Spy Catcher: The J.J. McCall Novels (Books 1-3) (The FBI Espionage Series) (53 page)

Chapter 43

Thursday—Russian Embassy

Aleksey checked his watch as he rounded the corner to his office. 4 pm. Time seemed to drag this week, every second ticking by like pouring frozen molasses. But he was determined to reach Vorobyev and find out what he knew about the tennis shoes and, more importantly, whether he’d reported his find to Center counterintelligence.

He checked the residency floor thoroughly before taking a seat at his desk. Everyone who mattered was holed up in the conference room waiting for Lana’s father to return from the drop. He pushed aside the stack of operational reports awaiting his approval and grabbed the handset from the cradle. After swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, he began to dial. Three rings resonated in his ear before he got an answer.

“Comrade Stansilav Vorobyev, please,” he said. “This is Aleksey. Aleksey Dmitriyev.”

“Ahhhh, Aleksey. I’ve been expecting your call.”

It was his friend. Finally. “Brother! Why have you not returned my calls?”

“Things here have been quite hectic since my arrival. Paperwork. Bureaucratic bullshit. You know how it goes.” When Stan paused for a moment, a faint click sounded in the phone. He feared their conversation was being recorded. After a few seconds passed, Stan asked, “Those who matter have long memories, quite slow to forget. Especially General Stepanov, who has been a particular
joy
to work with,” he said, his voice molten with sarcasm. “I assume all is well in Washington? It’s all abuzz here with the pending return of the so-called Red Honeytrap.”

“Ahhhh, yes. She is due to travel Sunday. Won’t be soon enough for us here. All eyes are on us and, of course, we don’t work well in the spotlight,” he said. “Apart from that, it’s the same old story.”

“Ah, yes, and the stories you could tell,” he said. “The stuff Le Carre novels are made from, eh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. My son…he sends his regards and deepest appreciation for the tennis shoes. I asked him what is so special about Converse shoes. He says you can’t get more Russian than Keds. Indeed, if you knew how valuable these shoes were, I think you would not have given them away.” 

Aleksey’s heart sank. Sweat flushed from his forehead and his hands began to tremble.

“Ahh, well, too late now,” Stan said. “I’ve got them and I plan to ensure they are put to good use. After everything that has transpired over the past week, I certainly deserve everything that’s coming to me. We all do, don’t you think?”

Aleksey gulped. “Listen, Stan, I—”

“Look at the time, brother. I must be going. I’ve got a very important event to attend.”

“A meeting with Golikov?” he asked.

Vorobyev lowered his voice and responded, “A date with destiny. I’ll be in touch soon.” Then he abruptly hung up the phone without so much as a goodbye.

Aleksey listened with dread at the dial tone. Although he wasn’t stunned by Vorobyev’s cryptic tone, he was certainly disturbed by it, still unsure as to whether Stan had divulged the depth of his treachery. Wondering if at any moment the Crooked Twins would crash through the door, snatch him up by the collar, and drag him kicking and screaming down the hall to the place where Vorobyev nearly lost his life just one week before. He froze in fear, panicked. Unsettling thoughts shook his mettle.

Dmitriyev questioned whether he should run, not walk out the embassy doors, call J.J. and start a new life in the United States. Problem was he realized he hadn’t provided the level of information necessary to receive a sizeable settlement from the FBI. There’d be no retirement; rather, he’d be forced to accept consultant work and speaking engagements whenever he could. He’d be a nowhere man, which was an unacceptable end. He’d slogged in the Service’s drudgery for too many years to be relegated to the status of a stepchild defector. No, for everything his family had suffered, he wanted fair remuneration. And he was determined to get what he deserved by any means necessary, even if it meant risking his life. After all, in his mind, a return to living in poverty would be a fate equal to death.

Before he could inhale a calming breath, harried footsteps pushed through the hall outside his office. Mikhaylov passed by Dmitriyev’s door at a determined pace in the direction of the conference room, without poking his head in for their usual greeting. Something had gone wrong. The op had failed. He hoped the FBI wasn’t the source of the problem because their involvement would only intensify suspicions of a compromise within the embassy and heat up the scrutiny on Dmitriyev, all but ensuring he couldn’t provide the information he needed to free himself from the bondage and deliver the ultimate blow to the Service.

He swept out of his seat and rushed down the hall, tapping on the closed door before entering. Lana’s father and the Resident were seated at the conference table and both bore intense expressions.

“Aleksey, please, come inside and close the door,” the Resident said.

Relieved at the invitation, Dmitriyev took the empty seat beside Mikhaylov in deference to his boss. He scanned both of their faces. Neither showed signs of mistrust, reassuring him that Vorobyev had not yet revealed anything damaging. “Judging from your expressions, I take it the drop did not go as planned,” Dmitriyev said.

