The Associate

More shuffling of paper, more shifting of rear ends. “In your summary, Mr. McAvoy, you allude to additional security issues within Scully & Pershing. Care to expand on this?”

A nod from Roy, and Kyle began, “Yes, but first I want to apologize for my actions. I hope you understand the reasons behind what I did, but I was still wrong. And I apologize. As far as security, I met with these thugs ten times while I was in New York. The first meeting was in February, the tenth meeting was last Tuesday night. I took meticulous notes of each meeting — dates, places, duration, who was present, what was said, everything I could remember afterward. My attorney has these notes. The FBI has a copy. On three occasions, I was given information that could only be known by someone within this firm. I think there’s another spy. For example, Be

Three of the six jaws had dropped on the other side, not down to their chests, not the kick-me-in-the-gut shock of sudden, horrific news, but a stu

And just to give them more heartburn, Kyle added something he truly believed, but couldn’t prove. “And I don’t think it’s an associate,” he said, then withdrew from the fray and settled back into his chair.

All six partners had the same thought. If it’s not an associate, then it must be a partner.

Doug Peckham swallowed hard, cleared his throat, and attempted to speak. “Are you saying—”

Next to him, Wilson Rush quickly raised his right hand, partially in Doug’s space. Like a king calling for silence, a quick lifting of the hand, and all was quiet for the moment.

Roy finally said, “Anything else?”

“I believe that’s all,” Meezer said. After an awkward few seconds, Roy stood, followed by Kyle and Delano and Wingate. The six partners did not budge. They sat frozen, with matching scowls, as Kyle and his little entourage left the room.

Chapter 42

In the lobby of the building, they were met by the same three large young men who’d brought Kyle from the hotel. The group made it safely outside, onto Broad Street, then walked one block east to the building next door, where Roy worked, sixteen floors up. The three agents, bodyguards really, camped in a reception area and began waiting again. Inside Roy’s office, Drew Wingate decided that his job was over. He excused himself and promised to help in any way possible. After he left, Kyle, Roy, and Delano gathered around Roy’s small conference table. Some poor secretary, beckoned on a Sunday, served them coffee with a smile.

“What are your plans, Kyle?” Delano asked.

“Well, looks like I won’t be practicing law in the state of New York, that’s for sure. I’ll go home for a few weeks, take some time off, enjoy the holidays.”

“I’m not sure that’s a wise thing to do.”

“Thank you, Mr. Delano. I appreciate your concern, but I’m not about to go into hiding. Thanks for the offer to enter the dark little world of witness protection, but no thanks. I’m twenty-five years old, stumbling but not falling, and I’ll do just fine on my own.”

Roy’s coffee cup froze in midair, halfway to his mouth. “Kyle, you can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious, Roy. No pun intended. I’ve just survived three days of protection, guards all around me, hiding and watching for bad guys. No thanks. There’s more to my future than fake names and nonstop Scrabble.”

“Scrabble?”

“Don’t go there. Listen, I’ve been under surveillance for the last ten months. You know what that does to you? You get real paranoid. You suspect everyone. You seize upon every new face because it might belong to a bad guy. You notice every corner, alley, every bum on a park bench, every guy wearing a dark trench coat. You pick up a phone and you wonder who’s listening. You send an e-mail and change the wording because the wrong eyes might see it. In your own apartment you change clothes in a hurry, back to the camera, trying to hide your crotch. You walk in a coffee shop and go straight to the front window to see who’s on the sidewalk behind you. You learn all sorts of stupid little tricks because the more you know, the more you might need to know. And the walls close in. The world becomes a small place because somebody is always watching. I’m sick of it. I’m not going to live on the run.”

“These guys killed Baxter Tate without the slightest hesitation,” Roy said. “What makes you think they won’t do the same to you?”

“The operation was still hot when Baxter came barging in. The operation, at least that part that involves me, is now over. Be

“I’m sure he will,” Delano said.

“But it won’t involve me. What does Be

“He takes out a material witness,” Roy said.

“Only if he’s caught, which I seriously doubt. If Be

“Oh, it’ll be too late then, Kyle,” Delano said. “Believe me. The moment Be

“Bring ’em on. We have at least five deer rifles at home. I’ll carry a Luger in my briefcase. If they show up, we’ll have a regular gunfight.”

“Get serious, Kyle,” Roy pleaded.

“The decision has been made. The FBI ca

“I hope you don’t regret this,” Delano said.

“So do I,” Kyle said. “And please don’t follow me around. I might go berserk and shoot the next person I see lurking in the shadows.”

“Oh, don’t worry. We have plenty of work elsewhere.” Delano stood and all hands were shaken. He said to Roy, “I’ll check in once a week with an update.”

Roy walked him to the door, and the FBI left Kyle’s life. With the door closed, Roy took his seat and looked at Kyle as if he couldn’t believe it. “You’re awfully brave,” he said.

“Brave or stupid. The line is often blurred.”

“Why not disappear for a few months, maybe a year? Let everything cool off.”

“A year means nothing. These guys have long memories. If Be

“You don’t trust the FBI?”

“No. I trust you, me, my father, a girl named Dale, and that’s about it.”

“So it was an inside job?”

“We’ll never know, will we? I have a hunch that Be

“I still don’t believe that.”

Kyle shrugged, and for a long time nothing was said.

Finally, Kyle glanced at his watch. “Look, Roy, it’s Sunday afternoon and you have a family. Go home.”

“What about you?”

“Me? I’m walking out the door, taking a long hike to my apartment, not once looking over my shoulder, and when I get there, I’ll load up my clothes and as much junk as possible, cram all of it into my Jeep that has 200,000 miles on the odometer, and drive home. I should get there in time for a late di