Oleg was sure that Gilbert had recognized him. It wasn’t their first encounter.
Oleg had carefully orchestrated being seen by the young agent. The news would have sent Gilbert and Dewey into a frenzied state when they realized he wasn’t dead. The young agent he had chosen to spot him would be new enough to have memorized all of the major KGB agents, so he could recognize them on site but wouldn’t have the credentials to be unquestionably believed. There would be those who would doubt the veracity of his claim but not Gilbert. He would believe, likely raising such an alarm that it would be too over the top for Langley to take seriously.
Oleg walked along with the crowds of people out for their lunch. He stopped and enjoyed some window displays but mainly checked the reflections. He thought about the park. It had gone perfectly. He had positioned himself so that neither man could see him. When Gilbert got up and walked toward the vendor, he simply held his newspaper completely still. It was obvious to anyone with a trained eye that he wasn’t reading it. Gilbert had such an eye. At this point, all he had revealed was that he was watching them. Gilbert took the bait and, according to standard operating procedures, signaled for Dewey and him to split up. Dewey was never in a position to spot Oleg. It wasn’t until they had walked six blocks from the park that Oleg let Gilbert get a glimpse of his face. He only allowed one brief look because he knew Dewey would ask if Gilbert had gotten a good luck. Dewey would ask if he was sure. Gilbert would say yes, but the disappearing act, fresh in his mind, would sow the seeds of doubt.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Henry turned right off of Broadway onto East 22nd Street and looked again at the address. He slowed the car and saw the 34 on the brownstone to his right. There weren’t any parking spots, so he turned right again on Park Avenue and ended up finding a spot on E 21st. Henry walked back around the block, keeping an eye open for William. He climbed the steps and knocked. When he did, the door moved. It was open.
Henry had brought his revolver but wasn’t quite ready to pull it. A quick scan of the street didn’t reveal any nefarious characters, so he went inside. The stale air told him that the place hadn’t been lived in for some time. The first room off the hall had covers over the furniture, and a light coating of dust covered everything. The kitchen was tidy but looked unused, too, except for three empty cans of beer turned upside down in the sink. There was one chair pulled back from the table. Several moisture rings dotted the table, and an ashtray was filled with cigarette butts.
Henry walked up the stairs to the second floor and noticed a door ajar at the end of the hall. The hallway had a faded red carpet running the length of it, and it muted the sound of Henry’s footsteps. He debated calling out to William but decided against it. Henry peered through the opening and could tell it was a bedroom. He didn’t hear anything, so he gave the door a push. It swung open on perfectly balanced hinges and with a fatigued groan. Nobody was in the room. Henry saw the writing desk and the piece of paper.
Dear Mr. Wood,
Last night my friend John Fleming was killed for refusing to betray his country. I was a coward. I saw him shoot poor John in the back of the head. I don’t know where to begin, but you need to know I thought the investment was legitimate or, at the very least, that we might be exploiting some tax loopholes. I didn’t think we were in bed with the enemy. I'm not sure what to do. Even now, I write this, because I am afraid.
Charles Wayne Hudson and Sir Richard Bessemer were just as shocked as I was, but I'm not sure about Martin. I just don’t know. It is Matthew Kerwin and his Russian friend who seem to be running the show. Their plan is complicated and, now that I think about it, it seems absurd, but the long and short of it is they intend to sell parts to the U.S. Navy and the Russian Navy. They are supposed to be something secret, which would give our submarines a big advantage, but now...
The neat handwriting ended and a quick scrawl read,
“I have to run now. Sorry.”
That was all. Henry looked around for the pen and found it lying on the floor. Something must have spooked him and he bolted. Henry carefully took the top sheet of paper and folded into thirds. He then took the second piece too and wrapped it around the first. It wasn’t much of a clue, but he didn’t want anyone doing a rubbing of the second sheet and finding the note. Henry was good at thinking through all the angles. If someone really was following William, they might well show up here next. He decided to make a hasty retreat back to his office.
When Henry got back to the Flatiron building, two men were waiting for him downstairs. They flashed their badges and asked if they could speak with Henry in private. He led them to the office and sat behind his desk before asking, “So what can I do for the FBI today?”
Anderson did the talking. “We appreciate you taking the time to see us, especially on a Saturday.” His tone was even and measured but not hostile.
“I usually don’t work on Saturdays. Today was an accident.”
Neither man got the joke, but Henry knew Celine would think it was funny when he told her of their visit. Anderson pointed to the chair, and Henry motioned for him and Brooks to sit. “We were hoping you could tell us if you have been contacted by anyone from the CIA?”
He got right to the point
, Henry thought. His gut told him to share the story of his meeting with Jack, but the little voice said to hold back. Maybe it was the letter in his pocket, maybe it was a predisposition to distrust people continually sticking their noses into his business, but he said, “I'm working on a couple of cases, but I can assure you, my clients are just regular people.”
“Mr. Wood, we don’t think you have been hired by the CIA, but we believe they may be interested in one of your cases.”
Henry couldn’t get a read on either man. How much did they know? He decided to give them a little something to think about and, since it was the truth, he figured they would believe him. “I haven’t been…” Henry paused for effect, then continued, “…wait a minute.” He pulled out his notebook and flipped a few pages to the spot dated April 11. “I can’t give you any particulars about the cases or my clients, but on April 11th I got a strange call. I don’t know from whom and they didn’t identify themselves…”
“They - you got a call from two people?” Agent Brooks asked, taking out his own notebook.
“At first it was this guy asking about the case I was working on. I didn’t tell them so, but they were right in knowing who I was looking into. When I wouldn’t give them anything, the first guy started to get angry, and another calmer guy got on the phone. I didn’t tell him anything, either, and that was the end of it.”
