Total Control (37 page)

She ran her hands over the steering wheel. The sweat from her palms glistened on the padded surface.

Sawyer looked over at the stack of mail on the passenger seat.

"You always carry your mail in your car?"

Sidney followed his stare. "I don't know how it got here. Maybe my father put it there before he left."

"That's right. Right after you left. How was New Orleans, by the way? You have a good time?"

Sidney stared dully at the man.

Sawyer placed one hand firmly under her elbow. "Let's go have a chat, Ms. Archer."

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Before exiting the car, Sidney carefully gathered up the mail and slid the Post under her arm. Out of the agents' sight she slipped the disk into her jacket pocket. Climbing out of the car, she eyed the pistol Jackson had abruptly confiscated. "I have a concealed weapons permit for that." Sidney handed over the authorization.

"Mind if I unload it before I give it back?"

"If it'll make you feel safer," she said, hitting the button on the garage door opener, closing the door of the Ford and heading toward the house. "Just make sure you leave the bullets."

Jackson stared after her, amazement on his features. The two FBI agents followed her into the house.

"Would you like coffee? Something to eat? It's still pretty early."

These last words Sidney said in an accusatory fashion.

"Coffee would be fine," Sawyer answered, ignoring her tone. Jackson nodded his assent.

While Sidney poured out three cups of coffee, Sawyer methodically looked her over. Her unwashed blond hair hung limply around her face, which bore no makeup and was more drawn and haggard than the last time he had been here. Her clothes hung loosely on her tall frame. Her green eyes were as bewitching as usual, however. He picked up on the slight shake in her hands while she handled the coffeepot. She was clearly on the edge. He had to grudgingly admire how she was holding up under a nightmare that seemed to metastasize with every passing day. But then everybody had limits. He expected to learn Sidney Archer's before it was all over.

Sidney placed the cups of coffee on a tray with sugar and creamer.

She reached into the breadbox and pulled out an assortment of doughnuts and muffins. She loaded the tray and placed it in the middle of the kitchen table. While the agents helped themselves, she took out some Rolaids and slowly crunched them.

"Good doughnut. Thanks. By the way, you usually carry a gun with you?" Sawyer looked at her expectantly.

"There have been some break-ins nearby. I've received professional instruction on how to use it. Besides, I'm no stranger to guns.

My dad and oldest brother, Kenny, were in the Marine Corps.

They're also avid hunters. Kenny has an extensive firearms collection.

When I was growing up, my dad used to take me skeet and target shooting. I've fired just about every type of weapon you can think of and I'm a very good shot."

Ray Jackson said, "You were handling the piece pretty good back there in the garage." He noted the crack in the grip. "I hope you didn't drop it while it was loaded."

"I'm very careful with firearms, Mr. Jackson, but I appreciate your concern."

Jackson looked at the pistol once more before sliding it and the full magazine over to her. "Nice piece of hardware. Lightweight. I use Hydra-Shok ammo too-excellent stopping force. There's still a round in the firing chamber," he reminded her.

"It's equipped with a magazine safety. No mag, no fire." Sidney touched the pistol gingerly. "But I don't like having to keep it in the house, especially with Amy, although it's kept unloaded and in a locked box."

"Not much good, then, in the event of a burglary," Sawyer said between a bite of doughnut and a gulp of hot coffee.

"Only if you get surprised. I try never to be." After the events of the morning, she struggled mightily not to perceptibly wince at that remark.

Sliding the plate of bakery goods away, he asked, "You mind telling me why you took that little trip to New Orleans?"

Sidney held up the morning's newspaper so the headline was fully exposed. "Why? Are you moonlighting as a reporter and need to file your next story? By the way, thanks for ruining my life." She angrily tossed the paper on the table and looked away. A twitch erupted over her left eye. She gripped the edge of the weathered pine table as she felt herself trembling.

Sawyer ran his eye down the story. "I don't see anything here that isn't true. Your husband/s suspected of being involved in a theft of secrets from his company. On top of that, he wasn't on a plane he was supposed to be on. That plane ends up in a cornfield. Your husband is alive and kicking." When she didn't respond, Sawyer reached across the table and touched her elbow. "I said your husband is alive, Ms. Archer. That doesn't seem to surprise you. You want to tell me about New Orleans now?"

