Rainey stood. “I’m going for an Egg McMuffin. Want anything?”
“No,” Paul said.
Rainey walked from the room. Sherry smiled. “How you feeling today?”
“Great. Thanks again for last night.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since. You helped me, I just wanted to let you know. Sorry I left so early, but it had nothing to do with you or the night. I’ll make it up to you, promise.”
“Anytime.”
“By the way-see if D.C. will send us something with real speed. The Merlin won’t do. Ask for a Gulf-stream or a Falcon. We’re going to Miami in the next few hours.”
“It’s drawing to a close?” Her voice shook a little.
“Looks like it. Let me know as soon as you hear from Peoples and”-he held up the card-“send this guy in.”
Sherry left the room, and seconds later a young man dressed in an expensive suit and patent-leather cowboy boots came in. Paul gestured and he took a seat across the table.
“I’m Paul Masterson,” he said.
“Ben Tackett.”
“Sherry tells me it’s confidential. I’m right in the middle of something, and I’m not doing drug investigations. You may want to see the-”
“This isn’t about drugs. It’s about Ed Buchanan.”
“Buchanan… should I know who that is? Coffee, Mr. Tackett?”
“No. I’ll do this fast.” The attorney scrambled his fingers and locked his hands on the table surface. “Rainey Lee was in the Buchanans’ home last night.”
“One of the scouts,” Paul said, remembering. “Sorry the name didn’t stick. I sent him. He said it didn’t produce anything.”
“Sir, this is Tennessee, and there are specific laws in Tennessee to protect our citizens from out-of-control federal officers.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Are you not aware that Agent Rainey Lee threatened the Buchanans at gunpoint?”
“What?”
“Ed Buchanan is a client and friend of mine. He is aware of the pressure that Agent Lee has been under-what he has been through-and that’s the only reason Mr. Lee isn’t already under arrest. Ed says he isn’t the same person he was before. Their sons were close friends.”
“I know.”
“In the kitchen. Evidently Rainey got verbally rough with the child because he couldn’t recall seeing some accomplice this killer was supposed to have had. Betty Ann grew hysterical, and when Ed went to the kitchen to call the police, Mr. Lee took his gun from his holster under his jacket and aimed it at Mr. Buchanan.” The attorney pulled out a pad and read the lines he had written on it earlier. “Then he told Mr. Buchanan to ‘sit the fuck down and shut his fucking mouth and stop interfering in federal matters or all hell was going to break loose.’ He told him if he ‘said one,’ again I quote, ‘fucking thing he’d come back and bury him in the flower garden.’ He told Mr. Buchanan he had nothing to lose. They said his eyes were”-the attorney looked at the paper-“feral.” He pushed it away. “In a word, it scared the shit out of my client and his family.”
Paul exhaled loudly and lit a cigarette. “Mr…?”
“Tackett. Call me Ben.”
“Ben, Agent Lee is under a lot of stress, as you have said. Tell the Buchanans that they have the apology of the DEA and that Mr. Lee’s firearm was not loaded. We have him under the care of the agency psychiatrist, and we are humoring him by giving him some busy work. Tonight I am flying him out of here. By tomorrow night Mr. Lee will have been committed to a facility where he can get the professional help he needs so desperately.”
“Not loaded? The gun wasn’t loaded.” The attorney raised an eyebrow.
Paul shook his head. “I unloaded it myself. Rainey is an old friend. I didn’t know he had done any of this. Please accept my deep and sincere apology.”
The attorney stood. “Well, I leave this in your hands. The Buchanans also ask that they be left out of this. They’d rather Mr. Lee…”
“I understand completely.”
After the attorney left, Paul sat down and thought about what Rainey had done. It was irrational. It was irresponsible. It was, in fact, criminal. Rainey was a dangerously loose cannon.
Paul picked up the telephone and dialed.
“This is Paul Masterson. I need to speak to T.C. Robertson.” He lit a cigarette. “A status report. Urgent. Yes, I’ll hold for the director.” Acting director.
“Hey, Paul. How’s it going?”
“It’s all coming together, but I’ve got a problem we have to discuss.”
“God, you know how I hate problems. You assured me-”
“It’s Rainey. I think we might have to put him on ice until this is over. He pulled a gun on a citizen. Man and his wife. Parent of one of the Cub Scouts. Looks like he’s over the edge.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“He needs a few months in the Barn.” “The Barn” was slang for a facility in Maryland where troubled federal agents were sent for extended rest and rehabilitation. It was obvious to Paul, looking back, that he should have been sent there after he’d been released from the hospital, but it never came up. Someone near the top of the DEA had probably short-circuited normal procedures because they hadn’t wanted him back in the picture for some reason. Politics, rivalry for a higher position, or maybe whoever it was thought they were doing him a favor by keeping him free. There was no proof, except that the Barn and intense therapy would have been a normal step in his rehabilitation. Maybe he had just been cast off because he was damaged goods, not worth the investment.
Something alerted Paul that he wasn’t alone. He turned as he spoke and realized that the conference-room door was standing open.
“I’ll call you back, T.C.”
Paul picked up his cane as he went to the door. The hallway was clear. He went to Sherry’s office and stuck his head inside. She was seated at her desk. “Oh, good.” She picked up a pink message slip and held it up so he could see it. “The Falcon is coming later this morning.”
“You seen Rainey?”
“He was just here while I was on the line. Isn’t he in the conference room? I thought he was going there.”
“Get on the telephone, Sherry. Tell security to drop the gate to the garage.”
“Why?”
“Just tell them to do it. Now. Tell the door guards no one leaves the building.”
“What’s happening?”
“Just do it!” Paul cleared the door and ran for the elevators as fast as he could, given the limp. No telling what Rainey would do if he knew Paul had plotted with T.C. to lock him up.
Paul stopped short because Rainey was standing at the elevators with a McDonald’s bag in his hand. There was a cup of coffee spilled on the floor at his feet. He was crying. Paul approached slowly and put his hand on Rainey’s shoulder. “You okay?”
“It’s embarrassing being out of balance,” he said between the tears. “I am not in control, Paul. I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry. Please… help me. I’ll go to the Barn after Martin’s down.”
Paul embraced his old friend. “I will help you. I promise I will. It’ll be fine again, you’ll see,” Paul said. “Now, I’ll have your weapon,” he said. He backed off and extended his left hand.
Rainey had overheard Paul planning his incarceration, turned, and made for the elevators in a momentary panic. But as he’d waited for the cab, he’d heard Paul’s orders to Sherry and had known he couldn’t get out of the building. Even if he could, where would he go? Nothing but Martin mattered, and he couldn’t hunt Martin blind. He couldn’t very well follow Paul on the chase from a distance, either. He knew he’d have to take another tack. It was easy. The tears were real as rain.
