Agent X - Boyd Noah (серии книг читать бесплатно .TXT) 📗

“It does seem like a license to steal.”

A silver Lincoln pulled in and parked in an out-of-the-way spot that precluded the possibility of its being there for a wash. The two agents watched the well-dressed man get out and tug up the collar on his topcoat. “That’s Zogas,” Vail said.

There were three washing bays, and they watched as Zogas emptied each of the machines of the day’s receipts and put them into a canvas bag. “I had my doubts,” Bursaw said, “but you were right about him not wanting to leave the money overnight.”

Zogas got back into his car and waited for a break in the traffic. Vail said, “I assume you can follow him without getting made.”

“Although I should never bet against you when food is at stake, dinner says I can.”

“Why do I get the feeling that my supper tonight is going to be at some drive-through?”

The Lincoln pulled into traffic heading north.

“Any idea where he might be going, Steve?”

“I’m just hoping he leads us to where he lives. We have no background on this guy at all. With a residence we can get a phone number and all kinds of other information.”

They followed him to a second Sunshine Car Wash, and Bursaw, once again, set up down the street.

After a third car wash, Zogas drove to a bank and parked in the lot. He sat in the car for a while before Bursaw said, “Looks like he’s counting money and filling out a deposit slip.”

“I do believe we have found where he does his banking. Those records should be interesting.”

Finally Zogas got out of his car and walked over to the night depository, using a key to open it. On the way back, he checked his wristwatch. “Looks like he’s got something scheduled. It’s after eight thirty, kind of late. Maybe it’s spy stuff,” Bursaw said.

“Wouldn’t that be nice?”

The Lincoln pulled back into traffic, and Bursaw waited for a couple of cars to get between them before easing into the same lane. “He’s driving too slow. Think he’s early for an appointment?”

They had been traveling southeast for almost twenty minutes when they reached Temple Hills. Zogas parked outside a large apartment complex. The two agents watched as he turned off the ignition and dialed his cell phone. “What do you think, Steve?”

“I have no idea. We’ve just got to stay with him.” They could see him dialing a second number now. After a minute he hung up, started his car, and made a U-turn. Vail and Bursaw looked at each other questioningly. Bursaw turned the Bureau car around and maintained his distance behind the Lincoln again. They followed him for almost a half hour to an upscale neighborhood in Capitol Heights, where he pulled into a three-car garage and then closed the door. Vail made a note of the address.

“So now we know his bank and home address. Not a bad night’s work,” Bursaw said.

But Vail didn’t answer. Bursaw glanced at him. He was sitting with his head back and his eyes closed. Finally Vail said, “Why did he go to Temple Hills to make a couple of phone calls?”

“Maybe he didn’t want to call from his home because he’s worried about us getting a fix on what cell tower he was running off of. You know these people always think we have more capabilities than we do.”

“Maybe,” Vail said. He took out a map book of the greater D.C. area. After studying it for a few seconds, he said, “Do you know what’s less than two miles from where he stopped in Temple Springs? Andrews Air Force Base. Where does Longmeadow live?”

Bursaw reached into the backseat and retrieved his briefcase. He shuffled through the papers and pulled out Longmeadow’s information. “His current address is in Camp Springs, Virginia.”

Vail looked back at the map. “It’s adjacent to the base, less than two miles from where Zogas made the calls. They’re going to kill Longmeadow.”

33

As they neared the address for Master Sergeant Longmeadow’s apart- ment, Vail spotted one of the cars he’d seen at the chess club. There were two men in the front seat. “Luke, there! The guy driving is the one who calls himself Barkus.”

Bursaw waited until there was a little more distance between them before making a U-turn. “Think they saw us?”

“A black guy with a white guy, in this car? I wouldn’t be optimistic.”

“Do you want to try to stop them?”

“Not yet. If they did kill Longmeadow, he’s either in his apartment or in that car. If it’s the car, then we want to see where they’re going with the body.”

Bursaw knew what Vail wasn’t saying. Wherever they were heading, if Longmeadow’s body was in the car, they were taking it to someplace they considered safe to dump bodies. Maybe that was where Sundra was.

Vail picked up the mike and radioed the Washington Field Office. “We are following a car with two men who may have just committed a homicide. We need you to call the Camp Springs PD and have them immediately check the following location for a victim.” Vail gave them Longmeadow’s address and apartment number.

Bursaw continued to follow the car at a discreet distance, keeping at least two other vehicles between them. “Looks like they’re heading for 495.”

Vail didn’t say anything but continued to watch the car closely. It exited onto 495 and then 95 South. “Notice anything funny about the way they’re driving?”

“It’s by the book. Signaling lane changes, right at the speed limit.”

“Who drives like that?” Vail said.

“Someone who doesn’t want to get stopped. I’m guessing the late Chester Longmeadow is aboard.”

For the next fifteen minutes, they followed the car driven by Algis Barkus. As the traffic thinned out, Bursaw was able to lengthen the distance between it and his Bureau vehicle. Suddenly the WFO radio operator’s voice cut through the air. “The Camp Springs PD just called back. They had the manager let them into the apartment, and it was empty. There were no signs of a struggle or that anything unusual had taken place.”

“Copy, Central,” Vail said, and leaned back. “I guess we’re on the way to a burial.”

The area was more rural now and the road darker. Bursaw was able to drop back even farther. “Think we should call for some help? We’re getting close to the Richmond office’s turf.”

“The whole point is to follow these two until we find where they’re going to dump the body. The chances of someone jumping into the middle of a surveillance in progress and not getting burned are about zero.”

Barkus signaled that he was exiting off the highway and onto Route 30. “Too late now,” Bursaw said. He turned onto the ramp for 30 East. “Here we go.”

Once they were on Route 30, Bursaw closed the gap between them. They had gone less than ten miles when Barkus turned right onto a dirt road. Bursaw slowed to let the distance increase, since it would be harder to go unnoticed in such an isolated spot. The road was little more than a trail, narrow and barely passable. Bursaw slowed the Bureau car to a crawl and switched his headlights to parking lights.

There was no illumination from the main road, but the moon had risen and was providing some light through the partially cloudy sky. The road wound around, and with their headlights off, the two agents didn’t notice an overgrown path off to the right, which Barkus had turned his vehicle into. The Lithuanian had then made a left-hand turn and switched off his lights and engine, leaving him invisible as Bursaw went by with his parking lights now off. Barkus rolled down his window and listened. Once he heard the FBI car go by, he started the engine, backed up onto the dirt road, then shut the car off again, blocking the road so the agents couldn’t drive out of the woods.

Without a word both men got out and went to the trunk. They shoved the heavy canvas bag containing Longmeadow’s body to the side and took out night goggles, putting them on quickly. Ironically, Longmeadow had given Zogas the thermal-imaging devices when trying to demonstrate to him the utility of the larger system he was about to sell him the secrets to. Then they took out Russian-made Bison submachine guns, chambering the first round. Positioning themselves behind the car, they waited for Vail and Bursaw to drive back.