The Bricklayer (16 page)

“I’m not sure that’s true.”

Kate laughed. “Then maybe it’s you who’s got a thing for her. I know there’s a thing in there somewhere.”

Vail said, “Is this important to you, Kate?”

“No!”

“Kay-tee,”
he teased.

“It’s not,” she said quickly, and realized how unconvincing she sounded.

“That’s too bad.”

His tone made her look at him, and she could see he was no longer joking.
Too bad.
What was that supposed to mean? She told herself she couldn’t care less. She didn’t have time to peel the layers off Vail’s motives. All she could do was pretend the remark didn’t register. But of course it had. She adjusted the rearview mirror unnecessarily, as if she were extra vigilant, since they had been followed the day before. Reading men’s intentions, at least the more basic ones, had never been difficult for Kate, but Vail, from the moment he knew her name on that Chicago rooftop until this latest overture, confused her. “So what’s the plan when we catch up with this guy Radek?”

“First, hope he’s not at this address.”

“Why?”

“If he is running this operation, he’s smart enough to never have lived at an address listed on a state identification card. At least not since he’s been in the extortion business.”

The address was in Inglewood, and when they got there Kate pulled up under the shade of a tree a half block away. “Do you see what I see?” she asked.

Vail had already taken out the monocular and was exam
ining the gold Honda in front of the address. “That looks like the same car.”

“I used to own the same model.”

“Congratulations on your good taste. I’m sure this guy steals only the most reliable means of getaway.”

“Does that mean he’s there?”

Vail picked up the radio mike. “Call Demick and have him get a phone number for the place while I run the plate.”

Kate got Tom Demick on the phone and gave him the address. He said he would call her right back. When she hung up, Vail was writing down the registration information from the radio operator. “Comes back to a fifteen-year-old Oldsmobile station wagon. Registered owner lives in L.A.”

“Which means the car and the plates are both stolen,” Kate said.

“But why leave it in front of an address that connects him to it?” Vail asked.

“Maybe he’s inside.”

“Hopefully we’ll find out as soon as we get that phone number.”

“Maybe—since you got Salton—he figured you were coming for him, so he just dumped it here and took off in his own car.” Her phone rang. It was Demick with the phone number. She wrote it down and, after hanging up, held it out to Vail.

“You call. A woman will be less suspicious if he answers.”

“What do you want me to say?”

Vail got a look of mischief on his face. “Since you can’t
ask for him, ask for Steve. But you got to do it in a sexy voice if this is going to work. Let me hear you.”

Impishly, she shifted herself in the seat and, turning toward him, leaned in. In a throaty whisper, she said, “Hi…is
Steeeve
there?”

“Very nice, but you need to pucker your mouth a little more.”

“He can’t see my lips on the phone,” she said playfully.

“It’s called method acting.”

She leaned a couple of inches closer and puckered her lips. “Hello, I’m looking for big Steve Vail. Is he there, cowboy?”

Vail leaned back and closed his eyes. “Once more with more emphasis on ‘big.’”

She turned forward and dialed her phone. “If you want more, it’s twenty dollars a minute.”

She put it on speaker and Vail listened as the phone rang four times before a beep sounded to leave a message. She hung up. “Apparently nobody’s home.” Vail opened the car door. “Where are you going?” He went to the trunk and took out the pry bar, holding it up to her as an answer. “Dr. Halligan, I presume,” she said.

“Call me on my cell if anyone shows up.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“Only if you promise to call me big Steve the whole time.”

“I hope he is in there, waiting for you.”

“Then how about ‘cowboy’?”

“And heavily armed.”

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER
Vail got back in the car. “Anything?” Kate asked.

“Not a thing. No furniture. There’s nothing touching the floor except a cell phone in a charger. It’s either a mail drop or safe house.” He punched 911 into his cell phone and, after identifying himself, requested that a marked car be sent to their location. “I got the VIN number. When they get here, we’ll have them run it and get it towed to where we can search it without being surprised.”

“Why don’t you have the office run it?”

“If Kaulcrick or the SAC hear that we’ve found a stolen gold Honda, our little clandestine operation will be over.”

“Which reminds me, while you were
hunting-gathering,
Kaulcrick called and left me a voice mail. They’re going to execute search warrants on Pendaran. He wants me there.”

“You want to go?”

“And what, ruin my career as a lookout?”

