Last Chance to Die

30



When Kate came in the next morning, she found Vail in the kitchen cooking. “Did you eat?” he asked her. He was piling French toast and bacon on a plate.

“It looks like there’s only enough for six people, so I won’t deprive you. Have you heard from Luke?”

“He’s not big on checking in until he’s got the answers.”

“Too bad you two don’t have more in common.”

“Did Tim say he’d call?”

“Yes. And he has the fax number here.”

Vail sat down and picked up a fork. “You sure?” he asked, pointing at the plate.

“I know that Chicago is ‘hog butcher for the world,’ but they have heard the rumors about cholesterol there, right?”

“ ‘Stormy, husky, brawling / City of the Big Shoulders.’ Does that sound like it was built by men who eat bran muffins?” He stood up and put his arm around her waist. Taking her right hand in his left, he started dancing with her and singing:

I saw a man, he danced with his wife



In Chicago, Chicago, my hometown



After a couple more turns, she stepped back, laughing. “Sit down and eat, you maniac.” She watched him for a few seconds. “You’re in an awfully good mood.”

“Good food, a new mystery, and”—he leaned in close and lowered his voice—“an extremely lusty wench who I suspect I’m about to close the deal with. Life is bountiful.”

“Apparently Carl Sandburg forgot to mention dementia in his list of Chicago’s attributes.” She went over to the counter and poured herself and Vail a cup of coffee. “Anything I can do until we hear from Tim?”

“Maybe you’d better make an appearance at headquarters. We don’t need people getting curious.”

“I do have a ton of mail that I need to get through, as boring as that suddenly seems.”

“Hey, I offered you an alternative. You could be in there right now trying to keep me from falling off one of those army cots, but apparently I’m demented.”

“Ah, yes, nothing says romance quite like ‘army cot.’ ”

About 11:30 A.M. the off-site’s phone rang. It was Kate. “Tim just called me. He’s faxing the phone information to you.”

“I still haven’t heard from Luke. Can you get out of there?”

“I’m through about half this mess. If I set fire to the other half, I don’t think anything would be lost or I’d be missed.”

Vail looked over at the fax machine as it came to life and started printing pages. “We’ve got incoming facsimiles.”

“I’m on my way.”

By the time Kate got there, Vail had pinned sheets of paper to a new section of the wall. She went and stood next to him as he studied them. “Anything?”

“Fortunately, Master Sergeant Longmeadow doesn’t appear to have many friends. And family, if they do exist, don’t appear to be a priority. But he does have a small, inexplicable pattern of calling a car wash.”

“A car wash? Who calls a car wash?”

“The phone is listed to the Sunshine Car Wash Company, but according to the utility companies the address comes back to the Lithuanian Chess Society.”

“A chess club?”

“They probably figured if the mob could have hunting and fishing clubs, why not chess for them?”

“Do you think they’re actually Lithuanian or a front for the Russians?”

“There’s only so many things you can find out staring at a wall.”

“We’re going there, aren’t we?” Kate asked.

“I seriously doubt that you dropped everything and ran over here to stay out of trouble.”

As Kate navigated through the crowded traffic of northwest D.C., she said, “This is the Adams Morgan area. Lot of Latinos and West Africans. And a mix of everything else—and now, I guess, even Lithuanians. Or maybe Russians pretending to be Lithuanians. This is it up on the right.”

She parked in front of the address. It was a brick storefront with a long, thin slotted window too high up to see into. There was a small, hand-painted sign affixed to the paneled-steel front door, which read THE LITHUANIAN CHESS SOCIETY. The background was a black-and-white checkerboard pattern. Above it was a peephole and, to the left, a doorbell. “Apparently they’re not looking for any walk-in members,” Vail said. He rang the bell and held his credentials up to the peephole. Almost immediately he sensed that someone had come to the door and was watching them.

A man in his early fifties opened the door. He was dressed in a suit, and his hair was thick and carefully cut. “FBI?” he said, and stepped back. “Please come in out of the cold.” Although his diction was flawless, it didn’t take a trained ear to detect he was from somewhere in Eastern Europe. “Are you also with the FBI, miss?”

