Agent X (19 page)

18

The flight attendant asked Vail if he wanted anything to drink. He smiled absentmindedly and said no. Checking his watch, he looked out the window. They were crossing Lake Michigan, and he could finally see Chicago’s ice-covered beaches. The white-and-gray bleakness swept under them, and his thoughts returned to Kate. The one good thing about something as catastrophic as Kate’s arrest for treason was that it reduced everything around it to a level of insignificance. Whatever problems there were between them, real or imagined, they would have to wait. Right now her freedom was the only priority.

The thing Vail admired most about money was its way of leading to the truth. Stories could be faked and lies told, but when money was introduced into the equation, honest answers had little choice but to rise to the surface.

While the three-quarters of a million dollars the Bureau had already wire-transferred to Calculus’s designated account in Chicago was a drop in the bucket for the Russians, it was still seven hundred fifty thousand dollars American, and chances were that some enterprising soul wasn’t going to just let it sit there unclaimed. Even dishonestly gained money had a way of tracing itself back to the truth.

Since he no longer had to worry about Calculus’s Chicago “relative” warning him that the FBI was trying to discover anything about the account, Vail could now go to the bank and ask direct questions. Once the plane landed and he collected his luggage, he took a cab to his apartment. He dropped his bags inside and, after spending a half hour clearing the snow off his truck, drove to the Lakeside Bank and Trust in downtown Chicago. It was an eight-story building on LaSalle Street.

Vail flashed his credentials and asked to see the head of security. A few minutes later, a gray-haired man in his late fifties walked toward Vail. Although Vail had never seen him before, his smile was one of familiarity, causing Vail to check the man’s hands. He was wearing an FBI ring made from a twenty-five-year service key. Vail stood up and smiled back. “Steve Vail,” he said, extending his hand.

“Les Carson.” He shook Vail’s hand. “I know a lot of the guys from the Chicago office. Are you new here?” There was the slightest edge of suspicion in Carson’s voice.

“Can we go somewhere a little more private?”

“Sure, my office.” Carson led him to an elevator and then to an office on the third floor.

As soon as Carson closed the door, Vail said, “Actually, I’m out of headquarters, working a special for the director. And it’s extremely confidential.”

“I’m sorry, Steve, can I see your creds?”

Vail took them out and handed them to Carson. He looked at them for a moment, running his thumb over the embossed seal at the edge of the photo to verify their legitimacy before handing them back. “Why is there something familiar about your name? What other offices have you been assigned to?”

“I was in Detroit for three years, but that was a long time ago.”

“That’s it. You’re the one who was fired during that cop-killer investigation the year before I retired.”

Vail smiled. “Sounds like me.”

“And now you’re back, and at headquarters?”

“The director asked me to come aboard to handle this one case.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I did it once before, and it worked out. No one was supposed to know about it.”

“What do you do when you’re not on the Bureau clock?” Carson asked.

“I’m a bricklayer. I actually live here, on the Northwest Side.”

Vail could see that Carson was questioning the plausibility of his background. “And what exactly is it that you need, Steve?”

Vail took out a slip of paper and handed it to Carson. “In the last week, there have been three deposits wired into that account, each for a quarter of a million dollars. I need all the information available about whoever it belongs to.”

Carson fell back in his chair. “Come on, Steve, you know that banking information is impossible without a court order. I could lose my job.”

“I can get the director on the phone if that would help. It’s a matter of national security.”

“If you got Jesus Christ himself on the phone, I couldn’t help you, and I’m Catholic. I like it here, and I really doubt I’d like being sued. And as far as it being a matter of
national security,
do you know how many times I used that line in twenty-five years?”

“Les, this is extremely important. And I don’t have time for a court order. Besides, I can’t let the local U.S. Attorney’s office know about the specifics of the case.” Vail could see that the real problem was Carson’s suspicions about him and his story. It was understandable—a stranger was asking him to risk his job on his word alone. He would have been crazy to agree to chance everything for someone he didn’t know he could trust. “There’s got to be some way you can help me.”

