The Bricklayer

by Noah Boyd

  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?”

  “Would it be better if there was no report?”

  Vail watched her hook her arm through his as they started out of the garage. “That wouldn’t cause you any problems?”

  Vail turned his attention back to the air tank. They had found no fingerprints, no hairs, fibers, or blood anywhere in the trunk. But a traceable serial number? Even if the deadly device had been ignited, the digits engraved in the metal plate would likely have survived. Were they trying to distract the Bureau again by pointing them in a new direction, one that could also be deadly? Even if they were, it didn’t matter; he and Kate had no choice but to follow it.

  Kate came back and Vail looked at her, amused. “What?” she said. “He’s a nice guy.”

  Vail smiled. “And very Maltese Falcon.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Let’s see, at the end of the movie, the woman is arrested for killing one of the detectives. That gives me a fifty-fifty chance. I guess you can’t ask for better odds than that these days.” Vail wrote down the manufacturer and serial number off the tank and handed the slip of paper to her. “Please call your friend in Minneapolis.”

  “Okay, ahhh…”

  “What?”

  “Do you think it’s time to go to Kaulcrick and tell him what we’ve got? Get some manpower to start looking for Radek?”

  “Again—our best shot at solving this case right now is if we have two investigations going at the same time: one in the direction Radek wants, and one in a direction that he doesn’t know about.”

  “How sure are you about all this?” Kate asked.

  “How sure do you need me to be?”

  “To keep my sanity? Absolutely positive.”

  “Then Agent Bannon, you are in serious trouble.”

  “APPARENTLY YOU HAVEN’T HEARD, Don, but J. Edgar Hoover is dead. The FBI no longer calls the shots. Your agency is under the auspices of the Department of Justice, not the other way around.”

  Del Underwood was the United States attorney in Los Angeles. He was in his midforties and was athletically trim, a noticeable anomaly among the notoriously sedentary population of lawyers. He also wore large wire-rimmed glasses that were popular in the seventies as though trying to recapture some past image of himself. He adjusted them as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk to send the message that he was ready for the fight that was apparently brewing across the assistant director’s face.

  “This is not about who’s in charge,” Kaulcrick said. “This is a national case that has literally taken the FBI from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific. We’ve had two agents murdered, and we’re about to arrest another for being one of the people responsible. We have a great deal more invested in this than the United States attorney’s office does. And the director thinks if Pendaran’s arrest was released as national news in Washington, it would have much less of an impact on the Bureau’s image.”

  “If you’re so worried about your image, maybe you should have fired someone like Pendaran when you had the choice.”

  “What really worries me is when political appointees start examining everyone else’s ethics.”

  “What does that mean?” Underwood said, his voice rising.

  “It means that you’re the United States attorney simply because your party is in the White House. If that changes in the next election, you’ll be gone to some fat-salary law firm, and we’ll still be here dealing with your self-serving decisions.”

  “Why, because we won’t let you hog the credit?”

  “We solved the case.”

  “And we have to take this into a courtroom and prosecute it, your mistakes and all.”

  “Who do you think is closer to the attorney general, you or the director of the FBI?”

  “The local United States attorney always makes the press releases concerning arrests in his or her jurisdiction. Let’s call the AG and let him decide.”

  “Fine. While you’re calling him, I’ll call the director.”

  Out of deference to the two men’s positions, Mark Hildebrand had not said anything, but now he decided it was time to interject himself. In a calm tone, he said, “If I may. Calling bosses will give them the wrong impression about your ability to handle your duties. A compromise will serve everyone much better. I can see both sides of this because I work for Don, but I work more regularly with you, Del. So how about this? We’ll have the news conference here in Del’s office. He can make the opening statement, a kind of ‘The Los Angeles United States attorney today announced the arrest of…’ Then Don, representing himself as someone out of Washington, can give all the details and make it more of a national release like they would have in Washington, telling how the entire FBI, coast to coast, has worked to uncover one of its own gone bad. That way it’s both local for the United States attorney’s office here and national for the FBI.”

  Kaulcrick looked at the SAC, somewhat surprised at his diplomatic skills. Then he glanced at the United States attorney to see if he would agree. Underwood crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back in assumed contemplation. Finally the assistant director said, “I guess I can live with that.”

