Total Control (67 page)

"You're crazy! Why would Gamble steal from himself?"

"He didn't. That money's probably spread over a hundred different accounts he's got all over the world. It was perfect cover. Who'd ever suspect the guy who got taken for all that money? I'm sure Quentin Rowe handled the BankTrust piece and also breaking into Virginia's AFIS database to monkey around with Riker's prints.

Jason Archer had the evidence to the whole blackmail scheme with Lieberman. He had to tell someone. Who? Richard Lucas? Don't think so. He was Gamble's man, plain and simple. The inside guy."

"So who did he tell?" Hardy's eyes were now pinpoints.

Sawyer took a long drag on his cigarette before answering. "He told you, Frank."

"Right. Prove it," Hardy said with disgust.

"He went to you. The 'outside' guy. The former FBI agent with a list of commendations as long as his arm." Sawyer spat this last sentence out. "He went to you so you could help him expose the whole thing. Only you couldn't let that happen. Triton Global's your gravy train. Giving up private jets, the pretty ladies and nice clothes wasn't an option, was it?"

Sawyer continued, "Then you all took me through the dog and pony show, setting up Jason to be the bad guy. You guys must've been laughing your asses off at how you suckered me. Or thought you had. But when you saw I wasn't buying all of it, you got a little nervous.

Was it your idea to have Gamble offer me a job? Between you and him I never felt so popular." Hardy remained silent. "But that wasn't your only performance, Frank."

Sawyer reached in his pocket and took out a pair of sunglasses and put them on. He looked quite ridiculous in the darkness. "You remember these, Frank? The two guys on the video in the warehouse in Seattle? They were wearing sunglasses, indoors, in a fairly dark room. Why would anybody do that?"

"I don't know." Hardy's voice was a mere whisper now.

"Sure you do. Jason thought he was handing over his proof... to the FBI. At least in the movies all Feds wear shades and the guys you hired to play the FBI agents must have liked going to the theater.

You couldn't just kill Jason. You had to win his trust, make sure he hadn't told anyone. A top priority was getting back all the hard evidence he had. The videotape of the exchange had to be in pristine condition because you knew you'd be giving it to us as evidence of Jason's guilt. You only had one shot to get it right. But Archer was still suspicious. That's why he kept a copy of the information on another disk and later sent it to his wife. Did you tell him he'd get a big reward from the government? Was that it? Probably told him it was the biggest damned sting in the history of the FBI."

Hardy remained silent.

Sawyer looked at his old partner. "But unknown to you, Frank, Gamble had his own big problem. Namely that Arthur Lieberman was about to spill his guts. So he hires Riker to sabotage Lieberman's plane. I'm sure you didn't know about that part of the plan. On Gamble's orders you arrange for Archer to get ticketed on the flight to Los Angeles, and then you had him pull a switch and he gets on the flight to Seattle instead so you could film your little videotape of the exchange. Rich Lucas is ex-CIA, he probably had lots of ties to former Eastern European operatives with no families, no past. The guy who went down in Archer's place wouldn't be missed. You had no idea Lieberman was on the L.A. flight or that Gamble was going to kill him. But Gamble knew it was the only way the blame for Lieberman's death could be thrown on Archer. And with it, Gamble kills two birds with one stone: Archer and Lieberman. You bring me the video and I switch all my efforts to catching Jason and I forget all about poor old Arthur Lieberman. Except for Ed Page wandering into the picture, I don't think I would've ever picked up Lieberman's thread again.

"And let's not forget old RTG, who got blamed for everything, with Triton conveniently ending up with CyberCom. I told you about Brophy being in New Orleans. You found out he was actually connected to RTG and that they might actually accomplish what you'd set Jason up for: working with RTG. So you had Brophy and Goldman followed and when the opportunity arose, you took them both out and set up Sidney Archer to take the fall. Why not? You'd already done the same thing to her husband." Sawyer paused.

"That's a hell of a transition, Frank: FBI agent to participation in a massive criminal conspiracy. Maybe I should take you on a visit to the crash site. You want to do that?"

"I didn't have anything to do with the plane bombing, I swear," Hardy yelled out.

"I know. But you were involved in one regard." Sawyer took off his sunglasses. "You killed the bomber."

