by Noah Boyd
“I know what a proponent of revenge you are, so this is for you.” Bursaw flicked the switch on and off rapidly. It gave a brief yelp. Vail hurried around the front of the van. The man turned quickly and slashed at Vail’s face with a screwdriver. Vail fell back out of the way, and it was all the delay the man needed to take off running.
Vail looked at Bursaw, who was laughing. “Keep laughing and I’ll let this guy get away.”
“It’s impossible for you to let anyone get away with anything,” Bursaw said. “The idiot agent’s code, remember?”
Vail took off at a dead run. Bursaw pulled the car up next to him and drove at the same speed. “A white man chasing a black man. Sounds like we’re about to have a violation of civil rights.”
Vail glanced over at him and tried to look angry.
“Appears like you’ve lost a step since Detroit. Get those knees up, Vail. I think you’re losing him. Knees up.”
Vail struggled not to laugh. It was hard enough running in the cold air. He watched as Bursaw pulled ahead and turned right.
Vail could still see the man almost a block ahead of him now, also turning right. Somehow Bursaw had guessed correctly. Vail pushed himself harder. When he got to the corner and turned, the man was gone. And there was no place to hide. Vail sprinted to the next corner and looked both ways. To the left, half a block up, Bursaw had the man pinned against the car and was applying some sort of jujitsu arm bar, causing the man to rise to his tiptoes and whimper in pain.
Vail ran up and handcuffed him. Bursaw pulled out the man’s wallet. “Mr. Jonathan Wilkins. Congratulations, you have just received a demonstration of the old hammer-and-anvil tactic, which goes all the way back to Alexander the Great.” When Wilkins didn’t say anything, Bursaw said, “Not a history buff, huh, Jonathan?”
“I didn’t do nothing,” Wilkins said.
“You know, Jonathan, I’m really starting to hate my job. In the fifteen years I’ve been with the FBI, not once have I arrested the right man.” Bursaw pushed him into the backseat, and Vail got in next to him. As they drove to the Washington Field Office, Vail advised him of his rights.
Vail watched the monitor as Bursaw started interviewing Wilkins. There was no table or desk between them, and the black agent was in the prisoner’s body space, their knees almost touching. Bursaw handed Wilkins the photographs of the three dead prostitutes. “Ever see these girls?”
Wilkins looked at the photos, trying to appear disinterested. “No.”
“They’re prostitutes. Ever go out with a prostitute?”
“Never paid for it in my life.”
Bursaw noted his overall slovenliness. “A real ladies’ man, huh, Jonathan?”
“I do all right.”
Bursaw held up the photos fanned out. “You’re sure you don’t know any of these women.” Wilkins kept his eyes down, refusing to look at the photos again. “Jonathan, look at me.” Without looking at the photos, Wilkins’s eyes found Bursaw’s. “This is very important. You’ve never seen any of these women before?”
“No.”
“Then I’m assuming it would not be possible for your semen to be found inside them.”
Vail could see the statement hit home. Wilkins’s posture pulled back defensively. It was unusual for a psychopathic killer to have such poor lying skills, but his reaction left little doubt that he had killed the three women.
“Unless somebody planted it there.”
Bursaw smiled crookedly. “Are you in the habit of giving your sperm to people who would want to frame you?”
“You said they’re prostitutes. Maybe I, you know, had a date with them or something.”
“So you have paid for it.”
“Sometimes. You know a man’s got to be a man. Don’t like to admit it, though.”
“I understand, Jonathan.” Bursaw leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Since we’re both telling the truth here, I’m going to tell you something you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone.”
“What?”
Bursaw leaned in another inch. “I don’t care about these three whores. I only care about this woman.” He showed Wilkins a photo of Sundra Boston.
This time Wilkins studied the photo before answering. “Man, her I don’t know.”
Bursaw looked up at the hidden camera and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, letting Vail know that it was apparent that Wilkins had nothing to do with Sundra Boston’s disappearance. “Take off your shirt, man.”
“I don’t have to,” Wilkins said.
“Did you want another jujitsu lesson?” Reluctantly, Wilkins pulled his shirt over his head while he glared at Bursaw. There was a three-inch scar on his chest that looked like it could have been caused by the screwdriver attack Denise Washington had described. “See, Jonathan, that scar was caused by a screwdriver, and we have the witness who did it to you. She’ll testify about you trying to tie her up in the van, like the other three were. And we’ll find their DNA in your van and on those ropes, which I’m sure you didn’t bother to change each time. I’m sorry, man, it’s over.” Bursaw let it all sink in for a few seconds and then said, “But like I told you, I don’t care about those three, just this one.” Again he held up Sundra’s photo. “Tell you what I’ll do. We have her killer’s DNA, so if you’ll give me a sample of yours to prove that you weren’t involved in her death, you and I will be done.”
“I’ll give you DNA, hair, blood whatever you want,” Wilkins said, pointing at Sundra’s photo. “But you can’t use it for the others.”
“Agreed.” Bursaw opened his briefcase and took out a cheek-swab kit, extracting a long Q-tip. “Open up.”