WHEN THE TWO
Inglewood police officers arrived, Kate and Vail got out and flashed their credentials. “Thanks for coming out so fast,” Vail said, and handed the driver a slip of paper. “That’s the VIN on the Honda. Could you run it? We’re pretty sure it’s stolen.”

The driver had that threadbare look of an experienced cop. “FBI working stolen cars now?”

Vail smiled. “We think it’s tied to some homicides.”

“In Inglewood?” the cop asked.

“No.”

The cop gave him one last evaluative look and turned to
his onboard computer, punching in the VIN number. Almost immediately, it came back as stolen. “Out of L.A.,” the cop said. “What do you want to do?”

“Any chance we could get it towed to someplace a little more private than this?”

The cop smiled. “Sure. We wouldn’t want anyone breaking into it. You know, illegally or anything.”

A
RE WE GOING TO COMPLETELY PROCESS THIS CAR?” KATE ASKED AS
she continued to drive, her eyes lazily following the towed vehicle in front of them.

“At this point, we’re just looking for leads to find Radek, so we’ll give it a quickie and then have Inglewood store it. There’s no immediate need to be concerned about trace evidence. At some point we’ll want ERT to give it a good going-over in case it was used to transport Bertok. But I’d be surprised if someone like Radek would be driving a car that had that kind of evidence in it.”

“So this little
reconnaissance,
it’s supposed to never have happened.”

In a soothing voice, Vail said, “You’re getting drowsy. Your eyelids are heavy.”

They pulled around behind the Inglewood Police Department, and the tow truck driver waved them into a parking
space marked Visitor. Then he backed his truck into a large garage before unhooking the Honda. Vail took the Halligan bar out of his trunk, and he and Kate walked inside the building. The truck driver came up to them. “Do you need anything else?”

“Can you slim-jim the door for us?” Vail held up the pry bar. “I don’t want to use this unless I have to.”

“These newer models are a little more resistant, but I’ll get it open. The department mechanic’s off today, but he made this tool specially for these push-button door releases.”

Kate said, “If he gets the door open, you won’t need the Halligan. There’s a trunk release alongside the driver’s seat.”

The driver went to a workbench and came back with a thin steel rod that had a series of severe angles welded together smoothly. He inserted it between the door glass and the frame and then manipulated it while feeding more of it inside, making the tip change direction until it hovered over the door lock button. He carefully pulled it toward him a fraction of an inch, and the electric lock inside the door thumped open.

Vail pulled on a pair of evidence gloves. Carefully he leaned inside the vehicle, opening the console compartment without sitting in the driver’s seat. He could smell the vague odor of air freshener masking an odor of gasoline. “Do you smell gas?”

“We’re in a garage.”

“No, it’s definitely inside the car.”

“Is it important?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, I guess so. Do you want me to start dusting the outside?” Kate asked.

“Ah, no. Why don’t you hold off for a minute?”

“Something wrong?”

“In a minute.” Walking around to the other side of the car, he opened the passenger’s door. Across the carpeted mat on the floor he could see lines of recent vacuuming. The mats in the back were also freshly vacuumed. “This car is cleaner than when it was new.”

“Is that unusual? I thought a lot of ex-cons were neat freaks because of living in such a small space.”

Vail didn’t say anything but walked back around the car and leaned into the driver’s seat area again. Using a flashlight to check several locations where fingerprints couldn’t help but be left, he said, “There are no prints. Neat freak or not, this car has been dry-cleaned.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning he was expecting it to be found,” Vail said.

“So what if he was? There’d be nothing to lead back to him or the murders.”

“That makes sense except that he parked it directly in front of his house.”

“Enough. We’ve got the car. Search it, and if there’s nothing in it we’ll move on. Pop the trunk,” she said, and then looked down at her hands. “I tore my gloves. I’ll go get another pair.” Vail reached down and pulled up the release, and the quiet click of the trunk opening came from the back of the vehicle.

Something didn’t make sense about the car. Everything throughout the case had been carefully planned and exe
cuted. Why leave a stolen vehicle in front of his house, especially after Vail had seen it?

Kate walked back in and came up to Vail, pulling on a fresh set of gloves. “Helloooh, can you open the trunk?”

Absentmindedly he said, “I did.”

She looked back at it and then reached around him and pulled the lever again. When she didn’t hear it release, she examined it again. “This one doesn’t pop open nearly as high as mine.” She started back toward the trunk.

