Agent X (15 page)

After Vail and the OPR agent left, Langston tore the page off the notepad. “I’ve got his home address. Let’s go.”

13

It was in the middle of the afternoon when Vail finished with OPR. The two agents who interviewed him had never been involved in a murder investigation before and peppered him with clumsy questions and half-thought-out accusations in an attempt to force inconsistencies in his story. He suspected that this was also part of Langston’s delaying process. When they started asking the same questions for the third time, Vail said, “You do realize that you have no jurisdiction in a murder case? The only authority you have over me is as an employee, which in a couple of days you’ll have to be a Chicago building inspector to maintain. But you can now tell Langston that you did your job and kept me from being involved in what he’s doing. Congratulations, I’m sure it won’t be long before you’ll be promoted to assistant bosses in the field, where you’ll be able to obstruct more than one agent at a time.” He got up and walked out.

Vail checked his watch and, reluctantly, turned on his cell phone. He was hoping Kate had called, but she hadn’t. He took a moment to scold himself for not being able to let go of her apparent siding with Langston. There was one message, though. It was from the manager at the Old Dominion Bank where they had broken into Yanko Petriv’s safe-deposit box.

Vail called him back. “Yes, Agent Vail, Mr. Petriv called this morning and spoke with one of the assistant managers. I had flagged his file, so when she saw it, she came to me.”

“I appreciate it.”

“He told her that he wanted his accounts transferred to a bank in New York and was in the process of doing the paperwork with them. In the meantime he wanted his ATM limit upped. She told him he was already at the max, four hundred dollars, and bank policy wouldn’t allow it to be increased. She said he was not happy.”

“Did she tell him about his safe-deposit box being opened?”

“I’m the only one here who knows about that, so she couldn’t have.”

“Can you take a look at his account right now?” Vail asked.

“Give me two seconds.” Vail’s thoughts again drifted to Kate while he waited. “Yes, I’ve got it up now.”

“Did he make any ATM withdrawals yesterday or today?”

“Ah, let’s see. Yes, this morning. Looks like just before he called us. Four hundred dollars.”

“Where at?”

“At one of our branches in Arlington. In fact, I don’t live far from there. It’s right next to the old Adams Hotel.”

“Thanks for your help,” Vail said, and hung up.

He drove back to the off-site and ran upstairs to the workroom. He leafed through some of his notes until he found what he was looking for. Back in the car, he headed to the Adams Hotel.

The two men sat parked in the SUV, which was positioned anonymously among the rows of cars at the strip mall, watching the entrance to the Adams Hotel. Vail pulled up and turned his car over to the valet. The SUV’s driver dialed his cell phone, calling the man who had set the fire at the historic building, trying to kill Vail and Kate. “He just arrived.”

“He’s alone?”

“Get things ready there,” the driver said.

“I thought the woman was our target.”

Instead of answering, the driver hung up.

The big passenger with the Russian accent said, “We’ll wait until he leaves to make sure he’s heading in the right direction.”

The Adams Hotel was one of those grand old wooden structures that looked as though Civil War generals had stayed there. It almost seemed out of place with the modern Old Dominion Bank on one side and the tall, gleaming gold-glass office building on the other. The desk clerk was an older man with a thin, waxy mustache who looked like someone out of a 1940s black-and-white movie. “May I help you?”

Vail flashed his credentials and leaned closer in confidence. “I’m looking for a fugitive. His name is Yanko Petriv. I’d like to know if he’s staying here. P-E-T-R-I-V.”

The clerk studied Vail’s face briefly and then, apparently satisfied, tapped a couple of keys on his desktop computer. “I’m sorry, no.”

Vail took a slip of paper out of his jacket pocket. “How about Lev Tesar?” Vail spelled the last name. When the bank manager told him during the call about the hotel’s being next door, Vail thought it was a possibility that Petriv might be staying there. Since Petriv had false passports, Vail reasoned that the Russians would have provided him with other corroborating identification that, since it wasn’t in the safe-deposit box, might have been kept in a more immediately accessible place.

“No, sir, he’s not one of our guests either.”

