Free The Bricklayer by Noah Boyd Page A

from some imported street hump.”
    “And second?” the director asked.
    “That I not be paid.”
    Confusion narrowed the director’s eyes. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
    Vail smiled. “If I’m being paid, sooner or later someone will consider me an employee and start giving me orders. We all know how that’ll end. No, my payment is to not have to take orders from anyone. Maybe when we’re done—if I’m successful—I’ll add up my hours and you can pay me the hourly rate for a bricklayer.”
    “Then what’s to prevent you from becoming a loose cannon?” Kaulcrick asked.
    “Hopefully nothing.”
    “I have to tell you, I voted against bringing you into this,” Kaulcrick said. “I’m sorry. There’s enough confusion.”
    “If you keep being that honest, Don, you and I will survive. Even through the confusion.”
    Lasker said, “If you don’t want anything more than a pittance, why would you take on something like this?”
    Vail looked over at Kate. “Apparently, because I can.”

SEVEN
    V AIL SAT AT THE DESK IN HIS D.C. HOTEL ROOM READING FROM THE from the Rubaco Pentad case, including crime-scene photos, lab reports, and surveillance logs, had been downloaded into it. For such a clandestine operation, an incredible amount of material had been reduced to writing. As he took another bite of the cold room-service hamburger, there was a knock at the door.
    It was Kate. Although holding a briefcase with both hands in front of her, indicating her visit was official, she had changed clothes and was wearing a dress and heels. “Hi,” she said, and walked in, looking around. “How’s the room?”
    “You’ve seen my apartment, how good does it have to be?”
    “Good, good,” she said distractedly. “Is there anything else you need?”
    “What are you offering?” he said in a playful voice.
    “Equipment, bricklayer, equipment. Like an agent’s handbook or a pair of brass knuckles.”
    “I’m not the kind of person who thinks about his obituary, but I’d hate for it to read, ‘He died because he brought a laptop to a gunfight.’”
    “Okay, I’ll get you a weapon,” she said. “We’ll need to get you to a firearms range to qualify.”
    “Do you really think there’s time for that?”
    “It’s pretty much an unbreakable rule. You know, lawsuits.”
    “Isn’t it my job to break rules?”
    After a moment, she said, “Okay, I’ll have it for you tomorrow. I’ve ordered up a Bureau plane. I assume we’ll be flying to Las Vegas to try to pick up Bertok’s trail.”
    “I was thinking more like L.A.”
    “Why L.A.?”
    “I’m not exactly sure. Call it a hunch. And don’t think that the Cubs having three games with the Dodgers this week has anything to do with it.”
    Kate studied Vail’s face and found the same unreadable expression he presented when asked about anything he didn’t want to answer. She was sure of one thing: his decision to start in Los Angeles had nothing to do with baseball or intuition. He had found some way to track Bertok that no one else had thought of. “You know this is going to be a lot easier if we don’t keep secrets from each other.”
    “ Cosmo says that a little mystery can keep a relationship from getting stale.”
    “There are only a few things in life that are unquestionable. That you’ve never read Cosmopolitan magazine is one of the most certain. Why L.A.?”
    “First of all, it’s about as far away from your boss as we can get. I know his type and I know my type. We’ve all seen how that movie ends.”
    “And second of all?”
    “Simple math. How many times have each of the following locations come up in the case: New Hampshire, Pittsburgh, Utah, Arizona, and Las Vegas?”
    “Once each.”
    “And Los Angeles?”
    “I don’t know, a half dozen?”
    “Everything from the first victim to the postmarks on both demand letters to Bertok. Besides, I want to search his apartment again.”
    “Why?”
    “The biggest mistake agents