The Bricklayer - Boyd Noah (читать хорошую книгу полностью .txt) 📗

“And second?” the director asked.

“That I not be paid.”

Confusion narrowed the director’s eyes. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Vail smiled. “If I’m being paid, sooner or later someone will consider me an employee and start giving me orders. We all know how that’ll end. No, my payment is to not have to take orders from anyone. Maybe when we’re done—if I’m successful—I’ll add up my hours and you can pay me the hourly rate for a bricklayer.”

“Then what’s to prevent you from becoming a loose cannon?” Kaulcrick asked.

“Hopefully nothing.”

“I have to tell you, I voted against bringing you into this,” Kaulcrick said. “I’m sorry. There’s enough confusion.”

“If you keep being that honest, Don, you and I will survive. Even through the confusion.”

Lasker said, “If you don’t want anything more than a pittance, why would you take on something like this?”

Vail looked over at Kate. “Apparently, because I can.”

SEVEN

VAIL SAT AT THE DESK IN HIS D.C. HOTEL ROOM READING FROM THE from the Rubaco Pentad case, including crime-scene photos, lab reports, and surveillance logs, had been downloaded into it. For such a clandestine operation, an incredible amount of material had been reduced to writing. As he took another bite of the cold room-service hamburger, there was a knock at the door.

It was Kate. Although holding a briefcase with both hands in front of her, indicating her visit was official, she had changed clothes and was wearing a dress and heels. “Hi,” she said, and walked in, looking around. “How’s the room?”

“You’ve seen my apartment, how good does it have to be?”

“Good, good,” she said distractedly. “Is there anything else you need?”

“What are you offering?” he said in a playful voice.

“Equipment, bricklayer, equipment. Like an agent’s handbook or a pair of brass knuckles.”

“I’m not the kind of person who thinks about his obituary, but I’d hate for it to read, ‘He died because he brought a laptop to a gunfight.’”

“Okay, I’ll get you a weapon,” she said. “We’ll need to get you to a firearms range to qualify.”

“Do you really think there’s time for that?”

“It’s pretty much an unbreakable rule. You know, lawsuits.”

“Isn’t it my job to break rules?”

After a moment, she said, “Okay, I’ll have it for you tomorrow. I’ve ordered up a Bureau plane. I assume we’ll be flying to Las Vegas to try to pick up Bertok’s trail.”

“I was thinking more like L.A.”

“Why L.A.?”

“I’m not exactly sure. Call it a hunch. And don’t think that the Cubs having three games with the Dodgers this week has anything to do with it.”

Kate studied Vail’s face and found the same unreadable expression he presented when asked about anything he didn’t want to answer. She was sure of one thing: his decision to start in Los Angeles had nothing to do with baseball or intuition. He had found some way to track Bertok that no one else had thought of. “You know this is going to be a lot easier if we don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“Cosmo says that a little mystery can keep a relationship from getting stale.”

“There are only a few things in life that are unquestionable. That you’ve never read Cosmopolitan magazine is one of the most certain. Why L.A.?”

“First of all, it’s about as far away from your boss as we can get. I know his type and I know my type. We’ve all seen how that movie ends.”

“And second of all?”

“Simple math. How many times have each of the following locations come up in the case: New Hampshire, Pittsburgh, Utah, Arizona, and Las Vegas?”

“Once each.”

“And Los Angeles?”

“I don’t know, a half dozen?”

“Everything from the first victim to the postmarks on both demand letters to Bertok. Besides, I want to search his apartment again.”

“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.”