“Last one, how about Oszkar Kalman? With a
K.
”

The clerk tapped in the name. “Yes. He was.”

“Was?”

“Yes, he checked out around noon today.”

“Did he make any phone calls?”

“Ahhhh, yes, one.” The clerk read the number, and Vail recognized it as the call to the Old Dominion Bank that morning.

“What address did he give you?”

The clerk looked around and then said, “I don’t know if I’m allowed to provide that information without a subpoena or some other legal order.” He then half turned the monitor toward Vail and gave him a tacit glance. “I have to go do something. I’ll return in a couple of minutes.”

“Thanks for your help,” Vail called after him as he disappeared through a doorway behind the desk. He swung the monitor enough so he could read it and copied down the address Oszkar Kalman had used. It was in Oakton, Virginia.

The drive took longer than Vail had predicted, and it was almost five o’clock by the time he got to Oakton. The traffic was heavy, and two separate accidents hadn’t helped. The address turned out to be an old, weathered, two-story home with a large attached garage that looked like it could have been a separate barn at one time. In an attempt to update the structure, a breezeway had been built connecting the house and garage. The nearest neighbors were a half mile in either direction. Due to some intermittent stands of pine trees, Vail was able to find a place to park seventy-five yards away that was ideal for watching the house. The thick wooden sliding doors to the garage were open a few inches, and he tried to see if he could spot any vehicles inside. He took the binoculars from under the seat and peered through them, but dusk had started to take over and the winter light was fading.

Vail thought he saw some movement in a second-floor window, but by the time he swung the binoculars toward it, there was nothing he could see. He lowered the glasses but continued to watch the second floor. A few seconds later, in the same window, he saw definite movement. As dark as it was getting, that there were no lights on meant that someone was trying not to be detected.

Vail put the car in gear and started toward the house. As it got closer, he let it glide to a stop fifty yards in front of the garage.

Suddenly a three-round volley was fired from the second floor, at least two of the slugs slamming into the front of his car. He dove out of it and took cover behind the vehicle. After a minute or so, he peeked over the trunk, looking for any further movement inside the house.

“I thought the bumper sticker said that Virginia was for lovers,” he muttered to himself.

Two more rounds were fired at him, this time from the first floor. “Evidently it’s gun lovers.”

He stood up and fired a burst into the first-floor window. Almost immediately he was fired at again, this time from the breezeway. He suspected that whoever was shooting at him was working his way to the garage, probably trying to get to his car. Vail shifted his angle behind the car to the garage and put his point of aim at the six-inch opening between the two heavy doors, then waited.

Almost too predictably, a three-round fusillade came from the narrow black opening between the garage doors. Vail opened fire, letting his Glock come back down level before pulling the trigger each time, as though he sensed that his rounds were finding their mark. Maybe it was the tiny after-echo that couldn’t have been anything but lead slamming into tissue. He rolled back into a safe position on the car’s trunk, dropped an empty magazine, and shoved in a fresh one.

Raising his head for a few seconds, he tried to draw more fire. When none came, he assumed a two-handed grip on his gun and started cautiously toward the garage. Every few feet he took a step to the right or the left so he wouldn’t be a constant target. When he got to within ten feet of the garage, another eruption of gunfire came from the opening.

Vail went into a deep defensive crouch and fired at least ten rounds in the direction of the garage while he maneuvered quickly to his left and ran to the door on that side, flattening himself against it. Now the gunman would have to actually stick his weapon outside the opening to get a shot at him. He was about to take hold of the left edge of the door and slide it completely open, all the time ready to shoot anyone who stepped out, when the sound of an engine roared inside the garage. He leaped to the opening and pulled the door open.

Tied to the front of a car, spread-eagled and gagged, was Yanko Petriv, the NSA translator. At least a half dozen of Vail’s rounds having found his chest and stomach.

Out of the rear of the garage, which had identical sliding doors, a blue sedan screamed away and down a back road.

Vail ran around to the other side of the garage, trying to get a shot at the car, but with its lights off it disappeared behind a stand of evergreens and into the winter night.

Vail holstered his weapon and returned to the body. Placing an index finger on Petriv’s carotid artery out of habit, he withdrew it almost immediately.

