“And me, do you think?” Paul asked him.
“That I don’t know,” replied Bunting. “They know of your connection, obviously. And they may suspect that you wouldn’t just idly stand by while your brother is in such danger.”
Sean said, “And you visited your brother at Cutter’s. They have to know that.”
“I’m quite sure that Ellen Foster has built her political cover at the very highest level,” said Bunting. “She excels at stabbing people in the back. And chances are very good she’ll come out smelling like the proverbial rose.”
Sean said, “I worked on the federal side a long time. I know how dysfunctional it can be, but do you really think a Cabinet secretary is capable of something like this?”
Paul smiled wryly. “You were Secret Service, Sean. You were with the Mr. Cleans of the federal government. Peter and I play in a different neighborhood.”
Bunting nodded in agreement. “The intelligence side hoards its toys and scores the occasional triumph at the expense of a competing agency. They try to one-up each other every minute of every day. At least that’s how it worked ever since World War II.”
“And until you designed the E-Program and got them to sign off on it,” pointed out Paul.
Sean shook his head. “And Foster says to hell with the safety of the American people? Like you alluded to – what about another 9/11 happening?”
Bunting said, “Cost of doing business in their eyes, Sean. And blame can be deflected. You don’t reach for such lofty positions in life and not expect the power to come along with it. Believe me, I’ve met with both Foster and Quantrell recently. Their intentions could not have been clearer. And they’ve backed me right into a corner.”
“So we know the players,” said Paul. “We know their strategy. They dealt the hand and they’re blaming you for the result. What do we do about it?”
Bunting said, “She’s poisoned the well against me. I have no allies left on the government side. I’m a pariah.”
“You said she visited the president?” asked Paul.
“Yes. It was an off-schedule meeting, so it must have been important because the president squeezed the time in.”
“Who else was there?”
“National security advisor.”
“Is he in Foster’s pocket too?”
“I believe they have an understanding,” replied Bunting. “One of mutual assured cooperation.”
“You don’t do an off-schedule with the president for anything less than the most critical reasons.”
Bunting said, “That’s right. What’s your best guess?”
Paul said, “She needed authorization for something. Something highly out of the ordinary that she was unwilling to stick her neck out for in the ordinary course of business.”
Bunting nodded. “I think you’re right.”
Sean said, “She’s DHS Secretary. According to you she’s already had four people killed, including an FBI agent. Hell, isn’t that out of the ordinary enough?”
“That was window dressing, Sean,” said Paul. “And don’t think I’m being callous. I know there are four people dead who shouldn’t be. But the blame for those deaths will be placed elsewhere, so in her mind they don’t even count. What Foster was probably going to the president for was explicit authorization for her to take extraordinary action on her own.”
Bunting added, “In other words, she asked for permission to terminate certain people.”
Sean looked incredulous. “Terminate certain people? Who?”
Paul said, “Eddie, Peter, and probably me.”
“Three American citizens?” said Sean. “You really think the president of the United States would ever authorize that?”
“Mr. Clean again,” said Paul. This time she didn’t smile.
“Bullshit. Okay, I know the government has people killed. Terrorists, known enemies of the country, the occasional rogue dictator.”
“We’re a problem for the country, Sean,” said Paul. “A serious problem. Eddie will never go to trial. Not with what he knows. If the president has bought the lie that Peter has had people killed, it’s not a stretch to believe he would lean toward termination. He wouldn’t want a murder trial where certain facts come to light which would be disastrous for America’s security. The president is the commander in chief. He has to wear many hats, but that’s the most important one. His number one priority is to keep America safe from her enemies. Wherever they might be.”
“So let’s assume that’s the case,” said Bunting. “Foster will get her answer. Let’s also assume it’s a go. She’ll waste no time executing the plan. What does she do first?”
“There’s little question in my mind about that,” said Paul.
“What then?” asked Sean.
“Eddie will not be at Cutter’s Rock much longer.”
Sean snapped, “You can’t possibly be thinking of breaking him out?”
“Oh, I won’t be the one doing the breaking.”
CHAPTER 68
MASON QUANTRELL’S AIDE UNLOCKED the door to the warehouse and Quantrell stepped through. Automatic lights came on and Quantrell blinked to adjust his pupils. The Mercury Group owned this facility, but the chain of ownership was buried so deep that not even an army of lawyers and accountants would be able to dig through to the truth. Every substantial private contractor to the government, particularly those operating in the defense and intelligence fields, had such complex business structures in place. It was a necessity. Prying eyes were everywhere, and all contractors had secrets they didn’t want either the government or their competitors to know about.
He eyed the column of black SUVs parked in the middle of the warehouse. He walked past them, evaluating each detail and coming away satisfied. In a corner of the facility a last planning meeting was taking place. All the men seated around the table stood when Quantrell approached.
The look in these men’s eyes was clear. They both feared and respected Quantrell, perhaps more fear than respect. Quantrell had never worn the uniform, never fired a gun on behalf of his country, but he knew how to make money supplying those who did. His main business model was hardware sales to the Pentagon. He didn’t build the planes, tanks, or ships, but he provided many of the overpriced accessories for them, like ammo, special fuel, missiles, guns, and surveillance and security gear. But he had determined long ago that the real money was in the soft side of war, namely intelligence. The profit margins there were huge, far larger than he had plying the traditional corridors of supporting the defense effort. And the world wasn’t always at war, not anymore. But they were always spying on each other, always.
He’d made billions off the soft side by following the old-school models. Lots of analysts, lots of reports that no one had time to read, feeding the competition among agencies that desperately wanted to score a victory at the expense of their sister agencies, even if it meant the actual goal of keeping the country safe was lost. Yes, he’d made a fortune, but it still wasn’t enough. And then Peter Bunting had arrived on the scene with a revolutionary model that would soon turn the intelligence-gathering world on its head.
Quantrell’s soft business had dwindled, and his anger and frustration had grown.
But now that was all about to change.
“Prepped and ready?” he said to the leader of the team.
The man replied, “Yes, sir, Mr. Quantrell.”
The team was comprised of elite foreign mercenaries who would do anything for money. They would never talk about what they’d done because that would kill their livelihood.
Quantrell asked the man some questions to judge whether they were indeed ready. He knew the plan better than anyone but came away satisfied at their level of preparation.