No Way Out, page 16
“They?”
“They.” He shrugged, as if to say, “Sorry, honey, that’s all you’re getting.”
“Back up and start from the beginning. I may put this all together, but it’ll be so much easier if you just tell me. Show me some mercy. I deserve it.”
The bartender returned with two large racks of glasses, the loud clinks when he set them on the counter punctuating his return.
DeSantos looked at his food, then lifted the two plates. “Take my beer. We’re going to your room. We can’t talk about this here.”
THEY SAT AT THE DESK, chomping on their burgers as DeSantos mulled the best way of reading her into the mission.
“You’ve stalled long enough.”
“This isn’t easy.”
“If you’re expecting sympathy, you’re going to be waiting at least a year.”
“Fair enough.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “So they stole the identities of the MI5 and MI6 agents. I told you that. It presented a huge problem because Rudenko was here in the UK—and so were the chemical weapons.”
“So they brought you in. For what? To get close to Paxton?”
“First to verify that he was Rudenko. They only had suspicions that Paxton was Rudenko. Strong suspicions—MI5 believes he’s their man. But Six disagrees. CIA couldn’t reach a consensus. So we used you to get me close to Paxton.”
“Used me?”
“Yeah. Kind of literally, I’m afraid.” As DeSantos took a swig of beer, he must have noticed Vail’s expression because he swallowed quickly. “This is not the time for you to get angry, Karen. Because if you do, we’re never gonna get anywhere. Can we stipulate to the fact that you’re going to be upset, that you’d like to throw something through a window—”
“Or someone.”
“Right. Or someone.”
“Fine. Let’s stipulate to that.”
DeSantos nodded. “So we’re not going to get caught up in who did what to whom, and how you’re gonna get revenge.”
“I didn’t say that. But go on—don’t let me stop you.”
DeSantos took another drink. “First, this was not my idea. I want to get that on the table to begin with.”
“Got it. Stipulations and disclaimers are disposed of. The witness will proceed.”
He continued: “The Shakespeare manuscript is a fake. The whole thing with Amelia Bassano Lanier is true, and that guy—what’s his name, Hudson?—he’s done all the research, he’s legit. But the manuscript that was found, that’s bogus. A forger working for MI6 put it together. They felt that having concrete proof would blow everyone out of the water.”
“Speaking of blowing things up, the bombing at Turner’s—”
“Staged, all to deflect attention.”
“They blew apart a room, destroyed artwork, and brought me to London all to create a diversion?”
DeSantos grinned. “Exactly. Now you’re getting it.”
“You’re gonna get it in a minute. I really was used.”
“Like I said, I’m just the messenger. And you know the saying. You’re not supposed to blame the messenger.”
“No. You’re supposed to kill him.”
“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.”
“Move on.”
“Right. So the plan was to have this groundbreaking manuscript ‘discovered,’ get the public whipped into a frenzy over the stripping of a British icon, and then bam!—a bomb tries to destroy it, giving the story new life and stirring things up again.”
“And they bring me in, why?”
DeSantos squinted, as if it was plainly obvious. “Because you’re high profile, and with you on the case, it lends a global reach to it. And because you’re a shit disturber. They knew you’d work the case aggressively, turning over rocks and—”
“Bringing even more attention to it.”
“Right again. And thanks to all the attention from movies and TV shows, you profilers are like rock stars.”
“Go on.”
“More importantly, you being on the case would give me an excuse to be there. We know each other, we’re friends, and I get close to Gavin Paxton, first to assess, and then to…find out where he’s got the chemical weapons. Rudenko doesn’t freak and disappear into the wind. We get the ricin and stuff, no one knows anything about anything—except for a bombing intended to destroy a controversial Shakespearean manuscript—and there’s no panic. And there’s no terrorist attack.”
“So that Embankment Underground station bombing was unrelated. Opportunistic.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So who set the bomb that blew up Turner’s gallery?”
DeSantos reached for his beer—but Vail grabbed his wrist.
“Look, I’m risking a lot telling you what I’m telling you. You wanted trust? I’m trusting you with everything here—my career, potentially my life. Don’t make me sorry.”
Vail released her grip on his arm. “So am I supposed to assume that whoever did the bombing and cooked up this plot is also the one who had me kidnapped?”
“Put two and two together. You were getting too close, zeroing in on Paxton. They didn’t believe you’d make a connection between the bombing and Paxton, because there wasn’t any. But what they didn’t figure on is your sixth sense in sniffing out offenders. You zeroed in the guy, but for the wrong reasons.”
“So they had to stop me.”
“They warned me to rein you in or they’d take matters in their own hands. I tried to warn you off, at lunch. I told you to stay away from Paxton.”
“Don’t you know that telling me ‘no,’ or not to do something, is like waving a red flag in my face?”
“What am I supposed to do, tell you, ‘Go for it’?”
“At that point, there’s nothing you can do. Best not to bring me into a case like this to begin with, I guess. Actually, I have no problem with working a case like this—as long as you read me into it fully, not use me like a dirty rag.”
“I told them that. But I don’t get paid the big bucks to make those decisions.”
