“But Rowe is valuable to you.”
“If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t have much use for his company.”
“So you tolerate him?”
“So long as the dollars keep pouring in.”
“Lucky you.”
Gamble’s look was ferocious. “I took an ivory tower geek who couldn’t
raise a damned dime on his own and turned him into the country’s richest
thirty-something. Now, who do you think’s the lucky one?”
Sawyer inclined his head toward the man. “I’m not trying to take
anything away from you, Gamble. You chased a dream and made it come
true. I guess that’s what America’s all about.”
“Coming from a Fed, I’ll have to really savor that compliment.”
Gamble once again focused on the basketball game.
Sawyer stood and crumpled his beer can.
Gamble stared up at him. “Where you going?”
“Home. It’s been a long day.” He held up the squashed can.
“Thanks for the beer.”
“I’ll have my driver take you home. I’ll be here awhile.”
Sawyer looked around the luxury box. “I think I’ve had enough of the
high life for one day. I’ll take the bus. But thanks for the invite.”
“Yeah, I really enjoyed it too,” Gamble said with the heaviest of
sarcasm.
The agent had started up the stairs, but Gamble’s “Hey, Sawyer?”
turned him around.
Gamble was looking squarely at him, and then he let out a deep sigh. “I
hear where you’re coming from, okay?”
Sawyer stared at him a moment before answering. “Okay.”
“I wasn’t always this rich. I remember real well what it’s like to be
penniless and powerless. Maybe that’s why I’m such an asshole when it
comes to business: I’m terrified of going back there.”
Sawyer considered this for a moment. “Enjoy the rest of the game.” He
left Gamble staring into his glass, deep in thought.
As Sawyer walked down the steps, he almost bumped into Richard Lucas,
who had assumed a position there. Sawyer wondered if Lucas had
overheard any part of the conversation with Gamble.
He nodded at Lucas and stepped down into the bar area, where he launched
a hook shot and the beer can sailed through the air and neatly into the
trash can.
The bartender looked at him with admiration. “Hey, maybe the Bullets
should sign you up,” she said with a cute smile.
“Yeah, I can be the token over-the-hill white guy.”
Sawyer turned back before exiting the room. “Keep smiling, Rich.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Jeff Fisher stared humbly at the screen; a weary Sidney Archer sat
beside him. She had given him all the personal information she could
think of about Jason in order to fathom a proper password.
Nothing had worked.
Fisher shook his head. “Well, we’ve gone through all the easy
possibilities and all variations thereof. I’ve run a brute-force
assault and got nothing. I’ve tried a partial random letter and number
approach, but there are just too many possibilities to conduct in our
lifetime.”
He turned to Sidney. “I’m afraid your husband really knew what he was
doing. ! figure he’s probably got a random number-letter combo of
about twenty or thirty characters. We’re not going to crack it.”
Sidney’s hopes plummeted. It was maddening to have a disk full of
information in her hand–presumably information that would explain a lot
about her husband’s fate–and be absolutely unable to read it.
She stood up and paced the room while Fisher continued to peck at the
keyboard. Sidney crossed the room and stopped in front of a window. On
a table next to the window was a stack of mail. On top was a Field &
Stream magazine. Sidney idly glanced down at the stack of mail, eyed
the magazine and then looked over at Fisher. He hardly seemed the
outdoor type, she thought. Then she looked at the address label on the
front cover. It was addressed to a Fred Smithers, but the address was
that of the house she was standing in. She picked up the magazine.
Fisher looked over at her while he finished his Coke. When he saw the
magazine in her hands, he scowled. “I keep getting that guy’s mail. A
bunch of companies somehow have my address on their system for this guy.