“No,” Lana’s father said, shaking his head. “We evaded the FBI well enough; however, too many people surrounded the location. I couldn’t fill it without drawing undue attention.”

“What’s the alternate day?”

“Saturday. The freighter sails Sunday afternoon which means I need to fill the drop early if she’s to have any chance of leaving as scheduled.” 

“Hmm. I see your problem. You risk drawing the attention of the police.”

“Precisely. The park police will have nothing better to do than disrupt this operation. I’m afraid I have to request your assistance again. I cannot trust this critical task to that nit Filchenko. Don’t you understand? Her life depends on my success!” he urged, his face creased with the desperation of a father terrified for his daughter’s life.

He found it difficult to empathize with Mikhaylov or his daughter’s troubles. He wanted her in an American jail where she could do no more harm to his family or friends. And if J.J. caught him participating in yet another operation, it would all but seal his fate with the FBI and ensure he never resettled in the United States as he’d long hoped. He must shirk the responsibility at all costs.

Dmitriyev turned to the Resident and narrowed his eyes, determined to reason his way out. After all, his boss was nothing if not pragmatic. So he turned to Komarov and said, “I’ve already—tell him, Comrade. As the Security Chief, my participation puts the entire residency at risk. As much as I would welcome the chance, I—”

“You’ll do as he asks,” Komarov demanded. “I understand your concerns, but we will stand-down most operations the minute Svetlana marks the signal indicating she’s cleared the drop. It is for that reason we cannot afford any mistakes. You have my word you won’t be asked again.”

“You word?” Dmitriyev said. “As I recall you made the same vow three days ago. May I get your promise in writing
this
time?” 

“It’s settled then. Countersurveillance. Saturday morning,” the Resident said to Dmitriyev. “Until then, let’s see what Gusin can collect from RAPTURE. We haven’t submitted a single report of value to the Center this week and we need to know what the Americans have planned for Lebed’s visit.”

Dmitriyev nodded.

“That will be all for now,” Komarov said as he rose to leave. “Director Lebed arrives Tuesday. I’ll be busy coordinating meetings for his visit until then, but I’ll expect a full briefing on the outcome Sunday, noon.”

As the three men left the conference room and parted ways, Dmitriyev’s anxiety compounded exponentially. It was clear he could brook no opposition to the Resident’s orders, not given his precarious position. His only choice was to find a way to turn it to his advantage—ingratiate himself with the FBI, while concealing his duplicity in the unlikely event that Vorobyev maintained his secret.

Divulging Lana’s pending activities was not an option. No, the secret he revealed must be valuable yet give him plausible deniability. And Lana had to fulfill her mission…or at least believe she had. No sooner than the idea flitted through his mind, the epiphany struck—the idea that would protect his present and secure his future.

And Komarov’s word had made it possible.

For the first time, he was thankful for broken promises.

Chapter 44

Friday Morning, November 13th —J.J. McCall’s Condominium

Tony moaned through a long yawn as warm rays and the sounds of Luke Skywalker landing in the Dagobah system yanked him from his slumber. Each morning renewed his appreciation for the hot, brown body spooned against him. His own limbs had gone limp and nothing short of a thousand volts of electricity could coax him from her grasp. He was not only shocked at J.J.’s undercover nerd tendencies, but her voracious appetite for him and her ability to drain every ounce of energy from his being.

Every day, his feelings for her strengthened. He was the best version of himself when in her presence and she knew it, which is why her apparent jealousy over Gia perplexed him. Sure, he found Gia attractive. Okay, sizzling. Any man with two working eyes could see she’s hot. Didn’t mean he’d sleep with her. Okay, he would if J.J. didn’t exist in his world. But she did. J.J. had become intertwined in the fabric of his life and he could no longer picture his life without her. His heart was firmly in her grasp, whether she realized it or not.

She stirred, arousing from a deep slumber. She turned to him and smiled, careful to cover her mouth and avoid blasting him with hot morning breath. “Good morning, you.”

He pushed her hand aside and kissed her lips anyway. “Right back atcha,” he said. “I feel like a wet noodle, thanks to you.”

“I’m trying to earn a reputation around here,” J.J. said, sitting up with her eyes glued to the TV screen. “This is my favorite part,” she said, watching Yoda teach the young Jedi to hone his skills.

“What is it with this movie?”

J.J. shrugged. “I dunno. Gotta feel bad for the Luke, right? I mean the poor guy loses his parents, the only two people in the world genetically disposed to love him, and while he’s living under this cloud an incredible power is thrust upon him. And rather than shrink and disappear into his small, quiet life in the hot dirt on Tatooine, he answers the call. He fights the dark side. What’s not to love?”