Wilkins opened his mouth, and Bursaw got the swab to within an inch of Wilkins’s cheek before breaking it in half and throwing it on the table. “You’ve convinced me, Jonathan. You had nothing to do with Sundra’s disappearance.”
“Then I can go?”
“Not just yet.” Bursaw stood him up and handcuffed him. “I think the Metro police are going to want to talk to you.”
It was a little after 4 A.M. when Vail and Bursaw dropped Wilkins at the Washington Metropolitan Police homicide unit. Forty-five minutes later, Luke Bursaw pulled up in front of the off-site. “Any idea what you’re going to do now?” Vail asked.
“Sleep and not think about it for a while. Do you have any idea how much longer you’re going to be around?”
“I think this other thing is getting close to being resolved.” Vail handed him a key. “In case something comes up, take this. The alarm code is 9111.”
“Does that mean it’s going well or it’s going badly?”
“We’re making progress. Unfortunately, it’s in the form of one disaster after another.”
“Just remember, when it comes to the government, disasters aren’t necessarily bad. If nothing else, it means somebody is doing something.”
Vail got out and started toward the door when Bursaw hit the siren with another brief yelp.
Vail had started to undress when the phone rang. It was almost six in the morning. Chances that this call was good news were not high.
It was Kate. “Dellasanti’s dead.”
“How?”
“There was a bomb in the package. As we were closing in on him, it exploded.”
“Did he set it off?”
“We don’t know. It didn’t go off until he saw us coming. So either he committed suicide to keep from going to prison or Calculus put it in the package. Which doesn’t make any sense.”
“Or maybe the Russians did it to make sure the thread between the pieces of evidence would be broken once and for all. Then we couldn’t go any further.”
Kate said, “I hadn’t thought of that. It’s definitely a possibility, the way they’ve been killing their sources.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m still at the park. Langston’s got three forensics teams here processing the scene, and we’re just about done. He’s ordered all the autop
sy and lab work be done by noon so we can get a couple of hours’ sleep. There’s a meeting in his office, at noon, to analyze everything. He wants you there.”
“Okay.”
“Really? I thought you’d take the opportunity to ride off into the sunset, yelling ‘I told you so’ over your shoulder.”
“Dellasanti would be just as dead if I had been there. Did any of the evidence survive?”
“I don’t think any of the money did. We’re not sure about the documents. Something was blown into Dellasanti’s body cavity. We decided to let the medical examiner extract it.”
“Are you doing all right?”
“I’m seeing a few more bodies than I’d like, but I’m fine.”
“I’ll see you at noon.”
16
The three unit and section chiefs were already seated in the director’s conference room when Vail walked in. Kate was getting coffee from a side table. Vail went over and poured himself a cup.
“You look like you didn’t get much sleep,” she said.
“I was out celebrating not killing Dellasanti.”
“With any luck there are a couple spies left so you can get your batting average back up.”
Langston hurried into the room followed by John Kalix, who was carrying a stack of files. “We’re in the director’s conference room because he wanted to attend this meeting, but at the last moment he was called before a congressional oversight committee.”
Vail leaned close to Kate. “Hopefully that isn’t about us.”
“The good thing is, you’ll probably be fired and back in Chicago by the time Congress gets the final body count.”
“You really are a silver-lining kind of girl, aren’t you?”
Langston sat down at the head of the table. “As if our latest spy getting killed wasn’t bad enough, the lab was unable to find anything to give us a clue as to the identity of the next one.”
The section chief, Tony Battly, said, “Maybe there are no more. Calculus said the last one would be an intelligence agent. I suppose someone in the State Department could be considered in intelligence.”
Somebody said, “Apparently you haven’t spent much time around the State Department.”
“Or maybe he instructed his relative at the Chicago bank to get us the name after the payments for the first three are deposited,” Mark Brogdon said. “Bill, you’ve had me pay the first two—should I wire another quarter of a million for this one and see what happens?”
Langston said, “We’ve already sent them half a million dollars. That seems like we’d be throwing more money away.”
“I know, but on the off chance that the relative can help us, I think we should consider it. The money’s already been earmarked for this.”
Vail said, “If you send them a quarter of a million and Dellasanti was the intelligence agent, maybe they would somehow let us know we owe them another quarter of a million. Then we’d be sure he was the big fish and be through with this.”
Langston said, “You’re right. Besides, it’s not like the money’s coming out of my pocket. Make the payment, Mark.” Nervously, the assistant director straightened his tie. “Anything else, Steve?”
“Mind if I see the reports?”
“Sure, you may.” Langston pushed them down to him. “What exactly are you looking for?”
“Kate, tell them,” he said as he started scanning the reports.
“Anomalies,” she answered in an amused tone.
As Vail continued to read, flipping past boilerplate pages, everyone sat quietly and wondered if he would find something that they’d all missed. The lab had recovered a small piece of a circuit used in remote-control devices. That meant that Dellasanti had not killed himself, and neither had Calculus. It had to be the Russians waiting until the last possible second before disposing of a potentially embarrassing double agent, something they had now done twice before. “I’m not going to find anything in the lab reports,” Vail said. “Those guys are too thorough. Was there anything left from the package?”