  Underwood pondered it a few more seconds for effect and then said, “So can I. Exactly how much of the evidence are you going to reveal?”

  “I know you’ve got to prosecute this, Del, so I don’t see a need to reveal any specifics.”

&nbs
p; “I’ve gone over it with the lead prosecutor. He said while the gun barrel and birth certificate being traced back to Pendaran are great pieces of circumstantial evidence, he’ll need more to ensure a murder conviction.”

  “We also found fifteen thousand dollars in his apartment. The serial numbers matched those from the three-million-dollar demand.”

  “The prosecutor is aware of that. It’s still not the complete smoking gun he’d like. What’s the read on Pendaran? Think he’d make a deal to avoid the death penalty?”

  “We’ve tried that. At first he was denying everything, even offered to take a polygraph. But when we started threatening him with the death penalty, the only word out of his mouth was ‘lawyer.’”

  “Are you doing anything to find the money? It would certainly tie everything together. Then we wouldn’t need to bargain with him.”

  “That’s all we’re doing. Mark’s got every available agent working on it, trying to trace Pendaran’s entire life. As soon as we know anything, you will, because we will still need search warrants.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Standing up to leave, Kaulcrick said, “I’ll see you this afternoon at the news conference.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  THE ASAC IN MINNEAPOLIS CALLED KATE BACK IN LESS THAN AN in the jury-rigged flamethrower had a former agent as its head of security, and he was able to access their computer records from home, since it was after five o’clock. She wrote down the information and thanked the ASAC. “The tank was sold to Outside Zsport Company, 2121 South Alameda in L.A. I’ll call and make sure they’re still open.” After a short conversation, she hung up. “They close at ten p.m.”

  “It’s not far.”

  “Did you wonder about how they were financing all this? I mean the apartment, the house on Spring Street, everything?”

  “I was until you said they never recovered the money from Radek’s armored-car robberies.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” she said. “The total haul was almost a million and a half.”

  “Apparently, even criminals have figured out that it takes money to make money.”

  The traffic was light and it took only twenty minutes to get to the sports store. “I’ll go find out where we’re going next.”

  She watched him walk inside and felt a rush of anticipation. To distract herself she started scanning through the FM stations on the radio. By the time she found one she liked, he was getting back in the car. “Amazing how fast they can find something when it’s closing time.” He started the car and, after checking a map, made a U-turn.

  “Where are we going?”

  “West Seventh Street. They sell those tanks for paint-balling. The name the buyer used was Thomas Carson, with this address.” He handed her a slip of paper.

  “Think the name’s a phony?”

  “If it isn’t, it’d be the first one. Why don’t you call someone at the office anyhow and have them check indices. Also ask them if there’s an employee by that name. Just in case.”

  Kate called the Los Angeles office and was told that no one by the name of Thomas Carson worked there, and indices also failed to find any record of it. “Nothing,” she said after hanging up. “I hope that doesn’t mean the address is no good.”

  “So far, every time we have run into an alias, the address has been good. If it is this time, you know what that means.”

  Kate said, “You think this is an ambush?”

  “I’m hoping so.” The surprised look on her face asked the question. “Because we’re not going to get any closer if it isn’t. Unless you’ve discovered a way to make an omelet without breaking eggs.”

  She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I’m starting to wonder if there is such a thing as an omelet.”

  THE WEST SEVENTH STREET address was in a commercial neighborhood that in recent years had begun to be gentrified. The structure was a seventy-five-year-old office building and was thirteen stories, taking up a city block. Neglect and the hydrocarbons of Los Angeles’s automobile culture had left the structure stained and unappealing. But apparently someone had recognized not only the subtle architectural qualities of the building but also its easily alterable construction and dimensions and was spending several million dollars rejuvenating it. The stone pediments that accented the top two floors had been sandblasted back to their original spotless beige. The upper-floor windows had been removed, and the spaces were now covered with heavy-gauge clear plastic awaiting energy-saving replacements. Scaffolding hung from thin cables a hundred feet long. A heavy tarplike material surrounded the three lower floors to keep debris from falling. A temporary walkway with a protective overhead had been constructed along the sidewalks that surround the building. “This is different,” Vail said.

  “Different how?”

  “The prison and the tunnel were abandoned sites. This building’s being rehabbed.”

