Last Chance to Die

37



The blurry light of dawn had come up just as Vail and Kate started back to Washington. Bursaw had been taken to a local hospital, and the doctor had said he would be fine but that he wanted to keep him for twenty-four hours to preclude the risk of infection. Agents from the lab had been brought in to supervise the crime-scene investigation and the excavation of the well where it appeared that multiple bodies had been dumped.

Vail was unusually quiet during the drive. As they crossed into D.C., Kate said, “You’re going to make me ask?”

“About?”

“About searching Zogas’s body?”

Vail said, “Yes, I searched his body.”

“And you don’t want to tell me if you found anything.” When he didn’t answer, she said, “Apparently that isn’t what’s really bothering you.”

“You’re right, it’s not. My real problem is that your first instinct was to call Kalix.”

“He’s the assistant director in charge of counterintelligence. Remember, the director wanted him in the loop. You know, the director, the guy who keeps calling me every time something goes wrong. What’s the big deal? The entire Richmond division was on their way—do you think it was going to be kept a secret?”

“For once let’s look at this from my perspective. Six months ago I told you that under no circumstance would I work for the FBI. And then again two weeks ago, I made it quite clear I did not want to get involved in this. But when the director told me what had happened to you, I agreed, for no other reason than . . . well, since I don’t know how you really feel about me—let’s call it loyalty. And never once did I back off my commitment to you. The only thing I asked in return was that no one at headquarters be told what we were doing. Apparently even after all this time, you don’t understand that’s how I get things done. I knew they would find out soon enough, but I’d have enough time to figure out the next step before they got in the way. As they did when Dellasanti was killed at the drop. And, even worse, the next day, when they somehow figured out I was going to the park to look for more evidence. I don’t know how they figured out what I was doing. I didn’t think they were smart enough. But you were.”

“You think I told Langston?”

“After this call to Kalix, I’m starting to wonder.”

“Why would I do that?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I hope it’s not because of your career, but that is the one thing that keeps getting in our way.”

“So you think—” She stopped herself and fell silent for a moment. “All along, you didn’t really care if the director or Kalix found out what we were doing. Your telling me to keep it quiet was just a test of my loyalty, wasn’t it?”

“If it was, do you think you passed?”

She laughed sarcastically. “You do understand that the real problem here is your inability to trust anyone. I understand that, because I’m the same way. At least I was. But I’d like to think I’ve made myself change. And do you know why? Because I thought there was a chance for us. The first time I came to Chicago, that was one of the most difficult, most open things I’ve ever done. I was hoping that my trust would be contagious. But it wasn’t. That’s why our last date was a catastrophe. That’s why I told you not to come here for New Year’s. You can’t trust anyone or anything. I understand now that it’s because of what your father did. The other night when you told me about him, I thought you were finally letting me inside your life. The problem is that deep down inside, you don’t want to let go of what your father did to you. You think it gives you an edge, and I suppose it does. Nothing gets by you. While that makes you a great agent, it’s the reason there’ll never be any hope for us. You absolutely will not allow yourself the vulnerability that is necessary if two people are going to trust each other. You keep trying to make your life failureproof, and you believe that the only way to do it is to cut everyone out of it.”

“You don’t think I’ve tried to trust people?”

“I don’t think you’ve even tried to trust yourself.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? You’re even afraid to let anyone see your sculptures. Your pieces are good, really good, but you don’t trust yourself enough to put them out there. You’re one of the bravest men I know, but I seriously doubt that you have the courage to ask yourself why that is.”

Vail stopped at a light, and she got out, slamming the door. The light changed, and he sat there, watching as she hurried away.

Vail stood in Alex Zogas’s house, unable to stop thinking about his argument with Kate. She, of course, had been right. He was incapable of trusting anyone. But that was hardly a revelation for him. It was something he had reluctantly accepted about himself long ago. And she was right about its giving him an edge, especially when it came to resolving complex situations like going after the LCS. And also, there couldn’t be any argument that he was unwilling to do anything that would take away that advantage.

If asked twenty-four hours earlier, he would have said unequivocally that the one person in the world he did trust was Kate Bannon, but, as she had demonstrated, that wasn’t true. Since there was no longer an investigation to camouflage his flaws, he wondered if he hadn’t picked the fight with her so he wouldn’t have to complicate his life by committing to a relationship with her. Maybe that was why he was now standing in Zogas’s house—to prolong the investigation, to delude himself with the possible repair of the impossible rift between them.

There had not been anything in Zogas’s pockets except his wallet and keys, which Vail used to get into the house. He turned on the computer, which sat on a living-room table. While he waited for it to fully load, the image of Kate’s face, twisted with anger and, even worse, disappointment rose up in his memory. He blanked it out halfheartedly, knowing that it would be back.

To suppose that the FBI had uncovered every single double agent in Washington, at least those recruited by the Lithuanians, would have been naïve and shortsighted. They had given up their inactive sources to further the Calculus scheme, but there still had to be individuals currently supplying them with information. If the entire Calculus matter had proved anything, it was how susceptible the government had become to counterintelligence. Espionage was no longer about one country trying to gain an upper hand militarily or politically; it was about the global marketplace—technologies and trade secrets to be stolen and sold.

