Last Chance to Die

by Noah Boyd

  He looked at her, and she knew his answer before he said anything. “Probably not. Sorry.” He pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  Amused, Kate said, “So you came here to go to a cocktail party, and now you’re working a third case. Sounds like somebody needs to learn how to say no.”

  He gave her a sarcastic grin. “Should I decide to get some instruction, I know an expert who delivers the word with extreme malice.”

  “I’m willing to bet you know several.” Carefully, she pulled out the sheets of paper, which now had a purple cast to them.

  He took the fingerprint loupe and said, “On the code page, there are three prints on each line and three lines, nine impressions. So we’re going to get nine numbers out of this. With any luck they won’t represent something else. Start thinking about what has nine numbers and can identify a person.”

  “Actually, I was thinking about it on the way here. There’s only one that comes to mind—a Social Security number.”

  “Sounds reasonable.” Vail examined the top row of prints. He compared it to the prints from the “fingerprint card.” “The first one is the left ring finger, so number nine.” Kate wrote it down. He examined the second latent. “The left index finger—seven.” He continued, line by line, until all nine latents had been decoded. “Okay, what have we got?”

  She handed Vail the pad of paper with the nine numbers written on it. She had placed dashes after the third and fifth, making it read like a Social Security number. He handed it back. “How can we find out who it belongs to?”

  She went over and sat down at the computer. “Let me see if they have an Accurint program on here.” After logging on to the Internet and clicking the mouse a couple of times, she said, “Yes.” She signed in to the program with her password and then typed in the nine digits. After a few seconds, a secondary screen popped up. “James Dellasanti. Currently residing just outside Wheaton, Maryland.”

  “Can it tell us where he works?”

  “Sometimes, but it’s a different query.” She punched a few more keys, and the screen changed. “No, not this time. Let me check and see if we did a background investigation for his clearance.” She switched into a Bureau program and queried the name. “Well, the good news is, he doesn’t work for the FBI or any agency we do the backgrounds for.” When Vail didn’t say anything, she said, “We could give this to Langston, too. Let him do the cut-and-paste stuff.”

  “We can’t. We don’t have any evidence against this Dellasanti. With the others we have a DVD and then stolen documents with money in a bank box. Here we have nothing but a set of numbers that we’re not even sure is a Social Security number. And where’s the link to the next mole, if there is one? There’s got to be more to this.”

  “Then it has to be the dates.” She looked at the page. “December twenty-seventh and January sixth.”

  “Maybe, but what do they mean?”

  “One date has passed, and the other’s coming up in two days.”

  Thinking about what she’d said, Vail walked over to the wall covered with the maps and reports documenting Calculus’s travels. “Can you get into the spy satellite again?”

  Kate started tapping the keys and after a minute said, “We’re up.”

  “Okay, let me read you his coordinates from December twenty-seven. Just the places he stopped for more than five minutes.”

  After she wrote the numbers down, he moved behind her and watched as she manipulated the mouse until the coordinates were in the small windows on the screen. She zoomed in. “The first one is the Russian embassy compound.”

  “That’s to be expected. Try the next one.”

  She entered it and then zoomed down to ground level. “That’s a fairly busy intersection with a McDonald’s right there.”

  Vail went back to the wall. “He was there about twenty minutes and it was approximately eleven thirty. So it was probably a Big Mac lunch. Next one.”

  After locating the third coordinate and zooming down to it, she said, “It’s a public park in Maryland.”

  “That’s it!”

  “That’s what?”

  “That’s what January six is. A dead-drop date.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It’s well documented that the Russians love parks for exchanging money and information. And it’s also well known that they hate changing a procedure when they find one that works.” Vail went back up to the wall and rechecked the entry. “He was there eighteen minutes. Calculus was picking up the information from Dellasanti, who evidently is supposed to go back there on the sixth and retrieve his payment.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a lot of supposition based on a couple of written dates?”

  “You’re right.” He turned back to the wall and searched Calculus’s movements again. “Here,” he said, pointing at a document, “the following day he was at the same coordinates for twelve minutes.”

  “He was putting the documents back.”

  “Probably copies. He would have to turn in the originals because his bosses would have to see them to okay the payment.”

  Kate said, “So the day after, he put the copies there with the payment? For us to catch Dellasanti with?”

  Vail was tracking Calculus’s movements again. “He never went back there after that, so it has to be. And by writing down the second date, he’s telling us exactly when he’ll pick up the package.”

  “And then Calculus told him the money wouldn’t be there until January sixth. This time the evidence is actually catching him in the act,” she said. “What better proof?”

  “Exactly,” Vail said. “Can you walk the camera around a little?”

  “Sure. What are you looking for?”

  “Someplace for the drop. Someplace you could hide a package of documents or money and not have it bothered by people or weather. That’s why parks are so popular for this kind of thing. Especially in the winter.”

  Kate’s eyes were locked on the screen as she virtually strolled through the park. “Here’s something close by, maybe twenty yards away—a footbridge.”

