“I just want verification that we will do things my way.”
Quantrell said, “I have no problem with that. My men screwed up, obviously. But your reputation precedes you, Harkes.”
Harkes said, “Are you okay with that, Madame Secretary?”
“I want you to take care of it, Harkes, that’s all. Using whatever means you choose.”
“And who do you want standing at the end?” he asked.
Foster looked surprised. “I’m not sure I want any of them standing at the end. Why would I?”
“Again, I just like to be as explicit as possible in situations like this.”
She drew closer to him and leaned in. “Then here are your explicit instructions, Harkes. Edgar Roy, dead. Peter Bunting, dead. Kelly Paul, dead. Michelle Maxwell, dead. Sean King, dead. Is that precise enough for you?”
“Yes.”
She straightened and looked at Quantrell. “If that’s all, Mason, I’d like a private moment with Harkes. We have some unfinished business on an unrelated matter.”
After Quantrell left, Foster perched on the edge of the table next to Harkes.
“The other night did not please me. Your behavior was beyond ridiculous.”
“I can tell you believe that,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I could say that your behavior was actually the ridiculous one, but I doubt it would make an impression on you.”
“I’m not used to rejection at any level.”
“I can tell that too.”
“I can make your life a living hell.”
“Yes you can.”
“And on the other hand I can make it the exact opposite of a living hell.”
“I’m not a whore, Madame Secretary.”
“You are what I want you to be,” she corrected him. “So how do you want this to play out?”
“I have a mission. I will carry it out.”
“And after that?”
“After what?”
She slid one long nail across his hand. “I want you, Harkes. And I get what I want. It’s just that simple.”
He looked up at her. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“You could have an ambassador. A senator. A rich Wall Street asshole. Anybody, really. So why me? What am I to you?”
“I’ve had all those types. It’s like ice cream. Now I crave something different.”
She leaned in closer. “So when this is over you will continue to work for me in any way I choose. Is that understood?”
“Understood.”
She ran a hand along his cheek. “Wonderful. Now go do what needs to be done.”
“I will,” he said.
CHAPTER
74
“SIR, IT’S HIM. On the phone!”
Mason Quantrell’s secretary was standing in front of him in his office suite in northern Virginia.
Quantrell looked up from his work. “Who?”
“Peter Bunting.”
Quantrell forgot all about what he was doing. “Bunting? Calling me?”
“Line one.”
“Notify security and tell them to trace the call.”
“Yes, sir.” She hurried out.
Quantrell paused, staring down at the blinking light. Then he snatched it up. “Hello?”
Bunting said pleasantly, “Hello, Mason. I know your tech guys are trying to trace this. You can let them go through the motions if you want. You never could break my pipeline, mainly because your hardware is cheap crap that you sell to the Pentagon for fifty times what it’s worth, but I’ll still keep it brief.”
“Where is Edgar Roy, Bunting?”
“Funny you should ask, Mason. I know that was quite a curve we threw you when your boys got ambushed.”
“Don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Right, right, just in case I’m sitting at the Hoover Building and they’re recording this call.”
“I doubt you’d get anywhere near Hoover without being arrested. You’re in serious trouble, my friend.”
“You think so? Well, not nearly as serious as you are.”
“You never did lie well, Pete.”
“It was a blunder, you know.”
“What was?”
“The team you used to extract Roy. How in the hell did you forget about the surveillance cameras at Cutter’s?”
Quantrell felt his gut tighten just a notch. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Surveillance cameras, Mason. You get the concept, right? They
“I… I understood from the news reports that the power was knocked out as part of the escape plan.” He added in a loud voice, “A plan that
“But Cutter’s is a very special federal facility. And Maine is a very green state.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Didn’t you ever notice the solar panels, Mason?”
Quantrell remained silent.
“Or have you never personally been to Cutter’s? Maybe you just let your lackeys do all the recon. Well, they have the diesel backup generator but they also have solar backup. It’s not all that powerful. Can’t run the facility. Can’t even power the fence. But it can run the cameras for up to twenty-four hours.”
“Solar backup?” Quantrell said slowly.
“So they got really good pictures of all of your guys. Really good ones. Even in their fake FBI gear the images were very revealing.”
“You’re not going to spin this, Bunting,” said Quantrell, but his voice was weak.
“What I’m trying to do, Mason, is give you an out.”
Quantrell had to laugh. “Not that I need an out, but why the hell would you do that?”
“Two of the guys caught on the cameras were identified as having worked for you in the past, Mason. The recent past. Were you that hard up for hired help that you couldn’t send in sterilized personnel? I mean, I know you have the director in your pocket, but it’s the little details that are the most important. So you blew it on two fronts: camera oversight and using traceable goons.”
“I don’t believe a word of what you’re telling me.”
“I don’t blame you, actually.”
Quantrell looked up as a man appeared in his office doorway. It was his head of security. He was shaking his head, his features edged with failure.
Quantrell dismissed him with a sharp wave of his hand.
“Mason, are you still with me? Did your security guy just report back failure to you?”
Quantrell almost knocked his chair over as he jumped up and looked wildly around his office for a set of eyes, electronic or human, peering at him from somewhere.