The appeal didn’t seem to register with Carson. He was studying Vail’s face. After a few seconds, he pulled open a file drawer behind him and took out a thick folder. He started flipping through the pages inside. He found the one he was looking for and held it up as though placing it side by side with Vail’s features. After studying it for a few more seconds, he looked back at Vail and his mouth curved upward into a smile of discovery. “This is a flyer another bank distributed statewide. It seems last year they had a robbery that went bad, and more than two dozen customers and employees were taken hostage. Then a lone male customer overpowered the two robbers and threw them through the bank’s windows. When everything quieted down, the man had disappeared into the crowd. They said he was dressed like a construction worker, and the bank was on the Northwest Side. He was never identified. That’s why they sent this out, trying to find out who he is. They wanted to reward him. Why do you think someone would vanish like that?”

“Maybe he didn’t want to pay for the windows,” Vail said. “Or answer a lot of useless questions.”

Carson turned the flyer around to show Vail the surveillance photo of the man who had disrupted the robbery. “You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you? What with both of you being from the Northwest Side and in the construction business.”

Vail didn’t look at the flyer. “Retired or not, Les, you’ve still got a pretty good eye.”

“We heard that when you were fired, it was for doing the right thing, but nobody ever got any particulars. And that bank robbery . . . well, that tells me a hell of a lot more about you than a set of credentials. I assume that any good faith I might show you will be reciprocated.”

“Just give me someone to throw through the window.”

Carson typed the account number into the computer on his desk. “The balance on that account is zero.”

“That’s good. What’s the holder’s name?”

“Donald Brown. With an address in Evanston.” Carson started writing down the information.

“Is there a phone number?”

“Yes,” Carson said.

“Let’s find out if any of this
isn’t
phony. Can I use your phone?” Carson pushed it toward Vail and wrote down the number for him.

“Can I ask what kind of case this is?”

“This has to stay right here. The only thing I can tell you is that it is a counterintelligence matter, at an extremely high level.” Vail dialed the number. He listened for a few seconds and hung up. “It’s a restaurant. Did this Brown withdraw the money himself?”

Carson queried the computer again. “No, all three deposits were wire-transferred out of here the day they were received.”

“To where?”

Carson hit another key. “That’s odd, it doesn’t show. That information has to be listed.”

“Does someone have to authorize those transfers?”

“Yes,” Carson said. “But the data can’t just disappear. Let me get ahold of our IT guy.” While Carson made the call, Vail wondered if he hadn’t run into another dead end.

He felt something he wasn’t used to—panic. What if he couldn’t figure this out? What if Kate went to prison? How could this be happening? He thought about what she must be going through, the confusion of being one of the top law-enforcement officials in the country and then, the next moment, a prisoner. And even if they were able to clear her, was her career over? Her competence was already being questioned because of that ridiculous suicide rumor. How could she recover from this? She must be going crazy right now. At least he was able to do something about it to keep his sanity.

He hoped she would realize that he was working on it. If only there were some way for him to get word to her that he was, but that might prove just as difficult as tracing the three-quarters of a million dollars that had seemed to vanish from the bank.

Carson said, “He’s going to trace everything through the computers. I told him to make it a priority, but it’ll be at least an hour. Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.”

When they returned, Carson called the computer analyst back. Almost immediately he started writing on a pad of paper. “Okay . . . Okay . . . Really? That’s odd. Can you trace that? . . . Okay, thanks, Tommy.” He hung up. “All three transfers out of the bank were authorized by employee code ‘13walker13.’ And it looks as if the same person wiped the transfer information from our computer.”

“What’s his name?” Vail asked.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Why?”

“That was the user ID for one of our vice presidents who retired six months ago and moved to Arizona. His access to the system was never canceled. Someone got ahold of it and used it.”

“So the Bureau sent three-quarters of a million dollars to this bank and there’s no way to track where it went.”

“The IT analyst says he doesn’t think so, but he’s going to keep at it. I have to apologize, Steve. Security at this bank is my responsibility, and obviously I’ve got some work to do.”

