Last Chance to Die, Noah Boyd [most read book in the world TXT] 📗

just gave you and the rest of the brain trust the only lead I could think of. As a tactic, your accusing me of not being forthcoming is getting a little old.”

“That’s because it’s usually true.”

“Listen, I’ve given you people everything in this case, and what did I get for my trouble? I got cut out.”

“ ‘You people’? Cutting you out wasn’t my doing.”

“I didn’t hear you objecting. I know we’re not happening, but you were supposed to protect our interests and get me first crack at the evidence. So when do I see it? When the guys who the director supposedly can’t trust with the investigation are done pawing over it. Do you think if they do find anything in those bills, I’m going to get a call? It’s a different year, but these are the same people who ran me out of the Bureau five years ago. They’ll always be the people who cripple this organization.” Vail stared at her as if making some judgment. “You want to know where I’m going—I’m going to pack.”

Kate wanted to say something, but she knew he was right, not only about who ran the FBI but also about her not standing up for him. Vail was the reason they’d accomplished what they had. He was the one who had survived two attempts to kill him. Against his wishes, he had agreed to work on the case. And in return he only wanted to conduct the investigation his own way. Which was exactly why he had been brought in. Until completed, he believed the challenge belonged only to him.

Suddenly she was overwhelmed with the perverse hope that with Vail gone they wouldn’t find the last spy, if there was one. Without Vail they might never identify him. She wanted them to fail, all of them, herself included.

Vail told himself to slow down as he drove back to the off-site. He had not been as upset with Kate as he had pretended. Although he was disappointed that he wasn’t allowed to be involved in Dellasanti’s arrest or get first look at what had been recovered, he knew that inevitably men like Langston couldn’t live with someone else being perceived as the point man. Vail had warned everyone that it would happen, even though they assured him that this time it wouldn’t.

He knew that what had happened to Dellasanti wasn’t Langston’s fault, but right now the investigation had been brought to a halt. Vail had no choice but to proceed by himself. He’d given Langston and the others the serial-number possibility because he knew that the combinations would be infinite and would keep them busy while he checked out what he’d seen in the photos.

He parked outside the off-site and went upstairs. He needed to recheck Calculus’s movements the day he’d originally planted Dellasanti’s package in the park. After putting it under the bridge, he had walked around the area for a couple of minutes, not something spies do. The longer you’re there, the greater your chances of being connected to whatever you left behind. Get in fast, get out faster.

He turned on the computer and went to the wall with a pencil and paper. All the coordinates and times at the park varied little as Calculus moved around those few minutes after being at the bridge. Then Vail went back to the computer and linked onto the Bureau satellite. After zooming down into the park, he carefully manipulated the mouse until he could see Calculus’s exact path that day. Did it indicate that he’d hidden something else? Something, even under torture, he hadn’t told the Russians about? It would be a way for a dying man to get even with them. Retracing the movements once more on the computer, Vail memorized the terrain Calculus had moved through.

It was a little over an hour’s drive to the park in Maryland in the early-afternoon traffic. He parked in the same lot where James Dellasanti had been killed the day before. At the entrance to a footpath, he saw small traces of blood where the body had lain on the ground. He looked around and decided there were a number of different locations from which the bomb could have been detonated.

The footbridge where the package of evidence had been secreted was about a quarter of a mile in, about a five-minute walk along the winding path. Included in the pictures he had seen that morning was a shot of the exact spot where the plastic-wrapped material had been picked up. It was an all-metal bridge, cleverly constructed almost entirely of two-inch-square steel tubes. About twenty feet long, it sat less than two feet above a small brook, which was dry this time of year.

He stepped down into the streambed and tried to re-create the angle at which the photographer had taken the picture. What had caught his attention was a small mark on one of the five steel tubes that ran under the bridge’s flooring pieces as supports. At least he thought it was a mark. It was hard to tell in the photograph; it looked like an elongated checkmark or a single-barb arrow, pointing down. He had seen similar ink markings in engineering drawings, and since Calculus was a trained engineer, it could have been made by him. With each clue left for the FBI, subtlety had become the Russian agent’s signature. And the mark had been the same medium blue as Vail had encountered twice before on items left by Calculus.

There it was. He moved closer. It was an abbreviated arrow drawn in blue marker, its line thin and barely noticeable. But pointing to what? There was only about a foot between the sloping stream bank underneath it and the supporting steel tube. Reaching under it, he probed it with his fingers but couldn’t feel anything. He checked the arrow again and wondered if it meant that something was buried in the streambed directly below.

The ground was mostly sand and stone, now stiffened by