Total Control (40 page)

Sawyer continued to watch her for a long moment and then slowly got to his feet. "While we're exchanging information, I thought you might like to know that your buddy Paul Brophy followed you down to Louisiana."

Sidney froze at his words.

"He searched your hotel room while you went out for coffee. Feel free to use that information however you see fit." He started to walk out the door and then turned back. "And just so there's no mistake, we have you under twenty-four-hour surveillance."

"I don't plan on taking any more trips, if that's what you're worried about."

His response surprised her. "Don't keep that pistol locked up, Sidney. Keep it within easy reach, and keep it loaded at all times. In fact . . ." Sawyer opened his coat, undid his clip-on belt holster, removed his pistol and handed the holster to Sidney. "In my experience, guns in purses aren't all that effective. Please be careful."

He left Sidney in the open doorway, her thoughts centered on the brutal fate of the last man to give her that particular piece of advice.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Lee Sawyer looked at the carefully sculpted black-and-white marble walls and floors. They were cut in asymmetrical triangular patterns.

He assumed they were supposed to convey a sophisticated artistic statement. However, they only served to give the FBI agent a throbbing headache. Through the gracefully carved lines of a birchwood double doorway with etched-glass panels and buttressed by a pair of faux Corinthian columns, the clink of dishes and silverware filtered out to him from the main dining area. He took off his overcoat, removed his hat and gave both to a pretty young woman in a short black skirt and tight blouse that managed to enhance a body that didn't need much enhancing. He was given a claim check in return, accompanied by a very warm smile. One of her fingernails had slid delicately across his palm when the claim check was passed over, digging just deep enough into his skin to make his body tingle in certain discreet places. She must do damn well in tips, he figured.

The makre d' appeared and eyed the FBI agent.

"I'm here to meet Frank Hardy."

The man again flicked his eyes over Sawyer's rumpled appearance.

The severe appraisal was not lost on Sawyer, who took a moment to hitch up his pants, a duty repeated many times a day by people of Sawyer's healthy dimensions. "How're the burgers here, pal?" he inquired.

He took out a stick of gum, wadded it up and popped it into his mouth.

"Burgers?" The man seemed ready to topple over at the thought.

"We serve French cuisine here, sir. The finest in the city." His accented speech bubbled with indignation.

"French? Great, I bet your fries must be damn good, then."

Turning quickly on his heel the maTtre d' led Sawyer through the immense dining area, where rows of crystal chandeliers sparkled above a clientele that nearly matched the brilliance of the finely cut light fixtures.

The ever elegantly dressed Frank Hardy rose from a corner booth and inclined his head at his former partner. Their waitress appeared moments after Sawyer did.

"What're you drinking, Lee?"

Sawyer settled his bulk into the booth. "Bourbon and spit," he grumbled without looking up.

The waitress looked at him blankly. "Excuse me?"

Hardy laughed. "In his own crude way my friend means straight bourbon. I'll have another martini."

The waitress went off, rolling her eyes.

Sawyer blew into his handkerchief and proceeded to look around the room. "Gee, Frank, I'm glad you picked the place."

"Why's that?"

"Because if I had, we'd be at Shoneys. But maybe it's best. I hear it's tough as hell to get reservations there this time of year."

Hardy chuckled and swallowed the rest of his drink. "You just can't accept even a sliver of the good life, can you?"

"Hell, I can accept it, so long as I don't have to pay for it. I'm figuring dinner for two here would run about what I have in my retirement plan."

The two men chatted for a few minutes while the waitress returned, situated their drinks and then stood ready to take their dinner orders.

Sawyer looked over the menu, which was written very clearly, but unfortunately only in French. He put the menu down on the table.

"What's the most expensive item on the menu?" he asked the waitress.

She rattled off a dish in French.

"Is it real food? Not snails or crap like that?"

With raised eyebrows and a stern expression, she assured him that snails were on the menu and were excellent, but the selection she had mentioned was not snails.

With a grin at Hardy, he said, "Then I'll have that."

After the waitress departed, Sawyer swallowed his gum, grabbed a hunk of bread from the basket in the center of the table and munched on it. "So, you find out anything on RTG?" he said between bites.

