The Associate (37 page)

“They got away,” Kyle said, his voice slow and weak.

“Whatta you mean?”

“We're in the hotel room, and it's empty. They're gone, Roy.”

“Where are you?”

“Room 551, Oxford Hotel, under guard, I guess. The FBI is searching the hotel, but they won't find anybody.”

“I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

WHILE THE HOTEL was being searched, three FBI agents entered Kyle's apartment in Chelsea. Using his key, they entered quietly

and began a sweep that would take four hours and produce three hidden cameras, a wiretap on his wall phone, and six other eavesdropping devices. Plenty of evidence to support indictments. A strong case for the feds, but what they really needed was some suspects.

The Associate

Chapter 39

Roy arrived at 11:00 p.m. He was met by Joe Bullington at the front door and escorted through the lobby. The hotel was still locked down, a room-by-room search under way with lots of unhappy guests, and the front desk was chaos.

Roy's first question was “How's Kyle?”

“Pretty rattled,” Bullington said. “Let's take the stairs. The elevators have been stopped. Hell, we're all rattled.”

The second question was the most obvious one. “What happened?”

“I do not know, Roy. It's confusing.”

Kyle was seated on the edge of the bed, briefcase still between his feet, trench coat still on, staring blankly at the floor and ignoring the two agents who were guarding him. Roy put a hand on his shoulder, then knelt down to face level and said, “Kyle, you okay?”

“Sure.” It was somewhat helpful to see a trusted face.

Bullington was on the phone. He slapped it shut and said, "Look,

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there's a suite on the second floor. It's easier to secure and much larger. Let's make a move."

As they filed out, Kyle mumbled to his lawyer, “Did you hear that, Roy? Easier to secure. I'm being protected now.”

“It's okay, Kyle.”

The suite had three rooms, one of which would work well as an office--desk, fax, wireless Internet, several comfortable chairs, and a small conference area at the far end. “This'll do,” Bullington said as he ripped off his trench coat, then his jacket, as if they would be there for some time, and Kyle and Roy did the same. They took their seats and settled in. Two younger agents stayed by the door.

“Here's what we know so far,” Bullington began, very much the special agent in charge. “The room was reserved this afternoon by a Mr. Randall Kerr, who used both a bogus name and a bogus credit card. Around 8:45, Mr. Kerr shows up to check in, alone, one small carry-on and a black briefcase, and in chatting up the desk clerk tells her that he just flew in from Mexico City. We've watched the video. It's Bennie, with no effort at disguise. He went to his room, and according to the electronic entry grid he opened the door to room 551 at 8:58. He opened it again eighteen minutes later, leaving evidently, because the door was never used again. No one remembers seeing him exit the building. There are some video cameras in the hallways and lobby, but so far nothing. He's vanished.”

“Of course he's vanished,” Kyle said. “You won't find him.”

“We're trying.”

“What did you download, Kyle?” Roy asked.

“The Category A documents. Five or six times. I didn't touch anything else.”

“And this went smoothly?”

“As far as I know. There were no problems inside the room.”

“What time did you start downloading?” Bullington asked.

“About 8:45.”

“And what time did you call Bennie?”

“Just before 10:00.”

BuUington thought for a second, then stated the obvious. “So Bennie waited until they got your signal, and once he knew you were downloading, he checked into the room. Eighteen minutes later he fled. That doesn't make sense.”

“It does if you know Bennie,” Kyle said.

“I don't follow,” BuUington said.

“Someone informed Bennie of our little plan, that much is obvious. It wasn't me. It wasn't my lawyer. And the only other parties involved would be you, Mr. BuUington, the FBI, and Mr. Wingate and his gang over at Justice. We have no idea at this point, and we probably never will. Regardless, Bennie got the tip and decided to have some fun. He knew I would lead you here to catch him, so this is all a setup. Bennie's probably down the street watching a hundred FBI agents swarm around the hotel and laughing his balls off.”

Bullington's cheeks turned a dark red. He suddenly had a call to make and left the room.

“Take it easy, Kyle,” Roy said softly. Kyle locked his fingers behind his head and bent over. The briefcase was still wedged between his feet. He closed his eyes and tried to control his thoughts, but that was impossible. Roy watched him but said nothing. He went to the minibar and pulled out two bottles of water.

“We should talk,” Roy said, handing a bottle to Kyle. “We'll have to make some quick decisions.”

“Okay. What do we do with this damned thing?” Kyle asked, patting the briefcase. “Scully doesn't need it, because the documents are not confidential. I just stole a copy. They haven't lost anything yet. Their files will appear to be untouched.”

“I'm sure the FBI will want it for evidence.”

“Evidence against who?”