She slowly turned to look at him, her features surprisingly calm.

"You say he's alive?"

Sawyer nodded.

"Then why don't you tell me where he is?"

"I was about to ask you that question."

Sidney dug her fingers into her thigh. "I haven't seen my husband since that morning."

Sawyer edged closer to her. "Look, Ms. Archer, let's cut through the crap. You get a mysterious phone call and then you take a plane to New Orleans after you hold a friggin' memorial service for your dearly departed, who, as it turns out, isn't. You jump out of a cab and onto the subway, leaving your suitcase behind. You lose my guys and hightail it south. You check into a hotel, where I'm betting you're waiting for a rendezvous with your husband." Sidney Archer, to her credit, did not even flinch. Sawyer continued. "You take a walk, get a shoe shine from a very amiable old guy who's the only street person in my experience who refuses a tip. You make a phone call, and wham, you're back on a plane to D.C. What do you say to that?"

Sidney took an invisible breath and then stared hard at Sawyer.

"You said I got a mysterious phone call. Who told you that?"

The agents exchanged looks. "We've got our sources, Ms. Archer.

We also checked your phone log," Sawyer said.

Sidney crossed her legs and leaned forward. "You mean the call from Henry Wharton?"

Sawyer eyed her calmly. "You're saying you talked to Wharton?"

He didn't expect her to walk into that easy a trap, and he wasn't disappointed.

"No. I'm saying someone called here identifying himself as Henry Wharton."

"But you spoke with someone."

Sawyer sighed. "We've got a record of the phone call. You were on that phone for about five minutes. Were you just listening to heavy breathing or what?"

"I don't have to sir here and be insulted by you or anyone else. Do you understand that?"

"All right, my apologies. So who was it?"

"I don't know."

Sawyer jerked upright in his chair and slammed his big fist down on the table. Sidney almost jumped out of her chair. "Jesus Christ, come on--"

'Tin telling you I don't know," Sidney interrupted angrily. "I thought it was Henry, but it wasn't. The person never said anything.

I hung up the phone after a few seconds." Her heart started racing as it occurred to her that she was lying to the FBI.

Sawyer looked at her wearily. "Computers don't lie, Ms. Archer."

Sawyer inwardly winced at this statement as his mind dwelled for an instant on the Riker fiasco. "The phone log says five minutes."

"My father answered the phone in the kitchen and then laid it down on the counter to come and tell me. You two showed up at about the same time. Do you think it's beyond the realm of possibility that he forgot to hang it back up? Wouldn't that account for the five minutes? Maybe you'd like to call and ask him. You can use the phone right over there." Sidney pointed to the kitchen wall next to the doorway.

Sawyer looked over at the phone and took a moment to think. He felt sure the lady was lying, but what she was saying was plausible.

He had forgotten he was talking to an attorney, a highly skilled one.

"Would you like to call him?" Sidney repeated. "I happen to know he's home because he called just a little while ago. The last thing I heard him scream over the phone was his plan to file a law suit against the FBI and Triton."

"Maybe I'll try him later."

"Fine. I just thought you'd want to do it now so you couldn't accuse me later of arranging for my father to lie to you." Her eyes dug into the agent's troubled features. "And while we're at it, let's address your other accusations. You said I somehow evaded your men.

Since I was unaware I was being followed, it would seem impossible for me to 'lose' anyone. My cab was stuck in traffic. I was afraid I would miss my flight, so I jumped on the subway. I haven't used the subway in years, so I.got out at the Pentagon station because I couldn't remember if I had to change trains there to get to the airport.

When I realized my mistake, I simply got back on the same train. I didn't take my suitcase with me because I didn't want to have to lug it around on the subway, especially if I had to run to make a plane. If I had stayed in New Orleans, I was going to arrange for it to be sent down on a later flight. I've been to New Orleans many times. I've always had good times down there. It seemed like a logical place, not that I've been thinking very logically lately. I had my shoes shined. Is that illegal?" She looked at the two men. "I hope burying your spouse when you don't even have a body is something neither of you ever have to go through."

She angrily tossed the newspaper on the floor. "The man in that story is not my husband. You know what our idea of a wild time was?

