The Bricklayer

by Noah Boyd

  “Why?”

  “The biggest mistake agents make is believing that because something was done once, it was done right.” Kate nodded in agreement. “Now, what do we know about Stanley Bertok’s personal life?” he asked.

  “We’ve interviewed his supervisor. He described him as suffering from what he calls ‘the dysfunctional twos.’”

  “What’s that?”

  “Too much booze, too little money, and two ex-wives. He thinks Bertok may have seen an opportunity to downsize his problems and taken it.”

  “And psychologically?”

  “Intelligent but brooding. No friends and not the world’s most dedicated agent.”

  “But nothing to explain why our little band of terrorists picked him to make the drop. If they knew him well enough to ask for him, wouldn’t they have to assume he was a risk to take off with the money?”

  “Which leads us right back to him and the Pentad being one and the same, or at least being in it together.”

  “For something so well planned, this has some conspicuously dangling loose ends.”

  “Haven’t you heard, there’s no such thing as a perfect crime.”

  “Unfortunately, it doesn’t have to be perfect to get away with it.”

  EXPLAINING TO KATE that he had been up the entire night reading the contents of the Rubaco Pentad file, Vail slept during the entire flight to Los Angeles. After they landed at one of the secure runways used by government planes coming into LAX, Kate had to wake him. As Vail stepped off the plane and into the blinding white light of the Southern California sun, he couldn’t help but stretch himself against its silky warmth. The sky was a different blue than that of Chicago or even Washington. A thin band of gray-orange haze at the horizon separated it from the earth.

  Parked a hundred feet away was a dark green sedan. A seemingly stoic man in his thirties wearing a tailored summer-weight suit was walking toward their plane. He had the practiced expression of someone whose first priority was that of confident congeniality, suggesting he was part of the office management team. He came up to Kate and offered his hand. “Allen Sabine,” he said. Kate took his hand and introduced him to Vail. The two men shook hands. Sabine’s dark hair had been carefully cut, and he stood with a practiced slouch that angled his face away to mask a long, sharp nose. He tried to take her bag, but she smiled graciously and said she needed the exercise. Sabine pointed at the sedan. “This is the vehicle we rented for you while you’re here. It has the GPS navigational system you requested. We also put in a complete set of maps for most of Southern California. The SAC is available to meet with you anytime this morning.”

  “Okay,” Kate said, “let’s get it over with.” She said to Vail, “The SAC is Mark Hildebrand. Ever run into him?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “He seems okay, a little territorial on the phone when I told him we were coming out.”

  “Territorial’s not all bad. Maybe he actually cares about what happens in his division.”

  “You’re irritatingly positive after your nap.”

  “Sorry. Give me a few minutes with him, and I’m sure I’ll be as good as new.”

  They got in the car, Kate in the front and Vail in the back. She handed him a Glock model 22 encased in a holster, with two extra clips. Then with just enough ceremony to be sarcastic, she handed him an operation manual for the weapon. “I thought you should at least know how to load it.”

  “You could have given me this before we took off.”

  “You were asleep. Plus, I was curious whether you’d ask for it, and since you haven’t been checked out, I didn’t want you practicing your quick draw on the plane and accidentally shooting me or the pilot.”

  “I would have been careful not to shoot you. I can imagine the paperwork involved.” She handed him a credit card and then a cell phone. “Speaking of paperwork, don’t I need to sign for all this?”

  She lowered her voice. “After your little speech to the director about it being just a matter of time until you ran amok, I thought it would be better if none of these items were traceable to you, or more important, us.”

  “Sometimes you scare me.”

  “If only that were true.”

  They were now proceeding north on the 405. The traffic was heavy, so they moved in and out of bottlenecks. When an opening presented itself, everyone drove as fast as possible. Vail couldn’t help but notice that the cars were in remarkable condition. The vast majority of them had no fading of paint, no rust, not even dirt. It was a different world; even the highway was clean and perfectly landscaped. The few pedestrians he had seen from the freeway were jogging or biking, wearing the minimum of clothing. Like everything else in Southern California, there seemed to be a subliminal theme of eternal youth, or at least its quest.