“Bennie.”

“Bennie? Bennie's gone, Roy, listen to me. They'll never find Bennie, because he's a helluva lot smarter than they are. Bennie won't be arrested. Bennie won't go to trial. Bennie's on an airplane right now, probably a private one, looking at his fifteen passports and deciding which one to use next.”

“Don't be so sure.”

“And why not? Bennie outfoxed us tonight, didn't he? Bennie has pals in high places, maybe not here in New York, maybe in Washington. Too many people got involved, Roy. The FBI, the Department of Justice, and the network of gossip spread. Plans here, authorizations there, meetings at high levels, more and more intelligence people in the loop. It was a mistake.”

“You had no choice.”

“My choices were limited. Looks like I made the wrong one.”

“What about the law firm?”

“I'm sure I'll screw that up, too. What's your advice? God knows I'm paying for it, if even at a discount.” Both managed smiles, but very brief ones.

Roy gulped his water, wiped his lips with a shirtsleeve, and leaned even closer. The two guards were still in the sitting room, within earshot. “You could say nothing. Just report tomorrow for duty and act like none of this happened. The files are safe. Nothing has been compromised. Look, Kyle, you never planned to hand over anything to Bennie. You were forced to download some stuff to facilitate his arrest. The arrest didn't happen. The firm has no clue. Assuming there won't be a prosecution, the firm will never know.”

"But the plan was to bust Bennie, tell the firm everything, and beg for mercy. Sort of like the bank robber who brings back the cash

and says he's sorry, can't we just forget about it. With a few more twists, of course."

“Do you want to stay at the firm, Kyle?”

“My exit from Scully & Pershing was a foregone conclusion the day I walked into your office.”

“There might be a way to save the job.”

“I took the job because Bennie had a gun to my head. That gun has now been replaced by a different one, but at least the threat of blackmail is gone. There's a chance the video may still cause some embarrassment, but nothing more. I'd like to get out of here.”

A radio squawked in the sitting room, jolting the agents. It came and went with no further news.

Kyle finally abandoned the briefcase and stretched his legs. He looked at his lawyer and said, “You're a big partner in a big firm. What would you do if an associate pulled this stunt?”

“Fire him immediately.”

“Exactly. On the spot, with little patience for a lot of talk. How can the firm ever trust me again? There are a thousand rookies out there ready to replace me. And there's something else here, Roy, something that Scully needs to know.” Kyle glanced at the sitting room, where his bodyguards were now watching TV.

“I'm not the only spy. Bennie knew too much. Someone else is planted there, passing along information to Bennie. I have to tell them.”

There was a commotion at the door, and the two guards quickly muted the television and hopped to attention. Kyle and Roy stood as Bullington swept in with a small, important group, the center of which was a man of about sixty with short gray hair, a fine suit, and the air of someone in complete control of all things around him. Bullington introduced him as Mr. Mario Delano, director in charge of the New York office of the FBI.

He addressed both Kyle and Roy: “Gentlemen, Mr. Bennie Wright has obviously left the building, and we have a serious problem. I have no idea where the leak was, but I assure you it was not my office. I doubt that's very comforting right now. We are searching frantically around the city--train stations, airports, subways, heliports, toll roads. Every agent under my authority is on the streets.”

If Kyle was supposed to be impressed, he was not. He simply shrugged as if to say, “Big deal. The least you could do.”

Delano pressed on. “It's urgent that you get out of town, Mr. McAvoy. I suggest that we take you into protective custody for a few days, let the dust settle, give us some time to track down Bennie Wright.”

“And if you don't find him?” Kyle asked.

“Let's talk about that later. We have a small jet waiting at Teter-boro Airport. We'll have you there in thirty minutes. You'll have protection around the clock until something changes.” The crisp precision of Delano's plans left no doubt that the dangers were indeed substantial. Kyle could not argue. He was now the double agent, as well as the government's star witness in the event Bennie got caught. If they would murder Baxter to keep him away from Elaine, it was hard to imagine what they would do to Kyle.

“Let's go,” Delano said.

“I need a minute with my client,” Roy said.

“Certainly,” said Delano as he snapped his fingers and the room emptied. Roy closed the door, and when they were alone, he said, “I'll call Scully and put them off.”

Kyle withdrew his FirmFone and said, “No need. I'll check in with Doug Peckham and tell him I'm sick. Bennie never got his hands on my little phone here.”

“Fine. It's best if I keep the briefcase and the computer.”

“Just don't let the FBI have it.”

“I won't.”

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They shook hands. Roy said, “You did the right thing.” “Right or wrong, it didn't work.”

“You didn't hand over anything, Kyle. You didn't breach a client's confidence.”