Hardy put his hands on the table, smoothing out the linen cloth.

"Philip Goldman is RTG's top counsel and has been for many years now."

"Doesn't that strike you as funny?"

"What?"

"That RTG would use the same lawyers as Triton, and vice versa.

I mean, I'm no attorney, but isn't that setting somebody up for a nasty fall?"

"It's not that simple, Lee."

"Gee, why am I not surprised."

Hardy ignored the remark. "Goldman has a national reputation and he's been RTG's top dog for a long time. Triton is a relative newcomer to Tyler, Stone's fold. Henry Wharton brought the account in. At the time, the two companies had no direct conflicts.

Since then, there have been some tricky issues as the two companies' businesses have expanded. However, they've always worked through that--full disclosures, written waivers, all papered properly. Tyler, Stone is a top-flight firm and I think neither company wanted to lose that expertise. It takes time to build that continuity and trust."

"Trust. Now, there's a funny word to use in a case like this."

Sawyer fiddled with the bread crumbs in front of him while he listened.

"Anyway, with the CyberCom deal, there was a direct conflict,"

Hardy continued. "Both RTG and Triton want CyberCom. Tyler, Stone was barred by the code of legal ethics from representing both clients."

"So they opted to rep Triton. How come?"

Hardy shrugged. "Wharton is managing partner. Triton is his client. Enough said? They sure as hell weren't going to let both companies be represented by someone else on this deal. Too tempting for another firm to walk away with the whole kit and caboodle."

"I take it Goldman was a little upset when the firm dissed his client like that."

"From what I could find out, homicidal was more like it."

"But who's to say he can't work behind the scenes to get RTG the prize?

"Nothing. Nathan Gamble is no dummy; he's well aware of that.

And if RTG beats out Triton, you know what might well happen, don't you?"

"Let me guess. Gamble might find some new lawyers?"

Hardy nodded. "Besides that, you read the headlines. They are mad as hell at Sidney Archer. I think her job security might be a lit the weak."

"Well, the lady's not too thrilled herself right now."

"You talked to her?"

Sawyer nodded and finished off his bourbon. He debated and then decided not to fill in Hardy on Sidney Archer's confession to him.

Hardy worked for Gamble, and Sawyer was pretty sure what Gamble would do with that information: Destroy the lady. He threw out a fact as a theory instead. "Maybe she went to New Orleans to meet her husband."

Hardy stroked his chin. "I guess it makes sense."

"That's the problem, Frank, it doesn't make a damned bit of sense."

"How's that?" Hardy looked surprised.

Sawyer put his elbows on the table. "Look at it this way. The FBI shows up on her doorstep asking a bunch of questions. Now, you've got to be a friggin' zombie not to get a little nervous when that happens. So on the same day she hops on a plane to meet her husband?"

"It's possible she didn't know she was being followed."

Sawyer shook his head. "Uh-uh. This lady is sharp, like ginzu-knife sharp. I thought I had her dead to rights on a phone call she got the morning of her husband's memorial service and she sidesteps it with a perfectly plausible explanation that she probably thought up right then and there. She did the same thing when I accused her of ditching my cover guys. She knew she had a tail on her. And she still went."

"Maybe Jason Archer didn't know you were watching."

"If the guy did pull off all this shit, you don't think he's smart enough to realize the cops might be watching his wife? Come on."

"But she did go to New Orleans, Lee. You can't get around that fact."

"I'm not trying to. I think her husband did contact her and told her to hightail it down there despite our presence."

"Why in the hell would he do that?"

Sawyer fiddled with his napkin and didn't respond. Then their meals arrived.

"Looks good." Sawyer eyed his meticulously arranged meal.

"It is. It'll kick your cholesterol to an all-time new high, but you'll die a happy man."

Hardy reached across and tapped Sawyer's plate with his knife.

"You haven't answered my question: Why would Jason Archer have done that?"

Sawyer slid a forkful of food into his mouth. "You weren't kidding about this stuff, Frank. And to think I was going to Chef Boyardee-it when you called and asked me to dinner."

"Dammit, come on, Lee."