  “It’s nice to see that the Pentad’s found a more glass-half-full place to try to kill you.”

  “Not me, darlin’, us.” Vail turned the corner. “Let’s see if we can find the construction entrance. We’ll set up on it for a while and see what happens.”

  Vail drove slowly around the building. It was a little after 10 p.m. and there was little traffic. Kate was leaning forward searching the enormous structure through the windshield. “Is that it down at the end of the building?” she asked.

  “Unpainted plywood doors with a padlock on it. Looks like it, but let’s drive all the way around and see if there is any other way in.”

  As they drove by, Kate could see the door had been pried open and left slightly ajar. “Looks like someone is already here.”

  “Let’s get an eye on it and see if anyone else shows up.”

  He parked the car as far away as he could while still being able to see the door. Both of them slouched down in the seat. For the next half hour they watched the building. Occasionally a car drove by, but none stopped. Then a man on foot rounded the corner and, under the shadows of the protective overhead, slipped into the building through the jimmied door. “Did you get a look at him? Was it Radek?” Kate asked.

  “I couldn’t tell.”

  “I know you’re not going to agree, but maybe it’s time to call for some help. I know that means Kaulcrick. But if we’re looking at the big finish here, will it matter?”

  “That’s still a fairly good-sized if.”

  “Maybe they’ve got the money hidden in there, or they’re in there splitting it up so they can run.”

  “I don’t know what’s in there, but I know they wouldn’t leave a trail to the money.”

  “So do we wait, or do we call in the cavalry?”

  “Unfortunately, we have no choice. The two of us can’t surround this place.”

  “What do I tell Don?”

  “I suppose you’ve got to tell him the truth. Just minimize it by telling him we didn’t know if Radek was involved for sure until we discovered his car, which—without any bomb squad details—led us here. And now that we know that Radek’s probably involved, we didn’t want to try to arrest him until he got here.”

  “That’s pretty thin,” she said.

  “Then tell him we didn’t want him involved because we thought he’d screw it up.”

  “Much better.” She dialed Kaulcrick’s cell and, when he answered, explained how they had identified Radek as a possible leader of the Pentad and then found his car and the booby trap, which led them to the building they now sat watching. Vail could tell by the long pauses during which Kate listened that the assistant director wasn’t buying their “stumbling” across another member of the Pentad crew.

  When she hung up, Vail asked, “I’m guessing he didn’t take it like a man?”

  “I think you actually have to be a man to take it like a man. He’s getting ahold of the SAC, every available agent, SWAT, and I think he said something about the Marines. And of course he said under no circumstances are we to do anything until he gets here.”


  “With that kind of call-out, we’ll be lucky if they’re here in an hour.”

  “I’m guessing it’ll be closer to two.”

  “No LAPD?”

  “I don’t think he wants anyone stealing what’s left of the thunder.”

  She looked over at Vail and could see he had shifted gears. “I don’t like sitting here waiting,” he said. “They’re not going to stay in there forever.”

  “If I have to hold you at gunpoint, we’re not going in there until everyone gets here.” Then recognizing that look in his eyes, she said, “Steve, I’m begging you, don’t.”

  Vail put his head back and closed his eyes. “Okay, then you’ve got first watch.”

  She studied him as he sat there. His breathing slowed and she could tell he was already half asleep. She just shook her head in wonder.

  For the next fifteen minutes, she busied herself with writing down the license plate numbers of passing cars. She knew it was an exercise in futility, but she hoped it would help the time pass. Then a full-size sedan pulled up to the construction door, a blue light flashing on its dashboard. She nudged Vail. “Is that an agent?”

  Vail put the monocular up to his eye. “I don’t recognize him, but that doesn’t mean much. It does look like a BU car.”

  A man in a suit and tie got out and, after turning off the light and drawing his weapon, carefully opened the construction door and slipped inside. She said, “Damn! Someone must have put out an ‘agents need assistance’ call at this address. We have to stop him.” Vail got out quickly and went to the trunk.

  Kate hurried after him. He took out magazines and put them in his jacket pockets. “What are you doing?”

  “Either someone at the office put out the wrong information or whoever’s inside found a way to lure an agent in there. They knew we’d see him and chase after him. He’s bait for us.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “Are you willing to take that chance? Call the office and let them know. When they get here, you can follow me in.”