“Let's argue later.” “Be safe.”

356

The Associate

Chapter 40

John McAvoy was enjoying a peaceful Thursday morning at his desk when a secretary rang in with the news that two gentlemen from the FBI had dropped by for a surprise visit. They were quickly shown in. Introductions were made, badges flashed, coffee declined. “Is he all right?” John asked.

“He's fine,” the agent named Halsey said. The one named Murdock agreed, nodding with smug assurance.

“What's happened?”

“Kyle has informed us that you are aware of the plans he had to help apprehend his handler,” Halsey said.

“Yes. I know the background and I know what he had in mind. What's happened?”

Both agents shifted weight. Murdock took over. “Well, things didn't go as planned. Kyle secured the documents, and he was supposed to meet the handler around ten last night in a midtown hotel. The handler didn't show, fled at the last moment. As of now, we have not apprehended him.”

John closed his eyes, removed his reading glasses, and lit a cigarette. “Where's Kyle?”

“He's with us, in protective custody. He's safe, and he's anxious to talk to you. That will not be possible at this moment.”

A blast of blue smoke escaped from John's side of the desk. “Protective custody?” he repeated. The smoke drifted over and began settling on Halsey and Murdock.

“Afraid so. He could be in danger.”

“Who botched the operation?”

“Not sure it was botched, or how or why. Let's just say there is a lot of investigating going on right now.”

“When can I talk to him?”

“Soon,” Halsey said.

“We're out of Philly,” Murdock said. “But we're here in York for the next few days. Our job is to relay messages to you.” Both agents withdrew business cards. “Cell numbers on the back. Please don't hesitate to call.”

KYLE SLEPT LATE into the morning, and awoke to the sounds of waves rolling onto a beach. He was adrift in the clouds--a thick white comforter, puffy white pillows, a thick white bedspread piled at his feet. The queen-sized bed was topped with a white canopy. He knew where he was, but it took a few minutes to convince himself he was really there.

The walls were adorned with cheap pastels of beach scenes. The floor was painted wood. He listened to the ocean and heard the distant calls of seagulls. There were no other sounds, quite a contrast to the early bustle of Chelsea. No alarm clock startling him at some obscene hour. No rush to shower and dress and hurry through the frantic rituals of getting to the office. None of that, at least not today.

This was not an unpleasant way to begin the rest of his life.

The bedroom was one of three in a modest two-story beach rental an hour east of Destin, Florida, on the Gulf, two hours and forty-eight minutes by Learjet from Teterboro Airport in New Jersey. They, he and his new friends, had landed at Destin just before 4:00 a.m. A van with armed drivers had scooped them up and raced along Highway 98, passing miles of empty condos and beach houses and small hotels. There were a few vacationers, judging by the parking lots, and many of the cars had Canadian license plates.

The two windows were half-open and the breeze blew the curtains. It was a full three minutes before Kyle thought about Bennie, but he fought the temptation and concentrated on the distant squawking of the seagulls. There was a slight knock at the door. “Yes,” Kyle answered with a scratchy voice.

It opened slightly, and Todd, his new best friend, wedged through his chubby face and said, “You wanted a ten o'clock wake-up call.”

“Thanks.”

“You okay?”

“Sure.”

Todd had joined the escape in Destin and was now assigned to guard their witness or snitch or whatever Kyle was considered to be. He was from the Pensacola office, went to Auburn, was only two years older than Kyle himself, and talked far more than any other FBI agent, real or fake, that he'd met so far in this ordeal.

Kyle, in boxers only, left the softness of the clouds and went next door to the large kitchen-den combo. Todd had been to the grocery store. The counter was covered with boxes of cereal, breakfast snacks, cookies, chips, all manner of boxed foods. “Coffee?” Todd asked.

“Sure.”

There were a few items of folded clothing on the kitchen table. Kyle's other new best friend was Barry, an older, quieter type with premature gray hair and more wrinkles than any forty-year-old should have. Barry said, "Good morning. We've been shopping. Bought you a

couple of T-shirts, shorts, a pair of khakis, deck shoes. Really nice stuff from the local Kmart. Don't worry, Uncle Sam paid the bill."

“I'm sure I'll look fabulous,” Kyle said, taking a cup of coffee from Todd. Todd and Barry, both in khakis and polos, were unarmed but not far from their weapons. There was also a Nick and a Matthew somewhere close by.

“I gotta call the office,” Kyle said. “Check in, you know, tell them I'm sick and can't work today. By now they're already looking for me.”

Todd produced the FirmFone and said, “Be our guest. We're told it's secure. Just don't give a hint as to where you are. Agreed?”

“Where am I?”

