Trifecta (57 page)

I
var couldn't use the front entrance of the Federal
Building, although he had security access and could come and go at will, because
he would have to sign in and out after 6 p.m.  He didn’t want a record of his presence
in the building.  He would undoubtedly leave evidence, break locks and shred documents. 
So his first objective was to find a way into the building. 

His second goal was to get a security card for Burgess
Whitcomb's office.  The only two people who had access cards to enter the office
were Whitcomb himself, and Willard Modert.

Ivar felt as though he was thinking like a real spy for
the first time in years, as he drove to the Federal building that afternoon.  He
had come early on purpose.  He sat down in the outer office where Willard Modert
was working. 

Modert scarcely gazed up from his surveillance schedule
as he said, "You're early, Cousin.  Burgess can't see you for a half an hour."

Modert was muttering complaints that they had lost two
good men.  One trod upon in a book store.  Now Sergi was out of commission, too. 
Ivar thought, good riddance, but didn't say anything and left Willard mid-mutter.

The building took up almost one whole square block.  Ivar
headed for one of the exit doors with egress to a side street.  As he left the building,
he depressed the tongue lock and jammed it with chewing gum which he had softened
in his mouth.  Then he slapped grey adhesive tape over the inside lock.  When he
was outside he pulled the door back open a few inches.  The door closed securely
behind him, but now it did not lock automatically.

No one would ever accuse the CIA of such a slovenly manner
of jamming a door.  The CIA would have used some advanced, quick drying polymer,
which would have ultimately failed.

Ivar figured he had another few minutes to ruin the air
conditioning system.  He went down to the basement where the building's machinery
was located.  Ivar was a pretty good mechanic and he smiled briefly at the thought
that he could always get a job when he got out of jail, if this backfired.

He had to pick the lock, but there were no building engineers
around to discover him.  It only took a couple of minutes.  Inside, there were eight
immense generators.  They made the huge room windy and extremely noisy.  Ivar worked
quickly, constantly glancing over his shoulder, because he would not be able to
hear if someone came in and found him fiddling with the machines.  He broke the
glass on the thermostat control center because he didn't want to take the time to
pick the small U shaped padlock.  Then he turned the thermostat up to eighty-five
degrees and broke the needle in that position.

He heard the generator's thunder gradually quiet as one
after another shut down the air conditioning system.  Now the building's heaters
would efficiently start warming up the building.  He hoped it would happen fast
enough.

When Ivar got back to Burgess Whitcomb's office, Malcolm
had just arrived.  Ivar noticed with satisfaction that hot air was blasting through
the ceiling vents. 

Willard Modert was still muttering and erasing and putting
new men in position.  At last, Ivar and Malcolm were summoned into Burgess Whitcomb's
sterile office.  Burgess appeared to be at his normal stern, slightly hostile and
expressionless self, but Ivar noted his complexion was a slightly brighter hue than
normal, due possibly to the heat vent directly over his head that was driving hot
air down hard enough to flatten the grey brush cut hair even more securely around
his head. 

Burgess started a monologue on the tooth marks left in
the throat of Sergi Malcovich.  They were identical to the dental records of Sabrina
Miller, so it was now an established fact that Sabrina Miller had attacked Sergi. 
Burgess Whitcomb seemed pleased.

Ivar wanted to buy time for Burgess to get uncomfortably
warm, and he wanted to plant doubt, so he said he had not seen the attack.  He thought
a dog had bit Sergi.

Ivar wondered if Burgess was really angry or if he was
so uncomfortably warm that his color was deepening.  Ivar could feel perspiration
springing from his own brow.  He would have to get the pictures of the bite marks
out of the file tonight.  If Sergi healed fast enough, maybe a lack of evidence
would be adequate in protecting Eve and Sabrina.

Burgess said that it must be Sabrina Miller because the
blood on the handcuffs also matched her blood type.  It was their duty to find out
which was which, so that Sabrina could be picked up and interrogated.  He did not
care how they went about ascertaining that fact. 

"Strip search?"  Malcolm suggested politely. 

Ivar knew the comment was Malcolm's way of being humorous,
but Burgess looked at Malcolm with utter distaste.

"Isn't it getting awfully hot in here?"  Malcolm
asked, to break the tension.

Burgess nodded, frowning, took off his coat and hung it
neatly on the back of his chair.

"Maybe I can fix it,"  Ivar said.

Burgess told him to go ahead, so Ivar climbed on top of
Burgess's desk and fiddled with the vent.

"I can close the vent so the hot air will be blocked."

"Do it." 

After closing the vents, Ivar jumped off the back of the
desk beside Burgess, and in doing so, brushed Burgess's coat from the chair.  Ivar
said sorry and picked up the coat.  He pretended he was shaking it to get out the
wrinkles, keeping his back to Burgess and Malcolm, and managed to find Burgesse's
office access card and slip it in his own pocket. 

