Spy Catcher: The J.J. McCall Novels (Books 1-3) (The FBI Espionage Series) (55 page)

Chapter 48

Friday—Irving Street

2 Days Left…

Lana paced in frantic circles consumed in her spiraling thoughts, unnerved by her disintegration into a mass of apprehension and distress. No passport. A week of hiding in plain sight, constantly looking over her shoulder. And an accomplice she was forced to trust, despite her own doubts. The stress had taken its toll.

She couldn’t quiet her mind, no matter how much she drank.

Fucking Kyle Oliver. He still haunted her, the only man unfazed by her charms; the one man able to resist the primal urges that helped Lana dupe her victims into stupefied submission—and he knew it. Her sole failure. How could she know his wife would catch her in the act…and blame him? He swore he’d take her down.

Now running on adrenaline and three hours of sleep, the three shots of Stoli she’d gulped to calm her anxieties left her largely unaffected, except for the sweat beading at her hairline. As Santino’s feet pressed against the steps, her heart began to beat at a more frenetic pace. She dared not attempt to listen to his conversation with her former mentor. He had hearing better than her mother’s schnauzer. One false move and Santino’s lie would be as transparent as freshly Windexed glass…if he kept his word and didn’t tip off Kyle.

She slipped her finger between the venetian blind, tugging down the slat just enough to survey the scene as Kyle and his new sidekick walked back across the street to Max McCall’s house. Santino tapped on the door, startling her out of her panic attack. She sucked in quick relaxation breath as he opened the door and began to speak.

“Well, well, well, that was quite informative,” Santino said. “With the hair and the eyes, I could barely recognize you. Gotta say, though, I prefer the blond.”

“Took you this long to figure out who I was?” Lana said. “I’m disappointed. Gave you more credit.” 

“No, trust me, I had my suspicions,” Santino said with a chuckle. “But that’s some big talk from someone with a million dollar bounty on her head.”

She turned head sharply toward him and narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t worry. I ain’t got no love for the Feds, and I’d take two in the head before I rat out my friends.”

“Oh, so we’re friends now?” Lana asked with a tenuous smile.

“You weren’t saying that last night,” Santino said. “Somewhere around midnight, I was big daddy.” 

“In your dreams,” Lana said. “So, what did you say to him? Did he ask a lot of questions?”

“Relax. Relax. I took care of it,” Santino said. “I did the last thing he expected me to do.”

“Which was?”

“I cooperated. Told him he should come and take a look at you for himself because I’m not good with faces, once you return in a few days. Told him I’ll call him when you get back.”

She shook her head with approval. “Nice. Do you think he believed you?”

“I’m nothing if not a good liar.”

She pursed her lips. “Mmm, exactly what I’m afraid of,” she mumbled. “Anyway, you about packed up and ready for Sunday?”

“Yeah, except for one concern. Now that the cat’s outta the bag so to speak,” he said. “Uhhh, the hit on Sunday. This broad’s not a fed, is she?”

“What do you care? You don’t have any love for Feds, remember?”

“True. But I do love my life,” he said. “Killing a Fed could bring all kinds of heat on the family if it could be in any way traced to me.”

“It won’t be.”

“The hell it won’t be,” Santino said. “I gave myself away protecting you. Or maybe that’s the way you wanted it.”

“Don’t’ be ridiculous!” Lana said. “Everybody this side of the beltway knows that she and I hate each other with a passion. They won’t suspect you for a second. They’ll assume I did it. It’ll take us five minutes to clean up the residue and your prints. And you can dump the weapon in any one of 100 rivers, lakes, or streams between here and Jersey.”

“Meanwhile, you’ll sipping Martinis in the south of France?”

“First of all, I don’t sip anything. Secondly, I take my vodka in a shot glass,” she said. “And yes, I’ll be in France long enough to get transport Russia. The United States doesn’t have an extradition treaty with France. If they figure out where I’ve gone, I’ll be in Moscow before they can get through the layers of red tape necessary to ask the French to turn me over.”

“You got it all figured out, huh?”

“I’ve had plenty of practice. It was once my job to figure it all out.”

“So what’re you gonna do if…” Santino looked down at the business card they handed him, “Supervisory Special Agent Kyle Oliver returns?”

“You’ll handle that.”

“What if your travel papers aren’t there on Saturday?”

“That’s not an option. If they have to draw them by hand, those papers will be ready on Saturday, or…”

“Or what?”

“You don’t want to know. Neither do I.”

Chapter 49

Friday Evening—Kendel’s House

In the seconds she had to think, J.J. scrolled through her cover email account in the backseat of Six’s Lexus sedan, his grown-up car, wondering why Aleksey hadn’t contacted her. The investigation had been going at such a rapid pace that she hadn’t had time to worry about his well-being to the extent that she should’ve. He was now her only high-level window into the Washington embassy and too valuable of a source to lose. She hadn’t seen him since their unexpected meeting on the Ellipse. The time to panic was upon her. As soon as they wrapped up the Sit Room bug investigation, her first priority was connecting with him and finding out what embassy machinations had kept him out of touch at such a critical time.