  Vail came around the computer and stared at the monitor. “Perfect,” he said, then pointed. “See underneath the end there? You could easily hide a good-size package.” Vail went back to the wall to check the coordinates of the bridge. “Okay, he was there for about three minutes, and then he walked around a little, stopping here and there for a minute or two. Probably to look less conspicuous.”

  “But the bridge, that’s where you figure he left the package.”

  “That’d be my guess.”

  “Can I call Langston now?”

  “Okay, but tell him not to send anyone to the dead drop. We have to assume if Calculus told the Russians everything, they could be watching it. If they spot our people, there’s probably a good chance that Dellasanti will be killed.”

  Kate asked, “If the Russians do have the Calculus list, why aren’t they just taking all of them out instead of waiting to see if we’re going to arrest them?”

  “They’re probably still productive sources, and good ones are not easy to come by. Also, should it ever surface in the future that the Russians are killing their moles, recruiting new ones would be impossible.”

  “I’d better quit putting off calling Langston. Even though this should be good news, that we’ve found another one, I’ve got a feeling he isn’t going to like it. We’re figuring out who these people are faster than we can arrest them.”

  “Actually, it only seems a little complicated at this point. Spy Number One, Charles Pollock, is dead. Spy Number Two, Yanko Petriv, with a little luck is in the process of being fully identified for arrest, and Number Three, James Dellasanti, will be caught in the act in two days in Maryland. As you reminded me earlier today, speed is what’s important here. It doesn’t matter if everyone’s happy about it, or if it’s legal enough to put in their memoirs. The Russians already have the list and apparently are willing to kill
these people to keep them out of our hands. And don’t forget the ‘big fish.’ That’s the real prize we’re trying to beat them to.”

  “That all sounds nice, but in case you haven’t noticed, very little of this has gone as planned. What if something happens, like Dellasanti deciding to pick up whatever’s at the drop before the sixth?”

  “He’s probably been told that the money won’t be there until January sixth. And spies hate going to the dead drop—it’s when they’re most exposed. If Calculus put the documents back like he did in the bank box—and according to that tracking phone, it looks as if he did—we’ll have him along with the evidence and money all in one nice neat little package. We just have to make sure that you and I get our hands on whatever documents might be there before anyone else does. Especially if Dellasanti isn’t the ‘big fish.’ I don’t want to lose control until we figure out who that is. If Langston gets the idea in his head that he can take over, he’ll have to play by the rules, and I think if this case has proved anything, it’s that this isn’t going to get solved that way.”

  “As uncomfortable as I am with deceiving him, I guess you’re right.” Kate looked at her watch. “I desperately need to catch up on my other job’s paperwork. And I’d better let Langston know about this upcoming drop by no later than tomorrow morning. We’ll need to get surveillance on it ahead of time.”

  “Just make sure he’s going to let us handle that package.”

  “I’ll do my best. In the meantime, if Langston has Petriv identified, we should be able to round him up tomorrow. And then, with a little luck, Dellasanti the next day,” Kate said. “This whole thing wouldn’t seem nearly as daunting if we knew how many names were left.”

  “I told you before, spies love mind games. Answers are better protected if they’re surrounded by confusion.”

  Kate slipped her coat on. “What are you going to do with the night off?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it. Maybe have dinner with Luke.”

  “By ‘dinner’ you mean work on his missing analyst.”

  Vail smiled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it came up.”

  12

  Vail and Bursaw sat in the front seat of the WFO agent’s car. Between them were take-out orders of hamburgers and fries. They were in southeast D.C. watching a street corner that was busy with prostitutes flagging down cars. “Is this what passes for dinner theater in Washington?” Vail asked.

  “I thought it would be nostalgic for you. You probably haven’t talked to a hooker since you were run out of Detroit.”

  “For the record, I wasn’t run out—I walked. Let me see her picture again.”

  Bursaw handed him the mug shot of Denise Washington. Her hair was matted, and her skin was washed out and blemished by continual drug abuse. Vail handed it back. “I could be wrong, but didn’t you bring her to the Christmas party one year in Detroit?”

  “That’s right. It was the year you brought that ‘exotic dancer’ with the Adam’s apple.”

  “Fool me once . . .”

  Bursaw laughed. “I wish she’d show up. It’s getting to be the drive-by-shooting hour, and I’m already spending way too much time in court.”

  They continued eating for the next few minutes. “Maybe we should deputize one of these girls. Put her on the payroll, and she could give you a call when the fair Denise shows up.”

  “What are the chances of a hooker calling me?”

  “A good-looking African-American like yourself, plus twenty dollars? Don’t sell yourself short.” Vail straightened up. “That’s her there, isn’t it?”

  Bursaw took a closer look at the young woman getting out of a pickup truck. “Now, see, Vail, that’s why I wanted you here. Not because you’re any kind of agent, but because you are the world’s luckiest white man.” Pulling away from the curb, Bursaw drove for a half block before making a U-turn. He coasted back to where the young woman stood and stopped in front of her. He rolled down the window and leaned across Vail. “Denise!”

  She looked at the two men who were obviously law enforcement and shook her head disgustedly. “I ain’t doing nothing,” she protested.

  “We’re not here for that. Get in the backseat.”

