Spy Catcher: The J.J. McCall Novels (Books 1-3) (The FBI Espionage Series) (57 page)

Chapter 52

Saturday Morning, November 14th—Rock Creek Park

1 Day Left…

“Blue leader, this is Jiggy.” He spun the steering wheel sharply to the right as he pulled into the parallel parking space. He’d found an alternate area adjacent to Mikhaylov’s Rock Creek Park drop location. “I’m moving into position.”

“Roger that,” Cannon responded. “Standing by.”

The pouring rain had slowed to a light drizzle by the time Jiggy arrived. The lookouts had called Mikhaylov out of the Russian embassy compound an hour earlier, giving Jiggy plenty of time to find a spot to cover down ahead of his target’s arrival.

It was only 8 am and the wet weather had deterred the usual exercise crowd. He parked further away and started on foot to the nearby woods so he wouldn’t be spotted by the Russians. His task was made difficult by the shedding trees which left wet leaves blanketing the landscape in noisy rust and golden colored mounds. Static buzzed in his earpiece transmitting to the radio. Something was causing interference.

Twitch and Cannon were posted at stationary positions nearby in case Jiggy got into any trouble, but they may as well be on the moon if they couldn’t hear him.

“I’m taking up a position in a bush about 15 meters off the trail. Hopefully, I picked a good spot,” he said, stomping around the area and kicking leaves to the side to frighten squirrels, or any other wildlife that could potentially blow his position.

“You got any idea where the drop site is?” Cannon asked.

“Not a clue.”

“So, uh, how do you know you’re not standing in it?”

Jiggy paused for a minute. His heart thumped. He froze and scanned the park. “I don’t, but I wouldn’t put a site here. Too far off the trail. Stand by.”

He hated that Cannon was such a know-it-all, but he did have a solid point. Jiggy was clueless and had nothing to go on except a little experience and a lot of intuition, standing on a strip of asphalt in a tunnel of identical trees. He reluctantly trekked back to the trail, his eyes nervously darted toward every random piece of trash and the incidental mark. The rush of wind heightened his sense of time whisking by. With that he pushed up the path, scanning from side to side, his eyes dancing through layers of trees and brush tangled in a wooded web, looking for a mark, a symbol, or anything resembling anything. 

He wandered and wandered and saw nothing.

In the midst of his descent into the bottomless pit of panic and despair, a white man in a jeans and a brown bomber jacket appeared from nowhere and appeared to be heading directly for Jiggy, whose eye was drawn to the bright red cap on his head with royal blue lettering. As the vaguely familiar man neared him, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, which struck Jiggy as odd for a health nut on the walking trail.

“Excuse me, do you have a light?” he asked, hanging the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. The man’s eyes were clearly drawn to the twisted earphone cord running into Jiggy’s ear.  

Jiggy looked at him askance while pulling down knit cap to conceal his ear a moment too late. More importantly, the glint of an accent rang in the man’s voice.

As Jiggy patted down his pant pocket searching for a lighter or matches, it struck him. The man’s identity. It was Aleksey Dmitriyev. His eyes bulged as he stuttered “Sorry, I-I-I don’t smoke.”

The man glanced over his shoulder and glared at Jiggy again. “You recognize me, yes?”

Jiggy nodded, peering over the man’s shoulder to keep an eye for cars arriving in the parking lot. They were still the only two people around.

“Good,” he said. “What you’re looking for is a few meters up the trail, on the left. The tree with a braided trunk. You don’t have much time. Send my regards to Agent McCall.”

He tipped the bill of his cap with his index finger and disappeared down the trail, returning his cigarette to his pocket still unlit.

Jiggy paced quickly up the still deserted trail, using his binoculars to scan for the signal. After a few minutes of shifting his glance he finally spotted it, near a large tree easily distinguished by the braid of branches twisted around the base. Of course, that was the tree. It was distinct yet hidden in plain sight. He hiked into the woods about ten yards until the sound of car tires popping over rocks jerked him out of his thoughts. He again used his binoculars to peer out to the lot.

Russian plates.

