VAIL WATCHED as the evidence agent, using a cordless saw, carefully cut out a small section of wall that contained one of the bullets fired at him. It was the fourth one the team had recovered in addition to the five ejected shell casings. The fifth bullet, they decided, had been fired out the open front door and would probably never be found. It didn’t really matter; one was all that would be needed to match the gun taken from Bertok’s hand. The day’s events had left little doubt in anyone’s mind that it would match the four slugs extracted from the Pentad’s murder victims.
Assistant Director Don Kaulcrick and the SAC came through the door. “Everybody okay?” Kaulcrick asked.
“Not counting Bertok, everyone’s fine,” Vail said.
The assistant director looked down at the body. “At least he did the right thing.”
“Maybe.” Vail’s voice was a little more displaced than usual, encrypted.
“I would have thought that you of all people would be happy. Your assignment was to find him. You did it and did it well. I would have preferred you cut us in on it before the fact, but…”
“When we got the call about the Laundromat, it sounded like a dead end, so we thought we would waste only two agents’ time.”
Kaulcrick nodded in agreement but his look seemed questioning. “That’s fine, Steve. The important thing is we got Bertok. Any sign of the money?”
Kate, listening from the kitchen area, walked in. “We didn’t want to contaminate the crime scene, so we’ve just given the house a cursory search. So far, nothing.”
Kaulcrick walked over to the evidence agent. “How much longer are you going to be?”
The agent pulled out the section of the wall he had been working on and placed it in a cardboard box. “We’re pretty much done. The only thing left is the car.”
Kaulcrick went over to the SAC and put his hand on his shoulder. “Mark, I want someone reliable to immediately carry all this ballistics material back to the lab. Take your Bureau plane. I want it in the examiner’s hands before sundown, eastern time. I’ll call ahead and have someone waiting to go to work on it.”
“What about the slug from the body?”
“There’s no hurry on that. As soon as the M.E. can get it out, we’ll send it back. The thing we need to know right now is whether Bertok’s gun is the one used in the murders. Unfortunately, given the circumstances, he’s left little doubt.”
Kate held up a clear plastic envelope sealed with red evidence tape. Inside was a sheaf of hundred-dollar bills. “These were in Bertok’s wallet.”
Kaulcrick took the envelope from her and examined the bills. “What are these holes?”
Vail said, “From the punji boards when I dropped the bag in the tunnel.”
“So these bills are part of the three million.”
“We haven’t checked the serial numbers yet, but they should match,” Kate said.
Kaulcrick took out a three-by-five card and made a note. “So it was all Bertok. Let’s tear this place apart.”
“There’s really not much to search,” Kate said. “The house is small, no attic, basement, or crawl space. No furniture. I’ve been through the rooms a half-dozen times looking for hidden boards and compartments—nothing.”
“When ERT finishes, let’s get some fresh eyes in here, Mark,” Kaulcrick said to the SAC. “Have them check the walls, floors, and ceiling. Let’s go take a look at the car. If the money isn’t in here, it’s the next best bet.”
Outside, Kate took out another evidence envelope and shook out a set of keys with the rental tag attached. She slid one of them into the trunk lock and opened it. There was a collective “Yeah!” as everyone recognized the large canvas bag that, when last seen, had contained three million dollars. The head evidence agent stepped forward and, pulling on a fresh pair of plastic gloves, unzipped it. Inside were a few banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills, pierced with nail holes.
“Where’s the rest of it?” Kaulcrick asked. “How much is in there?”
The agent counted the stacks. “If there’s a hundred bills in each stack, we’ve got only fifty thousand dollars here.” Sticking out from under one of the bundles, he saw something shiny—a key. He pulled it out. The number 14 was stamped into it.
“What’s that for?” Kaulcrick asked.
“I don’t know,” the agent said.
Someone said, “Could be for some kind of storage facility.”
Kate looked over at Vail. His attention had once again drifted elsewhere.
Kaulcrick turned to the SAC. “Obviously, the money is wherever this key fits. How many men can you put on it?”
“I can deploy the entire office if you want.”
“We need two things. First, a couple dozen copies of the key. And then a list of storage facilities in the city. Have someone list them by proximity to this location. The closer, the higher the priority. What was the alias he was using for the car registration?”
“Alan Nefton,” Kate said.
“They can also check that name and the name from the Florida driver’s license….”
“Ruben Aznar,” Kate said.