“Don’t disembowel yourself just yet. The people involved in this investigation are very smart and have gone to a great deal of trouble and possess unlimited resources. If it’s any consolation, I’ve been made a bigger fool than anyone. We’ll just have to get creative.”

“How?”

“Whether you’re after the lowliest of thieves or the president of the United States, what’s the one tactic that rarely fails?” Vail said.

“I don’t know, what?”

“Follow the money.
Is there a phone somewhere I can use in private?”

“Use mine. I’m going to go find out how this happened.”

“Actually, if you could, leave that access in place. I think I know a way to use it.”

After Carson left the office, Vail picked up the phone and dialed John Kalix’s number.

19

At a few minutes before eight the next morning, Vail walked into Les Carson’s office and asked, “Your people ready?”

“I just talked to Tommy. They’re locked onto that account. In fact, the deposit won’t move out of here until he personally releases it.”

“And if 13walker13 accesses it, we’ll be able to trace it to whoever is using the password?”

“To whatever computer is being used in this building, yes,” Carson said. “This
must
be a big case. One phone call and you get them to send half a million dollars that’s just going to disappear into . . . who-knows-where.”

When Vail had called Kalix, he told the deputy assistant director he wanted the half million dollars they had promised Calculus for the final double agent to be wired to the same Chicago bank first thing in the morning. Kalix had argued that was in effect tantamount to giving the Russians half a million dollars more for framing Kate. He feared that when it got out, which the Russians would make sure happened eventually, it would be highly embarrassing for the FBI’s Counterintelligence Division.

Vail said, “It’s the only way to track whoever set up Kate.”

“As much as I want to help Kate, I simply cannot authorize the release of that much money, knowing that it’s probably going to wind up in the hands of the Russians. We’ve already given them three-quarters of a million dollars.”

“Actually, we’re not going to give them anything. When you send the money, we’re hoping that their man here will transfer it to wherever he sent the other payments. I’ll have the bank put a twenty-four-hour hold on whatever bank it’s transferred to. Once it’s transferred out of here, we’ll immediately be able to determine the bank and the account number it’s being sent to. Then we’ll invalidate the transfer from here, and the money will be sent back to the account you forwarded it from. Zero loss.”

“Steve, it sounds like there are too many things that could go wrong, and then we’re out five hundred K.”

“John, take a few minutes to meditate over this. Even consult your ‘higher authority
.
’ ”

“Uh . . . oh, yes, yes, I could do that.” Kalix realized that Vail was hinting at contacting the director for approval.

“Good. Call me back when you’re done mulling it over.” An hour later Kalix called and told him the payment would be ready to be sent first thing in the morning.

Vail said to Carson, “Let me call Washington, Les, and then we’re on.”

While Vail made his call, Carson stayed on the line with the bank’s IT manager. After a few minutes, Carson hung up and said, “Okay, the half a million just arrived.”

Vail asked, “Right now, who can check on the account’s balance?”

“There are dozens of employees who have general access to account information, depending on their jobs.”

“And how many people can actually order transactions involving that account?”

“It takes a completely different level of clearance to move money out of it, generally vice presidents and above. You said these people are smart. Aren’t you afraid they won’t fall for this?”

“That’s always a possibility, but we have one thing going for us:
five hundred thousand dollars.
That’s halfway to seven figures. The best thing about greed is how quickly it melts even the smartest person’s IQ.”

“As many employee embezzlements as I handle in a year, I should get that little bon mot framed.” Carson checked his watch. “I don’t suppose there’s any way to tell how long this’ll take.”

“No, I’m not even sure this person is still working here.” Vail considered the possibility that with Kate in custody the Russians might have pulled their man out of the bank. But if he was still checking the account, no matter what he’d been told to do, the amount of money just transferred into it might be too great a temptation. “If he is, I would think he wouldn’t check that account any more than once a day—otherwise someone might notice. So if you’ve got work to do, Les, don’t let me keep you from it.”