Had to be Mikhaylov. Jiggy settled back into the bush stooping low to the base, roots from a majestic oak nearby poked into his stomach and ribs and the soggy ground soaked his clothes. He held his breath as Mikhaylov’s shadow broke the sunlight and moved rapidly from the clearing into the woods, tree branches snapping under his feet as he moved off the path. The sound of harried footsteps drew uncomfortably close. Jig shifted his gaze slightly upward to get a clear view through the underside of the bush when a low hiss emanated from his side. 

Hiss.

Above him, a jaunty squirrel on a long branch rattled the tree as acorn fell and pelted him in the face. The only thing that scared Jiggy more than snakes was squirrels. He struggled not to grunt, tightening his lips and laying as still as possible, but he could feel something moving against his lower leg.

Hiss.

It was the perfect storm. His every fear came to fruition in one brief, fleeting moment. He thought,
“The FBI doesn’t pay me enough for this shit!”

Hiss.

Jiggy’s every instinct told him to scramble to his feet and bolt back to his car like Usain, vowing to never volunteer for park duty again—ever. But he could not allow his fear to ruin the Bureau’s best chance at Lana. If he could just stay still for sixty seconds more, he could wait out Lana’s father and get his hands on the package.

In a stroke of unadulterated luck, a cavalcade of cars began to flood the lot, stopping Mikhaylov cold. He froze and turned long enough to survey the lot. Jiggy guessed it was the senior exercise group again. Nosy old ladies—an intelligence officer’s nightmare. Mikhaylov scurried to place the wrapped package in an indentation in the soil about a foot away from the tree. He kicked leaves over it until it was covered and placed a small strip of duct tape on the base of the tree, where it would go unnoticed by anyone not looking for it. He then scuttled back to the path and disappeared into the parking lot. Jiggy listened intently until he heard Mikhaylov’s engine fire up and disappear.

Hiss.

Jiggy snapped his head toward the sound. And there it was. Scaly and black with bands of white circling its skin every few inches. Jiggy trapped the scream and jumped to his feet with the speed and grace of a grizzly bear. The sound of rustling leaves drew the attention of the old bitties who’d just begun their morning walk.

“Stalker! Stalker!” the woman in front screeched, angrily thrusting her walking stick toward him.

“Marg, call the cops! The stalker’s back!”

“Oh shit!” Jiggy yelled. Park Police would soon arrive and they weren’t fond of FBI anything. Especially not the Gs. His mission was to photograph the contents and return the package as close to its original state as possible, but with the police on the way he might not have enough time.

He pressed the mic on his radio. “Twitch, I’m gonna need a ride outta here pronto!”

“What’s going on?”

“Some old lady thinks I’m a stalker. The police will probably be burning up the road in a couple minutes.”

“You find the package?”

“Yeah, I’ve got eyes on it, but I don’t have time to talk. Just get your ass over here.”

He hurried to the tree and dropped to his knees, digging the drop from beneath the leaves. From his backpack he pulled out a box cutter and sliced the garbage bag open. He had another bag and more tape to repackage it. A large manila envelope filled with hundred dollar bills. Fifty grand if there was a penny. A letter written in Russian. He photographed it. A second white envelope inside contained something  squarish, stiff.

He opened it.

A passport.

The picture looked like Lana and yet it didn’t. Black hair suited her and disguised her well. The Bureau assumed she already had the passport and yet he was holding it in his hand. Even though he was told to photograph only, his stomach curled at the thought of leaving it behind. A feeling in the pit of his gut told him he couldn’t risk allowing her to get it in her hands. With travel documents in her possession, there was a decent chance she could getaway. With the travel documents in the Bureau’s possession, traveling outside the U.S. would be next to impossible. He started to request authorization but changed his mind. The police were on the way and he had to go.

So, he called an audible.

J.J. always told him it better to ask for forgiveness than permission. She also reminded him when he made mistakes that he was an FBI employee and it would take the government at least three years to fire him for incompetence.

His hands trembled with nerves as he dug inside his backpack to find the trash bag and duct tape he carried with him. He quickly rewrapped, sealed, and buried the money, threw the passport and letter in his backpack, and grabbed the strap as he sprinted to the edge of the woods, avoiding the parking lot altogether. He regretted the four Heinekens he guzzled the night before as he wheezed to his destination. Twitch or Cannon better be waiting for him where the brush met the exit road as he told them. As he cleared the trees, Cannon’s car streaked past him in a blaze of gold, while sirens blared in the distance.

