Last Chance to Die by Noah Boyd (large screen ebook reader .txt) 📗

and let herself into the former observation post on Sixteenth Street. The night before, she had driven Vail back there and couldn’t help noticing that his skin was gray from a lack of circulation, and every once in a while, out of the corner of her eye, she would notice his hands shaking. Again he refused medical treatment when she dropped him off. She offered to stay the night in case he needed anything, and when he didn’t use the opportunity to suggest the ultimate act of warming, she knew that the cold had taken more out of him than he was admitting. At that point she thought about insisting they go to the hospital but caught herself at the last moment, remembering who she was dealing with. So this morning, instead of going to the office, she thought she should check in on him.

She found him still sleeping and went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. After pouring herself a cup, she went back into the workroom. Methodically, she scanned the walls to see if Vail had added anything. It didn’t appear so.

She pulled over the desk chair and sat down to look at the graffiti-like displays that documented what they had done. As she sipped her coffee, she realized for the first time that the maze of documents, maps, and handwritten notes seemed to be almost an art form. Most of the writing was Vail’s, and, like him, it was enigmatic yet somehow aesthetic. With all its charted paths and irregular branches, it was more of a two-dimensional sculpture than the record of an investigation. She took another swallow of coffee.

“Hi.”

She spun around. Vail was in a T-shirt and pants. His color had returned. “I brought you”—she looked at her watch—“brunch. In the kitchen. It should still be warm.”

“What is it?”

“Something very Chicago. Pure, slow death to go.”

She got up and followed him into the kitchen. He got a fork and opened the Styrofoam container. “Steak and eggs. Whatever you’re feeling guilty about, I accept your apology.”

“Please, no more thank-yous. You’re making me blush,” she said. “And on the way here, I got a call from the director of the FBI.”

“How is he?”

“Unhappy. He wanted to know why we haven’t been keeping him or anyone else up on the investigative minutiae, like dead double agents and the shooting of suspects.”

“You didn’t mention my name, did you?”

“Believe it or not, of the million or so names that have worn a Bureau badge, yours was the only one that came up. He said he wanted to see you as soon as you had time.”

Vail laughed. “I’ve been fired twice—or is it three times?—from this job, but this will be the first time by the director.”

“I wouldn’t start working on your exit speech just yet. He doesn’t like being blindsided, but he probably figures he’s not getting his money’s worth out of you unless he is.”

“You can’t bawl me out and bring me steak. It’s very confusing. And as you know, I’ve been sick lately.”

Kate watched as Vail ate ravenously. “Then I’ll wait until you get your appetite back.” She got up and poured him a cup of coffee. “I don’t suppose you’ve had any more epiphanies.”

“Actually, I did receive a call from the two A.M. messenger.”

He had explained his “messenger” allusion to her once before. Sometimes if he went to sleep with some unresolved problem on his mind, around 2 A.M., probably when his body was about to shift into one of its REM cycles, it woke him up with some sort of answer, probably trying to jettison the psychological baggage of the unresolved mystery to ensure a more recuperative sleep cycle. “And what was the message?”

Vail cut off a large chunk of steak. “As you know, the messenger frequently screws with me, so see how this sounds. It starts with the two air force sergeants. One disappeared and one turned spy. Why did one disappear?”

“If we’re right about everything, it was because he didn’t want to commit treason,” she said.

“Correct. So the Lithuanians recruited someone else from the same project. They must have heard about the technology and decided they needed a piece of it to sell to the Russians, no matter how hard it was to get. Do you know where I’m going with this?”

“The missing guy in Las Vegas, Gaston. You think he disappeared because he refused the Lithuanians. And if you’re right, they may have recruited someone in his place. There could still be an active mole at—where did he work?—Matrix-Linx International?”

“Yes. And if there is, and we can figure out who it is, maybe we can use him to get to Zogas,” Vail said.

“So how do we find him?”

Vail pushed away the food container. “Unfortunately, the messenger is very lazy. He only leaves me one item at a time.”

They got up and took their coffee into the workroom. As though they expected the answer to have been visibly written in their absence, they both searched the wall in silence. Finally Vail said, “I’m going to shower. You figure it out.”

A half hour later, Vail reappeared dressed in a suit and tie. “Any luck?”

Her only response was to hand him a printout of a Bureau background investigation.

He read the subject’s name. “Raymond Ellis Radkay. Why him?”

“I checked Matrix-Linx International. Maurice Gaston had a top-secret clearance. So I figured the LCS would recruit only someone with an equal level of authorization. There were just four. One was the missing Maurice Gaston, leaving three. Another left the company before Gaston disappeared, and one was a female. Who, because of the chess club’s complete disregard for women, I would assume they would not lower themselves to recruit.”

“And that leaves Radkay,” Vail said. “Well, aren’t you the little overachiever so early in the day?”

“It makes you wonder if there aren’t more out there. Ones who were once useful but are no longer supplying information.”

“It’s possible, but we have no way of identifying them. Something occurred to me