Carson took a stack of papers from his in-basket and started initialing them. Vail picked up the newspaper from the small table next to him and began reading it.

A little before noon, Carson had lunch brought in, and the two men, evidently believing that a watched pot would never boil, found other things to talk about. When they were done eating, Carson went back to work, placing a call to Tommy to make sure everything was still being monitored. Vail started on the crossword puzzle.

At a few minutes to five, Carson noticed that Vail had fallen asleep. As quietly as possible, the security chief started clearing his desk. Suddenly the phone rang, and Vail’s eyes snapped open. The two men looked at each other. Carson straightened a little and picked it up.

“Yes.” He listened for only a moment before disconnecting the line. “The money’s being transferred right now.” He dialed a four-digit extension. “I want everybody to the basement immediately. Someone’s on the computer terminal there. Whoever it is, I want held until I get there.” Carson pushed the phone back into the cradle. “He used the same password as before.” Both men were moving toward the door. “We have one computer terminal in the basement, mostly for storage inventories.”

Once they were in the hall, Vail said, “Will the stairs be quicker?”

“No, the only access is by elevator. You need an override key.” They ran to the elevator, and Carson pounded the button repeatedly. Finally the car arrived.

Just as the doors opened to the basement, the two men heard three quick gunshots.

Vail drew his automatic and ran toward someone yelling for help. In a large room stacked with boxes, one man in a suit was on his knees tearing open the shirt of another man who’d been shot in the stomach. Carson, directly behind Vail, said, “Those are both my men.”

Vail raised the muzzle of his weapon upright. “Who was it?”

“That guy Sakis from accounting, Jonas Sakis. He went out that way.” He pointed to a corridor beyond the computer station.

The security man’s wound was now exposed, and Vail looked at it. He checked the man’s face for signs of shock. Carson was already calling 911. Vail took out a handkerchief and placed it over the wound, then pulled the kneeling man’s hand onto it. “There, use that much pressure. Watch him for shock. Les, where does that lead?” Vail nodded at the corridor the shooter had disappeared into.

“It’s a dead end. There’s no way out.”

The man on his knees said, “Except the old railroad tunnel.”

Vail remembered the news story from the early nineties, when an engineering miscalculation had caused the Chicago River to seep into the sixty miles of tunnels, forty feet below the downtown area. They had been built to move freight under the downtown area in the early 1900s. With typical Chicago buoyancy, a city that had been rebuilt after the Great Fire, the incident was referred to as the Great Chicago Leak. “The old freight tunnels?” Vail asked. “I thought those were sealed.”

“Our door is, but that’s the only thing back there.”

As Vail started in that direction, Carson said, “Steve, you’d better wait for the cops.”

“Either of you have a flashlight?” Vail asked.

The kneeling man pulled one out of its carrier on his belt and handed it to him.

“I’ve got a feeling that door is no longer sealed,” Vail said.

Without turning on the light, he followed the corridor until it turned right. As soon as he looked around the corner, he could see the door. It was made of steel and was three times the width of a room door. And it was open.

Before entering, he stood and listened. He couldn’t hear anything, so he leaned his head in. It was dark except for the ambient light from the bank’s storage space. The tunnel itself was concrete—floor, walls, and ceiling—six feet wide and maybe seven feet high. He snapped the flashlight on and then quickly off so he wouldn’t provide a lasting target. Thirty yards in was a concrete bulkhead with a gate, a lock and chain lying on the deck next to it. Without turning the light back on, Vail started toward it, his Glock raised to eye level.
What is it with me and tunnels?
He flashed back to the electric train tunnel in which he’d been buried alive during the Los Angeles case.
Maybe I should wait for the cops.

Then he thought about Kate. When he’d been an agent, after a while there was a gamelike quality to working cases. They rarely took on any real urgency, any real consequence. If he failed on one, there were dozens more to take its place, and he still got to go home and watch the game that night. But he was getting just one shot at this, and it was ahead of him in the tunnel. He couldn’t risk losing the only lead that could free Kate. Whatever might happen to him was no longer a consideration.