Kaulcrick made another note on his three-by-five card. “Also, Mark, I want you to handle the media. Have a news conference and tell them only that, tragically, an agent has committed suicide. Nothing about the Pentad, nothing about any money, terrorism, or extortion. Don’t give them anything specific why he might have killed himself. ‘Ongoing investigation,’ et cetera. If someone does make the connection between Bertok’s death and the Pentad, deny it unequivocally.” Kaulcrick turned back to everyone there. “If there is any leak of this—any leak—there will be more Bureau polygraphers in this division than falsified time sheets. Now get going.”
As the group around the car started to disperse, the assistant director said, “Well, Steve, I guess you can head back to Chicago.”
“What are you talking about?” Kate asked.
“He was asked to find Bertok, and he’s done that. This is all drone stuff now: go to the rental places and show the key. It’s just a matter of time until someone stumbles across it. I think we can take it from here. I would think you’d find that boring, wouldn’t you, Steve?”
“Actually, the director asked me to find Bertok and the money. You wouldn’t mind if I hang around until you do find it, would you? I promise not to get in the way.”
“Does that mean you don’t think we will find it?”
“It means I’m curious, nothing more.”
“Sorry if I’m a little defensive. I’d like to think that the Bureau could solve at least part of this case.” There was something strained about Kaulcrick’s attempted humility.
“I’d just like to see how it turns out. I’ll keep my hands off,” Vail said.
Kaulcrick stared at him for a moment. “Are you sure that’s possible?”
Vail smiled. “Probably not.”
THAT NIGHT VAIL watched the SAC on the early news. He stood at the lectern and read from a prepared statement. “Special Agent Stanley Bertok of this division, a twelve-year veteran with the FBI, committed suicide earlier today in this city. Agent Bertok had not reported to work for the last several days, and agents from this office had been searching for him. One of those teams finally located him and discovered that he had killed himself. This office is continuing to investigate the matter. Once that investigation is completed, our findings will be made public.”
The statement, short by design, caused the reporters to start firing questions at Hildebrand. “Any idea why he killed himself? Was he depressed?”
“I’m not a psychiatrist, but I believe depression is involved in most suicides. If he was depressed, we had no indication of it prior to this.”
Another reporter asked, “How hard were you looking for him? Why wasn’t there a public plea for help in locating him?”
The only answer that occurred to Hildebrand he knew could open Pandora’s box. He looked back past the lights for some signal from Kaulcrick, who sat in his chair passively. “Like any organization, on rare occasions,” Hildebrand started, “we have employees who are out of pocket for short periods of time. And when they are located, the explanations are usually quite innocuous. We had no reason to believe this was any different.”
Then someone asked, “Was there any connection between the suicide and the unsolved murders committed by the Rubaco Pentad?”
Again the SAC looked at Kaulcrick, who gave no indication that he had even heard the question. “No, there was absolutely no connection,” Hildebrand said. “I’m sorry, I’m late for another meeting.”
The reporters, smelling blood in the water, fired their questions on top of each other as the SAC picked up his notes and hurried out of the room.
FIFTEEN
AT NINE O’CLOCK THE NEXT MORNING, VAIL TAPPED ON TYE DELSON’S office door before pushing it open. She was leaning over a half-dozen law books that covered her desk, lost in her reading. “You got a minute?”
She looked up, and it took a moment for her to remember where she was. “Oh, Steve, sorry. I was trying to figure out something.”
“Is this a bad time?”
“No, no. Shut the door, will you. I could use a break.” She shoved up the window behind her desk until it was completely open, drew a cigarette, and lit it. “Please, sit down.” She sat down on the sill.
“You’ve heard, I assume.”
“About Stan, yes. They called me for a legal opinion for a search of the house and car. After the fact, I’m guessing.”
“What do you think about Bertok’s involvement now?”
“If you remember, the first time we met I told you I didn’t think he could be involved in any murders. They said he shot at you. I guess I’ve always been better with books than people.”
“I’m not sure that’s true. I want to ask you a people question—which has to stay in the room.”
She took a drag on her cigarette and blew out the smoke pensively. “That seems to be a standard tagline to any conversation with you.”
“Does that mean you want to go back to your law books?”
“God, no,” she said. “Please, I’m begging you, implicate me.”
“I’m not sure that this extortion was a one-man job.”
“There’s an awful lot of happy FBI bosses who think otherwise.”
“Self-congratulating management—is there any bigger canary in the mine that something is wrong?”
“I wouldn’t argue with that,” she said. “Do you have any proof?”
“The timing at the tunnel isn’t right.”
“Are you sure? Stress can distort time, especially when you’re going through something as sensory depriving as you did.”
