The Bigot List: (A J.J. McCall Novel)

by S. D. Skye

  “Now,” Don said, “let’s take this from the beginning. This Koshechka you mentioned earlier. What’s her birth name?”

  He hesitated still trying to concoct a way to tell a deceitful truth. He finally conceded to tell them something they wanted to know, even if not everything they needed to know. “Svetlana. Her name is Svetlana Aleksandrovna Mikhaylova.”

  “Is she a diplomat at the Russian Embassy?”

  “No. As far as I know she has no affiliation with the Embassy, at least no direct affiliation.”

  “Hmph,” Don said. “Except that she spies for them, right?”

  Spies, Chris said to himself. For the first time, Chris had begun to separate his love for Koshechka from the evil he’d done. He and she were spies, traitors against his country if not hers. Guilt overcame him like a biblical plague, God’s curse for his wrongdoing. The feeling was only compounded by the devastation he’d bring upon his father and grandfather when the truth about his cooperation with the Russians hit the press.

  Mike piped in. “Does she have a residence in D.C.?”

  He hesitated again but said nothing.

  “Come on, Chris. I see you’re trying to protect her, but you must realize by now that she was just using you,” Mike said.

  “This is her job,” Don interjected. “She lies and steals for a living. She doesn’t love you. You were nothing more than a middleman, a fall guy, the first line of defense in case the worst happened. And the worst has happened. Where are you? And where is she?”

  Chris squirmed in his seat, avoiding their judgmental glares.

  “If you’re gonna be a fool, don’t be her fool,” Don continued. “She’s playing you. Correction, she played you before you ever knew you were in the game. Her plan was always to put you in the hot seat.”

  Don’s speech stung Chris as his mind flashed back to the moment he caught her in Jack’s office. The mere memory filled his heart with the kind of rage that made weak men cause their women to disappear in darkened woods or off river banks. Truth was he didn’t even know if the baby belonged to him. For all he knew, it could’ve been Jack’s baby. With little effort, his tongue loosened.

  “She lives in Northwest. 7700 Kalorama Road.”

  Don jotted down the information. “Uhhhh, could you excuse us for one minute? Mike, if I could see you outside for a quick second?”

  Don led Mike into the hall and closed the door behind them, returning moments later. He took a deep breath, his eyes filled with pity. Chris dropped his chin to his chest. He wasn’t the first man beguiled by the charms of a beautiful Russian spy and certainly wouldn’t be the last. Many men had done much more for less.

  “Sorry about that. We just need to run a quick check on the name to make sure you’re being truthful with us. Now where were we?”

  Mike stepped into an adjacent interview room to make a call. Tony could pass the information to his analyst and let her run the checks. Since he was in the middle of an operation, the information might be of immediate use. He dialed Tony’s cell.

  No answer.

  Dialed again.

  No answer...again.

  Determined to keep trying until he got through, he dialed again. “Where the hell is he?”

  • • •

  J.J. waited for Jiggy’s response. Juliet Charlie. Couldn’t be sheer coincidence.

  “Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?” Jiggy said. He tapped on the radio, causing it to squelch. “Yes. Juliet Charlie, five zero five zero.”

  “Jiggy. Listen to me carefully. Don’t let that car out of your sight! I don’t care if you have to hitch your car to the bumper, don’t lose ‘em this time,” J.J. pressed.

  The backup lights on the suspect’s vehicle lit up and he was set to trail him from the park. “Okay . . . looks like we’re buggin’ out!” Jiggy said. “Puttin’ both hands on the wheel and I’ll radio in when I’ve got something to report.”

  “All right,” J.J. said. “We’re gonna call NCIC to run the plate and get back to you. Let us know as soon as you can get a better physical description.”

  Tony hurriedly pressed the numbers on his desk phone.

  “Hey, this is Special Agent Tony Donato in the CI Division. I need you to run a plate for me. We’re in the middle of a surveillance and we need this information A-S-A—,” he said. “Sure, I’ll hold.”

  Incredulous, he crossed his eyes at J.J. A needed laugh in a tense moment. “Yeah, I’m here. The plate—,” Tony said, cut off again. “Sure, I’ll—”

  Moments later, he read off the plate number and stuck up his middle finger at the phone. Nothing happened fast in the FBI. Everything in Bureau time, which was too often ten minutes past late.

  “Yeah?” he said. His jaw dropped as he jotted notes on a pad. “Son of a bitch!”

  J.J. snapped her head toward him. “What is it? What is it?”