Jiggy screamed in the earpiece. “Hey, hey! You passed me!” He stood in the lane waving his hands frantically until the brake lights flashed red. With the road clear, Cannon threw his Charger in reverse and floored it until Jiggy saw his face through the passenger window. He hopped inside just as the Park Police car zipped by them and let his head fall back against the headrest.

“Whew!” Jiggy said. “Damn that was close. They’re gonna be all over this park for the rest of the day. But Lana won’t be traveling any place anytime soon.”

Cannon gave him the side-eye. “How do you know?”

“I’ve got this,” he said, holding up a small plastic bag containing her ticket to freedom.

“Aw, man! How in the hell did you manage to find the package, you lucky bastard?”

“It didn’t have shit to do with luck. I can tell you that.” Jiggy shook his head in disbelief, still in shock at the exchange. “I had some unexpected help.”

“Help?” 

“Yes, help. J.J.’s never gonna believe this.”

Chapter 53

Saturday—The Devil’s Rest

The sun was still concealed beneath the horizon when J.J. and Tony arrived at the boat dock in Fort Washington. She radioed Money T to ensure he was in position with the equipment at the ready; now it was time to get the show started. The rain sliced sideways and the brisk wind rocked the boats in the crowded pier, as they crept along the deck of the Devil’s Rest and made way for the cabin.

Bryer Scott appeared more than happy to turn over the keys when Tony called to inform him that Maddix had planned to steal it. With a 600 mile range, he could make himself difficult to find if he managed to get away. J.J. and Tony had arrived while the rain was still pouring, believing he wouldn’t leave until the weather cleared. Fortunately, their guess paid off.

Tony tip-toed toward the cabin door and opened it as J.J., who was rain-drenched from hair to heels, flipped her jacket hood over her head and tightened it.

“This was a really good idea, Tony. I can’t see two feet in front me and the water pooling in my shoes is making my feet squeak.”

“The mission required us to get here before he did,” Tony said. “So, quit your yapping.”

J.J. chuckled as she followed him down the steps into the cabin. She almost had to catch her breath as her foot landed on the deck floor. Looking around, it was the picture of luxury—a bone-colored, J-shaped sofa covered in lamb-soft leather sitting to the left, a galley kitchen with granite counters and bench-style dining area to the right. Teak wood covered the floor of a narrow hall leading to the master and guest staterooms in the rear; each had its own bathroom—or as Tony called them—the heads.

“Man, this is sweet,” J.J. said. “Too bad it wasn’t bought with espionage spoils. We could seize it and buy it in an auction.”

“We?” Tony smiled. “Anyway, we'd better get into position. I’m gonna squat down here in the galley. You get back in the stateroom.”

“Why me?”

“Because I’m bigger than you.”

“And? I saved you.”

“Okay, I’m also bigger than
him
.”

J.J. shrugged. “Which is why it’s better for him to see me first. You can get the drop on him and he won’t even notice you’re coming.” She stopped and craned her ear toward the ceiling. “You hear that? The rain has stopped. Let’s move. He’ll be here soon.”

Tony rolled his eyes—as if he hadn’t just said the same thing.

J.J. crouched down in the kitchen area to the right of the stairway. He wouldn’t catch sight of her until he reached the floor. By then it would be too late for the piece of shit. Fury simmered in her belly, ready to bubble up and erupt with volcanic strength as she waited for Maddix’s arrival. She was pissed at him not only for what he did to his country, but also for what he did to Kendel. All J.J. needed was a reason, not even a good one, to fill him with more lead than a #2 pencil factory.

“Won’t be long now,” she said to herself.

In the instant she tried to settle her thoughts, the boat rocked and footsteps padded across the top deck. She leaned back against the cabinet doors, narrowed her eyes, and gripped the Glock with both hands. No sound could be heard except the lapping water…until the cabin door opened and her phone vibrated.

A text from her father.

Okay to cancel dinner tonight. Brunch tomorrow instead.

She rolled her eyes and mouthed the word “Fuck!” She knew Maddix had heard the reverberation. The entire eastern seaboard could’ve heard her phone’s rumble in the quiet of the early dawn.