The question, trying to mitigate its condescension with the courtesy of “miss,” was meant to inform this woman, no matter how attractive, of her second-class citizenship inside the walls of the Lithuanian Chess Society. Kate smiled perfectly to relay her understanding of the tactic, and its ineffectiveness. She opened her credentials with an experienced flick of the wrist. Intentionally, she gave no verbal response, enhancing her authority even more.

“I’m Steve Vail, and this is Kate Bannon,” Vail said. “Actually, she’s my boss.” The man stared at him for a moment and then said, “Alex Zogas.” He seemed to be speaking to Vail only, as though still trying not to acknowledge Kate’s presence.

Although he knew the answer, Vail asked, “What exactly is this place?”

“This is a social club, but our main interest is chess. Everyone who belongs is a master.”

“And Lithuanian?”

“Some of us are, but members come and go. You know how it is.”

“And that’s all you do here, play chess?”

“We have dinner a few times a week. We come here to get away.”

“From?”

“In American homes there are pressures that men from our backgrounds are not accustomed to.” Zogas smiled and glanced at Kate. “We come here to commiserate.”

“Any chance I can get an application?”

Zogas laughed. “I don’t know. If you are Lithuanian, it would help.”

“Unfortunately, I have no idea what my heritage is. My father was always wanted by the law, so we were continuously changing names. The only thing I know for sure is that I’m a citizen of the United States.”

“As are all of us, if that’s what you are trying to find out with your little ‘antibiography,’ shall we say.”

Vail grinned. “That was one of my curiosities.”

“And the others are . . . ?” Zogas asked.

“I was wondering if there was any business purpose to your group.”

“Other than members networking, no, none. This is strictly social.”

“Are you the only one here now?”

“No, there are others in the back if you’d like to talk to them,” Zogas offered. “Mind if I ask why you’re here?”

Vail held out a photo of Sundra Boston. “She’s why. Ever seen her?”

Zogas looked at it and said, “Around here? We discourage having members bring women in. Who is she?”

“Her name is Sundra Boston, and she works for the FBI. She’s missing.”

“Why would you look for her here?”

“Apparently she was looking into your club’s activities.”

“Chess?”

“She’s a financial analyst,” Vail lied.

“We collect dues from which our monthly expenses are paid. That’s the only thing financial about our club. You’re welcome to look at our accounts. It’s all on the computer in the office, if it’ll help clear this up.”

“It would be nice if things were that simple. But we’ll have a look.”

Zogas gave Vail an inadvertent smirk. “Back this way.” He led them through a large room that had a half-dozen tables with chessboards embedded in their tops, two of which were being used. None of the four men looked up at the agents as they walked through.

In the very back of the club were two smaller rooms, one a bathroom, the other an office, which Zogas led them into. Then he turned on the computer. Vail noticed a chessboard on a small table next to the desk. A game appeared to be in progress, but there was no room for a chair on the opposite side. “A game by mail?” Vail asked.

“Yes. Do you play?”

“I played for a couple of months in college. Very intently, but I just didn’t have the patience for it.”

“That’s too bad. For someone in your line of work, it could be an asset.” After opening up a file marked “Club Expenses,” Zogas got up and offered Vail the chair. Kate moved behind him.

He scrolled through the last two years’ entries, which showed a balance that was usually in the black, occasionally crossing into the red at the end of the month. He looked up at Zogas. “Pretty boring stuff.”

“We are men who find chess fascinating. Did you expect our lives to be secretly interesting?”

“I must have missed something when I tried it. What is it about chess that you find so intriguing?”

“Are you familiar with the term ‘zero sum’? It is from game theory. It means that someone has to win and someone has to lose. We find it a welcome relief from the constant compromising of present-day America and its obsession with equality.”

“That has been this country’s downfall,” Vail said. “As far as you know, none of your members have had any contact with the FBI, for any reason?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Zogas said. “How would our name come up in one of your investigations?”