“Hmmm. I never thought of it that way. Sounds a little like you.”

“No, my father is still alive.”

“So was Luke’s.”

“And I don’t have a superpower.”

“You sure? I mean, I didn’t think anyone could detect a lie better than my mother. I’m startin’ to think you’ve got something more powerful than female intuition.”

She looked at him with her mouth agape. “Crazy, that is,” she said in a pathetic Yoda imitation that sounded more like Grover from Sesame Street. She reached over and felt his forehead. “Sick, are you?”

His stomach tightened with laughter. “Get outta here. You’re funny. And not just a little bit nerdy. But I like it.”

“Good!” She glanced at the clock, slipped out of bed, and into the bathroom. “We need to get a move on. Big day. Six is meeting us at the West Wing for Kendel’s interview in an hour.”

“You think she’s dirty?”

She appeared in the doorway with her toothbrush, layered a bead of Crest along the bristles, and disappeared again. “I don’t think she put the bug in the wall. I’m not even certain she knew it was in the wall.” The sound of water streaming into the muffled her voice. “But she knew Maddix was dirty. Something tells me that may be the reason for their break up.”

“Yeah, she seems to be coming apart at the seams lately, too. I mean, the first time we saw her she was so sharp and reassured. Now, she comes in looking like she ran to work in her suit. Sweating. Clothes wrinkled.”

She appeared in the door again. “Yeah, I told you. It was as if she was coming off of a….”

“High,” Tony said. “You said that before and now I’m beginning to think you’re right. I swear to God you’re brilliant.”

J.J. gurgled, swished, and rinsed before making her way into the closet. “That would explain a lot, wouldn’t it? If she closed a blind eye to his activities, she certainly aided and abetted, if not committing espionage herself.”

“Do you think she’ll rat him out?”

“You’ve seen her. She’s not a willing participant, and she’s all but melted in front of us. If we pull the right trigger, so-to-speak, she’ll give up anything to make this all disappear.”

“Now, what can I do to make you come back to bed?” Tony asked.

J.J. chuckled and slinked toward the bed. “Pull out your light saber. And make it quick. We’ve got a meeting on the dark side.”

Chapter 45

Friday Morning – Irving Street

Hopper and Kyle wheeled their Charger into the lone empty parking space in front of Mr. O’Leary’s place. His was the last on the list of rooming houses that had withdrawn advertisements from the
Washington Post
within a day of Lana’s escape. The sound of rakes dragging through leaves echoed as early risers began the annual gathering of yard waste. High clouds cluttered the sky, allowing the sun to filter into spike-shaped rays. After scanning the street left and right, they exited the car and ascended the steps, craning their necks to eye passersby.

Kyle rang the doorbell, then attempted to peer through the sheer curtain covering the window from the other side. No movements, no lights, only the sound of a faint bump overhead.

“You hear that?” Hopper asked.

Kyle nodded. “Yep. Doesn’t look like anybody’s home, though…unless they’re hiding inside.”

Hopper backed away from the door, stepped down from the porch and gazed at the second-story windows. “I don’t see any movement. Maybe it was next door.”

“Maybe.” Kyle scratched his head in confusion.

“Can I help you?” a baritone voice called from across the street.

They both turned around to face the tall, dark-skinned older gentleman in a track suit.

“Sir?” Kyle responded.

“Can I help you?” the man repeated.

“Hello. I’m Special Agent Kyle Oliver and this is Special Agent Hopper Mack. We’re from the FBI.”

They presented their credentials and returned them to his pocket when he finished

“Max McCall.” He held his hand out for both to shake. They offered firm responses in return. “My daughter’s an agent. She told me about what’s going on…son’s inside.”

“Glad to hear it. It’s just a precaution for now,” Kyle said. “We’re going to finish up our interviews today. Hopefully we’ll get a new lead. Do you know if any of your neighbors have rented out a room in the last week?”

“I’ve only seen one new face in this neighborhood,” he said. “But she doesn’t look anything like that girl on the T.V.”

“She?”

“Yeah, O’Leary took her in about a week ago. He rents out the other side of his duplex. She and another gentleman stay there.”  

“You say she bears no resemblance to Lana Michaels?”

“Maybe she’s around the same size. But definitely not the hair and eye colors. No way. I know blue from green and black from blond,” he said. “Besides I doubt someone trying to kill me would save my life.”

Both Kyle and Hopper were taken aback. “Save your life?”

