Last Chance to Die. Noah Boyd

you going to get bank records without some sort of court order?”

      “With this.” Vail held up a standard information-release form filled out and signed by Pollock.

      “Where did you get that?”

      “We did a background investigation on him, didn’t we? And isn’t part of that process for him to sign information releases?”

      “How did you get into his file?”

      “You let me watch your hands when you logged into the Bureau database yesterday, so I thought you were giving me your password.”

      She just shook her head. “But Pollock’s background was almost five years ago. Those forms would be out of date.” She looked closer. “It’s dated a week ago.”

      “A little Wite-Out, a copying machine, and everything’s up to date in Kansas City.”

      “You’ll have to excuse me if I seem a little slow. I’ve been back here for six months, you know, following the law and stuff. Throws a girl off.”

      AN HOUR LATER Vail pulled up to the Denton Savings and Loan. “Since you’re apparently too chicken to violate both the national banking laws and the Privacy Act, you can wait here.” He got out and walked inside.

      In another twenty minutes, he came out, and Kate said, “Well?”

      “The morning after Calculus’s stop at the little white house, Pollock deposited eighty-nine hundred dollars into his checking account.”

      “Eighty-nine hundred is a nice number. It keeps it under ten thousand so the IRS isn’t notified, but not as noticeable as ninety-nine hundred, which is a bigger flag than if he had deposited the entire ten thousand.”

      Vail started the car and pulled out. “I think I know what that house is now.”

      “What?”

      “For Calculus to be there and record the exchange, it has to be a Russian safe house. Maybe he left something there for us.”

      “So now we’re going to Langston with this, right?” And then, pretending to be talking to herself, she said, “Oh, Kate, you are cute but so naïve. That’s Steve Vail sitting next to you, and you’re asking him about going to the AD?”

      Vail laughed. “If you were the assistant director in charge of counterterrorism, what would you do?” When she didn’t say anything, he said, “Come on, Kate, that was almost your job. What do you do now?”

      “I’d probably black-bag it.”

      “And how long would that take?”

      “To line up all the techs and the lock guys, do the site work, I suppose a couple of days.”

      “Minimum. We don’t have a couple of days. The Russians have a big advantage over us—torture.”

      Vail turned left, and she realized he wasn’t heading back to Washington. “Please tell me you’re not going to break into a Russian safe house.”

      “You’re the one who demanded to be inside the investigation this time. Now come the liabilities that you were warned about. You can’t have it both ways.”

      “Here’s four words I’m going to assume you’ve heard before: You can’t do that. It belongs to the Russians.”

      “First of all, the correct pronoun is ‘we.’ And I can foresee only one possible problem. I noticed in the photo you took that there’s an alarm-company warning sticker in the front window.”

      “That’s why we need our tech and lock people to get inside.”

      “Who do you suppose was the last person out of the house that night?”

      “If he was doing the technical stuff, I suppose Calculus?”

      “If he left evidence for us in there, do you think he would have set the alarm?”

      Kate let her head fall to her chest as if surrendering all hope. “You know, it’s being exposed to guys like you that makes online dating seem so promising. The only thing a girl has to worry about there is the occasional serial killer.”

      FIVE

      KATE LISTENED TO VAIL’S SHALLOW BREATHING AND FOUND IT REMARKABLE that he could sleep anywhere, and apparently under any circumstances. They had been watching the suspected safe house for a couple of hours, waiting for dark, and Vail, after giving her a nod that he was going to do so, had drifted off. She wondered how much sleep he’d actually had in the past two days. For the last half year, she had been back in Washington, away from him. Back to the daily dictates of organization and rules. Beyond all else, rules. So many, in fact, that following every one of them left not the slightest opportunity to get anything else done. But Vail was an outsider, someone who couldn’t exist in such an inertial state. He was about to commit a burglary that carried with it the potential of international consequences. It scared the hell out of her. She looked over at him sleeping and wondered why she couldn’t wait to be part of it.

      As if sensing that the sun had finally set, Vail opened his eyes. He looked at the small house and said, “No lights. So far so good.”

      “What if someone from the embassy came back out here and reset the alarm? If it was turned off in the first place?”

      “Then I would assume we’ll hear some sort of loud noise or see flashing lights. There’s only one way to find out.”

      “Did it ever occur to you that the Russians might have some sort of sensor that goes right into the embassy and isn’t connected to this alarm system?”

      “That’s more than an hour away.”

      “They could call the local police.”

      “We’re FBI agents. We saw someone breaking in and went in after them. They must have heard us and gone out the back.”

      “I don’t know how I could ever question you. Apparently this is another foolproof plan. I’m psyched. Dibs on the crowbar.”

      “That’s what I like to see, Kate, some genuine enthusiasm.” Vail glanced at her feet. “I guess I should have told you to wear more sensible shoes.” He manipulated the map on the dashboard GPS to search the surrounding areas.

      “Sensible shoes? At this moment my footwear choice is what you think may not have been well thought out?”

      He pointed to the GPS screen. “I want to go through the woods behind the place and get in through a rear window or door.”

      She reached over and removed the keys from the ignition. “Fortunately, I have my gym clothes in the trunk.” She got out and retrieved her running shoes.

      As she put them on, Vail drove past the house and, then a quarter of a mile farther, turned onto a dirt road. A hundred yards later, he found a place on the shoulder wide enough to pull over and park. After taking a last look at the map on the screen, he asked, “Ready?”

      “Let’s burgle.”

      Grabbing a flashlight from the glove compartment, Vail led the way through the woods, which although heavily treed had little underbrush to navigate through. Ten minutes later they stood at the edge of a tree line looking at the back of the house. It was completely dark. The rear of the structure had no doors, but there were three identical windows. “Go knock on the door.”

      “Of a Russian safe house. Shouldn’t I have a stack of Girl Scout cookies or be wearing a Brownie uniform?”

      “This is no time for sexual fantasies. Tell them your car broke down and you need to call the auto club.”

      “And why would someone as together as I am—discounting my shoes—not have a cell phone?” she asked. “Is that fantasy about me or Thin Mints?”

      “Tell them it’s dead. You know, act like a ditz.”