Raymond Radkay had existed completely undetected, so why not others? If there were others, their names, addresses, and contact points had to be kept somewhere. Vail started checking the files on the computer. There weren’t many documents stored, but he would have been surprised if Zogas had been that obvious.

Next he checked the Internet history. It looked as though the last Web site that Zogas had visited was something called American Business News. Vail clicked on it. At first glance it appeared to be a generic business site, as uninteresting as its bland graphics.

He clicked on the “About Us” link, and again the description was uninteresting, except for one fact—although it tried to make the reader think otherwise, it wasn’t American. The syntax, possessive pronouns, and vocabulary contained a few small errors that indicated that someone whose first language was not English had written the copy.

There was a freshly posted article that had been cut and pasted from some unattributed publication. It described a new chemical process for supersynthetic motor oil that was being developed by a company in Maryland.

Off to the right side of the home page was the heading “For Our Clients.” Vail couldn’t access it because there were user-ID and password windows that had to be filled in to open it. What was this site? Vail pushed back from the table and stared at the screen, trying to make sense of it. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, reminding himself how little sleep he’d had in the last two days. To distract himself he got up and walked around the room, settling onto a recliner in the living room. He turned on the television and started running through the channels, using the rhythm of the changing images to hypnotize himself into a brief period of thoughtlessness.

After five minutes he went back to the computer. Looking at the page again, he suddenly realized its purpose. It was how the Russians and the LCS communicated. Both of them were able to access and upload onto it. The Russians sent their “orders” to it in the innocuous form of business articles, and the LCS could send coded e-mails through its “Contact Us” link. But what was the “For Our Clients” section used for, and why was it protected by a password?

Vail started searching through the house for anything that might have a password written on it. When he didn’t find anything, he returned to the living room. On the wall next to the recliner were three large picture frames. Each contained twelve postcards forming a large rectangle. On all of them were depictions of chessboards with pieces in the final stages of a match. But there were things that weren’t right about them. Of the thirty-six cards, each one had four white pieces and four black pieces remaining. The second thing was that even with Vail’s limited knowledge of chess, he could see that their positions of play were not logical. The only reason someone would go to the expense of turning a postcard into a wall display would be to recall the last position of the pieces before a checkmate. As he scanned the cards, he could see that none of the games were in check.

And why were there so many of them? Taking out his knife, he slit open the back of the frames and then slid his knife between the cards and the backing until they came off. All twelve had been mailed from Washington, D.C. The return address was a post-office box. Why would two people play a game of chess by mail within the same city?

Then he compared the dates. Each was marked on the second of the month, unless it was a Sunday. Of course, he thought, the second day of the month was when the passwords were changed. Zogas had mounted them and put them in plain sight as trophies, proving, as so many sociopaths needed to, that he was smarter than the rest of the world. And shoving it right in everyone’s face was part of the rush. There was no way any of them could hurt him once the passwords had been changed.

Quickly, Vail peeled the other cards from their backings and checked the dates. The last was dated December. That meant that if they contained the code for getting into the Web site, there was a card with this month’s password on it. But where was it? Vail started tearing the house apart but then realized where it was. And that he had actually seen it, in a different form, without realizing what it was.

He drove to the Lithuanian Chess Society, trying not to think about Kate. He could have called and invited her along as an apology, but it would probably have been too little too late. And if he didn’t give her a chance to say no, he could make himself believe there was hope, at least a little longer.

Using Zogas’s keys, he let himself in and headed back to the office. The computer was still on from the night before. Vail checked the Internet history and found that the last entry was the American Business News. He clicked into the user-ID window and then looked over at the chessboard next to the desk that Zogas had claimed was for his mail game. The last postcard could be anywhere, maybe even destroyed since Kate’s and his visit there. But Zogas had probably used the actual board setup as a quick reference to the codes. Once it became apparent that the FBI was starting to focus in on the LCS, he would have been able to kick it over quickly should there be a raid.

On the board there were eight pieces—four white, four black—and, as on the postcards, the degree of their engagement was illogical.

A chessboard has sixty-four squares designated a through h along the top and bottom rows, left to right, and 1 through 8 vertically as you face the board. So the top left corner is a8, the bottom left corner is a1, and the top right is h8. Then the rank of the piece is added in. If the white queen was sitting in its beginning position, it would be designated Qd1. If it was moved straight ahead three spaces, it would be Qd4.

To test his theory, Vail had to decide whether black positions were to be used for the user ID or for the passwords. The site could have been protected by a system by which if one wrong entry were made, access would become permanently denied. He took out the postcards he had taken from Zogas’s house; they all had the black pieces at the top of the boards. Since the user-ID space was over the password window, he decided to use the black pieces as the user ID. Carefully, he typed into the password box the twelve numbers and letters designated by the four black pieces and then did the same with the four white pieces into the password box. He clicked on “Log In.”

A page opened, and a list of seventeen names, addresses, and phone numbers scrolled down. Vail still wasn’t sure what they were until he got toward the bottom. Number eleven was Raymond Dante Radkay. Radkay’s middle name didn’t seem right to Vail. He would have remembered “Dante.” He looked at the other middle names, some of which were Houston, Spain, and Opus. They didn’t seem right either. Most likely they were a quick reference to the moles’ code names.

Sixteen more spies, and no one in the FBI had any idea they existed. Until now.