“Yeah. Last Saturday. Some young hoodlum with a gun came in trying to rob my store. Before I knew it, he was flat on the ground. The woman took him down and walked out. Wouldn’t even accept free groceries.”

“You wouldn’t by any chance have security cameras in your stores, would you?”

“Sure do. Although before the woman left, she told me to get a panic button installed. I saw her a couple of days later.”

“Mr. McCall—”

“Max, please,” he interrupted.

“No problem, Max. We’d like to take a look at the video, after we speak to your neighbors here. The O’Learys. You wouldn’t happen to know if anyone’s home.”

“Claire dragged him kicking and screaming on a two-week cruise to the Caribbean. They won’t be back for another week,” Max said. “The tenants should be around, though. I’ve been up since five and haven’t seen either of them leave, but I’m not exactly keeping watch by the window.”

“We’ll walk over and grab you when we’re done.”

“All righty,” Max said, making his way back into the house.

Kyle turned to Hopper and said, “You think it’s coincidental this mystery woman saved him during an armed robbery?”

“No. But, if she’s Lana, why wouldn’t she just kill him herself? Or let the robber do it?”

“Good questions. I’ll be interested to check out the video. In the meantime, let’s see if Barbie and Ken will answer.” 

Kyle rang the doorbell, then attempted to peer through the sheer curtain covering the window from the other side. No movements, no lights, only the sound of a faint bump overhead.

“You hear that?” Hopper asked.

Kyle nodded. “Yep. Doesn’t look like anybody’s home though,  unless they’re hiding inside.”

Hopper backed away from the door, stepped down from the porch and gazed at the second-story windows, again. “I don’t see any movement. Maybe it was next door.”

“Maybe.” Kyle scratched his head in confusion.

They rang the doorbell and knocked several times before hearing the staircase creak under heavy footsteps. A large, olive-skinned man opened the door and said, “Yeah?”

Hopper and Kyle introduced themselves and proceeded through the standard introductory procedures. Kyle couldn’t help but notice his facial features and build were familiar, but he couldn’t place the face.

“What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I mind,” he said. “But you can call me Sonny.”

“Thanks, Sonny. Listen, we don’t want to take up much of your time. Just wanted to ask you a few questions and we’ll be on our way,” Kyle said. “We stopped by earlier, but you didn’t answer the door.”

“Oh, sorry. I was in the shower.”

“Okay, that’s understandable.” Kyle nodded and gave him the once over thinking that if the disheveled man before him had truly taken a shower he missed a few spots. All over. “We understand from some of the neighbors that you and a female tenant are sharing this place right now.”

“Yeah, I’ve been here since June. My roommate didn’t move in until last week sometime. She told me her apartment caught fire, but what do I know?”

“I see.” Kyle pulled Lana’s photo from his breast pocket and handed it over. “We’re canvassing the neighborhood asking neighbors if they’ve seen this woman.”

Santino carefully studied the photograph, his face remained expressionless as he twisted and turned the paper at multiple angles before handing it back to Kyle. “Nah. She don’t look familiar to me. Different hair, different eyes. The lips ain’t right eitha. But I gotta admit, I don’t spend much time checkin’ out her face, if you get my drift?” he said, shaking his hand and biting his lower lip.

“Is she home now?”

“Nah. Left a few hours ago. Asked me to feed her fish for a few days. I think she got a job or somethin’. May be lookin’ for a permanent place. I dunno. I mind my business; she minds hers. I’ll feed ‘em while I’m here.”

“Any idea when she’s coming back?”

He shook his head. “Most of her stuff is still up there so I know she’s coming. I dunno when. If you leave your card, I’ll give you a call when she shows up.”

“We appreciate your cooperation.” Hopper handed him a card. “Thank you for your time.”

“Eh. Just doing my civic duty,” Santino said before the door slammed.

Half way back to Max’s place Hopper said, “At least he was cooperative.”

Kyle smiled and shot back, “So was Benedict Arnold. Doesn’t mean he was helping our side.”

• • •

Friday—Irving Street

“You think that’s her?” Hopper said, staring at the monitor behind the cashier counter at Max McCall’s corner store. Max pulled the video tapes from the day of the robbery and hovered behind him.

He looked on as the woman disarmed and dropped the would-be robber flat to the ground in a matter of seconds. “She’s no civilian. The take-down was textbook Quantico,” Kyle said. “Even still I wouldn’t bank my check on this being Michaels yet.”

“Yeah, I know a few female cops and Marines who could’ve done twice the damage in half the time,” Hopper said.

“Between the hoodie, the hat, and the glasses, I can’t tell. Same height though,” Kyle said. “The build, on the other hand, is well concealed under the baggie clothes.” He turned to Hopper before saying, “Either it’s not her, or she’s doing a damn good job of hiding in plain sight.”

