of the pounding Atlantic. He kept his eyes straight down as he followed
the set of deep footprints in the sand.
Then Sawyer was confronted with a massive outcropping of rock.
It was a common enough formation along the Maine coast. For a moment he
debated how to navigate the obstacle until he saw a rough path that cut
through the middle of the miniature mountain.
He headed up, pulling his gun out as he did so. Sawyer was hit with a
wall of ocean spray as the waters beat relentlessly against the ancient
stone. His clothes clung to his body like plastic. Still he pushed on;
his breathing came in huge bursts as he struggled up the path, which was
becoming more and more vertical. He looked out to the ocean for a
moment. Black and endless. Sawyer rounded a slight bend in the path
and then stopped. He shone his light ahead, out to the very edge of the
cliff before it disappeared straight down into the Atlantic far below.
The light illuminated the man fully. He squinted back and he put up a
hand to shield his eyes from the unexpected burst of light.
Sawyer sucked in air. The other man was doing the same after the long
chase. Sawyer put one hand on his knee to steady himself as he half
bent over, his gut heaving.
“What are you doing up here?” Sawyer’s voice was wheezy but clear.
Frank Hardy stared back at him, his breath also coming in deep gusts
from weary lungs. Like Sawyer’s, his clothes were drenched and dirty
and his hair was a wind-ravaged mess.
“Lee? That you?” Hardy said.
“It sure as hell ain’t Santa Claus, Frank,” Sawyer wheezed back.
“Answer my question.”
Hardy took a last lengthy breath. “I came up with Gamble for a meeting.
Right in the middle of it, he tells me to go upstairs, that he has some
personal business to conduct. The next thing I know, all hell broke
loose. I got out of there as fast as I could. You mind telling me
what’s going on?”
Sawyer shook his head admiringly. “You always could think fast on your
feet. It’s what made you a great FBI agent. By the way, did you kill
Gamble and Rowe, or did Gamble beat you to Rowe?”
Hardy looked at him grimly, his eyes narrowed.
“Frank, take out the pistol, muzzle first, and toss it over the cliff.”
“What gun, Lee? I’m not armed.”
“The gun you used to shoot one of my men and start that little gun
battle in there.” Sawyer paused and tightened his grip on his own
pistol. “I won’t tell you again, Frank.”
Hardy slowly took the pistol out and tossed it over the cliff.
Sawyer flushed a cigarette out of his pocket and clenched it between his
teeth. He pulled out a lighter and held it up. “Ever seen one of
these, Frank? These suckers will stay lit in a tornado. It’s like the
one they used to down the plane.”
“I don’t know anything about the plane bombing,” Hardy said angrily.
Sawyer paused to light his cigarette and then took a long puff.
“You didn’t know anything about the plane bombing. That’s true.
But you were in on everything else. In fact, I bet you charged Nathan
Gamble a nice little premium. Did you get a piece of the quarter
billion you framed Archer for stealing? Duplicated his signature and
everything. Nice work.”
“You’re crazy! Why would Gamble steal from himself?”
“He didn’t. That money’s probably spread over a hundred different
accounts he’s got all over the world. It was perfect cover. Who’d ever
suspect the guy who got taken for all that money? I’m sure Quentin Rowe
handled the BankTrust piece and also breaking into Virginia’s AFIS
database to monkey around with Riker’s prints.
Jason Archer had the evidence to the whole blackmail scheme with
Lieberman. He had to tell someone. Who? Richard Lucas? Don’t think
so. He was Gamble’s man, plain and simple. The inside guy.”
“So who did he tell?” Hardy’s eyes were now pinpoints.
Sawyer took a long drag on his cigarette before answering. “He told
you, Frank.”