“Are we there yet?” J.J. grumbled as she huffed and peered out the window. She noticed they hadn’t yet turned off the beltway. “If my grandmother had carried us on her back we’d have been there ten minutes ago…and she’s dead.”

“Hey, don’t make me reach back there snatch you up, young lady,” Six said. After stealing a glance at J.J. in the rearview mirror, J.J. could see Tony’s eyes burning on him. Six faced forward. “I’m not a chauffeur. I’m a spy. Besides, you know how the local cops are in this area.”

“Enough said,” J.J. replied.

After giving Six the stink eye, J.J. turned her attention to the scenery, taking in the string of McMansions with lush green lawns, perfectly manicured landscaping, cinnamon colored brick walkways, and expensive cars checkering the driveways.

“Sheesh,” Tony said. “Maybe we need to jobs in White House Security. How much you think these houses run? Five hundred grand?”

J.J. said, “No, try seven or eight hundred. Couple million in the gated communities. Bunch of ball players live in the area. Redskins. Wizards. Even Sixes.”

Tony turned to his left. “You got a spot out here?”

Six smiled as he turned into a large cul-de-sac. “Profitable investments. What can I say?” he said. “This is her house, the large white one on the left with the black shutters.”

“Nice,” Tony said. “Anybody check out her financials? She wouldn’t be the first to sell out for money.”

Six shook his head. “No, Kendel made a bundle when she sold her first condo which skyrocketed in value. Put down half and banked some. Whatever this is, it isn’t about money.”

J.J.’s telephone vibrated and she glanced at the screen. “Well, if this isn’t some bullshit!” J.J. had had it up to her neck with Aleksey and his disregard for her rules or his own security. She wanted to hear from him, but not this way.

She faced Tony. “The fucking burn phone. I told him to get rid of it, yet here’s the number flashing!” J.J. snapped.

Tony rolled his eyes in frustration. “Fucking moron. He’s gonna get himself killed if he doesn’t follow instructions. Answer it and give him hell.”

J.J. allowed the phone to ring two more times before answering. “Speak.”

“Uhhh, please don’t hang up. This not a provocation and I’m in danger,” the man said. He had a Russian accent, but his English was crisp and vaguely familiar. But he was not Aleksey, which sparked a whole new round of questions…and problems.

“O-kay,” she answered tepidly.

Tony craned his body around in his seat and mouthed the words “Who is that?” She shrugged and held up her index finger to gesture him to wait.

“Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“Agent McCall.” He paused, giving her a moment to digest the fact that he knew her identity. “I’m an intelligence officer. I just finished my tour in Washington and returned to Moscow last week. I have information that is of the highest value to the FBI—the identities Russian spies operating under deep cover and American government employees working on behalf of the SVR and GRU.”

“Fascinating,” J.J. said. She swallowed hard. “How’d you get the phone?”

“A mutual friend of ours. He gifted a pair of shoes to my son and it was hidden inside. I assure you it was not intentional, but a fortuitous accident in this case, yes?”

A friend in Washington.
Mutual?
J.J. had only one Russian “friend” in Washington and that friend only had ONE friend. The one who boarded his Aeroflot flight to Moscow last Friday. The one who’d been beaten within an inch of death based on false accusations and would have more than sufficient justification to seek revenge against his service.

“You know with whom you are speaking, yes?”

“I do,” J.J. said. “Why are you contacting me? And what proof can you provide to demonstrate that you’re not a double agent?”

“Do you not keep abreast of current events?” he asked. “Google me.”

J.J. muted the phone long enough to say, “Tony, Google Russian security services. Check the news headlines.”

He nodded and starting typing into his phone.

“I’m safe for now but not for long. I need passage to America, for me and my family. A new life.”

“Where’s your family?”

“Vacationing in Prague.”

“Hmmm,” she said. “Perfect timing.” 

Tony held up the phone screen and J.J.’s eyes bulged at the headline.

“
Manhunt for Rogue Security Service Officer.”
The subheading was even more explosive. “
One Dead, Scores of Secret Documents Missing
.”

“Holy Shit,” she said. Her mind raced, spinning with possibilities. This could be it—the mother lode. All the information they need to shut down Russian operations for years to come.

“Ahhhh, you’re up to date, I hear.”

“I’m not a position to make any promises. You understand bureaucracy. I’ll need director-level approval from multiple agencies to pull this off. How can we contact you?”

“You won’t. Notify your people. I’ll contact you.”

“I’m afraid that won’t—"

A click sounded.

He hung up leaving a dial tone buzzing in her ear.

J.J. threw her head back against the seat and palmed her face. Her head was about to explode. Depending on what and how much information he clipped from the Center, he could very well turn out be one of the most valuable Russian volunteers in U.S. history. Some way to end her career. “This could be huge for all of us.”

“Certainly sounds intriguing,” Six said as he backed into the lengthy driveway and turned off the ignition. “It’s not every day you get a Russian security officer to volunteer, but you can’t trust them. Ninety-nine percent of them are doubles.”

“Tony, show him your phone,” J.J. said, knowing Six would be chomping at the bit to get his mitts in this case. Among his many professional talents, he was one of the top exfiltration specialists in the CIA and J.J. wouldn’t trust anyone else.

