The Bricklayer - Boyd Noah (читать хорошую книгу полностью .txt) 📗
“So with him dead and the money returned, no one would have known about you,” Vail said.
“That was the plan. I was leaving the United States attorney’s office and getting out of California, maybe the country. Originally when I announced it a couple of months ago, it was with the intention of getting as far away from Radek as possible. As of yesterday, it was to get away from myself, but that’s never possible. Since Radek died, the fact that I’m the only responsible person still alive has been haunting me. The guilt has been increasing constantly. I can’t sleep. That’s why I’m here so early. I can’t eat. I am tortured.” She nodded at the wall where the morning light was finally shining on the framed quote from Martin Luther. “‘Each lie must have seven lies if it is to resemble the truth and adopt truth’s aura,’” she read. “He certainly knew what he was talking about. Funny, isn’t it? I put that up my first day as a warning against those who would lie to me, and I became its prisoner.”
“Maybe it’s time to take it down.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if it were that easy?” she said. “I don’t suppose there’s any way you could let me turn myself in?” She lit a third cigarette off the one she had exhausted in four long drags.
“I thought you told me you were going to quit smoking.” She sensed something humane in his switch to the trivial observation.
She gave him an exhausted smile. “This is the last one. I promise I’ll quit…forever.”
He searched her eyes. They had suddenly lost the jitteriness that he had seen in them since the day they met. Some resolution had settled in. Vail then realized what she meant.
To her surprise, Vail stood up and turned to go. “Did you forget? I’m no longer an FBI agent.”
As he opened the door, she said, “It seems I’m always trying to thank you.”
He couldn’t look back as he shut the door.
When Vail got off the elevator in the lobby, he walked past the guard, who was speaking on the telephone in a panicked voice: “Send an ambulance to the federal building right away. Someone has fallen from a sixth-story window. Hurry.”
THIRTY-SIX
AS KATE WALKED INTO THE FEDERAL BUILDING SHE COULD HEAR sirens in the distance. She took another sip of her coffee and headed for the elevators, distracted by thoughts of Vail. How was it possible to admire someone and dislike him so much at the same time? As far as him and her, it was probably better that nothing was going to happen. Irreconcilable differences, wasn’t that what her mother had claimed in her divorce suit? “Give a man enough time, and he’ll show you his hand,” she had always said.
The doors started to close and Don Kaulcrick edged through them. They glanced at each other for a couple of uncomfortable seconds before she said, “Morning.”
“Morning. I’ve got a couple of ideas I want to run past you. See if we can”—he looked at the other passengers and didn’t recognize any of them as being from the FBI—“recover those units.”
“My office is nice and quiet.”
“Now a good time?”
She could see he wasn’t trying to patch up their working relationship. She had heard this conciliatory tone before. In all likelihood, he had no ideas, at least not any he was confident in, and wanted her help. “None better.”
As they walked through the office, there seemed to be a lightened mood even though both the agents and support staff knew that long days were ahead. Kate suspected that with everyone in the Pentad out of the picture, the hunt for the money would be considerably less stressful. Unlike chasing murderers, looking for money became less a priority with each passing day. Kate tried to push her key into the lock on her office door, but it wouldn’t go in. “You didn’t have me evicted last night, did you, Don?” She tried it again and then bent over to examine the lock. “There’s something in it.”
Kaulcrick looked and then scraped at it with a fingernail. “Someone’s screwing with your lock. I’ll call Demick.”
Five minutes later Tom Demick was poking at the lock with a pick. “Looks like somebody superglued it.”
“How do we get in then?”
“Let me go get some tools. The walls around the door are panels. I’ll have to take them apart.”
When he returned, Demick took a small crowbar to the sections of metal frame around the door and pried them away. Then, after lifting the fiber wall panels away, he used a hammer to collapse the metal-rib wall supports. Once he did that the door and its frame loosened and fell into the room. “Jesus Christ!” Demick said, looking into the office.
The others stepped up around him to see. On the floor was a three-foot-high replica of the Portsmouth Naval Prison, constructed completely of banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills. The rounded turrets had been fashioned from fanned-out bundles held in circular tubes with rubber bands, the notched turrets with folded single bills. Where supportive corners were necessary, the ends of the stacks were riffled into one another like half-shuffled playing cards. Kate noticed that the courses were bonded in a staggered fashion, like bricks. No one said anything, but instead walked slowly around the structure, being careful not to touch it. Finally Kaulcrick said, “Get someone from the accounting squad up here.”
Four men came through the door and had the same reaction as everyone else, except for the older accountant, who was the one who had originally discovered the money missing. He walked around the structure analytically. “How much is supposed to be here?” he asked no one in particular.
“Three million,” Kaulcrick said almost before the question was out of the accountant’s mouth. “Give or take.”
The accountant took another pass and said, “I’m going to guess it’s closer to five million.”
“That’s not possible,” Kaulcrick said.
“There’s only one way to find out. We’ll start counting it.”
Demick said, “Hold on just a minute. I’ve got to get some pictures.” Kate couldn’t believe that Vail had recovered the money. And as anonymously as disrupting the bank robbery. Demick pulled out his cell phone and, circling the replica, started snapping photos.
Kate wondered why Vail had chosen to build the castle-like prison. Was it supposed to be a metaphor: stealing money gets you prison, or that money is a prison? Then she noticed on the parapet of the structure a one-dollar bill folded into the figure of a woman. She was wearing a floor-length dress; her arms were extended out to her sides gracefully, the left wrist turned upward. Now she wondered if Vail’s message might be that it was she who was imprisoned by her career. Whatever it was, coupled with his dramatic absence, she was sure that he wouldn’t be taking the director’s offer of reinstatement.
Kaulcrick was watching the accountants intently, and when he realized that they were calculating beyond three million dollars, he said, “It can’t be more than three million.”
That’s when Kate noticed that her computer was on. She never left it on. She moved the mouse and the screen lit up. There was a typed message. She read it out loud: “‘What’s the difference between the ashes of two hundred bundles of hundred-dollar bills and the ashes of two hundred bundles of one-dollar bills?’”
The head accountant pondered the riddle and said, “So instead of two million dollars being burnt, it was just twenty thousand dollars.”
Kate answered. “Of course. Radek knew we’d analyze the ashes but wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between one-dollar bills and hundreds. Same weights of paper, same amount of ink. He just had the hundreds on top to fool us.”
At the bottom of the page was a link for a dollar-bill origami Web site. She clicked onto it and a full-page photo came up entitled “The Faceless Woman.” The image showed a dollar bill folded exactly like the one on the castle’s parapet. Where the face would have been was one of the few blank spots on the bill.