Ivar replaced the coat on the back of the chair and tried
to hide his trembling fingers by loosening his tie.

"That's better.  The top of my head was scalding," 
Burgess said.  "Tomorrow we'll pick up Sabrina Miller.  She will be charged
with physical assault."

L
earning the Japanese language was interesting, but it
was time consuming because the language tape was so frustratingly slow.  To listen
to each side of the two tapes took over an hour.

When Eve fiddled with the recording machine she found that
she could make the tape go much faster.  The high speed squeaks were not the correct
pronunciation, so she occasionally listened at normal speed, laughing hysterically
at her mispronunciations. 

During the process, Ivar was never far from her mind and
she found herself sometimes going so far into a memory that it was like reliving
her hours with him.  Once she stopped the tape recorder so she could enjoy a recollection. 
Then she turned it on again.  If she was to protect herself and Sabrina, it was
imperative that she know what the Japanese were saying in the meeting tomorrow,
although it was very seductive to turn off the tape and live in her remembrances.

Learning the Japanese language had made her more aware
of auditory nuances, and as she remembered the way Ivar sounded, and saw the graph
of his individual voice print in her mind, she knew he did not come from the United
States.  She could hear French undertones.  And there was another language, too. 
It suddenly became obvious.  Ivar was Russian.  It was there, not only in his pronunciation,
but in the phrases he used. 

He told her that when he had first met her, he felt that
she would be lethal to his heart.  It was not something an American would phrase
that way.

Eve was positive that she would want to spend her entire
life with Ivar.  She knew he might become predictable to her, but he would never
bore her.  If she could anticipate his behavior, that would certainly be a comfort
and something she would learn to rely on.  She would love him even more because
of it.  He would be the certainty in her uncertain life. 

Many carnivores mated for life and Eve knew she had throwback
tendencies to earlier man.  Most people did not get angry as quickly as she did. 
Or tend to growl when enraged. 

The thing that frightened her about the relationship was
that she would not grow old like most people.  She was going to stay young for a
long, long time if the body didn't malfunction.  Eve did not mind the thought of
watching Ivar grow older; it would be wonderful seeing him get wiser and even more
compassionate and loving.  But then there was the dying part.  She didn't know if
she herself could survive that.  Evidently, dying was usually accompanied by pain. 
She would kill Ivar before she would allow him to suffer, but losing the person
most loved in the world must be the worse experience in life.  She thought she would
rather die herself first.

Eve repeated aloud the entire tapes by heart, in Japanese,
and was satisfied she knew the language.  She would be ready for the meeting.

Then Eve went to the store and bought three steaks.  Back
home in her apartment she cooked them for a couple of minutes.  She blissfully crunched
the bones for desert; closing her eyes and seeing the world of her memories.  There
were giant animals for thrilling hunts, deep caves to live in, beautiful silvery
springs to drink from, a horizon with nothing but sky and evenings when the stars
were so bright it looked like they were falling from heaven.

I
var Cousin drove downtown at just past one in the morning
and parked a few blocks from the federal building.  He waited for a few minutes. 
The janitorial staff should be finished cleaning the offices.  He didn't want to
run into someone vacuuming the halls while he was sneaking down them.  He wore a
loose jacket to hide the gun in his belt. 

Since there was no way to tell the women apart, Burgess
Whitcomb had decided they would have to pick up both women tomorrow.  Which meant
that Ivar would have to be effective tonight in destroying the evidence.  He was
feeling a lot of pressure with the time demand.  Tomorrow, both Eve and Sabrina
might be in jail. 

Ivar looked around at the street where he had parked. 
It was empty and very dark because most of the street lights were broken.  He locked
the car, hoping the hubcaps, and indeed, the engine, would be intact when he retrieved
it.  This was not an ideal place to take a stroll in the wee hours.  He tried to
keep away from the shadows which had darker shadows within them, with the creepy
knowledge he was being observed.  The only person he could actually see was a prostitute
hanging onto a corner light pole.  As he passed, she reached out and took hold of
his jacket sleeve with long red talons.

Ivar was forced to look into a face that looked nineteen
or twenty, but was probably closer to fourteen or fifteen.  The slack features and
dilated eyes bespoke heavy drug usage.  Plus the fact that she was not freezing
in the skimpy clothing she was wearing in the cold night air.

"You hungry?"  she asked.

"Not now."  Ivar reached in his wallet and gave
her a twenty, knowing he was probably just compensating her pimp.  "Go eat
something."

"You fucking police or something?"

"Something."

"Mutherfucker."

Ivar watched her stroll leisurely away on three inch heels
and a tight short skirt.  He hoped he hadn't blown himself.  If they thought he
was the police, his car was in real danger.