Six grabbed the cell from Tony’s hand and rolled his finger down the screen. “Have you been sprinkled with magic fairy dust? A thousand agents and clandestine officers would kill for this lead, and it lands in your lap,” Six said.

“Yeah, only because I have a source who doesn’t follow instructions.”

“He’s still in Moscow?”

“Unfortunately, but his family’s in Prague,” J.J. said, scanning the other houses in the neighborhood. “Let’s table that discussion until later. Believe it or not, we’ve got even more pressing matters to attend to right this moment.”

“That’s debatable, but let’s go,” Tony said. “Six, you follow our lead.”

“Why do I need to follow?”

“If someone in there has a gun, would you rather be in front of two armed FBI agents or behind us?”

“Good point,” he replied. “Right behind you.”

J.J. was out the door and half way up the driveway. Everyone exited and followed behind her.

“Her car’s not out front,” J.J. said, envying the bed of jasmine lining the flower beds near the front door. Somewhere deep inside J.J. was a little jealous. This is the life she wanted, a life she wanted with Tony. Two and a half kids. Sundays mornings—breakfast in bed. Sunday afternoons—football. It was a life that felt close enough to imagine, yet was still too far away to attain. “You think she’s home?”

“She usually parks in the garage,” said Six. “Protects the paint.”

“A little habit she picked up from you, no doubt,” J.J. said, remembering Six’s fanatical habit of protecting the paint of his 911 Turbo. She stepped up to the entrance and rang the doorbell several times before noticing the door was already open. She immediately unstrapped her gun from the holster and gripped the handle with both hands. “It’s unlocked. Six, call her phone.”

He pulled an oversized Droid from his pocket and hit speed dial. Seconds later, J.J. heard a faint ringing. “Dragnet ringtone. Her phone’s inside, door’s open, and she’s not answering.”

“Kendel doesn’t go anywhere without that phone. Something’s wrong.”

“All right. Let’s check it out,” Tony said, holding his gun in hand. He looked at J.J. “Will you do the honors?”

J.J. and Tony flanked the door as she gently nudged it open with her foot. She jutted her gun across the threshold, then stepped into the foyer. An airy and contemporarily decorated living and dining room sat on either side of the open foyer. She marveled at the 16-foot ceilings…and the chaos. Broken glass, vases, coffee tables and dining room chairs turned over and blood spatters on the pristine white custom slip covers. “Clear,” J.J. said.

Six and Tony followed behind her and their eyes bulged at the destructions. “What the hell happened?” Six yelled.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say somebody had a disagreement.”

“No shit,” J.J. said. “I’ll take upstairs. You guys look around here and in the basement. I’m afraid the only thing we’re gonna find is a body.”

J.J. padded up their stairs and opened up every door along the hall. The guest bedroom, bathrooms, and closets had all been left untouched. There was only one room left at the end of the hall, the master bedroom, which was marked by the double doors. She eased up to them and heard a low hum and bumping as if something was slamming against the wall. 

“Special Agent J.J. McCall with the FBI! Who’s in there? I can hear you.”

She waited for a response, but none came. The bumping continued, now harder. The moaning continued, only now it was louder. In the background, the sound of Tony yelling, “Clear!” resounded from downstairs. J.J. stepped back from the door with her gun pointed straight ahead as she kicked it in…after three tries.

“FBI!” she yelled, her Glock at the ready. Clothes dangled out of drawers as if the dresser puked. Somebody was looking for something. J.J. noticed a small empty Ziploc bag lying next to a powder-coated hand mirror and a small razor.

“Cocaine!” J.J. mumbled under her breath. “I knew it.”

The bumping and moaning drew J.J. out of her thoughts and toward the closet. Was somebody having sex inside? Maybe that’s why they didn’t hear her. As she approached the door, a sliver of light shone through a crack. “J.J. McCall. FBI. I’m coming in, and I’m armed.”

“So am I,” a small voice called from inside.

It was Kendel.

When J.J. pressed pushed the door open, her eyes opened as wide as her bottom jaw plummeted and her heart collided against her rib cage. Her hands trembled. Not from booze this time, rather from fear. No words could escape; they locked in her throat. She shook her head so feverishly she nearly collapsed from dizziness.

Kendel was there, on the floor in a sea of shoes, dressed in a large t-shirt and underwear, her back literally and figuratively against the wall, probably bruised from the banging. Black mascara streaked the length of her brown cheeks. Purple bruises in the shapes of handprints colored her arms. Blood trickled from her head. And the tip of a government-issued Glock was pressed into the curve of her temple.

“It’s over,” she cried. “My life is over.”

J.J. eased toward her and in a whispery, gentle voice usually reserved for babies and angry dogs, she said, “Kendel, you don’t want to do this. Nothing is worth taking your life over. Nothing.”

She cocked the gun and put a bullet in the chamber.

“Stay there…or I swear I’ll pull this fucking trigger.”

“Ohhhkay.” J.J. slowly tipped back to the doorway as if maneuvering through a minefield and yelled. “Uh, guuuuys? I need you upstairs…in the master bedroom…now!”