When he reached the gate, he turned his light back on. Once he determined that the shooter wasn’t on the other side, he picked up the lock. It appeared to have been cut with a bolt cutter—and, from the surface rust, not recently. That meant the tunnel was a planned escape route, so Vail didn’t have to worry about being ambushed, because the shooter wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and anyone foolish enough to pursue him. At least it sounded like a good enough theory to let him rationalize throwing caution to the wind. He turned on the light and broke into a trot.

Another hundred yards ahead, he found a second bulkhead with the padlock cut away. Vail noticed that the odor in the tunnel was becoming more pungent, and he thought he could detect the slightest trace of methane. The air was stale and felt heavy in his lungs. He tried to measure his rate of breathing to see if his lungs were requiring more oxygen, but he wasn’t feeling light-headed, so it probably wasn’t going to be a problem. Besides, the shooter had apparently been through here before without a problem.

After a few more minutes, Vail found himself at a three-way fork in the tunnel. Stopping at its intersection, he turned off his light and listened. There wasn’t a sound. After turning the light back on, he could see he was standing in a couple inches of water that had accumulated because the floor at the intersection was an inch or two lower where the old switching tracks had been removed. In the left-hand passage, the floor was dry. The same in the center. The floor of the right branch revealed some partial footprints left by the shooter’s wet shoes. Vail took the right branch and after ten feet turned around and compared his tracks against those of Sakis. The rate of drying was difficult to judge, but the early tracks weren’t that much different. He was still close enough for Vail to catch.

Seventy-five yards later, Vail came to a right turn. It was impossible to tell what direction he had traveled in, but he thought it was initially south and now possibly west. As he was about to make the turn, he heard the sound of metal on metal. He peeked around the corner and saw another bulkhead with a steel gate. The man he’d been chasing, illuminated by his own small flashlight, was busy working on something attached to the ceiling of the tunnel. Vail drew his weapon and carefully inched forward.

When he got to the gate, he saw that it was chained and locked shut from the other side, separating the two men. Carefully, Vail pushed his Glock through the bars, aiming it at Sakis. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if three linear-shaped charges had been attached to the ceiling in a triangular pattern. Each one had wires coming down from it to an electrical detonator. Vail snapped on his flashlight and said, “I guess I’m a little early.”

Sakis looked up, unruffled, keeping his hand on the detonation box. “You are. I thought maybe I lost you at the fork. If not lost, at least delayed.”

Vail could hear a slight accent in the man’s speech but couldn’t tell its origin. “Why don’t you carefully set the box down and come over here and unlock the gate?”

“You are evidently not a student of game theory. What you are proposing is a zero-sum game—all the advantage goes to you while I lose.”

“I’m fairly certain that zero-sum games are exactly what gun manufacturers have in mind. I believe their collective motto is ‘If you have the gun, you win.’ ”

“But this detonation box makes it a non-zero-sum situation.”

“Actually, this is more like a game of brinkmanship. We’re each promising to cause the death of the other to gain an advantage. I could kill you with one shot, and if I did, you would flip that switch and set off the charges on the ceiling.”

“True,” Sakis said, smiling. He raised the box in front of his face so that Vail wouldn’t have a clear head shot and end Sakis’s life before he could throw the switch. “Do you know where we are standing right now?” When Vail didn’t answer, he said, “Directly under the Chicago River. If the blast doesn’t kill you, the tunnel will flood instantly and you’ll drown. It’s too far back to the bank to outrun it. Too bad the gate between you and me is locked, because the way out for me is about twenty yards ahead. Of course, you can’t get to it. Unless you think you can shoot that lock off, but that’s a heavy-duty lock I put on it. I guarantee a handgun won’t dent it.”

“It’ll dent you. If you even twitch, I’ll empty this magazine into you.”

Sakis smiled calmly. “There is one solution. We could each go our own way, you back to the bank and me out through the exit. A draw.”

“And what’s to prevent you from coming back and setting off those charges once I’m around the corner?” Vail asked.