal. He and his men hurried up the. stairs of the apartment building.

Sawyer was met by the leader of the HRT.

"Nest empty?" Sawyer asked.

The HRT man shook his head. "Might as well be. Someone beat us to it." He jerked his head in the direction of the small bedroom at the rear of the apartment.

Sawyer walked quickly back there. A shiver hit him right between the shoulder blades; the place was like the insides of a freezer.

The overhead light in the bedroom was on. Three HRT members looked down at the small space between the bed and the wall.

Sawyer followed their gaze and his spirits sank.

The man was lying face down. Multiple gunshot wounds in the back and head were plainly visible; so were the firearm and the twelve pieces of brass that littered the floor. Sawyer, with the aid of two HRT members, carefully lifted the body, turning it sideways before returning it exactly to the spot where it had been before.

Sawyer rose, shaking his head. He barked into his walkie-talkie.

"Tell the state guys to get a medical examiner out here and I want the forensics team here yesterday."

Sawyer looked down at the body. Well, at least the guy wouldn't be sabotaging any more planes, although a full clip into his body didn't seem like nearly enough punishment for what the sonofabitch had done. But a dead man couldn't talk either. Sawyer moved out of the room, his walkie-talkie squeezed tightly in his hand. In the empty hallway he noted that the air-conditioning had been turned on full blast. The apartment's temperature hovered around thirty degrees.

He quickly jotted down the precise temperature setting and then, using the point of a pencil so as not to destroy any possible fingerprints, he turned the heat back on. He wasn't about to let his men freeze to death while they investigated the crime scene. He slumped against the wall, momentarily depressed. While he'd known the odds were long that they would find the suspect at his apartment, the fact that they had found him murdered clearly indicated that someone was a couple of steps ahead of the FBI. Was there a leak somewhere, or had this murder been part of some master plan?

He gripped the walkie-talkie and headed back to the bedroom.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Sidney exited the Triton building and started across the parking lot. She was so deep in thought she didn't see the black stretch limousine until it careened to a halt directly in front of her. The rear door opened and Richard Lucas stepped out. He was dressed in a dark blue conservative single-breasted suit. His face was chiefly distinguished by a pug nose and a pair of small eyes that were too close together by about an inch. His breadth of shoulders and the omnipresent hump under his suit coat made him an imposing physical presence.

"Mr. Gamble would like to meet with you." His tone was even.

He held the door open and Sidney could see the bolstered pistol under his coat. She froze, swallowed hard and then her eyes blazed.

"I'm not sure that fits into my schedule right now."

Lucas shrugged. "As you wish. However, Mr. Gamble thought it best to speak directly with you. To get your version of the facts before he decides upon any type of action. He felt the sooner the meeting took place the better for all concerned."

Sidney took a deep breath and looked at the limo's black-tinted windows. "Where is this meeting to take place?"

"Mr. Gamble's estate in Middleburg." He checked his watch.

"Our ETA is thirty-five minutes. We will, of course, take you back to your car after the meeting is concluded."

She eyed him sharply. "Do I really have a choice?"

"A person always has choices, Ms. Archer."

Sidney pulled her coat tighter around her and climbed in. Lucas sat across from her. She didn't ask any more questions and he ventured nothing further. His eyes, however, remained squarely upon her.

Sidney was dimly aware of an enormous house of stone surrounded by meticulously landscaped and tree-lined grounds. You can make it through this, she thought. Interrogation was often a two-way street. If Gamble wanted answers from her, she would do her best to get some from him. She followed Lucas through a double-door entryway, down an impressive hallway and into a large chamber of polished mahogany and comfortable seating. Original oil paintings portraying distinctly masculine subjects covered the walls. A small fire burned in the hearth. On a table situated in one corner a dinner with two settings was laid out. Although she had no 'appetite, the aroma was enticing nevertheless. In the center of the table a bottle of wine was chilling. The door closed behind her with a click. She went over and confirmed that it was indeed locked. She whirled around as she heard a slight movement behind her.

Nathan Gamble, dressed casually in an open-collared shirt and cuffed slacks, came around the corner of a high-wingback chair that had been turned toward the far wall. His penetrating gaze made her draw her coat more closely around her. He moved over to the food.

"You hungry?"

"Not really, thanks."

"Well, if you change your mind, there's plenty to eat. I hope you don't mind if I do."

"It's your house."

Gamble sat down at the table and started fixing his plate. Then she watched as he poured two glasses of wine. "When I bought this place it came with a wine cellar and two thousand very dusty hot ties of wine. Now, I don't know crap about wine, but my people tell me it's a first-rate collection, not that I intend on collecting. Where I come from, you collect stamps. This stuff you drink." He held up a glass for her.