Kate thought Vail’s tone was a little too civil. He had to be hiding something.
“The one with the dark blue cover has photographs of everything,” Kalix said.
Vail started through the pictures. “What’s this one?” He held it up to Kalix.
“It’s some sort of sleeve. A packet of money was inside it and intact. The lab is doing more testing on it. It’s some kind of material that is virtually indestructible. The best guess is that it might be from the days of the diplomatic pouch, to protect documents.”
“Our diplomats or theirs?”
“At this point we have no idea.”
Vail went back to the photos. “Let me have a couple of minutes.”
A clerk came in with a tray of fresh coffee. The others got up and poured themselves a cup. Kate brought one to Vail and set it next to him. Focused on the photographs, he didn’t seem to notice. The men stood around saying little, occasionally glancing over at Vail, trying to see which photographs he was looking at.
Inside the protective sleeve had been two bundles of banded fifty-dollar bills. Finally Vail closed the file. Without a word, everyone sat down. “Bill, can I see the money?”
Langston nodded to Kalix, who went to the nearest phone. “Did you find something?”
“Not really. That’s why I’d like to see the actual items.” He picked up his coffee and took a swallow. “Thanks, Kate.”
Ten minutes later a woman in a gray lab smock walked in with a cardboard box, and Langston told her to give it to Vail. Each bundle of fifties was in a clear plastic envelope. They all had the same purple tinge to them after being fumed for fingerprints. Vail lifted each stack out carefully, examining both sides before setting it down. Finally he picked up one of the bundles and riffled through it. He opened the file and checked the photos of the bills, trying to make out the serial numbers. “Here’s a question I hope someone can answer: Are these bills in their original order? You know, before they were fumed.” He looked from face to face, but no one replied. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
Finally Kalix said, “Wait. There were lists made of the bills.” He picked up another folder and flipped through it. “Yes, here they are. I assume they’re listed in order.”
Vail examined the list. “Very good. If you’re right.”
“What is it, Vail?” Langston asked.
He was still examining the money. “The bills are nonsequential, which is the way spies are supposed to be paid. Did anyone consider the way they’re arranged in the stacks? Like taking the first digit from the top ten bills? If this is what Calculus intended, I don’t know which stack would be the coded stack. Maybe it’s the last ten bills in one of the stacks. Get ahold of whoever made the list and ask him if any of the bills were upside down or backward. If that is the code Calculus used, it’s going to take more work to untangle, which isn’t surprising, since his clues seem to get more complicated as they go along. That’s the only thing I can see. But if there was a clue, maybe it was on the documents.” He looked around the table and was surprised that no one seemed to realize that the Russians had put the package together and that as a result there would be no clues. But Vail wanted them to be kept busy. He had seen something in the photographs.
Langston said to Kalix, “Get somebody up here from Cryptanalysis.” Then he turned to the group. “We’re starting to get calls from the media regarding the bombing at the park yesterday. Once again, refer them to Public Affairs. It’s only a matter of time until they start putting together the other deaths with this one. Let’s hope we’ll be done by then and we can let them know what we’ve accomplished. If no one has anything else, that’s it.”
Kate said to Vail, “Speaking of the media, I heard an interesting item on the radio this morning. Seems two FBI agents caught a serial murderer last night and dropped him off at the locals. Know anything about that?”
He smiled. “I don’t know, I don’t have a radio.”
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br /> “It was you.”
“Actually, it was Luke. But unfortunately it had nothing to do with his missing analyst.”
“And where are you off to now?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find something to do. There are a lot of computer records I need to look through for Luke.”
“That’s twice in the last ten seconds you’ve said ‘I don’t know,’ which isn’t a commonly used Steve Vail line. You’ve figured out something, haven’t you?”
“You think I’m keeping something from Luke?”
Kate lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m talking about this.” She pointed to the material on the table.
“I just gave you and the rest of the brain trust the only lead I could think of. As a tactic, your accusing me of not being forthcoming is getting a little old.”
“That’s because it’s usually true.”
“Listen, I’ve given you people everything in this case, and what did I get for my trouble? I got cut out.”
“ ‘You people’? Cutting you out wasn’t my doing.”
“I didn’t hear you objecting. I know we’re not happening, but you were supposed to protect our interests and get me first crack at the evidence. So when do I see it? When the guys who the director supposedly can’t trust with the investigation are done pawing over it. Do you think if they do find anything in those bills, I’m going to get a call? It’s a different year, but these are the same people who ran me out of the Bureau five years ago. They’ll always be the people who cripple this organization.” Vail stared at her as if making some judgment. “You want to know where I’m going—I’m going to pack.”
Kate wanted to say something, but she knew he was right, not only about who ran the FBI but also about her not standing up for him. Vail was the reason they’d accomplished what they had. He was the one who had survived two attempts to kill him. Against his wishes, he had agreed to work on the case. And in return he only wanted to conduct the investigation his own way. Which was exactly why he had been brought in. Until completed, he believed the challenge belonged only to him.