The cabin door opened and a shadow appeared on the floor. That’s when she noticed her biggest mistake of the day. Water. She and Tony tracked it inside and forgot to wipe up behind themselves. The only question was how he would react.

“Bryer? You here?” he called out.

A rustling sound jarred her. She studied his shadow as he tipped down the stairs. He reached the last riser and the barrel of a gun protruded from the end of his outstretched arm, aimed and ready to fire.

She held her breath and waited for him to take the last step into full view. The sound of his heavy breath left the hair on her arm standing on end. His hard swallows betrayed his fear. He sounded scared and just twitchy enough to make a brash move that could get them both killed.

He took the last step down and his body appeared. From his black leather jacket to his deck shoes, he was Ralph Lauren clean. Although he still looked hot, his dark glasses and slicked back hair would not change his fate if he so much as sniffed the wrong way.

“FBI! Freeze! Put the gun down!”

He slowly turned his head toward her, took his finger off the trigger, and
raised
both hands in the air above his head. “What the hell’s going on here?”

“I said down, goddamnit! Not up!” J.J. yelled. “I know you saw me on the news last week. He was my friend. You’re nothing to me, you piece of shit.”

As he bent forward to put his weapon on the floor, Tony emerged from the bedroom and hurried to collect it.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “What did I do?”

“Amnesia much?” J.J. snapped. “You know exactly what the hell you did. You shady bastard. And at 9 am Monday morning, a federal judge will be using the information to deny bail.”

“You have nothing on me!”

“We have a federal agent who is prepared to testify.”

“Who Kendel?” Maddix asked.

J.J. rolled her eyes. “Your mama!” almost slipped from her lips but she suppressed the urge. “Yes, Kendel Phillips. You know…your former fiancé, the one whose $250 grand helped finance this boat?”

He blew out a hard breath and smirked. “Hmph. You haven’t heard? There is no more Kendel.”

J.J.’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. She glanced at Tony whose mouth was gaped open.

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?” Tony growled. “She’s in federal custody.”

“Afraid not,” Maddix sneered. “She was released under her own recognizance. And as she was leaving, she was struck in a hit and run accident, killed on impact.”

“Oh my God!”

“Shame,” he said with a broad reptile-like smile. “The crack head might’ve made someone a decent wife once she cleaned herself up.”

J.J.’s body shook, trembling with anger. “You son of a bitch!” she shook her head in utter astounded amazement. “How could you?”

He shrugged and snidely said, “Easy. Pressed on the gas and kept the steering wheel straight.”

With no forethought, her finger increased the pressure against the trigger. Another eighth of an inch and his blood would be splattered across the pristine white lambskin leather couch. A volcano roared inside her; the lava finally reached its peak. Her cheeks burned like hot charcoal briquettes. She didn’t necessarily want to kill him. But in her most primal sense of justice, where eyes were for eyes and teeth were for teeth, she wanted him dead.

The idea of allowing Maddix to walk the earth while Kendel was under it left J.J. brimming with the urge for revenge.

Then something inside her snapped. She couldn’t tell you the moment it happened but her motive was clear.

“Where’s his gun, Tony?” J.J. barked. “I want it, now!”

Maddix’s nose crinkled in confusion. “What’re you doing?”

J.J. had already rested her Glock on the countertop and was squeezing her hand into plastic gloves retrieved from her pockets seconds earlier.

“What are you doing?” Maddix asked again.

When Tony hesitated to give it to her, she tromped over to Tony, pulled Maddix’s gun from the small of his back, and fired two shots at the hull, right in the spot where she’d taken up her original position.

“Are you crazy?” Maddix yelled.

“Yep,” she replied. “As a motherfucking fox. Stand up right now! Stand up!” she ordered.

Terror filled Maddix’s eyes as they followed her every move. “She’s gonna kill me and make it look like self-defense!” Maddix turned to Tony. “Are you gonna let her do this?”

“Do what?” Tony asked. “I’m in the bedroom. I can’t see a thing.”

“You’re just going to leave me defenseless in handcuffs?” he whined, sweat pouring from his brow.

“Oh, no,” J.J. said, her voice Mary Poppins sweet. “I’m going to take them off after you’re dead so I can put your gun back in your hand.”