  Sabine said, “I guess the reason I was sent to pick you up is that I’m Stan Bertok’s supervisor. At least I was. So fire away.”

  Before Kate could say anything, Vail said, “Was?”

  “Well, I guess technically I still am, but I seriously doubt he’s just going to walk in one of these mornings, sit down at his desk, and go to work.”

  “I suppose not,” Vail said.

  She said, “Tell us about him.”

  “He wasn’t—isn’t—much of an agent, at least from my standpoint. Everything he did I had to keep a close eye on. He was a pretty heavy drinker. I got a call one night from the LAPD; they had stopped him driving drunk. I had to go down and drive him home. And he has some financial problems. A couple of ex-wives will do that, I guess. And I get a call occasionally from bill collectors.”

  “Do you think he took off with the money?” Vail asked.

  “I don’t want to convict the guy in absentia, but if he didn’t, where is he?”

  “So if he took the money, you wouldn’t be shocked?” Kate said.

  “I suppose not.”

  “Where do you think the Pentad got his name?”

  “I have no idea.”

  When they got to the office, Sabine led them to the special agent in charge’s office. “Boss, this is Deputy Assistant Director Kate Bannon and…I’m sorry.”

  “Steve Vail,” Kate said before Vail could answer.

  The SAC was tall and trim with a dark tan. His thick blond hair peaked low across his forehead, and he was wearing a medium-blue shirt with a contrasting white collar. The cuffs, also white, were set off by large gold cuff links.

  He shook Kate’s hand first. “Mark Hildebrand. We spoke on the phone.” He repeated his name when he shook hands with Vail. “Please, have a seat.” He instructed Sabine to shut the door as he left.

  Kate watched Vail examining Hildebrand before saying anything. “Mark, we appreciate your letting us come in here and run this operation. The director has all the confidence in the world in you and your division; it’s just that this case is running from coast to coast, and he feels it’s best if we chase it, you know, for continuity.”

  “What exactly is it that I can do for you, Kate?”

  Vail said, “We need to search Stan Bertok’s apartment discreetly.”

  Hildebrand was surprised at the presumptive authority in Vail’s voice. He looked at Kate, but she exhibited no interest in asserting herself. “I’m sorry, Steve, you didn’t say where you worked. Are you with OPR?”

  “A man can only dream. No, I’m just the deputy’s gun bearer on this.”

  Hildebrand stared at Vail, trying to get a better read on him. Kate broke the silence. “Is there a problem, Mark?”

  “No, it’s just that we’ve already searched the apartment—with a warrant. With all that’s going on, we’re being overly judicious. I don’t see what searching it again will accomplish.”

  “Look at it this way,” Vail said, “when we don’t find anything, you can say ‘I told you so.’”

  “Somehow I don’t think you believe that,” the SAC said, still trying to figure out the source of Vail’s authority.

  Kate said,
“Mark, we’ve been exposed to a completely different set of facts in this case than your agents. We’ll see it from a different angle. Or if you prefer, call it a lack of imagination. If you think we’re second-guessing you, I apologize, but we’re going to need to take another look.”

  Kate could see that Hildebrand resented being told what to do in his own backyard, and liked it even less that he had no choice. Vail had been right about the resistance he would receive, especially with his seemingly intentional lack of tact. The SAC grinned artificially. “We can use the same AUSA, Tye Delson.”

  Kate said, “Mark, I know I don’t have to say this, but the last thing we need right now is someone leaking this to the press. This Delson, we can trust him, right?”

  “Her. And yes, you can. Unfortunately she’s leaving the United States attorney’s office soon. Too bad, too. You just can’t find prosecutors like her anymore. The agents here love her. She’s invited to more of our parties than I am. She’ll probably have your warrant in a couple of hours. She’s already got all the boilerplate from the first search, and she knows the right judge to get it signed in case the probable cause isn’t as clear-cut as they’d like.”