"Would you care to prove that?" Hardy's eyes blazed at him.

"You told me, Frank." Hardy's face froze. "Down in the parking garage where Goldman and Brophy checked out. The place was freezing. I was concerned about the decomposition of the bodies, that the frigid temperatures might make ascertaining the time of death impossible. Remember what you said, Frank? You said it was the same problem with the bomber. That the air-conditioning had made the apartment freeze just like the outside air did to the parking garage."

"So?"

"I never told you the air-conditioning was turned on in Riker's apartment. In fact, I turned the heat back on right after we found the body. There was no mention of the A/C being turned on in any of the bureau reports--not that you would've been privy to them anyway." Hardy's face had turned ashen. "You knew, Frank, because you were the one who turned the A/C on. When you found out about the bombing, you knew Gamble had used you. Hell, maybe they planned to kill Riker all along. But you were more than willing to do the honors. It didn't hit me until I was freezing my ass off in a police paddywagon driving over here."

Sawyer moved forward. "Twelve shots, Frank. I admit, that one really puzzled me. You were so furious at the guy for what he'd done that you went a little berserk. Emptied your whole clip into him. I guess you still had a little bit of the cop left in you. But now it's over."

Hardy swallowed hard, struggling to keep his nerves under control.

"Look, Lee, everybody who knows about my involvement is dead."

"What about Jason Archer?"

Hardy laughed. "Jason Archer was a fool. He wanted the money, just like all of us. Only he didn't have the nerve, you know, not like you and me. He kept having bad dreams." Hardy edged forward.

"You look the other way, Lee. That's all I'm asking. You start work at my company next month. One million dollars a year. Stock options, the works. You'll be set for life."

Sawyer flicked his cigarette away. "Frank, let me make this real clear to you. I don't like ordering my food in foreign languages, and I wouldn't know a damned stock option if it jumped up and clamped me right on the balls." Sawyer raised his gun. "Where you're going, the only option will be top or bottom bunk."

Hardy snarled, "Not by a long shot, old buddy." He pulled the disk from his pocket. "You want this, then put your gun down."

"You've gotta be kidding me--"

"Put it down," Hardy screamed. "Or I throw your whole case into the Atlantic. You let me go, I'll mail it to you from parts unknown."

Hardy started to smile as Sawyer's pistol began dropping. Then, as Sawyer stared into the grinning countenance, he abruptly returned the pistol to its original position. "First, I want an answer to one question, and I want it now."

"What is it?"

Sawyer moved forward, his hand tightening on the trigger.

"What happened to Jason Archer?"

"Look, Lee, what does it matter--"

"Where is Jason Archer?" Sawyer roared over the crash of the waves. "Because that is exactly what the lady back there wants to know, and dammit, you're going to tell me, Frank. By the way, you can throw that disk as far as you want. Rich Lucas is alive," Sawyer lied. He had seen Lucas lying dead in the middle of the battlefield the hotel lobby had become. The silent sentinel was now forever silent. "Want to bet how anxious he is to rat on your ass?"

Hardy's face went stone cold as he realized his exit option had just evaporated. "Take me back to the house, Lee. I want to call my lawyer." Hardy started forward and then suddenly stopped as Sawyer assumed a textbook shooting stance.

"Now, Frank. Tell me right now."

"Go to hell! Read me my rights if you want, but get out of my damned face."

Sawyer's response was to shift his pistol slightly to the left and fire one round. Hardy screamed as the slug took off skin and the top part of his right ear. Blood poured down the side of his face. He fell to the ground. "Are you crazy?" Sawyer now aimed the gun directly at Hardy's head. "I'll have your badge and your pension, and your ass will be in jail for more years than you've got left, you sonofabitch," Hardy screamed. "You'll lose everything."

"No I won't. You're not the only person who can manipulate a crime scene, old buddy." Hardy watched in growing astonishment as Sawyer popped open the gun bag riding above his belt and took out another 10mm. He held it up. "This will be the gun you'll have gotten away from me in the struggle. They'll find it clutched in your hand. It'll have several shots fired from it, evidencing your homicidal intent." He pointed toward the vast ocean. "Kind of hard to find the slugs out there." He held up the other pistol. "You used to be a first-rate investigator, Frank. Care to deduce what role this pistol will play?"

