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

“ . . . John Kalix is Agent X.”

The window exploded as the shot caught Kalix fully just above the ear, ripping him sideways out of the chair.

After

Vail walked up to the front door of the Sixteenth Street off-site and, knowing that it would be the last time, took a moment to admire the exterior construction of the old mansion. The weather had gotten warmer, almost springlike. He stuck his key in the lock and was a little surprised when it opened. After turning off the alarm, he took his time walking up the black marble staircase, listening to the echo of his steps remind him of what he was leaving behind. The door to the workroom was closed, and, not knowing what to expect, he took a moment before opening it.

Everything had been taken from the walls, which had been patched and painted. The furniture and other pieces of equipment were in their original places. In the back room, the cot he’d slept on was gone. His suitcase with the clothes he’d left behind was on the floor in its place.

Back at the former workroom, he called the CIA agent he’d met at the airport before taking off for Florida and made arrangements to meet him.

Then he dialed Bursaw’s cell. He had called him from Florida after reading about Kalix’s death and the subsequent news releases regarding the Lithuanian spy ring. Vail told him he’d be back to Washington in five days and asked if they could have dinner before he took Vail to the airport. “Luke, I’m back. At the off-site.”

“Forty-five minutes, okay?”

“We’ve got one other stop to make, if you don’t mind.”

When Bursaw pulled up, Vail walked out with his suitcases and put them in the trunk. “How’s the shoulder?”

“I can tell when it’s going to rain, but that’s not such a bad thing.”

“That’s good news,” Vail said. “Do you know where the Oceanic Grill is?”

“I thought I was picking the restaurant.”

“You are. This is the stop I told you I had to make.”

“That’s okay then, because I made reservations at this Thai restaurant that has the cutest hostess.”

“This shouldn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes. Did you bring Rellick’s phone?”

“It’s in the glove box. Why have I been the custodian of that thing? It’s kind of creepy, since I’m the one who had to shoot him.”

Vail put the phone in his pocket. “All in good time, my friend.”

Fifteen minutes later they pulled into the Oceanic Grill’s parking lot. Vail spotted the car he was looking for and told Bursaw to park next to it. Once he did, the CIA agent got out of his car and into theirs. He handed Vail an unmarked folder. Stapled inside the front cover was a photograph. “We had a hard time tracking down that phone number you gave me at the airport. Where did it come from?”

The number was the one that had called back on Rellick’s phone right after Luke killed him, the man Rellick had called “Tanner.” Vail looked at the photo. “This is who it came back to?”

“Believe me, it wasn’t easy tracing it back. His name is Viktor Branikov. We call him ‘The Mosquito.’ ”

“The Mosquito?”

“Yeah, from Dr. Zhivago. The character Viktor Komarovsky, who seduces Lara and sucks the blood out of everyone no matter which communist regime is in power. The root of the name, komar, is Russian for ‘mosquito.’ That’s this guy, Branikov. He actually survived the KGB purges and has prospered. According to our source at the embassy, he’s the rezident.”

“ ‘Rezident’? What’s that?” Bursaw asked.

Vail said, “The head of the station in Washington for the SVR.”

“Supposedly he worked his way up through the ranks by making difficult problems disappear permanently.”

“What about the dust?” Vail asked.

“Like you wanted, we had the same source at their embassy start the rumor that Branikov was doubling for one of our agents, a Donald Winston. Of course there is no one by that name with us, but we had someone play the role. We also had our source spread the word that Winston went to the same gym five days a week. Three days ago, when Winston got back to his car, there was dust all over the passenger side.” He handed Vail a common-looking pen. “Just point and click.”

Vail showed Bursaw the photograph. “Luke, go in there and get a table near this guy. I want to make sure he’s completely alone. I’ll be five minutes behind you. If you spot anybody else, give yourself a tug on the ear when I come in.”

Bursaw entered the restaurant and immediately spotted the big Russian alone at a table in a side room. He was just finishing his meal and looked hard into Bursaw’s eyes as the black agent came into the room, without an employee seating him, and sat down a couple of tables away. Bursaw watched him carefully, because he knew that if someone was watching Branikov’s back, it would be at that moment that the Russian would signal him to be suspicious of Bursaw. Instead he resumed drinking his coffee.

Five minutes later Vail walked into the side room. Bursaw didn’t look up, letting him know that his target was alone. Vail sat down at the Russian agent’s table. “How are you?” Vail said, reaching into the bread basket.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Sure, you know, Steve Vail. You tried to kill me a couple of times.”

“I’m sorry, you must have mistaken me for someone else,” the Russian said. “Someone who doesn’t sound very nice.”

“You’re not Viktor Branikov? Or would you prefer ‘Tanner’?”

Branikov set down his coffee cup and leaned back, a smug grin forming on his face. “Mr. Vail—I assume it’s no longer Agent Vail—I have to wonder why you’re here.”

“You must be pretty pleased with yourself. The Lithuanians had no idea that they were your fall guys. If they’d been successful killing Kate at her home, then you would have been able to have Kalix ‘solve’ the murder, naming the Lithuanians as responsible, and he would have gotten promoted that way. That was your original plan, wasn’t it? Then, of course, you would have had to kill Zogas, so he couldn’t involve the Russians.”

“If that’s true, then you have done my organization a great service.”

“That would have been true if one of our snipers hadn’t killed your boy Kalix. I don’t imagine they’re planning any parades for you in Moscow.”

“That’s an awful lot of supposition, Mr. Vail.”

“You’re right, and you can call me Steve if you like. Actually, I’m here because it occurred to me that you might have other American double agents left in your stable.”

“And if that were the case, do you think I would just turn their names over to you?”

“You just lost a bunch of your assets, not to mention the services of the Lithuanians. I imagine Moscow is not pleased at this point. Let me give you some words of advice—‘political asylum.’ ”

Branikov threw his head back and laughed. “Steve, I’ve come to expect more from you. That’s a very weak tactic. One that assumes there are no other options at my disposal.”

“Then how about you being charged with the attempted murder of an FBI deputy assistant director and one regular old street agent?”

“I am disappointed. I know this is not your usual profession, but certainly you’ve heard of diplomatic immunity. If you could prove anything, which I don’t see how you can, at most I would be sent back to Moscow. And that is kind of an honor for a man in my field.”

“Unfortunately, I believe you’re right.” The waiter brought the check, and Vail grabbed it. “Allow me. Never let it be said that I’m not a gracious loser.” He gave the waiter a credit card.

“You’re too kind.” Branikov sipped his coffee in silence, studying Vail until the waiter brought back the charge slip and the card.

“I guess you’d better hope that nothing happens to the rest of your sources, because Moscow might start to wonder if you turned.”

“I’ll try to be careful,” Branikov said, his tone amused and patronizing.