Sawyer put down his fork. "When Sidney Archer went to New Orleans, we pulled all our guys because we had a number of routes to cover. She still almost gave us the slip. In fact, except for me getting incredibly lucky at the airport, we wouldn't have known where the hell she went. And now I think I know the reason she did go: as a diversion."

Hardy looked incredulous. "What the hell do you mean? A diversion from what?"

"When I said we pulled all our guys, I meant we pulled all our guys, Frank. There wasn't anybody watching the Archers' house while we were gone."

Hardy sucked in his breath and collapsed back in his seat. "Shit!"

Sawyer eyed him wearily. "I know. A big-time screw-up on my part, but it's too late to bitch and moan about it now."

"So you think--"

"I think somebody paid that house a call while the missus was cooling her high heels in the Big Easy."

"Wait a minute, you don't think it was..."

"Let's put it this way: Jason Archer would be on my top-five list."

"What could he have wanted?"

"I don't know. Ray and I searched the place and didn't find anything."

"You think the wife is in on it?"

Sawyer took another bite of food before answering. "If you had asked me that question a week ago, I probably would have said yes.

Now? Now I think she has no idea what's going on."

Hardy sat back. "You really believe that?"

"The newspaper shredded her. She's in deep shit with her law firm. Her husband never showed up and she comes home empty-handed.

What did she gain except an even bigger headache?"

Hardy started to eat again but continued to look thoughtful.

Sawyer shook his head. "Christ, this case is like a jelly doughnut.

Every time you take a bite, sticky shit squirts all over you." Sawyer stuffed a mound of food in his mouth.

Hardy laughed and looked around the dining room. His eyes suddenly focused on something. "I thought he was out of town."

Sawyer followed his gaze. "Who?"

"Quentin Rowe." He discreetly pointed. "Over there."

Rowe was halfway across the dining room, ensconced at a booth in a secluded corner. Soft candlelight gave the table an intimate feel in the expanse of the crowded restaurant. He wore a costly silk blazer, collarless shirt buttoned to the top and a pair of matching silk trousers. His ponytail flopped across the back of his neck as he engaged in an animated conversation with his dinner companion, a man in his early twenties dressed in an expensively tailored suit. The two young men were sitting side by side, their eyes firmly set on one another. They spoke in low tones, and Rowe's hand briefly flickered on top of his companion's.

Sawyer arched an eyebrow at Hardy. "They make a nice couple."

"Watch it. You're starting to sound politically incorrect."

"Hey, live and let live. That's my motto. Guy can date whoever he wants."

Hardy continued to observe the pair. "Well, Quentin Rowe is worth about three hundred million dollars, and the way things are going he'll be a billionaire well before he's forty. I'd say that makes him a very eligible bachelor."

"I'm sure there's an army of young ladies just kicking themselves over that one."

"You better believe it. But the guy's flat-out brilliant. He deserves the success."

"Yeah, he gave me a little tour of the company. I didn't understand half of what he was talking about, but it was still interesting stuff. Can't say I like where all this technology crap is going, though."

"Can't stop progress, Lee."

"I don't want to stop it, Frank, I'd just like to choose how much I have to participate in it. According to Rowe, it doesn't look like I'm going to get that opportunity."

"It is a little scary. But it sure as hell is lucrative."

Sawyer glanced again in Rowe's direction. "Speaking of couples, Rowe and Gamble sure make an odd one."

"Really, what makes you say that?" Hardy grinned. "Seriously, they just happened to run into each other at an opportune time. The rest is history."

"So I understand. Gamble had the money bags and Rowe brought along the brains?"

Hardy shook his head. "Don't sell Nathan Gamble short. It's not easy making the bucks he did on Wall Street. He is one bright guy and a hell of a businessman."

Sawyer wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Good thing, because the man ain't going to get by on his charm."

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

It was eight o'clock when Sidney reached Jeff Fisher's home, a restored row house on the outskirts of Old Town Alexandria's elite residential area. Dressed in MIT sweats and battered tennis shoes, a Red Sox cap perched on his nearly bald head, the short, pudgy Fisher welcomed her and led her to a large room crammed top to bottom with computer equipment of all descriptions, cables running all over the hardwood floors, and multiple electrical outlets jammed to capacity.