“Yes, just pull up the file. I will tell you this, I am looking for something specific, and it shouldn’t take long to find if it’s there.”
“Can I see your ID again?”
The room seemed hotter and colder at once. Was this how the folks Rebecca went after felt when they knew they’d screwed up? But she could hardly take off, the branch had cameras in every corner. She handed over her identification.
“Mind if I ask the main number? For the FBI in Washington?”
“202-324-3000.”
Crandall punched it in.
“Yes, I’m looking for the counterintelligence division— Sure, I can hold.”
What are you doing?
The silence must have lasted only a few seconds, but it felt far longer.
“Yes, I’d like to talk to someone who works there, Rebecca Unsworth.” Pause. “She’s not? I don’t suppose you can tell me— No, I understand.” A long pause. “No, no, it has to be her. Does she have voice mail? Thanks.”
Crandall hit the speaker button, and after a few seconds of silence Rebecca heard her own voice: You’ve reached Rebecca Unsworth, please leave a message—
Crandall hung up.
“Wanted to be sure I wasn’t an imposter?”
Crandall shrugged, Better safe than sorry.
“Bold. What if I had been?” Rebecca smiled. “You should come work for us.”
“Come on, I’ll pull the records, give you some privacy so you can check what you need.”
* * *
An hour later Rebecca was back at McCarran, flashing her badge to skip the endless security line. Working for the bureau had a few privileges.
What she’d found wasn’t exactly what she’d expected, but it was enough.
In the months leading up to the two million-dollar transfers, the Silver State Gaming account received dozens of cash deposits between twenty and seventy thousand dollars each. In all, they had totaled $2.9 million.
Are cash deposits unusual? she’d asked Crandall afterward.
Not really. It’s Vegas. Might be as simple as the guy plays a high-stakes poker game. I mean, we tell them we’re going to report the deposits, and we do. But they aren’t illegal. After that, it’s between them and the IRS.
Which explained the extra nine hundred thousand. The Russians had wanted the payment to be odorless start to finish. They could hardly expect Frank Brown to be stuck paying taxes on money he was just passing along.
Two-point-nine million dollars. Far more than Rebecca had ever heard of the Russians paying anyone else. But then Bri was uniquely well-positioned, wasn’t he? Not only did he work for the most secretive, highest-value unit at the NSA, his wife ran counterintel against them.
She found an empty chair and watched the tourists waddle by, muttering about craps and the slots and blackjack. How they should have quit when they were ahead.
You have no idea.
No wonder the Russians had gone to such lengths to punish Brian, to force him back to work. But once Kira was kidnapped…
He could have saved her. As soon as he told Rebecca, the FBI would have told the SVR, Let her go or reap the whirlwind. They would have meant it, too. And the SVR would have blamed a rogue team and let Kira walk in five minutes. No way would they have wanted that fight.
But Brian would have paid the price. He’d be sharing a cellblock with Aldrich Ames the rest of his life.
Instead he’d kept his mouth shut. Probably he’d gone to the Russians instead, promised to go back to work if they cut her loose. Which might explain how Kira had gotten out of that closet. Though Rebecca still wasn’t sure, maybe Kira had taken Rodrigo down all by herself—
What mattered, all that mattered: Brian had let Kira swing when he could have saved her.
The Russians must have figured he would, too. Figured when the chips were down he would look out for himself first.
She could almost forgive her husband for betraying his country. And her. Because she knew now, every question he asked her about her work was strategic, information for his paymasters. Maybe every touch and kiss and smile too. All to take her secrets.
She could almost forgive him everything he’d done.
Not really, but she could pretend she might.
But she could never forgive him for betraying their daughter.
He had to pay. She wanted him to pay.
* * *
So what now?
Option A: Go to the director and the general counsel this very day, tell them what she knew. Let the bureau take over. The legally correct choice. The morally correct choice. What she’d been trained to do.
Only her career would be over. Not just because she’d forever be famous as