Ivar walked to the side door he had wrecked with gum that
afternoon and was surprised when it actually eased open.  He pulled down the duck
bill of his baseball cap and stooped to hide his height.  He hoped that the man
at the front desk in the building's lobby was not watching the electronic monitor
for this door.  The security guard could start taping by pressing a button at the
front desk.  If the guard didn't see him in the next ten seconds, Ivar would have
a clean break-in.

Ivar sidled inside and hurried out of camera range, keeping
his head down.  He took the stairs because he didn't want the guard noticing blinking
elevator lights.  The fourteenth floor hallway was empty.  Ivar took Burgess Whitcomb's
security key card out of his pocket, silently put it in the lock and twisted the
knob gently.  Ivar pushed open the door a little way, but stopped suddenly.  There
was shaft of light coming from Burgess's inner office.

Ivar couldn't stand in the hallway forever and was undecided
about what to do.  He was reluctant to leave, knowing the consequences.  He heard
a voice coming from Burgess's office.  Ivar slipped inside and closed the door silently
behind him.  The door to the inner office was partially closed.  Ivar stepped closer
and listened.

It was his own KGB operative in Burgess Whitcomb's office!
Ivar would have recognized that educated Russian voice anywhere.  He crept closer. 
It was unbelievable and it didn't make any sense at all.  Ivar stealthily moved
closer to the door and peeped through the crack.

Wimpy, Willard Modert, with his scant hair combed across
his high bald pate, was sitting at Burgess's desk, feet propped on top, speaking
in Russian.  The sight blew Ivar away.  No wonder he was so tired all the time. 
Modert was behind the whole KGB operation. 

The man was perfect for the job.  Ivar had to admire the
KGB.  No one would ever believe the self effacing little fellow was a double agent
like himself.

Modert was telling someone in Russian that he needed a
new operative in California.  Ivar felt himself getting very pissed off.  His own
government, which had placed him in the precarious position of double agent, evidently
didn't trust him anymore.  The fact that they had passed him up to use someone as
stupid and inept as Sergi outraged him.

Ivar knew now that he had absolutely no future in his home
country.  The fact that he had already thought so many times in the past didn't
prepare him for the wrenching melancholy it suddenly brought to him.

What he contemplated doing next would really severe any
remaining ties to his country, but Ivar didn't care.  He had been placed here to
do a job, and a very risky one at that.  If you took a man's pride in his work away,
there was almost nothing left.  No one could say that hiding one's heritage, at
the very least cost of ending up in some federal prison for life, was not risky. 
And for such a long, long time at that.  He had come to this country, loving his
own, and very idealistic about what he could do.  Now they had cut him loose.

Ivar picked up an ashtray off of Willard Modert's desk
in the outer office and threw it violently against the wall. 

The crash was very satisfactory.

As Modert rushed into the outer office, Ivar grabbed the
small man from behind.  Modert stopped struggling after a few moments, when he felt
a gun at his temple.

Ivar got adhesive tape out of his pocket and, pulling a
long piece with his teeth, got it plastered over Modert's mouth.  Then he covered
each of his eyes.

"I won't hurt you,"  Ivar said, because the man
was making pitiful, whimpering sounds.  "Be still."

Ivar was angry at Modert too.  Modert had sat here, smug
and self-righteous, and ordered him to find out about the investigation, trying
to intimidate and bully him, when he had access to the CIA's secret files at his
fingertips and was probably handing all the information over to the KGB himself. 

Ivar sat Modert down in front of the desk in the outer
office, with his back leaning against the desk, facing the door.  Ivar spread Modert's
arms and legs and taped them to the legs of the desk very securely. 

Then Ivar took the keys out of Modert's pocket and unlocked
the files.  He sat in Burgess Whitcomb's chair and read all about Eve.  When he
finished he turned on the shredder and shredded all of the government's plans for
the woman with a computer in her brain.

Ivar also went inside the safe, using Modert's code, which
he quickly got from his petrified hostage, and took out the duplicate files.  He
shredded documents until there was nothing left of the investigation.

Ivar shredded all but two of the pictures of Eve and Sabrina. 
He wanted the pictures now that it was becoming too risky to see Eve.  He couldn't
tell if he had pictures of Eve or Sabrina.  But he wanted to remember her always.

Before he left the office, Ivar took a piece of plain paper
and wrote with a red pen in huge letters, WILLARD MODERT IS A RUSSIAN COMMUNIST
SPY WORKING FOR THE KGB.

Below the bold lettering he left directions to check the
telephone records, knowing that if there was a really thorough investigation he
had placed himself, as well as Modert, into a trap.  It was time for him to get
false identity papers. 

As Ivar left the office he admired his handiwork.  Modert
was tied spread-eagle to his desk, with a bold incriminating note attached to his
chest. 

Ivar left the lights on.