He realized now that they’d had Petriv use this address so Vail would be led here. And then started the running gun battle so he’d fire blindly into the garage. Of course it wasn’t his fault, and yet he couldn’t help but wonder if they’d staked Petriv out like that because they knew the way Vail went after things.

14

Vail had gotten in about four hours earlier, after a long session with the Oakton police. He’d called them to the scene and, as soon as they arrived, had explained that he was the one who’d shot Petriv. As he walked them through the shoot-out, they found cartridges at every location where Vail said he’d received fire. The bullet holes in his car matched the caliber of the casings recovered. When asked who the victim was, Vail said that Petriv had been a person of interest in a Bureau investigation, a man he was trying to locate, and that he had finally found him at this house.

The detective asked him more than once to clarify “person of interest,” to which he answered that it was a classified matter. Finally Vail had them call Kate at home and have her verify that it was a sensitive investigation. She asked to speak to the chief and eventually convinced him that it was a matter of national security and that as soon as it was resolved, he would receive full details. After a few more hours of interviews by different combinations of officers, detectives, and even the chief, Vail was allowed to leave.

Vail woke up abruptly, thinking he’d heard Kate calling his name. “Steve, we’re coming up.” It was her. He jumped out of bed and pulled on a robe.

Vail went to the top of the stairs and was surprised to see Langston and Kalix with her. “I wonder what this could be about,” Vail said to himself quietly. And then, “Great, now I’m being sarcastic to myself.”

They all went into the workroom, and Langston immediately noticed the wall where all the photos and documents were displayed. For a moment he tried to comprehend how they had translated into the identification of three spies, but he didn’t want Vail to think he was there to admire his work.

Vail said, “Anyone want coffee?” and started for the kitchen.

Langston finally sat down on the sofa and called in to Vail, “I’ve briefed the director about last night, and of course he knew about the murder of Charles Pollock. Needless to say, he’s not happy. Two suspected spies, both dead. Both, it appears, were tortured and killed. Both times you’re right in the middle of it.”

Vail came out of the kitchen. “That shows you how misguided I am. I would think it was a good thing for the Bureau to be right in the middle of things.”

“And you had to go out there by yourself to do this. Was that to embarrass me?”

“I went by myself so your rules wouldn’t get in the way. Embarrassing you was just a bonus.”

“Apparently you don’t understand what a potential nightmare this could be if the media gets hold of it.”

“That’s exactly why the Russians did it,” Kate offered.

Langston said, “I’m well aware of that, but who’s going to believe us?”

Vail sat down in a chair. Kalix, in an attempt to reduce the tension, said, “I think the big question here is why would the Russians kill Pollock and Petriv? That’s never been their style.”

Kate said, “Maybe this is a small group of loose Russian cannons inside the SVR who are trying too hard to please their superiors—or, more likely, not wind up in gulags. When you have an asset exposed, it makes you look incompetent. You’ve got to hand it to them. They’ve found a way to turn their losing a spy into a black eye for the Bureau.”

“That’s a reasonable explanation, Kate,” Langston said. “Do you or Steve have any idea how they knew we were onto Petriv?”

Vail said, “The only thing I can think of is Calculus giving up his list. If he did, the Russians would be watching those individuals. Maybe even asking them that if anything unusual happens to contact the embassy immediately. In Pollock’s case they probably knew we were coming because of the break-in at the safe house and the missing DVD. With Petriv, he knew we were onto the bank because he tried to get more money through the ATM when he had much more in his safe-deposit box. Somehow he knew we had been to the bank and probably assumed we were staking it out. Or maybe someone let the cat out of the bag at NSA after you contacted them the day before. You know how there are no secrets inside the Bureau. You have to assume NSA has the same rumor mill. And since we found the false passports, the Russians had probably told him that they would get him out of the country should anything happen. If so, his next step would be to call his handler.”

“That also makes sense. All the more reason to bring Dellasanti in as soon as possible,” Langston said. “So let’s get focused on today. Surveillance is already on the drop at the park. There’s no activity yet. We’ve also got two crews on Dellasanti—who, by the way, works for the State Department.”