  “I didn’t do nothing.” He flipped open his credentials, and she said, “FBI? I sure as hell didn’t do nothing that bad.”

  “I’m here about the man who attacked you.”

  The other girls were starting to move away from the corner. Denise smiled. “Well, what kept you boys?” She strutted comically for the other girls, as if she were getting into a limousine. Once the door was closed, she said, “I hope you’re here to tell me that you caught that freak.”

  Bursaw turned around in his seat and said, “I just found out about it today. But I’m making it a priority. Did you know him?”

  “Never saw him before.”

  “Ever date him?”

  “Not me, but some of the other girls told me they did.”

  Bursaw handed her the photographs of the three prostitutes that had been murdered. “Any of these girls?”

  She shuffled past the first two, but the third girl caused a reaction. “You think he’s the one who killed Darlene?”

  “That’s what we’d like to ask him. Tell me about what happened with you.”

  “You sure we’re cool?”

  “This is what it is, Denise. Nothing else.”

  “Okay, but if it ain’t, this is entrapment.”

  “I’ll consider myself warned,” Bursaw said.

  “I guess it was two or three months ago. He pulls up, and I ask him what he wants. He agrees to the money, and I get in. He had this old van, the kind with no windows. He drives for a couple of blocks. I could tell he knew where he was going. Some dead-end street, just factories and stuff. I tell him I need the money up front. He gives me a twenty, and we start to get busy. All of a sudden, he’s got this screwdriver pressed to my neck and tells me to get in the back. I hesitate, and he jabs it into my skin.” She lifted her head. “I still got a scar.” Both agents inspected the rectangular mark that the tip of a screwdriver would leave. “So I get in the back. Once I’m there, I see he’s got ropes tied to the inside braces on the walls, four of them. I’ve been doing this long enough to know I was in trouble. He sets down the screwdriver so he can use both his hands to tie me. I waited until he was just about to tighten the first knot, and then I picked up the screwdriver and stabbed him with it. I must have hit him pretty good, because he fell back yelling in pain. Then I jumped out and ran as fast as I could.”

  “Have you seen him since?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Did you talk to the other girls about him?”

  “Sure. We’re always warning each other. But if it’s slow out here, you know, you’re not as careful.”

  “According to the report you filed, it happened after Darlene was killed.”

  “That sounds about right. You think it was this freak?”

  “She was tortured, and both ankles and wrists had rope burns on them.”

  “Jesus Almighty. It’s got to be him, then.”

  “Tell me about the van—what color, make, model, whatever you can.”

  “All I remember is it was old, maybe white, with some big rust spots on it. I couldn’t tell you what kind. There was fast-food wrappers and a bunch of other garbage in the back, like he never cleaned it.”

  “Describe him.”

  “Black, maybe in his thirties. Medium build. Had his head shaved. Never saw him standing up, so I don’t know how tall he was, but probably average.”

  “Where did you stab him?” Vail asked.

  “You know, I just lashed out. I think it was in the chest.”

  “Think you got any depth?”

  “It felt like it. And the way he fell back, I’m pretty sure I did.”

  Bursaw took out a dozen business cards and handed them to her. “Give these to the other girls. Anybody sees him, call me twenty-four hours a day. Let them know
there’s a decent chance that one of them could be next. The best thing we can get is a license plate. It’s worth some money.”

  “If this’s the fool who did Darlene that way, it’d be an insult to her to take money.”

  She got out of the car and leaned back in the window. “You really FBI?” she asked Bursaw. Then she got a mischievous grin on her face. “Ain’t this the part where you’re supposed to give me the lecture about getting out of the life?”

  “Since you didn’t pay any attention to the guy with the screwdriver, why would I bother?”

  She laughed a single syllable and backed away from the car. “I’m going to call you, Mr. FBI. One way or the other.”

  As Bursaw pulled away from the curb, Vail said, “Looks like somebody’s got a date for this year’s Christmas party.”

  At a few minutes before nine the next morning, Vail walked into the assistant director’s office. He had received a call from John Kalix that a meeting had been scheduled to plan Yanko Petriv’s arrest. Kate was sitting at a small conference table, along with Kalix and the three unit and section chiefs Vail had been introduced to at the off-site on New Year’s Day. He sat down next to her. “Where’s the boss man?” he asked.

  Kalix, said, “He’s at the Department of Justice, getting authorization for Petriv’s arrest.”

  “Have you found out where he works?”

  Kalix said, “NSA. He was born in Bulgaria, and currently he’s a Bulgarian and Czech interpreter for them. Those lists of handwritten phone numbers you found in the safe-deposit box are some of the phones they’re up on. Bill talked to his counterpart over there last night and let them know what we’ve found. They called back this morning and said they haven’t gotten anything off those wires in over two months. Previously they’d been fairly productive.”

  The door opened, and Bill Langston walked in with another man, someone Vail hadn’t seen before, but he had an idea who it was. “Everyone, this is Lance Wimert from OPR.”

  Vail leaned over to Kate. “I wonder who he could be here to see.”

  Langston continued, “We’re green-lighted to detain Mr. Petriv.”