“What time was the call?”
Henry looked back at the notebook, knowing he hadn’t written the time down but deciding he would make a show of his doing his best. “I didn’t get that, but I remember it was late afternoon. I honestly thought it might be, well, you guys, though I couldn’t imagine why.”
The agents left their cards and thanked Henry for his help. It was shaping up to be an interesting Saturday.
CHAPTER FIFTY ONE
The yelling had stopped. Jack was tired; he hadn’t been to bed since his date with Celine. He would not be resting anytime soon. When he saw Dewey return, he made eye contact. Dewey didn’t need to put out a “do not disturb” sign; his expression made it clear he was to be left alone. Jack almost stuck his head in the door to say he was going to run home for a couple quick hours of rest but thought better of it when he saw Gilbert return.
Gilbert was almost running. He didn’t knock but went right into Dewey’s office and closed the door. Gilbert started pacing, began to say something, stopped. Dewey, leaning back in his chair, rapidly flicked a pencil up and down. He watched Gilbert and waited for him to get his thoughts together. When he finally did, he said, “Did you see the tail?”
Dewey set the pencil down and said, “No, I didn’t, I just went off towards the other side of the park and didn’t check for him for a couple of blocks. It was obvious he must have stayed with you. I didn’t see anyone else pick me up, either.”
Gilbert tried to sit but stood right back up. He took a deep breath, “You know who it was?”
The question was rhetorical, so Dewey just waited.
“Oleg Kiselev!”
Dewey suppressed the urge to say, “Are you sure?” He instead said, “Then that confirms the earlier sighting and, with your previous history…”
“There is something strange, though. Well, two things actually.”
“Yes?”
“I saw him clearly following me. He kept well back and did a good job of keeping his face hidden. I only just barely caught a glimpse of him in a window. Still, it seems odd that he would let me see him.”
“You're being too hard on yourself or giving him too much credit. You saw him in Poland.”
“Yes, but I was watching him then, and we had a team; it was just a matter of time, but today, just him following me, I'm surprised.”
“Maybe you got lucky?”
“Maybe, but I doubt it.”
“What was the second thing?”
“Oh, yes, he was following me. I had opened up enough space to evade him. You know that alley by the Chinese place we ate at last week?”
“Sure.”
“Well, there is the side door to the kitchen. At the back of the kitchen there is a stairway up to the second floor. The building next to it is connected, and there is a hallway between the two. All I had to do was duck in, go up the stairs, cross over, and leave from any of three exits. It was perfect.”
“You never mentioned the stairs.”
“Oh, yes, that is why I wanted to take you there, but we got to talking about the case…anyway, I was crossing the street and, when I checked, he was gone.”
“So you lost him?”
“No, you don’t understand. I hadn’t made it to the alley yet. He just stopped following me.”
Dewey picked up the pencil again and started to twirl it through his fingers. Gilbert sat down and said nothing. Both men were trying to consider possible reasons for him to break off the tail. Dewey, thinking aloud said, “Perhaps he broke it off because you spotted him?”
“He followed for two more blocks. I saw him, and then he was just gone. If he knew I had made him, he would have broken it off immediately.”
“What if..”
The door flew open, and a junior analyst rushed in, Jack behind him trying to explain they were busy. “Sir, the wire in the detective’s office...there are two men there now. You better come.” He turned and ran back to the pit. Jack tried to apologize for the interruption, but Dewey waved him off. They all followed. All the analysts were huddled around the one listening to the wire coming from Henry’s office. They moved aside to let Dewey in. Someone handed him a headset.
The analyst was busily transcribing the conversation. When he noticed the boss, he handed him the paper and started on a new one. Dewey read it and a grim expression crossed his face. Gilbert started to ask what was going on, but Dewey raised a hand to silence him. The next few minutes were tense. When Dewey took the headset off, he patted the analyst on the back and said, “Good work.” He looked at two of the other analysts who were barely trained in field work and told them to watch the Flatiron building and to call in if Henry left. He motioned towards Jack and Gilbert, and the three of them returned to his office.
Jack asked, “So what was that about?” He didn’t feel tired anymore.
“Two FBI agents were just asking Henry if he had been contacted by the CIA.”
Jack said, “Damn, we’re screwed.”
Gilbert, reading the expression on Dewey’s face, could tell there was more to the story. “What did he say to them?”
“He was pretty cagey. He didn’t give us up, but he let them know about the phone call you made.”
“How did he know that was us?”
“I don’t know that he did, but, after spotting Jack, he must have put two and two together.”
Gilbert was back on his feet. His brain was on overload. He was much closer to panicking than Dewey had ever seen, but he kept it together. “We need to consider everything that is going on before we make our next move.”
Jack said, “Everything? What else is going on? If the Feds know what we are up to then we’re done.”
Dewey retold the story of their walk as he knew Gilbert was taking stock of the position they were in. When he got to the part about Gilbert making the positive identification, Jack seemed surprised but didn’t say anything. After Dewey recounted how Oleg had simply stopped following Gilbert, Jack said, partly to himself, “I guess he couldn’t get a clear shot.” The tone, one of a simple statement of fact, made it all the more shocking to both Dewey and Gilbert.
Gilbert stopped thinking and stared at Jack. Dewey did, too, and said, “We hadn’t considered that maybe he is here to eliminate one or both of us.”
Jack asked, “You didn’t? What else could it be? He was tailing you alone, without a team. They faked his death, so he could sneak into the U.S.”
Dewey replied, “No, you're right, Jack; it's a logical conclusion, but I was saying that, well…” He stood up and went to the bar. “It’s just that we have been trying to outsmart one another for years, but this seems, well, extreme.”