“Western Hemisphere.”

“Close enough.”

With his coffee and his phone, Kyle stepped outside onto a wide deck that looked over some dunes. The beach was long and beautiful, and deserted. The air was light, brisk, but far warmer than frigid New York. With great reluctance he looked at the phone. E-mails, texts, and voice mails from Doug Peckham, Dale, Sherry Abney, Tim Reynolds, Tabor, and a few others, but nothing to alarm him. He scanned them quickly, just the usual daily barrage of communications from very wired people with too much access to each other. Dale asked twice if he was okay.

He called Doug Peckham, got his voice mail, and reported that he was down with the flu, flat on his back, sick as a dog, and so on. Then he called Dale, who was in a meeting. He left the same message. One useless advantage of working with workaholics was that they had no time to worry about each other's minor ailments. Got the flu-- take some pills and sleep it off, but do not spread your germs at the office.

Roy Benedict seemed to be waiting by the phone. “Where are you, Kyle?” he asked, almost in a pant.

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“Western Hemisphere. I'm doing well. How about you?”

“Fine. You're safe?”

“Safe. I'm hidden, stashed away, and I'm guarded by a posse of at least four, all anxious to shoot someone. Any news on our man Bennie?”

“No. They'll have indictments by noon, and they're adding one for murder. They'll splash these around the world and hope for a break. You were right. Your apartment had more bugs than a landfill. Good stuff, too, the latest in wiretapping technology.”

“I'm honored.”

“And they found a transmitter in the rear bumper of your Jeep.”

“I never thought of that.”

“Anyway, all this is being presented to the grand jury as we speak, so at least Bennie will have a thick indictment on record should he ever make a mistake.”

“Don't bet on that.”

“Have you talked to the law firm?”

“I left a message with Peckham, the flu routine. He'll buy it for a couple of days.”

“No alarms, nothing strange.”

“No. It's weird, Roy. I'm a thousand miles away now, and looking back, I can't believe how easy it was to walk in with the right gear and walk out with the files. I could've taken every single document in the database, four million plus, and handed them over to Bennie or another thug. And I could've gone back into my office this morning as if nothing happened. Scully has got to be warned.”

“So who tells them?”

“I do. I have a few things to get off my chest.”

“Let's talk about that tomorrow. I've been on the phone with Bullington all morning. Twice he's mentioned the witness protection program. The FBI is pushing it hard. They are pretty nervous about you, Kyle.”

“I'm nervous about me, too, but witness protection?”

“Sure. You're convinced they can't find Bennie. They're convinced they can. If they do, and they haul him back for a trial, with an incredible list of charges, then you're the star. If you're not around to testify, then the government's case falls flat.”

A pleasant morning at the beach was becoming complicated. And why not? Nothing had been simple for a long time now.

“That'll take some serious thought and consideration,” Kyle said.

“Then start thinking.”

“I'll call you later.”

Kyle dressed in the khakis and a T-shirt, not a bad fit, then ate two bowls of cereal. He read the Pensacola News Journal and the New York Times. The Times had nothing about last night's excitement at the Oxford Hotel. Of course not, Kyle said to himself. It happened far too late, and it was far too clandestine. Then why was he looking for it?

After breakfast and the papers, Todd joined him at the kitchen table. “We have a few rules,” he said with a jovial face but a hard smile.

“What a surprise.”

“You can make calls, obviously, but only on that phone. Can't reveal your whereabouts. You can walk on the beach, but we have to follow, at a distance.”

“You're kidding? I'm walking down the beach, and there's a guy with a machine gun tagging along. How relaxing.”

Todd caught the humor and enjoyed a laugh. “No machine gun, and we won't be conspicuous.”

“You're all conspicuous. I can spot an agent a mile away.”

“Anyway, stay close to the house.”

“How long will I be here?”

Todd shrugged and said, “I have no idea.”

“Am I in protective custody or witness protection?”

“Custody, I think.”

“You don't know, Todd? Come on. Custody implies that I'm a suspect of some variety, doesn't it, Todd?”

Another shrug.

“But I'm not a suspect. I'm a witness, but I have not agreed to enter the witness protection program. So, according to my lawyer, the one I just talked to, I'm free to walk out that door anytime I want. Whatta you think about that, Todd?”

“That machine gun you just mentioned? We have at least six on the premises.”

“So I should stay here, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, it's noon. What are we going to do?”

Barry had been hovering nearby, not missing a word. He walked to the table with a large basket of the usual board games the owners of all beach rentals leave behind. Barry said, “We have Monopoly, Risk, Rook, Scrabble, Chinese checkers, your call, Kyle.”

Kyle studied the basket. “Scrabble.”