The Associate

“But the plan was to bust Be

“Do you want to stay at the firm, Kyle?”

“My exit from Scully & Pershing was a foregone conclusion the day I walked into your office.”

“There might be a way to save the job.”

“I took the job because Be

A radio squawked in the sitting room, jolting the agents. It came and went with no further news.

Kyle finally abandoned the briefcase and stretched his legs. He looked at his lawyer and said, “You’re a big partner in a big firm. What would you do if an associate pulled this stunt?”

“Fire him immediately.”

“Exactly. On the spot, with little patience for a lot of talk. How can the firm ever trust me again? There are a thousand rookies out there ready to replace me. And there’s something else here, Roy, something that Scully needs to know.” Kyle glanced at the sitting room, where his bodyguards were now watching TV.

“I’m not the only spy. Be

There was a commotion at the door, and the two guards quickly muted the television and hopped to attention. Kyle and Roy stood as Bullington swept in with a small, important group, the center of which was a man of about sixty with short gray hair, a fine suit, and the air of someone in complete control of all things around him. Bullington introduced him as Mr. Mario Delano, director in charge of the New York office of the FBI.

He addressed both Kyle and Roy: “Gentlemen, Mr. Be

If Kyle was supposed to be impressed, he was not. He simply shrugged as if to say, “Big deal. The least you could do.”

Delano pressed on. “It’s urgent that you get out of town, Mr. McAvoy. I suggest that we take you into protective custody for a few days, let the dust settle, give us some time to track down Be

“And if you don’t find him?” Kyle asked.

“Let’s talk about that later. We have a small jet waiting at Teterboro Airport. We’ll have you there in thirty minutes. You’ll have protection around the clock until something changes.” The crisp precision of Delano’s plans left no doubt that the dangers were indeed substantial. Kyle could not argue. He was now the double agent, as well as the government’s star witness in the event Be

“Let’s go,” Delano said.

“I need a minute with my client,” Roy said.

“Certainly,” said Delano as he snapped his fingers and the room emptied. Roy closed the door, and when they were alone, he said, “I’ll call Scully and put them off.”

Kyle withdrew his FirmFone and said, “No need. I’ll check in with Doug Peckham and tell him I’m sick. Be

“Fine. It’s best if I keep the briefcase and the computer.”

“Just don’t let the FBI have it.”

“I won’t.”

They shook hands. Roy said, “You did the right thing.”

“Right or wrong, it didn’t work.”

“You didn’t hand over anything, Kyle. You didn’t breach a client’s confidence.”

“Let’s argue later.”

“Be safe.”

Chapter 40

John McAvoy was enjoying a peaceful Thursday morning at his desk when a secretary rang in with the news that two gentlemen from the FBI had dropped by for a surprise visit. They were quickly shown in. Introductions were made, badges flashed, coffee declined. “Is he all right?” John asked.

“He’s fine,” the agent named Halsey said. The one named Murdock agreed, nodding with smug assurance.

“What’s happened?”

“Kyle has informed us that you are aware of the plans he had to help apprehend his handler,” Halsey said.

“Yes. I know the background and I know what he had in mind. What’s happened?”

Both agents shifted weight. Murdock took over. “Well, things didn’t go as pla

John closed his eyes, removed his reading glasses, and lit a cigarette. “Where’s Kyle?”

“He’s with us, in protective custody. He’s safe, and he’s anxious to talk to you. That will not be possible at this moment.”

A blast of blue smoke escaped from John’s side of the desk. “Protective custody?” he repeated. The smoke drifted over and began settling on Halsey and Murdock.

“Afraid so. He could be in danger.”

“Who botched the operation?”

“Not sure it was botched, or how or why. Let’s just say there is a lot of investigating going on right now.”

“When can I talk to him?”

“Soon,” Halsey said.

“We’re out of Philly,” Murdock said. “But we’re here in York for the next few days. Our job is to relay messages to you.” Both agents withdrew business cards. “Cell numbers on the back. Please don’t hesitate to call.”

KYLE SLEPT LATE into the morning, and awoke to the sounds of waves rolling onto a beach. He was adrift in the clouds — a thick white comforter, puffy white pillows, a thick white bedspread piled at his feet. The queen-sized bed was topped with a white canopy. He knew where he was, but it took a few minutes to convince himself he was really there.

The walls were adorned with cheap pastels of beach scenes. The floor was painted wood. He listened to the ocean and heard the distant calls of seagulls. There were no other sounds, quite a contrast to the early bustle of Chelsea. No alarm clock startling him at some obscene hour. No rush to shower and dress and hurry through the frantic rituals of getting to the office. None of that, at least not today.

This was not an unpleasant way to begin the rest of his life.

The bedroom was one of three in a modest two-story beach rental an hour east of Destin, Florida, on the Gulf, two hours and forty-eight minutes by Learjet from Teterboro Airport in New Jersey. They, he and his new friends, had landed at Destin just before 4:00 a.m. A van with armed drivers had scooped them up and raced along Highway 98, passing miles of empty condos and beach houses and small hotels. There were a few vacationers, judging by the parking lots, and many of the cars had Canadian license plates.

The two windows were half-open and the breeze blew the curtains. It was a full three minutes before Kyle thought about Be

It opened slightly, and Todd, his new best friend, wedged through his chubby face and said, “You wanted a ten o’clock wake-up call.”

“Thanks.”

“You okay?”

“Sure.”

Todd had joined the escape in Destin and was now assigned to guard their witness or snitch or whatever Kyle was considered to be. He was from the Pensacola office, went to Auburn, was only two years older than Kyle himself, and talked far more than any other FBI agent, real or fake, that he’d met so far in this ordeal.