Total Control (27 page)

She walked down the hallway to the bedroom. Brophy watched her go, a smile appearing on his face as he thought of his future prospects. A moment later Brophy walked into the large kitchen, where Sidney's mother was busily preparing eggs, toast and bacon.

Bill Patterson hovered in the back, tinkering with the coffeemaker.

The phone rang. Patterson took off his glasses and picked it up on the second ring.

"Hello?" He switched the receiver to his other hand. "Yes, it is.

What? Oh, uh, look, can this wait? Oh, well, hold on just a minute."

Mrs. Patterson looked at her husband. "Who is it?"

"Henry Wharton." Patterson looked at Brophy. "He's the head guy at your firm, right?"

Brophy nodded. Even though his being an apostle of Goldman was a well-kept secret, Brophy was still not a favorite of Wharton's and Brophy looked forward to the day when Wharton was shoved rudely aside as the leader of Tyler, Stone. "Wonderful man, very caring of his colleagues," Brophy said.

"Yeah, well, his timing's lousy," Patterson said. He put the phone receiver down on the table and walked out of the kitchen. With a conciliatory smile, Brophy moved over to assist Mrs. Patterson.

Her father gently knocked on the door. "Honey?"

Sidney opened the door to the bedroom. Behind her Patterson could see the numerous photos of Jason and the rest of the family spread out on the bed. He took a deep breath and swallowed.

"Sweetie, there's some guy from your firm on the phone. Says it's very important that he talk to you."

"Did he give a name?"

"Henry Wharton."

Sidney's brows plunged together and then her face cleared just as suddenly. "He's probably calling to say he can't make the service.

I'm not really on his top ten list right now. I'll take it in here, Dad.

Tell him to give me a minute."

As her father started to close the door, he again looked at the photos.

He abruptly looked up and caught his daughter staring at him, an almost ashamed expression on her face, as though she were a teenager just caught smoking in her room.

Patterson went over and kissed his daughter on the cheek and gave her a long hug.

In the kitchen Patterson picked up the phone again. "She'll be with you in a minute," he said gruffly. He put the phone back down and was about to return to the intricacies of the coffeemaker when he was interrupted by a knock on the door. All three of the kitchen's occupants looked up. Patterson looked over at his wife. "Expecting anyone this early?"

She shook her head. "It's probably just a neighbor with some more food or something. Go answer it, Bill."

Patterson obediently headed to the front door.

Brophy trailed the older man into the foyer.

Patterson opened the front door. Two gentlemen in suits stared back at him.

"Can I help you?" Patterson asked.

Lee Sawyer deliberately exhibited his credentials. The man beside him did likewise. "I'm FBI Special Agent Lee Sawyer. My partner, Raymond Jackson."

Bill Patterson's confusion was evident as he looked from the official government credentials to the men holding them. They looked steadily back at him.

Sidney quickly put the photos away, lingering over only one: from the day Amy had been born. Jason, dressed in hospital garb, was holding his minutes-old daughter. The look of absolute pride on the new father's face was wonderful to behold. She put that one in her purse. She felt certain she would need it during the course of the day when it all started to become too much, as she knew it would. She smoothed down her dress and went over to the nightstand, sat down on the bed and picked up the phone.

"Hello, Henry."

"Sid."

If she hadn't been sitting down, Sidney would have undoubtedly toppled to the floor. As it was, her entire body collapsed. Her brain felt as though it had been crushed.

"Sid?" The voice said again, more anxiously.

One step at a time, Sidney managed to focus herself. She felt as though she were struggling to the water's surface from some terrible depths where humans could not survive. Her brain suddenly restarted and she struggled up an inch at a time. As she fought an overpowering urge to pass out, Sidney Archer managed to utter one word in a way she never thought she would again. The two syllables struggled out from between trembling lips.

"Jason?"

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

While Sidney's mother walked through the living room to join her husband at the front door, Paul Brophy discreetly retreated until he was once again in the kitchen. FBI? This was getting interesting.

