Last Chance to Die

by Noah Boyd

  Next he checked the Internet history. It looked as though the last Web site that Zogas had visited was something called American Business News. Vail clicked on it. At first glance it appeared to be a generic business site, as uninteresting as its bland graphics.

  He clicked on the “About Us” link, and again the description was uninteresting, except for one fact—although it tried to make the reader think otherwise, it wasn’t American. The syntax, possessive pronouns, and vocabulary contained a few small errors that indicated that someone whose first language was not English had written the copy.

  There was a freshly posted article that had been cut and pasted from some unattributed publication. It described a new chemical process for supersynthetic motor oil that was being developed by a company in Maryland.

  Off to the right side of the home page was the heading “For Our Clients.” Vail couldn’t access it because there were user-ID and password windows that had to be filled in to open it. What was this site? Vail pushed back from the table and stared at the screen, trying to make sense of it. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, reminding himself how little sleep he’d had in the last two days. To distract himself he got up and walked around the room, settling onto a recliner in the living room. He turned on the television and started running through the channels, using the rhythm of the changing images to hypnotize himself into a brief period of thoughtlessness.

  After five minutes he went back to the computer. Looking at the page again, he suddenly realized its purpose. It was how the Russians and the LCS communicated. Both of them were able to access and upload onto it. The Russians sent their “orders” to it in the innocuous form of business articles, and the LCS could send coded e-mails through its “Contact Us” link. But what was the “For Our Clients” section used for, and why was it protected by a password?

  Vail started searching through the house for anything that might have a password written on it. When he didn’t find anything, he returned to the living room. On the wall next to the recliner were three large picture frames. Each contained twelve postcards forming a large rectangle. On all of them were depictions of chessboards with pieces in the final stages of a match. But there were things that weren’t right about them. Of the thirty-six cards, each one had four white pieces and four black pieces remaining. The second thing was that even with Vail’s limited knowledge of chess, he could see that their positions of play were not logical. The only reason someone would go to the expense of turning a postcard into a wall display would be to recall the last position of the pieces before a checkmate. As he scanned the cards, he could see that none of the games were in check.

  And why were there so many of them? Taking out his knife, he slit open the back of the frames and then slid his knife between the cards and the backing until they came off. All twelve had been mailed from Washington, D.C. The return address was a post-office box. Why would two people play a game of chess by mail within the same city?

  Then he compared the dates. Each was marked on the second of the month, unless it was a Sunday. Of course, he thought, the second day of the month was when the passwords were changed. Zogas had mounted them and put them in plain sight as trophies, proving, as so many sociopaths needed to, that he was smarter than the rest of the world. And shoving it right in everyone’s face was part of the rush. There was no way any of them could hurt him once the passwords had been changed.

  Quickly, Vail peeled the other cards from their backings and checked the dates. The last was dated December. That meant that if they contained the code for getting into the Web site, there was a card with this month’s password on it. But where was it? Vail started tearing the house apart but then realized where it was. And that he had actually seen it, in a different form, without realizing what it was.

  He drove to the Lithuanian Chess Society, trying not to think about Kate. He could have called and invited her along as an apology, but it would probably have been too little too late. And if he didn’t give her a chance to say no, he could make himself believe there was hope, at least a little longer.

  Using Zogas’s keys, he let himself in and headed back to the office. The computer was still on from the night before. Vail checked the Internet history and found that the last entry was the American Business News. He clicked into the user-ID window and then looked over at the chessboard next to the desk that Zogas had claimed was for his mail game. The last postcard could be anywhere, maybe even destroyed since Kate’s and his visit there. But Zogas had probably used the actual board setup as a quick reference to the codes. Once it became apparent that the FBI was starting to focus in on the LCS, he would have been able to kick it over quickly should there be a raid.

  On the board there were eight pieces—four white, four black—and, as on the postcards, the degree of their engagement was illogical.

  A chessboard has sixty-four squares designated a through h along the top and bottom rows, left to right, and 1 through 8 vertically as you face the board. So the top left corner is a8, the bottom left corner is a1, and the top right is h8. Then the rank of the piece is added in. If the white queen was sitting in its beginning position, it would be designated Qd1. If it was moved straight ahead three spaces, it would be Qd4.

  To test his theory, Vail had to decide whether black positions were to be used for the user ID or for the passwords. The site could have been protected by a system by which if one wrong entry were made, access would become permanently denied. He took out the postcards he had taken from Zogas’s house; they all had the black pieces at the top of the boards. Since the user-ID space was over the password window, he decided to use the black pieces as the user ID. Carefully, he typed into the password box the twelve numbers and letters designated by the four black pieces and then did the same with the four white pieces into the password box. He clicked on “Log In.”

