Stuart Woods - Capital Crimes

“In short, Teddy Fay took a deep breath and disappeared up his own ass.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Smith agreed. “And if he indeed worked at Technical Services at the CIA, then he had all the tools at hand to create a new identity-or multiple identities-for himself before he retired and disappeared.”

“You know what this says to me?” Kinney asked.

“What?”

“He intends to get away with it.”

“With all these killings? You think he expects to just walk away?”

“That’s exactly what I think. He’s not some fanatic who wants to kill a lot of people, then commit suicide by police. He’s completely rational, if not exactly sane. He’s a planner-methodical and meticulous-and he expects to walk. Otherwise why would he have cashed in and vanished?”

“This is scary,” Smith said.

“It’s worse than that. It’s depressing. Here’s what I want you to do: I want you to go and see Mrs. Coulter again, then assemble all the people on her Christmas card list who knew Fay at the Agency. Put them in my conference room. If we don’t have access to any official record of Fay, then we’ll have to rely on people who knew him.“

“Will do.”

“Get them there this afternoon, if at all possible, and send transport for anybody who needs a ride.” He took out his cell phone. “Now I’ve got to call the president.”

Kate got back to the family quarters at the White House a little after seven. Will was sitting in the living room watching CNN. She headed for the bar.

“Not so fast,” Will said, switching off the TV. “You’re still on duty.”

“I am? Until when?”

“Until I tell you some things. Have a seat.”

Kate sat down next to him on the sofa and kissed him.

“No kissing the commander-in-chief,” Will said.

“All right,” she replied, folding her hands in her lap. “No sexual harassment until the workday is over. Get to it. I want a drink.”

“Kinney at the FBI called this afternoon. He thinks they’ve found the killer. Well, not found him, exactly, but identified him.”

“Who is he?”

“It's bad news.”

Kate’s face fell. “Not one of mine.”

“Yes, but fortunately, he retired before you took charge.”

“Who is he?”

“His name is Theodore Fay.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell with me.”

“He was in Technical Services, so as an analyst, you probably wouldn’t have had contact with him.”

But Ed Rawls might have, she thought. As much as she hated learning that the killer was ex-CIA, she was relieved that she wasn’t going to have to deal with Rawls to find out who he was. “Is the evidence against him strong?”

“Well, that’s the problem. There isn’t any evidence just yet.”

“Then how do we know Fay is the guy?”

“First, he has all the qualifications-the skills to make the bombs and poisons. That’s apparently what he did at the Agency. Second, he’s faked his death, cashed in everything he owns, except his house, which hasn’t sold yet, and sent the proceeds out of the country. It seems likely that he would have created one or more new identities for himself before he left the Agency.”

“But how is the FBI going to connect him directly to the killings?”

“I don’t know. Maybe their lab will find something in one of the crime scenes that will connect him. Or a witness will turn up, somebody who can put him at a scene.”

“And what do you want me to do?”

“This evening-right now, in fact-Kinney is assembling some retired Agency people who knew Fay. He wanted to do it earlier, but none of them would talk to the FBI without Agency approval. I want you to call Kinney’s office, speak to the group on speaker-phone, and tell them to cooperate fully.” He handed her a sheet of paper. “This is a list of their names.”

“Okay, I can do that right away.”

“Then I want you to let the FBI talk to anybody in Technical Services who can help them catch Fay.”

“Where?”

“At the Agency, where they work.”

“You want me to let FBI agents into Technical Services? My people down there would rather meet with Osama bin Laden and his boys and show them around the shop.”

“Kate, this is not about interservice rivalry, this is about catching a murderer who is an embarrassment to the CIA and to this administration. Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, two FBI agents are going to present themselves at Langley, and I want them to talk directly to anybody they need to talk to who can help them find him.”

“They don’t have to see the labs and the shops, do they?”

“They are to see anybody and anything that will help them.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it until they need something else. And there will be something else. When they catch this guy there’ll be a trial, and an appropriate person in Technical Services is going to have to testify about how he made the Vandervelt bomb and the Calhoun poison and about any other skills or devices he has employed to murder people, and when that happens, I don’t want any crap from the Agency about revealing its secrets.”

“You’re really a barrel of fun, you know that?”

“You’re talking to your commander-in-chief. Watch it”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s better. Now, are we perfectly clear on what you have to do?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then go do it, and then you can have a drink.”

Kate went meekly to the phone and made the calls. When she came back, there was a gleaming vodka martini waiting for her on the coffee table.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, kissing her.

“Hey, Will,” she said. “How was your day?”

“I’ve had worse,” he said, touching his glass to hers.

KINNEY WATCHED THE FACES of the five men and women sitting around his conference table as they listened to Katharine Rule Lee instruct them on cooperating with the FBI. He understood that these people had spent their working lives not talking about their work, their coworkers, or their employer, and he was hoping to see the bland defiance in their faces dissolve into something more amenable. It did not happen.

Mrs. Lee finished her instructions. “Does anybody have any questions?” she asked.

A man spoke up. “How do we know you’re who the FBI says you are?”

Mrs. Lee’s voice came back. “Call the White House switchboard and ask for me. Use the code name Huntress.”

The man nodded. He was handed a phone, and he did as Mrs. Lee instructed. When she answered, he thanked her and hung up. “All right,” he said, “I’m on board.”

“Anybody else have a problem?” Kinney asked.

Everyone shook his head.

“Now, let me tell you why we’re here. We have reason to believe that a former coworker of yours, Theodore G. Fay, known as Teddy, is the person who has murdered three prominent Americans over the past few weeks.” He paused to let this sink in, and there was shock on some of the faces.

“Why do you think Teddy Fay would do that?” someone asked.

“His political views were antithetical to those of the people he murdered. He possesses the skills used to murder them. He has faked his death, moved his assets out of the country, and has disappeared.”

“That doesn’t sound like hard evidence,” someone else said.

“It’s convincing circumstantial evidence,” Kinney replied. “Starting there, we expect to develop more material information, but we need your help. Teddy Fay has destroyed all the CIA’s records of his employment, so we have no fingerprints, no photograph, and no other evidence that would help us find him.”

“Smart,” a woman said.

“He is not a stupid man,” Kinney replied. “What I want from you is a description that we can use to make a drawing of him, and-”