While he was pondering whether to contact Goldman, Brophy spotted the phone receiver lying on the counter where Bill Patterson had set it down. Henry Wharton was on the phone. Brophy wondered what they were discussing. He could certainly score some significant points with Goldman if he could find out.

Brophy edged over to the kitchen doorway. The group was still huddled in the front foyer. He hurried over to the kitchen counter, put one hand over the lower part of the receiver and lifted the telephone to his ear. His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened while he listened to two very familiar voices. He reached into his pocket. He held the Dictaphone up to the phone receiver and recorded the conversation between husband and wife.

Five minutes later, Bill Patterson again knocked on his daughter's door. When Sidney finally opened the door, her father was surprised by her appearance. The eyes were still red and weary, but there seemed to be a light in them that he had not seen since Jason's death.

He was also startled by what he saw on the bed: a half-filled suitcase.

Without taking his eyes off the suitcase, Patterson said, "Sweetie, I don't know what they want, but the FBI are here. They want to talk to you."

"FBI?" She suddenly went limp and her father grabbed on to one arm.

Patterson's face was a morass of concern. "Baby, what's going on?

Why are you packing?"

Sidney managed to regain her composure. "I'm all right, Dad.

I... I just have to go somewhere after the service."

"Go? Go where? What are you talking about?"

"Dad, please, not now. I can't go into it right now."

"But Sid--"

"Please, Dad."

Under his daughter's pleading eyes, Patterson finally looked away, disappointment and something akin to fear on his features.

"All right, Sidney."

"Where are the agents, Dad?"

"In the living room. They said they want to talk to you privately.

I tried to get rid of them, but, hell, they're the FBI, you know?"

"It's all right, Dad, I'll talk to them." Sidney thought for a moment.

She looked over at the phone she had just put down and then checked her watch. "Take them into the den and tell them I'll be there in two minutes."

Her hands clasped together, Sidney went over and closed the suitcase, picked it up and slid it under the bed.

Her father followed her movements, then raised his thick eyebrows to ask, "You sure you know what you're doing?"

Her answer was immediate. "I'm sure."

Jason Archer was handcuffed to the chair. A smiling Kenneth Scales held the Glock against his head. Another man hovered in the background. "Good job on the phone, Jason," Scales said. "You might have had a future in the movies. Too bad you don't have a future left."

Jason glared up at him, fury in his eyes. "You sonofabitch! You hurt my wife or my daughter and I'll tear you apart. I swear to God."

Scales's smile broadened. "Is that right. Tell me, how you gonna do that?" He smacked Jason across the jaw with the pistol. The door to the small room they were in opened slightly. As Jason recovered from the blow and stared through the cracked door, a snarl escaped his lips. With a burst of strength, he flung himself across the room, chair and all. He made it to the man's feet before Scales and his associate subdued him, dragging him back across the floor.

"Goddamn you, I'll kill you, I'll kill you!" Jason shrieked at the visitor.

The man stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

He smiled while Jason was dragged up and heavy tape was placed across his mouth. "Having bad dreams again, Jason?"

After Bill Patterson had escorted the two FBI agents to the small but comfortably furnished den, he returned to find his wife and Paul Brophy in the kitchen. He stared over at the phone, puzzlement on his features. The receiver had been replaced on the wall. Brophy caught the look. "I hung it back up for you. Figured you had other things to deal with."

"Thanks, Paul."

"My pleasure." Brophy sipped at his coffee, highly pleased with himself as he fingered the small cassette tape tucked safely in his pants pocket. "Jesus"--he looked at the Pattersons--"the FBI.

What could they want?"

Patterson shrugged. "I don't know and I know Sidney doesn't know." He was intensely defensive of his daughter. The worry lines were prominent on his forehead. "Lousy timing all around today, if you ask me," he muttered as he sat down at the table to scan the newspaper. He was about to say something else when he saw the front-page headline.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Agents Sawyer and Jackson rose when Sidney entered the room.

Sawyer visibly started when he saw her. He made a conscious effort to suck in his stomach and one of his hands flew up to his hair in a feeble attempt to press his stubborn cowlick back into place. When he brought his hand back down, he looked at it for a moment as though it were not part of his body, wondering what the hell had made it do such a thing. Both agents identified themselves and again displayed their credentials. Sawyer was aware that Sidney looked intently at him before sitting down across from them.