Kate took hold of the trunk lid.
“Hold it!”
he yelled. She ripped her hand away as if the metal had been white-hot. She had never heard that much urgency in his voice before. He took her by the arm and pulled her back from the car.

“What’s the matter?”

“How high does that lid usually come up?”

“I don’t know, six to eight inches.”

“Stand here.” Vail stepped to the side of the trunk. Kneeling down, he shined his flashlight in the one-inch opening between the lid and the car’s body. “I can’t see in.”

“What’s the matter?” she repeated.

“Maybe nothing.”

“Yes, there is.”

“I just don’t want to take anything for granted with these guys.”

“You think the trunk could be rigged?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the lid not coming up is just a malfunction.”

“I’ve got that LAPD bomb squad sergeant’s card, the one I met after the tunnel drop. I could give him a call.”

“First I’d like to be sure.”

“The backseat folds down. You can see into the trunk that way. Just pull on the top of the seat.”

Vail took hold of both her arms firmly. “I know you’re going to want to give me a hard time about this, but I need you to go wait outside the building.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Find out what’s in the trunk.”

“Don’t. Let me call that sergeant.”

“If there’s the slightest chance someone will get hurt, their protocol is to blow everything in place.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Normally nothing, but any evidence that might be in that trunk will be gone, and frankly, I’m out of ideas. Now, please go.”

“Steve, there’s nothing I want more right now than to turn around and sprint out of here, but if you’re going to do this, I’m staying.” He still had ahold of her arms and searched her eyes for resolve. “I am staying.”

“You know I’m the one paid to do stupid things.”

She laughed nervously. “Considering the size of your paycheck, that’s only fair.”

“An irrefutable argument.” With her standing outside the rear door he carefully climbed in and knelt on the rear seat. “Ready?”

“Fire in the hole,” she whispered.

Vail frowned at her and then ran his hands along the seam where the top of the seat met the rear ledge. When he couldn’t feel anything that shouldn’t be there, he pulled evenly and the seat back came down smoothly. Carefully he shined the light into the trunk’s interior.

“Anything?” Kate asked. He backed out of the car slowly and took her by the arm, leading her out of the garage. “What’s in there?”

“A lot of gasoline and some other stuff I’m not sure of. It’s set to do something. You’d better call that sergeant.”

They got in their car, and after Kate finished her call she asked, “How did you know about the trunk?”

“It just didn’t make any sense. Why leave a stolen car at his known address, and at the same time clean it of all evidence? Suddenly it occurred to me that Radek was using it as a warning device. If we got onto him, his driver’s license address would be the first place we’d look. But he wouldn’t know unless something newsworthy happened like an explosion or fire or whatever those things in the trunk are supposed to cause. Then when the lid didn’t come all the way up, it seemed like too big a coincidence.”

Vail turned on the Bureau radio. The traffic slowly volleyed back and forth between the various units executing the Pendaran search warrants. It sounded as though the assistant director and the SAC were both at Pendaran’s apartment. And judging by the casual, amused voices of the agents, it was going well. Then the SAC’s voice burst loudly across the air. “Central, call the United States attorney and let him know that we have located a gym bag filled with banded hundred-dollar bills. And they have punctures in them. We’re checking the numbers now. Tell him we’d like authorization to arrest the subject.”

Kate checked Vail for a reaction. There was none. “Could Pendaran be involved?”

“Funny how only the punctured money keeps showing
up. I don’t know how much there is, but I know you can’t get two million dollars in a gym bag.”

“I guess that’s my reward for hanging around with you. They get the money, and we get the bomb,” Kate said.

Vail smiled at her. “Am I a good time or what?”

SERGEANT MIKE HENNING
of the Los Angeles police bomb squad lifted off his helmet, wiping his hand across his sweating forehead. Like so many people in L.A., he seemed almost too attractive for his job, as if he were an actor shooting a movie. With his dark, waxy hair combed straight back and his thin, sculpted mustache, he could have been a figure in an art deco poster from the thirties. “It’s shut down,” he said to Kate and Vail.

“Then it was a bomb,” she said.

He peeled back the Velcro straps that fastened his protective suit. “Well, it’s a device. But there’s no explosive. It’s more of a flamethrower than a bomb. I’ve never seen anything like it. Whoever built it wanted somebody dead, and in a fashion that would have made a very loud statement. If you had yanked the trunk open—barring a malfunction—you’d have been incinerated. Come on, I’ll show you.”