  A page opened, and a list of seventeen names, addresses, and phone numbers scrolled down. Vail still wasn’t sure what they were until he got toward the bottom. Number eleven was Raymond Dante Radkay. Radkay’s middle name didn’t seem right to Vail. He would have remembered “Dante.” He looked at the other middle names, some of which were Houston, Spain, and Opus. They didn’t seem right either. Most likely they were a quick reference to the moles’ code names.

  Sixteen more spies, and no one in the FBI had any idea they existed. Until now.

  38

  It was the middle of the night, and Kate couldn’t get herself to sleep. It had been a day and a half since she’d jumped out of Vail’s car. She got up and opened a bottle of wine, turning on the television. Scanning through the channels, she found a Spanish soap opera, which she couldn’t understand a word of. It was the perfect distraction, as it took her complete concentration to try to figure out the relationships between the characters by the expressions on the emotive actors’ faces. After an apparent series of arguments over a sisterly affair and the help of half a bottle of wine, she finally dropped off in the chair.

  Although she woke up early the next morning, Kate didn’t get to the office until late afternoon. She’d sat around her apartment thinking about Vail and what he’d said. By now he was probably gone. The Calculus case was over, and everyone was accounted for—or would be as soon as they finished the DNA analysis of the bodies from the well. She did some housework, vacuuming carpets that didn’t need it and pulling weeds in her garden.

  After finally arriving at the office, she turned on her computer. Feeling-sorry-for-herself time was over. Back to the Bureau’s business. She checked her e-mails, and there was the usual overnight bureaucratic avalanche of meaningless memos and directionless directives. But there was one sender she didn’t recognize. It was simply entitled “A Favor.” She opened it.

  Kate,

  Leaving my gun and creds here at the off-site, plus a few other things, if you wouldn’t mind.

  Also check www.americanbusinessnews.com

  Stan

  That he’d signed the message “Stan” caus
ed her to smile.

  She felt a tear run down her cheek. He had risked his life to clear her, and she continued to expect so much from him—too much, she supposed. Instead of trying to understand his side of things, she’d lost her temper as quickly as he had. Maybe, deep down, she didn’t want to have to take any more chances, which was the exact thing she’d accused him of. She wondered if there was any chance that he was still in Washington. The time on the message was 5:14 A.M. Knowing him, she was sure he would have sent it just as he was heading out the door. As much as she wanted to race over there and find out, she had a late meeting. It was the only reason she’d come to work. Maybe it really was time to move on.

  She clicked on the link and found the site’s generic quality curious. Since Vail had sent it, she suspected that there was more to it than met the eye. It was probably part of “plus a few other things” he’d referred to. There was something waiting for her at the off-site. She packed up her briefcase and headed for the garage.

  It was past five thirty and already dark when Kate let herself into the off-site. The alarm was set, so she knew that Vail wasn’t there. She punched in the code and went upstairs to the workroom. Vail’s credentials and his Glock were on the desk in front of the computer. She checked the room that he had used for a bedroom and found that one of his suitcases was still there. She opened it and found his winter clothing. That’s right, she reminded herself, he was going to Florida.

  Back in the workroom, she noticed that the computer was on. She turned on the monitor, and the Web page for American Business News appeared. The only difference was the “For Our Clients” windows for user ID and passwords were filled in. Carefully, she clicked on. When she saw the list of sixteen names, she half collapsed into the chair. She immediately spotted Radkay’s name and knew what she was looking at. Vail had pulled one last rabbit out of his hat, and his message was obvious: He was trusting her with this unprecedented trove of counterintelligence information.

  After printing out everything, she picked up his gun and credentials. Taking one last look around the room, she noticed some new writing on the wall.

  Walking over to it, she read:

  The Sixth Why

  Why would the CIA agent Rellick have to meet with Calculus three times in exactly the same place and in such a short period of time, knowing that the Bureau was tracking his movements?

  What was that supposed to mean? Did it mean anything? Was it one of those philosophical or hypothetical questions that Vail had written for no one but himself? Or was he throwing something cryptic at her, just trying to show that these things were impossible to decode without him?

  If there was something to it, Kate was not going to let Vail end this case being one up on her. She walked over to the wall and started reading Calculus’s itinerary, trying to find the answer to the Sixth Why.

  She spent two hours making notes and cross-checking dates and locations. Writing theories on a pad and then angrily scratching them out as additional facts eliminated them. When she was done, there didn’t appear to be an answer to Vail’s last question, at least not one that she could find. Kate looked down at the list in her hand and decided that it had to be the priority now.

  The CIA agent walked into the airport bar and spotted the man he thought he was looking for. “Vail?”

  Vail gave him an appraising glance. “Sit down.”

  The agent took out his identification and flipped it open. “Where is it?”

  “You want a drink?”

  “What I want is the list of our European sources that Rellick stole. That is why you called, isn’t it?”

  “I never said anything about just giving it to you.”

  “How much?”

  “I would imagine right about now there’s quite a panic over at Langley, so it’s got to be priceless.”

  “Then why do I get the feeling you’re about to put a price on it?”