  “We’ll want the affidavit sealed,” Kate said.

  “That’s what she did before. Do you have time to go see her now?” Kate nodded and Hildebrand picked up the phone. After a brief conversation, he hung up. “She’s in her office. I told her you’re on the way.”

  Vail asked, “Do you have a good lock man here?”

  “Why?” the SAC asked, and Kate could tell by the intentional flatness in his voice that he intended to question anything Vail requested from now on.

  “We still want to do this quietly, probably in the wee hours of the morning,” Vail said.

  “We will get you in.”

  Kate and Vail stood up, and she shook hands with the SAC. “We appreciate the help, Mark. I’ll let you know how we do.”

  Once outside the SAC’s office, Kate said, “Boy, you and management, talk about a match made in heaven. How did you last three years?”

  EIGHT

  TYE DELSON OFFERED KATE AND VAIL A SEAT IN HER CRAMPED Although there were overhead lights, the only illumination came from a small brass lamp on her desk. The assistant United States attorney was slender and wore a long midcalf black dress that failed to reveal a single curve. Her hair was dark brown and cut short, framing her face symmetrically. Her skin could have been described as flawless if it hadn’t been for its ghostly lack of color. Her lipstick was a waxy brown-red, which Vail thought an unflattering choice. She wore glasses and was one of those rare women who were more attractive because of them. Her eyes were overly made up, which, coupled with the magnification of the glasses, made them appear to be oversized, like one of those Keane paintings of innocent but somehow damaged children. And they had a quick intelligence about them that was almost lost because of a vague nervousness that flickered through them. Her voice, however, was perfectly confident, allaying any fear that she might not be up to the rigors of hacking her way through the legal mazes necessary to put men or women in federal prison.

  Vail noticed a framed quote by Martin Luther on her wall: Each lie must have seven lies if it is to resemble the truth and adopt truth’s aura. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before.”

  Tye said, “This is a business of lies. The police lie to suspects to get them to confess, and defense attorneys lie to juries to…well, because that’s what they get paid to do.”

  “And prosecutors?”

  “We’re the biggest liars of all. We tell ourselves that we’re making a difference,” she said. “Sorry. I know how cynical that sounds. That’s a big part of the reason I’m leaving the United States attorney’s office. I’m thinking about practicing real estate law, where lying is not only assumed, it’s profitable.”

  Instead of seating herself behind the desk, she spun her chair around and sat on the windowsill, using the seat for her feet. Vail could see it was a technique that had been used before, and he appreciated that someone who had attained the lofty position of assistant United States attorney had developed the courtesy of not “holding court” across her desk with those who had come for her help. She pulled the window up a couple of inches and lit an unfiltered cigarette, inhaling deeply, the paper pulling at her thin lips with a surprising sensuality.

  “I know, I know, all federal buildings are smoke-free. Forgive me my one vice. Well, my one admitted vice.” She grinned a little self-consciously. “So you want another warrant for Stan Bertok’s apartment. Can I assume the search for him isn’t going well?”

  “You can,” Kate said. “And we want to go in after midnight.”

  “It’ll take a little more probable cause, but it seems like a prudent approach. I’ve got the basics from the other warrants. What exactly do I list as the object of your search?”

  “Two million in cash,” Vail said.

  Tye laughed with an erotic huskiness, apparently the byproduct of her “one vice.” “Wouldn’t that be nice. Something tells me that even Stan Bertok would be a little more discreet than that.”

  “So you know him,” Vail said.

  “We’ve had a couple of cases together.”

  “What did you think of him?”

  “I don’t know how accurate any of my judgments might be in hindsight.”

  “No one’s keeping score. We’re just trying to find him,” Vail said.