The trunk lid was now fully open. Henning wiped his forehead again. “A flamethrower is made up of a fuel supply, a compressed-gas source, and a striker, all contained in a delivery system.” He pointed into the trunk. “This is absolutely deadly. Not just regular deadly, agonizing deadly. Somebody doesn’t like law enforcement.” Henning looked at Vail. “I assume this was done by your friends from the tunnel.”

“Because of similar construction?”

“Because of its deadliness. Whoever put it together had his heart set on killing human beings, but not until they’d suffered a great deal of pain. I’d love to set this off to show you just how serious these people are, but that would make a mess.” He leaned over the trunk. “What makes it so ingenious is that the trunk is the delivery system. And it’s completely disposable. One use only. As a side benefit it destroys all trace evidence at the same time it’s inflicting casualties.”

“Exactly how was it supposed to work?” Kate asked.

“See the liquid bladder lying on the bed on the trunk? It looks like about a ten-gallon bag. Made of some sort of polymer. They’re commonly used as extra fuel cells, usually on boats. They’re durable, puncture-resistant, and fit anywhere. But see these?” Henning pointed to six evenly spaced plastic plugs along the back end of the bladder closest to the trunk opening. “Those were cut into the bag by your friends. They then epoxied those blowout plugs and their seatings into it. At the moment, there’s a minimum of pressure on them from the gasoline, so they will stay firmly in place, preventing the gasoline from escaping. Now take a look at the other side of the bladder. The hole with the metal plate reinforcing it, that’s how you fill the bag up with gasoline. Only, after filling it, they used the coupling to attach that compressed-air cylinder bolted down behind it. And as you can see, the cylinder has a quick-release nozzle and handle. The wire that connected the trunk lid to the quick-release handle was just long enough so when you got the lid half open, all the compressed air was released at once. It’s driven through the bladder, blowing out the six plugs and shooting
the gasoline straight up into the trunk lid. The curve of the lid would channel it out through the back, deluging whoever was standing directly behind the car.”

Henning shook his head with admiration. “Now this is even more impressive. When the fuel hit the lid, it would jerk it up fully, causing the strikers on either side to spark, creating a delay effect.” Vail recognized the strikers. They were used by welders and looked like giant safety pins with a metal bottle cap at one end. “In other words, first you’re soaked with the fuel, and a split second later it’s ignited, ensuring the target is turned into charcoal in less than three seconds.” Henning pointed to the back of the bladder. “There was a little of the fuel spilled around the intake plate. That’s probably what you smelled, Steve. It isn’t just gasoline, it’s napalm. It’ll stick to you. I’ve never believed in evil genius, but this comes close.”

“Napalm? Can we trace something like that?” Kate asked.

“It’s probably homemade. You just dissolve common Styrofoam in gasoline. It’s been used since the sixties, but it’ll stick to you just like the expensive spread.”

“Is this safe for us to search now?” Vail asked.

“Just let me get some photos of it. Then I’ll cut back those trigger wires and it’ll be completely inert.” Henning pulled a camera from his case and started taking the photos.

When he finished, he used a small pair of wire cutters to trim the rest of the three wires hanging from the underside of the trunk lid that had been attached to the two welding strikers and the gas cylinder before he disarmed them.

For the next fifteen minutes, Kate and Vail searched the
car while Henning watched. Vail suspected that Henning was watching Kate more than him. But then he was sure that’s why the cop had come out in the first place. Vail stole a glance at Kate as she moved from the front seat to the back, putting herself in awkward but candid positions. She straightened up quickly and caught Vail. Not knowing why he was watching her, she asked, “Did you find something?”

Vail pulled at his gloves, slightly embarrassed. “Not yet.”

“Where does this leave us?”

Vail bent down and picked up the compressed-air tank, turning it upside down. “There’s a serial-number plate on this. Manufacturer is in Minnesota.”

“I know the ASAC there. We were on the inspection staff together. Should be a one-phone-call lead. Are we done here?”

“I am. Why don’t you make that call, and I’ll talk to someone about storing the car.”

Kate walked over to Henning. “Thanks, Mike, you’ve saved the day.”

“Any time, Kate.”

“Come on, I’ll walk you to your van,” she said. “This doesn’t have to go into a report right away, does it?”