Vail leaned back. “Big bucks. Knox was in on this?”
DeSantos flung both hands up. “Whoa. I didn’t say that.”
“Son of a bitch.” She thought a moment, then said, “Am I right?”
“Kinda sorta. Not really.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means I can’t tell you one way or the other. But this isn’t as simple as you think it is.”
“I don’t think it’s simple at all.”
DeSantos sighed. “Karen. This is a black op. Total deniability. I get caught, I’m not working for the CIA or the Department of Defense—I’m not working for the US government. And I sure as hell ain’t working for the British government.”
“Why was I kidnapped?”
“They thought the Stonehenge murder would slow you down enough for me to complete my mission. It didn’t. You were on your way to question Paxton, and they freaked. The dungeon op was probably thrown together at the last minute. The idea, I’m sure, was to scare the shit out of you. So much so that you’d be on the next plane out of Heathrow back to DC, to kiss your son and hug your boyfriend.”
“Do you see me on the next plane?”
“I didn’t say that was my plan, I said it was theirs. I know that Karen Vail doesn’t run from things. But the British don’t really listen to me. I tell them shit, they say, ‘Thank-you very much. Very helpful.’ But in fact, they’re really saying, ‘Get out of our way, you stupid asshole.’”
Vail sat there, fighting anger, trying to sort it out. “So now what?”
“Now you know why it’s imperative that you leave Paxton alone. Hands off—completely.”
“I can’t see any reason for me to stay in England.”
“Wrong,” DeSantos said. “If you leave now, Rudenko may sense that something’s up. That’s why they didn’t want to have the Legat pull you out. They were afraid it’d spook him. But they were out of options, so they fed the Legat some bullshit story without exposing my op. Apparently, that didn’t work, either.”
“Montero did text me,” she said. “He wanted me to report to him immediately. I thought it was because I was ignoring his phone calls.”
“They finally realized that you’re like a pit bull locked onto a piece of meat. You can’t make him let go.”
“Thanks for comparing me to a dog. A male dog, at that.” She shook her head. “So now what?”
“You have to ‘carry on,’ as they say in the UK.”
“No.”
“No? Karen, consider what’s at stake. Put your ego aside and look at the objectives of this mission.”
“I feel used.” She touched a bruise on her face. “And I definitely feel abused.”
“They hurt your feelings, I get it. But this is bigger than you. It’s bigger than me. Tens of thousands of lives are at stake. Shit, maybe hundreds of thousands. I don’t know the number, but it’s a lot. Does it really matter? Those people, innocent people, are counting on us to do our jobs to keep them safe.”
Vail sighed deeply. “Of course I’ll stay. You knew that. You knew I couldn’t say no.”
“And you’ll stay away from Paxton.”
“How about this: since you’re already using me, why not use me to the fullest? I can get stuff from him.”
DeSantos hesitated. “You’re an awesome profiler. But undercover work—no, check that—dangerous undercover work…I don’t know.”
“Hang on a second. How is it that you’ve known so much about my investigation?” Vail rose from her chair. “Damnit, you have someone on the inside. Hector, look at me.” He made eye contact. “Clive Reid.”
“Working with you is very difficult for me, Karen.”
“You run me in circles and you say that I’m difficult to work with?”
“I find it hard to say no to you. I find it even harder to lie to you. Regarding Inspector Reid, let’s just say that I can’t confirm or deny.”
That’s confirmation enough for me. “So I have an answer to my own question of what we should do now.”
“I’m not sure I want to hear it.”
“We should have a look around Paxton’s flat.”
DeSantos chuckled. “Thanks, but it’s too risky. He could have watchers, if not surveillance cameras inside his apartment. We did what we could to poke around, but it wasn’t anything exciting—or effective. We even went into his neighbor’s and drilled through the wall and used fiber optics to get a look inside, but because it’s an old building with plaster walls, we were limited in what we could do. Looked like he had a couple of cameras, but it was impossible to be sure.”
“So we pose as gas company inspectors—or whatever they have here. And we cut his power in case he has cameras.”
DeSantos tilted his head and considered her idea. “Could work.”
“Do you have people who can do that?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Anyone we need to worry about?”
“He’s got a place in Soho, central London. Lives alone, no dogs.”
“We should have Reid confirm that Paxton’s at the gallery so he doesn’t walk in on us. Or you could go to the gallery and talk Paxton up about that Fregosi painting some more.”
DeSantos’s face broadened with a wide grain. “That was good, wasn’t it?”
“I didn’t think you knew anything about art history.”
“I didn’t. I studied for like three days to be able to pull that off.”
“You sold it well. So what about my plan?”
DeSantos drained his beer, then set the empty on the desk. “Still risky, but I don’t have anything better. You and I will go in. Reid will keep Paxton busy.” He stopped, then said, “I just confirmed Reid’s my guy, didn’t I?”
She grinned. “Already figured it out.”
“Of course you did.”
“I thought we first have to confirm that Paxton’s Rudenko.”