Barbecuing in the backyard in the winter. The most reckless thing I've ever known Jason to do was occasionally drive too fast and not wear his seat belt. He couldn't have been involved in blowing up that plane. I know you don't believe me, but right now I don't really care."

She stood up and leaned against the refrigerator before continuing.

"I needed to get away. Do I really have to tell you why? Do I really have to do that?" Her voice rose almost to a scream before it tapered off and she fell silent.

Sawyer started to reply but then abruptly closed his mouth as Sidney held up her hand and continued speaking, in a calmer tone. "I stayed in New Orleans all of one day. It suddenly occurred to me that I couldn't run away from the nightmare my life has become. I have a little girl who needs me. And I need her. She's all I have left.

Do you understand that? Can either of you understand anything?"

Tears were starting to trickle out. Her hands clenched and unclenched.

Her chest rose and fell unevenly. She abruptly sat back down.

Ray Jackson nervously played with his coffee cup while he looked over at his partner. "Ms. Archer, Lee and I both have families. I can't imagine what you're going through right now. You gotta understand we're just trying to do our job. A lot of things don't make sense right now. But one thing is for certain. A planeload of people are dead and whoever is responsible for that is gonna pay."

Sidney stood up again on unsteady legs, the tears now pouring.

Her voice was shrill, near hysterical, her eyes blazing. "Don't you think I know that? I went down ... there. To that ... that hell!"

Her voice rose to an even higher pitch, the tears streaming down the front of her blouse, her eyes at their widest. "I saw it." She stared fiercely at them. "Everything. The... the shoe... a baby's shoe."

Moaning, Sidney fell back into her chair, the sobs wracking her frame to such a degree that it looked as though her back would erupt like a volcano spewing forth far more misery than human beings had the ability to endure.

Jackson rose to get her a paper towel.

Sighing quietly, Sawyer put his hand on Sidney's and gripped it in a gentle squeeze. The baby's shoe. The one he had held in his hand, and also shed tears over. For the first time he noted Sidney's engagement ring and wedding band. A beautiful if small setting, she would have worn it all these years with pride, he was certain of that. Whether Jason Archer had done anything wrong or not, he had a woman who loved him, believed in him. Sawyer felt himself starting to hope that Jason would turn out to be innocent, despite all the evidence to the contrary. He did not want Sidney to have ro confront the reality of betrayal. He wrapped a big arm around her shoulders.

His body seemed to jerk and pitch with every convulsion that raced through her. He whispered soothing words into her ear, trying desperately to get her to come around. For a very brief instant his memory skipped back to the time he had held another young woman like this. That catastrophe had been a prom date gone terribly bad. It had been one of the few times he had actually been there for one of his kids. It had felt wonderful to wrap his burly arms around the small, quaking form, letting her hurt, her embarrassment, siphon off into him. Sawyer refocused on Sidney Archer. She had been hurt enough, he decided. The raw pain he was holding on to right now was not capable of being fabricated. Regardless of anything else, Sidney Archer was telling them the truth, or at least most of it. As if sensing his thoughts, her grip tightened on his hand.

Jackson handed him the wet paper towel. Sawyer did not see his partner's worried look as Jackson watched the gentle way in which he slowly brought Sidney around. The things Sawyer said to her, to calm her down, the way he kept his arms protectively around her.

Ray Jackson was clearly not happy with his partner right now.

A few minutes later Sidney was sitting in front of a fire that Jackson had quickly prepared in the living room fireplace. The warmth felt good. When Sawyer looked out the broad picture window he noticed that it was snowing again. He looked around the room and his eyes settled on the fireplace mantel, where a procession of framed photographs held forth: Jason Archer, looking anything but a participant in one of the most horrendous crimes ever committed; Amy Archer, as pretty a little girl as Sawyer had ever seen; and Sidney Archer, beautiful and enchanting. A picture-perfect family, at least on the surface. Sawyer had spent the last twenty-five years of his life constantly probing beneath the surface. He looked forward to the day when he would not have to do that. To the time when delving into the motives and circumstances that turned human beings into monsters would be someone else's job. Today, though, that duty was his. He turned his gaze from the photo to the real thing.