“I guess that’s the real question, isn’t it?” Vail wasn’t going to tell Zogas that it was Longmeadow’s phone records, in case someone knew him and might warn him. It was a long shot, but he didn’t like the Lithuanian’s calculated responses to his questions, so he decided that a couple of lies would give Zogas something to think about. “The woman I showed you a picture of did all kinds of investigations. Sometimes institutional irregularities came to her attention, sometimes people called in tips, and sometimes something was a spin-off of another investigation. The notes she left behind indicated that she was just getting started on the LCS—sorry, that was her shorthand for your club, or society if you prefer—so there wasn’t much detailed information. Do you have any enemies who might have called the FBI about your club?”

“No.”

“How about any bad business deals away from the club? What kind of businesses are your members involved in?”

“Nothing very exotic. We are all successful, with varying interests. It’s kind of an unwritten requirement for membership here, to be financially established. I, for example, own eight coin-operated car washes in the D.C. area. They’re all self-serve, so my time to run them is minimal. Others have dry-cleaning stores, car rentals, and hair-cutting shops. One of our members even does some translating for the government in immigration cases. Certainly nothing that would be cause for retribution against a group of men whose passion is chess.”

“Well, this just may be one of those times that a mystery has to remain a mystery. Do you mind if I show the others the woman’s photo?”

“Please do.”

They walked back into the game room. Zogas spoke with the vague authority of a leader. “These people are from the FBI. They have a photograph of a missing woman who also worked for the FBI and was apparently looking into our club’s activities.” There was no reaction from any of the four men, none of them even looking up. Vail glanced at Kate to confirm the oddity of their lack of response.

Vail went over to the first table and showed the photograph. “Her name is Sundra Boston. Have you ever seen or heard of her?” Both men shook their heads in silence.

At the second table, Vail showed the photograph again, and after the two men glanced at it, he continued to study their faces. They both appeared to have dark circles around their eyes and mouths. “I’m sorry, you seem familiar,” Vail said to the one who hardly looked at the photo. “Have we met before?”

Slowly the man raised his eyes to Vail. In a controlled tone, he answered, “No.” Even though a single syllable, Vail could hear its heavy accent.

“I’m sorry, what is your name?”

The man glanced at Zogas, who gave an almost undetectable nod. “Algis Barkus.”

Vail smiled. “No, I guess not. I would have remembered that name. Everyone, thank you for your time.”

Zogas walked them to the front door. “If there is anything else we can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“There is one thing that would help put this to rest. Do you think we could get a list of your membership?”

For the first time since their entering the club, Zogas appeared to be caught flat-footed. “That might be a problem.”

“Why?” Vail asked, almost before Zogas finished.

“We have worked extremely hard since coming to this country and taking citizenship. We enjoy having this sanctuary and, in relative anonymity, being allowed to socialize with men of similar interests. This is a small but, we feel, elite group. I doubt that the membership would approve of the U.S. government knowing exactly who we are. We fear that it wouldn’t be long before someone from some governmental agency would be demanding we admit two Hispanics, four females, and someone in a wheelchair.”

“We’re only looking for a quick way to cross you off our list of people who might know something about one of our employees disappearing. We’re not going to turn your membership roster over to Health and Human Services.”

“I’ll tell you what, Agent Vail. I will present your argument to the members, and they’ll put it to a vote.”

“How long will that take?”

“A day, two at the most.”

“I’ll call you. Is there a number here?”

Zogas took out a business card and wrote it on the back. “Give me two days. By then I should have a definitive answer.”

For the first time since entering the club, Vail heard the men in the back speak. He listened for a moment and then asked, “Is that Lithuanian?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Interesting. People, probably myself included, have a tendency to lump all the Eastern European languages together. But it is definitely different from, say, Russian.” Vail watched him closely to see if “Russian” hit any nerves.

“You have a good ear. They are definitely different languages.”

Once they were outside, Kate said, “I guess we’ve solved one mystery today. Now we know the whereabouts of Himmler’s, Goebbels’s and Göring’s sons.” When Vail didn’t laugh, she thought that his mind had once again raced ahead, trying to find the next turn. She glanced at him and saw something in his face she’d never seen before. He actually looked shaken. “Steve, what is it?”

He turned and searched her face as if he didn’t know who she was. Then he said, “I know who framed you.”