"I really don't think--"

"I hare to drink alone. Makes me think I'm the only one having fun. Besides, it worked for you on the plane, right?"

She finally nodded, slowly removed her coat and took the glass from him. The room was soothingly warm, but she remained on her guard; it was SOP when in the vicinity of active volcanoes and people like Nathan Gamble. She sat down at the dinner table and eyed him while he started eating. He looked at her and motioned at the food. "You sure you're not interested?"

She held up her glass. "This is fine, thanks."

He shrugged, gulped his wine and then proceeded to slice up a hefty piece of steak. "I talked to Henry Wharton recently. Nice guy, always looking out for his people. I appreciate that in an employer.

I look out for my people too." He sopped gravy onto a roll and bit a chunk off.

"Henry has been a wonderful mentor to me."

"That's interesting. I never had a mentor, coming up. That might're been nice." He chuckled lightly.

Sidney glanced around the elegant room. "It doesn't look like it hurt you any."

Gamble raised his wineglass, tapped it to hers and then resumed eating. "You holding up? You look like you've lost some weight from the last time I saw you."

"I'm doing okay. Thanks for asking." She flicked at her hair while watching him carefully, trying to keep her nerves in check. She was waiting for the inevitable moment when the small talk would abruptly end. She would have preferred to have gotten right down to business. Gamble was merely playing with her. She had seen him do it dozens of times with other people.

Gamble poured himself another glass of wine and despite her protests, he topped off Sidney's glass. Twenty minutes of innocuous conversation later, Gamble wiped off his mouth with his napkin, stood up and led Sidney over to an oversized leather sofa in front of the fire. She sat down and crossed her legs and took an invisible deep breath. He remained standing by the fireplace mantel and looked at her from under hooded eyelids.

She studied the fire for a moment, sipped the wine and then looked up at him. If he wasn't going to start, she decided she would.

"I spoke with Henry too, apparently soon after you did."

Gamble nodded absently. "I thought Henry might give you a buzz after our little talk." Underneath her opaque exterior, Sidney felt herself growing angry at how Gamble manipulated and bullied people to get what he wanted. Gamble produced a cigar from a humidor perched on the mantel. "You mind?"

"As I said, it's your house."

"Some people say cigars aren't habit-forming; I'm not so sure about that. You have to die from something, right?"

She took another sip of wine. "Lucas said you wanted to meet. I'm not privy to the agenda, so would you like to begin?"

Gamble took several short puffs on his cigar to get it going before answering. "You lied to me on the plane, didn't you?" His tone was not one of anger, which surprised her. If anything, she had assumed that a man like Nathan Gamble would have exhibited unbridled fury at such an offense.

"I wasn't completely truthful, no."

A faint twitch moved across Gamble's features. "You're so damned pretty, I keep forgetting you're an attorney. I guess there's a difference between lying and not being completely truthful, although, frankly, I'm not all that interested in the distinction. You lied to me, that's all I'm going to remember."

"I can understand that."

"Why was your husband on that plane?" The question shot out of Gamble's mouth, but his features remained impassive as he stared at her.

Sidney hesitated, then decided to answer fully. It was going to come out at some point. "Jason told me he had been offered an executive position at another technology company based in Los Angeles.

He said he was going out for a last round of meetings."

"What company? RTG?"

"It wasn't RTG. It wasn't a direct competitor of yours at all.

That's why I didn't think it important to tell you the truth. But as it turns out, it really doesn't matter which company it was."

"Why not?" Gamble looked surprised.

"Because what Jason told me wasn't the truth. There was no job offer, no meetings. I just found that out." She said this as calmly as she could.

Gamble finished his wine and made considerable progress on his cigar before he spoke again. Sidney had noted this trait with other clients who possessed vast wealth. Nothing hurried them. Your time was their time.

"So your husband lied to you and you lied to me. And I'm now supposed to accept what you're telling me as the gospel?" His tone remained even, but his incredulity was unmistakable. Sidney remained silent. She couldn't actually blame him for not believing her.

"You're my lawyer; advise me on how I should handle this situation, Sidney. Do I accept what the witness is saying, or not?"

Sidney spoke hurriedly. 'I'm not asking you to accept anything.

If you don't believe me, and you probably have reason not to, then there's nothing I can do about that."

Gamble nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. What else?"

"There is no 'what else." I've told you all I know."

Gamble flicked his cigar into the fire. "Come on! In the course of my three divorces I've found, much to my dismay, that pillow talk does happen. Why should you be any different?"

"Jason doesn't ... didn't discuss Triton business with me. What he did at your company was confidential as far as I was concerned. I don't know anything. I have a lot of questions myself but no answers."