Sawyer rapidly sized her up. A real looker with brains and spirit.

But there was something else. He could have sworn they had met before. His eyes drifted over her long form. The black dress was tasteful and appropriate to such a solemn occasion; however, it also clung to her figure in several provocative locations. Her shapely legs too, sheathed in black stockings, were equally inspiring. Her face was lovely in its despair. "Ms. Archer, by any chance have we met before?"

Her surprise was genuine. "I don't think so, Mr. Sawyer."

launched into his interview. "As I told your father, Ms. Archer, we understand that the timing of this interview couldn't be worse, but we needed to talk with you as soon as possible."

"May I ask what it concerns?" Sidney's voice was on automatic.

Her eyes flitted around the room before coming to rest on Sawyer's face. She saw a big, strong wall of a man who seemed sincere. Under normal circumstances, Sidney would have cooperated fully with Lee Sawyer. Circumstances, however, were far from normal.

Her green eyes were now sparkling and Sawyer had to kick-start his brain when he found himself transfixed by those eyes. In trying to read their depths, he found himself venturing into dangerous waters.

"It has to do with your husband, Ms. Archer," he said quickly.

"Please call me Sidney. What about my husband? Is this about the plane accident?"

Sawyer didn't answer right away. He was studying her again without seeming to do so. Every word, every expression, every pause was important. It was always a very tiring, often frustrating, but sometimes incredibly productive task. "It wasn't an accident, Sidney," he finally said.

Her eyes flickered briefly, like the lights in a house do when there's a thunderstorm. The mouth parted slightly, but no words emerged.

"The plane was sabotaged; all the people on board that plane, every last one of them, were deliberately murdered." While Sawyer continued to watch, Sidney shut down completely for about a minute. Her features held real, not feigned, horror. Her eyes suddenly lost their feverish sparkle.

After a minute, Sawyer gently said, "Sidney? Sidney?"

With a jolt, Sidney came back but then was gone again just as quickly. Her breath suddenly came out in a huge burst. For an instant she was certain she would vomit all over herself. She put her head in her lap, clutching her calves. Ironically, her movements mirrored a passenger in crash position on an airliner. When she started moaning and the rest of her body began to shake uncontrollably, Sawyer swiftly rose and sat beside her. One arm clutched her shoulder, steadying her; the other gripped one of her hands tightly.

Sawyer looked up at Jackson. "Water, tea, something, Ray.

Pronto!"

Jackson raced off.

With nervous hands, Sidney's mother poured out a glass of water for Jackson. When Jackson turned to leave, Bill Patterson held up the newspaper. "This is what's it's all about, right?" The paper's headlines were big, bold and deadly sounding. WESTERN AIRLINES CRASH BLAMED ON SABOTAGE. FEDERAL GOVERNMENT OFFERS two million-DOLLAR REWARD. "Jason and all the others were victims of a terrorist. That's why you're here, isn't it?" In the background, Mrs. Patterson covered her face in her hands, her quiet weeping pervading the room as she sat down at the table.

"Sir, not right now, okay?" Jackson's tone brooked no opposition.

He left the room with the glass of water.

Paul Brophy, meanwhile, had gone into the front yard, ostensibly to smoke a cigarette, despite the cold. If anyone had looked out the living room window, they would have seen the small cellular phone pressed to the side of his face.

Sawyer virtually had to force the water down Sidney's throat, but finally she was able to sit up. After Sidney composed herself and handed back the glass of water with a grateful look, Sawyer did not return to the plane bombing. "Believe me, if this weren't very, very important, we'd leave right now, okay?"

Sidney nodded. She still looked ghastly. Sawyer took a moment to marshal his thoughts. Sidney seemed relieved when he asked a couple of seemingly innocuous questions about Jason's work at Triton Global. Sidney answered calmly enough, although she was clearly puzzled. He looked around the room. They had a nice home. "Any money problems?" he asked.