  “Fair enough. Well, he was a guy who seemed to be mailing it in, you know, as if his mind was someplace a lot darker. He was always wired—no, that’s the wrong word. It was more like he was ready to explode. Maybe a closet depressive. He’d go off in a corner at parties and pound down the liquor. If someone tried to keep him from driving home, he’d want to fight them. He got the reputation of being a mean drunk, but I think it went deeper than that.”

  The use of the noun “depressive” struck Vail as an overly clinical choice of words and caused him to wonder what made her so familiar with psychological problems. “Were you surprised when he disappeared with the money?”

  “To tell you the truth, I was more surprised he accepted the assignment without protest. After all, the last agent was shot to death, right? Stan was not a team guy. And he certainly wasn’t looking for any medals.”

  “So you weren’t surprised he vanished with the money?”

  “Are you sure he did?”

  “Is that the old ‘innocent until proven guilty’?”

  “That’s the old ‘as soon as you give me some proof I’ll be glad to hang him,’ but in the meantime…”

  “Is he a smart guy?”

  “Do you mean, to stay one step ahead of you, or was he smart enough to put this extortion together?”

  “Both.”

  She stared into Vail’s eyes and let her voice drop a half octave. “Actually, I don’t know how hard you are to stay ahead of, but measuring him against everybody else around here, it wouldn’t be that difficult.”

  When Vail smiled in response, Kate interrupted. “And the extortion?”

  “The one thing I’ve learned on this job is never to underestimate a man’s capacity for evil. Even a good man’s.”

  “And a woman’s?” Vail asked.

  Her mouth shifted to one side artfully. “Men are mere amateurs by comparison.”

  “What about him being a murderer?” Kate asked. “Did he have enough evil in him for that?”

  “I know the press is trying to intimate that agents may be involved in these murders, but that’s just today’s journalism. I would find it hard to believe that any agent could do that. But then every time a serial killer is caught, invariably the next-door neighbor is on the news saying what a nice guy he was. That’s not why you want this search warrant, is it? For murder evidence?”

  “We wouldn’t want to exclude any possibility. If we did and missed something, we’d be crucified later,” Kate said. “Especially with this ‘Enemies of the FBI’ thing gaining momentum
.”

  “If you’re going to gather evidence that could be used in a murder trial, the probable cause for your search warrant has to be one hundred percent accurate. This is the first legal step to that end, and as such has to be carefully vetted. The fruit of the poisonous tree falls from this point forward. Keeping that in mind, what evidence do you have indicating that Agent Bertok is involved in these murders?”

  Vail said, “Disregarding supposition, the only link is that he was issued the same make and model of gun that was used in the murders, as were thousands of other agents.”

  “So nothing,” Tye said.

  Vail said, “We were told that ‘nothing’ is usually not a problem for you.”

  She took a last drag on her cigarette and flipped it out the window. She stood up and closed it. “Let’s simplify everything. We won’t accuse him of anything. I assume he has certain items in his possession—credentials, gun, handcuffs—which were issued to him. Since he has abandoned his job, and his whereabouts are unknown, the government needs to recover its property. Possibly he has returned to his apartment since his disappearance and left them behind.”

  “Impressive. Nothing up your sleeve and—poof—a search warrant. It’s nice having a legal magician on our side for a change,” Vail said.

  “Only for a month or so, so abuse away. But both of you remember, there is no magic, just illusion, and with that goes the magician’s oath.”

  “Which is?”

  “Never reveal how it’s done.”

  “Believe me, there’s no one more qualified to keep illusions secret than an FBI agent,” Kate said.

  “Good,” Tye said. “So now anything found incidental to the search of the missing agent’s apartment will be admissible in court, provided you don’t overstep the limits of the warrant.”

  “Such as?” Kate asked.

  “If you’re looking for an automobile, you can’t go looking in dresser drawers.”

  “Credentials could fit almost anywhere,” Kate said.

  “Nice how that works out, isn’t it?” Tye said.