“I assume we’re going to arrest him as soon as he makes the pickup,” Kate said.

“Uh . . .” Langston glanced at Vail.

She, too, looked over at Vail, who had a small, cynical grin on his face.

“What the assistant director doesn’t want to tell you,” he said, “is that I will not be making the trip to Maryland.”

“Since you figured that out, Steve, I assume you understand why,” Langston said.

“I’m oh for two bringing in spies alive, and because I’m a very temporary employee, someone might interpret those deaths as the reason I was brought into this case.”

“Is that true?” Kate asked Langston.

“Obviously it makes enough sense that he figured it out.”

“You do realize that we’ve gotten this far only because of Steve,” she said.

“It’s okay, Kate,” Vail told her. “They’re right. The Russians are playing this beautifully.” He turned to Langston. “Maybe it’s time for me to bow out permanently.”

Langston said, “Absolutely not. The director was vehement about that. No, we just want some space between you and Dellasanti. And I think you understand that ultimately, by using this tack, you’ll be protecting yourself.”

“Yes, that’s always been my favorite thing about the Bureau, how they look out for me,” Vail said.

Langston’s cell phone rang. “Assistant Director Langston.” He listened for a moment and then hung up. “Dellasanti has just left his home. It looks like he’s heading to work.”

“Is the drop on his way?” Kate asked.

“No. Not in the direction he’s heading. We’ve got time.”

Vail stood up. After his call to Kate in the middle of the night and her efforts to get him cleared of the Petriv shooting, he felt that maybe he had judged her too quickly after he was excluded from the Petriv case. There was one way to find out where she really stood. “It appears I’ve got the day off. Since Kate hasn’t knifed or shot anyone, I assume she’s going with you.”

“Yes.”

Vail stared at her for a second too long, hoping it would remind her of their deal that he was supposed to get a first look at the documents from the impending dead drop. “Don’t forget you promised to call that guy Ariadne,” he said to her.

Vail sat alongside Luke Bursaw’s desk, scanning the mountain of information printed out from the missing analyst’s work computer. “I’m never using a computer again. There isn’t a keystroke that isn’t permanently recorded.”

“It would take a year to analyze all this,” Bursaw said.

“What about her personal laptop?” Vail asked.

“That—what did you call it?—Shadow Copy stuff? They’re working on it now.”

“Good. Have you heard anything from your girlfriend Denise?”

“Nothing. You know the attention span of a hooker. It’s only about as long as their tricks.”

“All this wheel spinning is making me hungry. How about I let you buy me some lunch.”

“The way you eat, it’d be cheaper for me to get you a hooker.”

“Sounds like somebody’s been getting the law-enforcement discount.”

Bursaw and Vail sat in a booth eating corned beef sandwiches at a deli two blocks from the Washington Field Office. “Does your supervisor know you’re putting all this time in looking for Sundra?”

“We’re all a little surprised when he actually finds his way to the office every day. The word is he’s got much greater ambitions. All indications are that he’s saving himself so when he gets back to headquarters he can screw up cases Bureau-wide.”

“So what do you want to do with Sundra next?”

“Me? You’re the idea guy. Why do you think I’m buying lunch?”

“You feed me salted meat and expect my A stuff? There better be a promise of pie attached to your next request.”

“I wish I could get up off of this, but I can’t. It’s waking me in the middle of the night. No matter what I’m doing, I start drifting away thinking about it. I mean, Christ, I didn’t even know her. Not really. I guess it’s become personal because of my cousin.”

Vail took the last bite of his sandwich and pushed the plate away. “You know she was a good person. If we don’t give them a little extra, who do we do it for?” Vail took a drink. “I’d never say dump it. Nobody else is looking for her, so you have to. It’s part of the idiot agent’s code. Running in the wrong direction is our life. When we’re done here, let’s go back to the office and go through the file again.”

“That’s your great insight? Go through the file again? I could have done that.”

“You’re mixing up cause and effect. The insight comes when I find something in the file. If that isn’t good enough, next time ask a psychic to lunch.”

“Okay, okay. You ready to go?”

“What’s the magic word?”

Bursaw signaled the waitress over to their booth. “Pie, please.”