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