  “It’s nice to see that the agency didn’t send an idiot.”

  “How do I know you have it?”

  “Do you really want me to read it so I can give you a name? Why would I say I had it and risk being arrested if I didn’t?”

  “Maybe we need to arrest you to sort this out.”

  “Then I’d use the list to get free, plus get what I want, so why don’t I just tell you what I want?”

  Kate knocked on John Kalix’s door. When he opened it, she said, “John, sorry to bother you at home, but Vail, believe it or not, has come up with another whole list of moles. And since that’s your division, I didn’t want to waste any time getting it to you.”

  “Really? Come on in.”

  She walked into the living room and sat down, opting for a chair by the window.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  “You know, I think I could use one. Any kind of whiskey and water, if you have it.”

  A few minutes later, Kalix brought her the drink and sat down in a chair opposite her. She took a sip and pushed the list of spies across the coffee table between them with a touch of drama.

  He opened a drawer and took out a pair of glasses. “Wow,” he said. “And how do we know these are spies?”

  She explained about the Web site and that Radkay’s name was on it.

  “Yes, of course, how obtuse of me.” He continued to look at the list. “Wow. This is going to keep us busy for years. Where is Steve?”

  “Scuba diving in Florida—I think. He’s turned in his creds, so as far as he’s concerned, he’s done. I don’t think we’ll see him again. At least I won’t.”

  “Really? I thought you two had a little more going on than work.”

  “Very briefly. But I guess it wasn’t meant to be. He left the list along with his Bureau property and cleared out of the off-site.”

  “No explanation, no good-bye?”

  “We had a discussion of each other’s character flaws that got kind of vicious,” she said, smiling sadly. “The only other thing he left was something he wrote on the wall. ‘The Sixth Why.’ ”

  “What’s that?”

  As briefly as possible, she explained the Japanese inventor’s process for getting to the root of a problem and how they had used it to discover the LCS’s role in the spy ring. “It’s called the Five Whys. In this case I guess Vail felt there was one more that needed to be answered.”

  “What was the question?”

  “ ‘Why would the CIA agent Rellick have to meet with Calculus three times in exactly the same place and in such a short period of time, knowing that the Bureau was tracking his movements?’ ”

  “That is an interesting question. Maybe Calculus had to keep checking with him to make sure that whatever clue he was leaving wouldn’t cause Rellick any exposure.”

  “The little bit of experience I’ve had with counterintelligence would indicate the opposite. Besides, we tracked down Rellick by the phone that he and Calculus used to contact each other. They didn’t need to meet. Meeting with your handler too often is probably the easiest way to be discovered. Hasn’t that been your experience?”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I guess I was just trying to play the devil’s advocate. Do you think there’s anything to this question, or is Vail just messing with you?” Kalix chuckled. “It’s no secret how much he loves management. From what you’ve said, I’m guessing that’s kind of how he sees you now.”

  “At first I thought it might be just that. But once I started driving over here, the validity of the question sank in. If you think about it, why weren’t the Russians afraid someone would figure it out? I mean, they met near CIA headquarters at the same park all three times. Almost regimented. Wasn’t that the reason you were able to narrow it down to those nine agents whose photos you showed me?”

  “Yes, I guess it was.”

  “It’s almost like they wanted us to figure out who Rellick was.”

  “What advantage would that be for the Russians?” Kalix asked. “Giving up such a highly placed source would be completely coun
terproductive.”

  “Maybe that’s the real Sixth Why. From all the copies of the documents they recovered at his house, it looks like Rellick’s information had dried up a couple of years ago. If they were giving up Rellick, it changed only one thing: Bill Langston was removed as head of counterintelligence because he failed to chase down the connection between Rellick and his handler, Nikolai Gulin.”

  “Why is that an advantage for the Russians? Langston wasn’t exactly dismantling the Russian SVR single-handedly.”

  Kate laughed and let her voice shift from a tone of curiosity to one of accusation. “Would you say that the assistant director of the Counterintelligence Division is privy to a lot more classified information than his deputy?”

  Kalix took off his glasses and set them on the table. He opened the drawer again and drew out a small silver automatic, pointing it at her. “Nicely done, Kate. You walked me right into it.”

  She stiffened in reaction. “So this was all about you getting to the top of the intelligence chain.”

  “Sorry about having you locked up, but I had to rescue you and at the same time show how Langston’s incompetence was the cause. Nothing personal, Kate. It was all to make me the hero and the heir apparent.”

  “And that included killing one of the LCS men in that shoot-out when you saved Vail?”

  “Unfortunately, Vail saved himself. The guy behind the false mirror was supposed to kill him, and then I was supposed to shoot the second LCS man and switch guns with the one who shot Vail, having it look like I killed the lone gunman who killed Vail. I was outside and assumed that Vail had been killed when I heard the initial shooting. I just opened up on the second man. When I came in, they were both dead.”