Hopper stood up and walked around the store. "“If we only had a clean shot of her face, CJIS could run a facial recognition analysis. I’m gonna check and see if any place nearby has a camera outside. She had to get here somehow, right?”

“Good thinking,” Kyle said. “I’ll review the footage again. See if there are any other clues.”

After a few minutes, Hopper burst through the door. Breathless.

“Mr. McCall…uh, Max,” Hopper said, his arms flailing. “Are you kidding me? You have another camera.” He marched over to a small storage closet along the wall opposite the checkout counter and twisted the doorknob. It was locked. “What’s in here?”

“It’s just a storage closet. Nothing in there except a mop, broom, and the dust pan, you know, the supplies we use to clean the store,” he said, digging in his jingling pockets. He pulled out a ring bloated with keys and fished through until he found a small golden one. He walked over to Hopper and handed it to him. “Here you go.”

Hopper nodded and proceeded to unlock the door.

“Now that I think about it, my son did tell me he installed another camera,” he said. “But he didn’t connect it to a monitor. Made me hook up the hidden one in case someone tried to disable the main system or take the DVD.”

Hopper entered the closet and stood on the tips of his toes. Two black boxes were perched in the corner. He traced electric and phone cords, adhered to the wall under white duct tape and plugged into two outlets concealed behind a small panel. “Score!” Hopper yelled.after taking a few minutes to examine the hardware. “Bad news is he doesn’t have DVD recording. Good news—it’s DVR with battery back-up.”

“Fantastic. Bring it over. We’ll hook the box up to the monitor. And see what we’ve got.”

Hopper slid the flat black box and remote control off the shelf and took it to the counter, letting the video cords drag along the floor. In no time, he hooked it up and pulled up the menu which allowed him to select last Saturday’s video.

“A wide-angle version that captured the area outside the door. We can almost see to the end of the block.”

They fast-forwarded and watched each move in double-time. “There’s you entering,” Kyle said. “How long after you got to work did it happen?”

“About three hours. I opened early.”

Hopper held the button down until a figure showed up at the corner. “Stop right there. That’s her. No sunglasses. Play it at regular speed.”

They eyed the screen as she paced up the sidewalk. Outside the entrance door, she stopped. “Freeze it. Right there.”

Kyle and Hopper studied her face. “What do you think?”

Kyle nodded. “It’s tough, but looks like Lana.”

“As much as I want to find her, I’m not ready to make the leap,” Hopper said. “Then again, I’ve never worked with her. You have. Before we storm the house, I say we let CJIS look at it. We’ll email it. Shouldn’t take more than a day to get some definitive results. With a positive ID we can get an expedited warrant.”

“All right. I agree,” Kyle said. “Now let it play. Let’s see what’s going on when the perp walks in.”

When Max spotted the robber approaching the entrance, he shouted, “That’s him! He’s the one who had the fake gun in his pocket!”

“Fake gun? Hmmm. Rewind it,” Kyle said. “Stop it, right there. Look at the corner.”

A car pulled up to the corner, a black Mustang. The perpetrator got out of the passenger side. He stopped at the driver window and bumped fists with dark-haired man. The man in the car stayed parked until he walked inside the store. He then looked both ways and made a right down 7
th
Street, in the opposite direction.

“The face is too distorted to make out an ID.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got a bigger problem here,” Kyle said. “A robber getting dropped off and fist-bumping his best bud before he commits a crime? That doesn’t make any sense. He wasn’t tense or nervous.”

“My son told me the kid got bailed out the next day,” Max said.

“By whom?” Kyle asked.

“He didn’t say. We can ask though. I’m sure he could find out in a few minutes.”

“Something tells me whoever dropped him off is the one who bailed him out,” Kyle said.

“So let me get this straight,” Hopper said. “You think the robbery was staged?”

Kyle nodded. “It’s possible, and a brilliant plan if indeed she planned it. What better way to draw suspicion from yourself than to save the life of the respected, long-time resident in the neighborhood. And the father of Michaels’ most hated rival, no less.” Kyle snapped his fingers and punched his fist in the air. “People talk. Word gets around. Nobody would suspect she’s America’s Most Wanted. If the cops come asking questions, she’s the last person anybody thinks of, even if she fits the description. Couldn’t have planned it more perfectly myself. And what better way to get close to her target. Did you ever talk with her about your personal life?”

“No, nothing I can think of,” Max said. “I did invite her to my birthday dinner on Saturday. Told her my daughter would be visiting, and I wanted to introduce her to a nice guy. Tony. J.J.’s partner.”