“I’m not talking just about inside the tunnel. I checked all the logs, the time that the GPS started away from the tunnel, and the time of the explosion when I blew open the hatch. Last night, I went back out there and timed the walk from the tunnel to where the truck was intercepted. Anyone coming back from that would have run into the surveillance agents. And whoever it was would have had to come back to pick up the money.”
“So you think Bertok had a partner?”
“One person couldn’t have done it alone, no. So, is there anyone you know that could have been in this with Bertok, if it was Bertok?”
“If it was.”
Vail chose not to explain. “Yes, if it was.”
“Well, you’re the guy he was shooting at, so if you want to give him the benefit of the doubt, who am I to argue? I assume you mean someone in the FBI.”
“Yes.”
“Why are you asking me instead of people at the Bureau?”
“I don’t want anyone there to know that I’m not buying the Bertok-alone theory. That’s why I want this kept quiet for now.”
“If you have doubts about his involvement, why another agent?”
“I’ve taken a look at Bertok’s phone records. There were no calls to anyone other than his brother in Minnesota, and his ex-wives both here and in Arizona. That suggests someone he had regular contact with, like at work. Again, that’s why I’m here; I don’t want to ask the wrong person in the office.”
Tye took a long drag on her cigarette. “I hate to point any fingers, but there is one person Bertok worked with on occasion. Vince Pendaran. And he is sort of connected to the enemies list.”
“How?”
“The first victim—Connie Lysander, a former reporter turned whistle-blower. You know about her?”
“Just what’s in the file.”
“She made a lot of allegations around here, most of which were false. However, there were some firings, most notably the United States attorney, who was a good guy. There were also some suspensions, one of which was Pendaran for using the services of prostitutes. I don’t know why he wasn’t fired. He seems to be one of these guys who continually fall through the cracks.”
“What’s he like?”
“Different. He worked undercover until he got caught stealing from a UC project. Again, I don’t know why he wasn’t fired. Instead, they transferred him to Bertok’s squad. If you haven’t picked up on it yet, it’s a dumping ground for problems in the office. The word is that the supervisor, Allen Sabine, never complains, so they keep handing him the problem children. Anyway, Pendaran came up here a couple of times with Stan when they needed the okay for an arrest that was a little shaky. There’s something about the way he looks at you. I don’t know, it’s cold, like he’s trying to figure out where your buttons are. I’d see him at parties. Very taciturn until he got the requisite number of drinks in him, which I think was one. Then you’d find his hand on your ass. Everyone pretty much treated him like he had the plague, you know, an OPR incident looking for a place to land. That is, everybody but Bertok. For some reason Pendaran seemed to respond to him. You know, Stan could get him to do some work even if it was only as his gofer. And to a degree, socially as well. He’d take the effort to drag him into conversations at office functions. I guess even the most downtrodden needs the occasional project to ensure there’s at least one person below him on the food chain.”
Vail’s cell phone rang. It was Kate. “We just got word. They matched Bertok’s gun to the four victims and the shooting yesterday.”
“Does that include the shell casing from the third murder?”
“Yes,” she said. “Why is that important?”
“I’ll explain when I see you. Will you be available to take a ride a little later?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll see you in an hour or two.” Vail hung up. “As you could probably tell from that call, they matched Bertok’s gun to everything from the first homicide to yesterday’s shooting.”
“Then are you still interested in Pendaran?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting,” she said. “I assume you’d prefer someplace away from the office to converse with him.”
“Like where?”
“It came out during the Lysander expose, his trips to professional ladies were almost daily. That’s why he was so easy for her, and OPR, to catch. The names and addresses are in the DOJ file.”
“Where is that kept?”
She stubbed out her cigarette on the outside sill, tossed the butt into the six-story air shaft, and pulled the window closed. She sat down at her desk and typed on her keyboard. “I obtained a copy of it for my own private edification, trying to find a loophole for the old United States attorney when he was under fire for not properly leading the troops. Unfortunately, like the FBI, we have strict rules about showing files to outside agencies, so you can’t see this.” She gave him a crooked smile. “I’m going to lunch. Do me a favor when you leave, shut down my computer.”
“I owe you one, Tye.”
“That’s a funny thing, Agent Vail. I keep hearing that around here, but no one ever seems to pay up. Care to be a trendsetter?”
Vail smiled noncommittally and watched as that vague loneliness seeped back into her eyes.
AS VINCE PENDARAN exited the Swedish Academy of Massage and walked to his Bureau car, Vail watched him, trying to decide whether his gait was the same as that of the man who had walked into the house on Spring Street the day before. As he put the key in the lock, Vail walked up behind him silently and measured his height and weight. “I guess you don’t have to worry about going to these places now that Connie Lysander is dead.”