She laid his gun on the counter and lifted hers, shifting her aim from his head to his chest, and back to his head again. She cocked it to put one in the chamber and asked, “Now, how do you want to die?”

Maddix shook his head feverishly. “No, please. Don’t do this, please!”

“At least I’m giving you a choice,” J.J. said. “That’s more than you ever gave Kendel. This is my last time asking. How do you want to die?”

“You don’t even understand what’s going on.” He stopped as his voice got choked up. “You don’t want to do this!”

“Oh, I
so
want to do this. Nothing in my life has felt better than the prospect of
ending you
!” she growled.

Tony chuckled at Maddix’s pathetic pleas. “All of the sudden this guy’s Chatty Cathy. The fuck are you talking about?”

“Stop! I—I give up I’m responsible. It’s all my fault,” Maddix yelled. “Please! Just put the gun down!”

The crotch itch struck, permeating through her back and legs, leaving her knees wobbled. It couldn’t be. This was the truth. Yet, her body told her it was a lie. Maddix admitted fault and yet his statement was untruthful. He wasn’t completely responsible after all, as all evidence she had access to at present suggested.

A paper doll.

He was a cut-out protecting the true culprit. Before she could figure out how to explain to Tony, her mouth opened and words slipped out.

“You lying son of a bitch! Who are you covering for?”

Tony’s head whipped toward J.J. and he threw his hands up in confusion. “J.J., are you freakin’ nuts?! The man just confessed! Isn’t this what we wanted?”

J.J. shook her head no. “We want the truth! This doesn’t end if we don’t get the truth,” J.J. yelled. “You’ve got to trust me on this one, Tony. He’s lying. He’s covering for someone else.”

Maddix stood there in shock…and then he got cocky. “Shoot me and you’ll never know the truth.”

J.J. walked over to him and pressed the tip of her gun to his temple. “Wanna bet? An investigation of your accounts, assets, phone contacts, and emails will tell me everything I want to know about you, you piece of shit,” she dragged the tip of the gun from his temple to his lips and wiped the metal across so he could taste death. “I don’t
need
your confession. But if you want to see tomorrow you will give it to me.”

Maddix’s breathing was short and labored. Sweat poured from his forehead and burned his eyes, causing him to blink nervously. He pondered her proposition as if he had a choice as if he had a real decision to make. Then he cleared his throat and began to speak. “He wanted access and help cleaning the evidence. I gave him access and cleaned up the evidence. That’s all I did.”

“Who?”

“Gary…Gary Mosin,” Maddix said, rolling over on his partner like a dog playing for treats. “You know him…he goes by Hawk.”

J.J. and Tony glared at one another. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she exclaimed. She gasped and her mind began to replay their every interaction. In the Sit Room, at the entrance. His seemingly unjustified bitterness toward her. Always in the right place at the most opportune time. And Hawk was telling the truth when Kendel said he was locking the Sit Room after the fire alarm went off. He knew he’d ordered Maddix to clean it up before ERT arrived. Of course, it was Hawk, the one person off her radar. The one person who was so unassuming that they’d never have ID’d him as a key cog in Lana’s network. People like Hawk made the best spies because they were the least suspected.

“Where is he?”

“Half way to Russia by now.”

“Of course,” J.J. said. “Left you here as bait while he escaped. I’ll bet you were the one who set off the alarm in the West Wing and sanitized the Sit Room so we couldn’t find any evidence, didn’t you?”

He looked away. “I … I had no choice. He threatened to expose me, said he would kill me if I didn’t.”

“What’s he got on you?”

Maddix dropped his head. “It’d be easier to tell you what he doesn’t have on me. Drugs…and many other less than legal activities. I was looking at twenty years.”

“Well, now you can double that and subtract the parole,” J.J. said.

“Fuck you!” he spat. “Kendel’s dead. It’s your word against mine. You’ve got nothing!”

She pressed the mic button beneath her shirt and said, “Hey Money, you get all that?”

“Loud and clear!” he responded, the volume high enough to be audible to the room. “Digitally recorded for posterity…er, I mean prosecution.”

“You were bluffing the whole time? You set me up!” Maddix yelled, stunned that
his
ride with the devil had just landed him in jail.

“No,” J.J. said. “I just pressed the gas and kept the steering wheel straight.”