DeSantos slipped on his leather jacket. “Already done. I got a DNA sample when I shook hands with him. I had a special coating on the palm of my hand. The lab analyzed it and compared it to a DNA exemplar we had from Rudenko’s younger sibling who was killed in an explosion when MI6 raided one of his weapons storage warehouses. We got a 76 percent match.”
“Good. Then tomorrow.”
DeSantos pulled a Manchester United baseball cap onto his head. “Tomorrow.” He reached forward and gave her a hug. “Remember, you’ve got my word. And I’ve got your back.”
24
Vail feared that she would either lie awake all night—what was left of it—or awaken with terrifying dreams of being imprisoned in the iron cage. She took a Valerian root capsule, hoping it would prevent both, and a short time later fell into a deep sleep. When her alarm rang five hours later, she swung her legs out of bed and felt surprisingly decent.
Later that morning, she met DeSantos a few blocks from Rudenko’s apartment. DeSantos had surveilled the building, secured a couple of baby blue British Gas windbreakers, and worked out a plan with Reid.
Owing to the way the building was wired, they had decided against shutting down the electricity because two entire floors would have lost power, which would invite calls to the utility. At the very least, it would attract attention and, if Rudenko found out, it would raise his suspicion.
DeSantos explained that he could enter the flat and remain in the hallway, which was blocked from the view of every room except the kitchen. Before exposing himself, he would use a fiber optic snake to take a good look around the apartment’s interior to check for surveillance cameras.
Reid’s text message arrived a few minutes before noon indicating they were clear to enter the flat.
Vail and DeSantos had already begun their charade, starting at the apartment several units down from Rudenko’s, knocking until they found a renter at home. They went through their spiel of looking for the cause of a gas leak, but once they received Reid’s signal, they moved directly to Rudenko’s unit. DeSantos picked the lock with efficient ease; an onlooker might think he had a key.
They were careful to avoid any potential issues and made sure no one had eyes on their activities.
DeSantos entered while Vail stood watch out front. Although Rudenko lived alone, there was no stopping an accomplice from coming by. She stood three doors away, down the hall, pretending to take notes on her clipboard.
INSIDE, AFTER CLEARING THE FLAT with the fiber optic kit and finding no cameras, DeSantos searched in a grid-like pattern, taking everything in, absorbing it for future reference. The place was well appointed, with sculptures and paintings that either belonged in Turner’s gallery or had once been on sale there. There were two furnished bedrooms, but only one had a lived-in appearance.
He looked for anything that might disclose the location of the chemical weapons or provide indications of who Rudenko was liaising with in London. He was particularly interested in smartphones, tablets, laptops, desktops—anything that might store data he could access.
Problem was, he could not remove devices from the premises. Any investigation had to be done onsite, without leaving trace that he had been inside. Since they had almost zero usable intel on Rudenko’s personality, there was no way of knowing if he was a detail person, the type who would notice items slightly out of place. They could not take the risk, so unless DeSantos had reason to suspect that an item could bear fruit, he would leave it untouched.
VAIL CASUALLY CHECKED HER WATCH and then continued to make notes. DeSantos had been in Rudenko’s flat for nine minutes—an unusually long period of time given the circumstances. She texted him to hurry up; she was getting nervous standing there in the hall. The longer she remained there, the greater the chance she would look like she did not belong. While it did not seem like Paxton had watchers, the risk grew that someone, a vigilant neighbor or delivery person, would see her—and remember that she was there.
DeSantos responded that he was almost done, that he had found Rudenko’s PC and was going to take a look through it.
As Vail was replacing her phone, it vibrated—Montero. Again. Crap, not now. She ignored the call, and as she shoved the handset into her pocket, her finger bumped up against the COFEE device she carried on her keychain. Developed by Microsoft, COFEE—short for Computer Online Forensic Evidence Extractor—was a tool kit on a USB thumb drive that she always had with her, alongside a tiny LED flashlight and her Behavioral Analysis Unit office key.
When plugged into a computer, the COFEE automatically downloaded data stored in that PC’s temporary cache, or memory, that was lost when a system was powered down. She had forgotten she had the device with her, but the potential benefit was too great to pass up the opportunity.
Vail took the chance of knocking on the door of the flat. DeSantos answered and she told him to switch places with her. He started to object, but she grabbed his jacket collar and pulled him toward her.
“Just do it,” she said. “I’ve got an idea.”
He reluctantly took the clipboard and moved outside. Vail stepped in, found the computer, and inserted the drive into a USB port. Ten minutes later, DeSantos texted her:
we have to get out. whats taking so long
She wrote back:
taking a coffee break. be out asap
When the device had finished copying the temporary files, including Rudenko’s internet history, she opened Windows Explorer and dragged as much of the data from the documents folder as she could fit onto the COFEE.
Vail pulled out the device and shoved it into her pocket. She had been at it for eighteen minutes and they had already pushed their luck well beyond reasonable boundaries. She gave one last look around the flat, then joined DeSantos in the hallway.
“Was it worth it?” he asked as they descended the floors in the elevator.
“Won’t know till we can get the data to someone who can make sense of it.”
The lift doors slid apart and DeSantos led the way out. “I think we know just the person.”