"Dammit, Lee, don't!"

Sawyer continued calmly. "This will be the pistol I use to kill you."

"Jesus, Lee!"

"Where is Archer?"

"Please, Lee. Don't!" Hardy wailed.

Sawyer moved the muzzle to within a few inches of Hardy's head.

When Hardy covered his face with his hands, Sawyer snatched the disk from Hardy's quivering fingers and looked at it. "Come to think of it, this might come in handy." He put it in his pocket.

"Good-bye, Frank." His finger descended on the trigger.

"Wait, wait, please, I'll tell you. I'll tell you." Hardy gagged for a moment and then looked up into Sawyer's grim face.

"Jason is dead," he cried out.

The few words slammed into Lee Sawyer like lightning bolts. His big shoulders collapsed and he felt the last vestiges of energy leave his body. It was as though he had simply died. He had been almost certain of this result but had been hoping for a miracle, for Sidney Archer and her little girl's sake. Something made him turn and look behind him.

Sidney was standing at the top of the path, barely five feet from him, drenched and shivering. Their eyes met under soft moonlight suddenly revealed through the patchy clouds. They did not need to speak. She had heard the terrible truth: Her husband was not coming back.

A scream came from the cliffside. Gun ready, Sawyer whirled around just as Hardy went over the cliff. Sawyer made it to the edge in time to see his old friend and new nemesis bounce off the jagged rocks far below and disappear into the violent waters.

Sawyer stared down at the abyss and then with a furious thrust he hurled his pistol as far as he could into the ocean. The movement tore at his damaged ribs, but he didn't feel the pain. He closed his eyes and then opened them to stare at the savage outline of the Atlantic.

"Dammit!" Sawyer's big body leaned heavily to one side as he fought to keep his fractured ribs immobile and his weary lungs functioning.

His ripped arm and battered face started to bleed once again.

He stiffened as he felt the arm on his shoulder. Under the circumstances, Sawyer would not have been surprised to see Sidney Archer run as fast as she could from this place; who could've blamed her? Instead, she put one of her arms around his waist and one of his around her shoulder, and helped the injured FBI agent back down the path.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

The funeral that finally laid Jason Archer to rest in peace occurred on a clear December day atop a quiet knoll about twenty minutes from his brick and stone home. During the graveside service Sawyer had stayed in the background as family and close friends attended the once again grieving widow. The FBI agent had stayed at the grave site after all of them had gone. As he stared at the newly etched tombstone, Sawyer rested his bulk on one of the folding chairs that had been used for the simple, brief burial ritual. Jason Archer had occupied the agent's every waking moment for over a month and yet the two men had never met. That was often the case in his line of work; however, this time the emotions wending their way through the veteran agent's psyche were far different. Sawyer knew he had been powerless to prevent the man's death. And yet he still felt crushed that he had let the man's wife and little girl down, that the Archer family had been irretrievably destroyed because of his inability to get at the truth in time.

He covered his face in his hands. When he removed them some minutes later, the tears still glimmered in his eyes. He had successfully completed the case of a lifetime, yet he had never felt like more of a failure. He stood up, put on his hat and headed slowly toward his car. Then he froze. The long black limo was parked at the curb.

It had come back. Sawyer watched the face peering out from the limo's rear window. Sidney was looking at the fresh hump of dirt in the earth. She turned her head in Sawyer's direction as he stood there trembling, unable to move, his heart pounding, his lungs heaving, and wishing more than anything else on earth to be able to reach into that cold soil and return Jason Archer to her. The glass slid back up as the limousine drove away.

The night before Christmas Eve, Lee Sawyer rolled his sedan slowly down Morgan Lane. The houses along the street were beautifully decorated with lights, wreaths, all-weather Santa Clauses and their trusty reindeer. Down the block a group of bundled-up carolers was performing. The area was in a festive mood, all except for one house, which was dark but for one light on in the front room.

Sawyer pulled into the Archers' driveway and got out of his car.

He was dressed in a new suit, his cowlick plastered down as much as it could be. He pulled a small gift-wrapped box out of the car and walked up to the house. His gait was a little stiff; his ribs were still on the mend.