  “Sorry, ma’am. Not you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Shhhh!” Tony said to J.J. as he handed her the paper. “Okay, thank you.”

  J.J.’s nose scrunched as she skimmed the paper. “Jacob fucking McGee!” The note confirmed her deepest suspicion. First heartbroken, then incensed, her mind swam as she struggled to grasp the gravity of the information, literally sending her into shock. She’d trusted him. He’d never given her a moment’s pause or an ill-timed itch. But it was clear she hadn’t been asking the right questions to the right people. “But . . . Chris and Jake working together? I mean, they barely speak, and I don’t believe that’s an act. No way they’re collaborating.”

  “Jake bolted with the real drop and probably picked up the cash. Pretty hard to dispute no matter how you slice it.”

  “I know how it appears, but think about this for a minute. Jiggy and Jake are best friends. He would’ve recognized Jiggy’s car. And if he saw Jiggy’s car he would’ve reacted, don’t you think?”

  “I dunno. I mean Jake could have more than one car. As for not spotting Jiggy, it’s strange, I’ll give you that. But maybe he just wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Not paying attention? In the middle of an operation?” J.J. pursed her lips. “Please. I get so wired during ops I’ve heard bees shit. I don’t think so.”

  J.J. ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. They were still digging up more questions than they could answer, and time was running out.

  No sooner than the thought crossed her mind, Sunnie burst through the door and ran straight to Tony’s desk. “Oooooooh! You guys are gonna love me . . . well, more than you already do. Have I got some intel for you!”

  Chapter 44

  Sunnie rolled an office chair between J.J. and Tony and laid the file on her lap. “Okay, you guys, you may want to sit down for this!” Sunnie said, pausing when Tony’s phone rang. “You need to get that?”

  “No, go ahead. I’ll call ‘em back in a minute.”

  “Whatcha got for us?” J.J. folded her arms across her chest and listened intently.

  “Hmmm...where to begin, where to begin?” She flipped through the few pages of chicken scratch she’d written in the file room. “Where’s the information on Jack? Jack...Jack...Oh, here it is!”

  Tony and J.J. stared expressionless.

  “What? I’m a researcher, not an organizer,” Sunnie snapped. “Anyway . . . did you know Jack was on a medication called Paxil?”

  Tony straightened his back. “No...but I’ve seen the commercials.” He turned to J.J. “See, I told you he was taking crazy pills.”

  Sunnie chuckled. “Actually it’s a drug for panic, depression, obsessive-compulsive disorders, etc. You know he’s got that thing with the arranging stuff on his desk just so. I always thought he was a little off,” she said, spinning her index finger around her temple, speaking at a frantic pace. “Anyway, I Googled the side effects of the drug and it appears that Paxil—if taken in excessive doses—can cause a rapid heartbeat.”

  “Excessive doses, huh?” J.J. remembered her jailhous
e meeting with Jack when he confessed his rapid heartbeat and sweating episode during the poly. She assumed his poor dieting caught up with him. Could it be the medication? “Well, that may explain why he tanked the polygraph. But why would he take an excessive dose right before his test? They expressly tell you not to take anything the night before.”

  “Maybe he was feeling anxious and couldn’t deal with it,” Tony said.

  “Of course, then again we’re assuming he knew he was taking it,” J.J. added. “Jack is a creature of habits, eats the same thing, every day, at the same time. Wouldn’t be hard for someone to slip something in on him if they were trying to set him up. But we’ll come back to this. What else ya got?”

  “Well, I know you didn’t ask me to check any information on Lana…,” Sunnie said sheepishly, “…but Wendell accidentally gave me her file . . . and you know I’m naturally inquisitive.”

  “Nosy!” J.J. and Tony said in unison.

  “You two an act now?” she said, rolling her neck. “Anyway, seems Miss Lana didn’t do as well on her polygraph exam as she led on.”

  She reached into a folder and pulled out three sheets of paper from Lana’s polygraph results. Sunnie handed them both to J.J., who scanned them until she came to the polygraphist’s notes about the retests. Tony looked over her shoulder.

  “Whaaaaat?” J.J. said.

  “I know. Surprising, huh?” Sunnie responded. “Turns out Lana had trouble with her polygraph—both of them!”

  Tony’s phone rang again. J.J. eyed him, waiting on him to answer his call. But he turned his index finger in circles, gesturing Sunnie to go ahead and wrap it up.

  “I see the notes here but what happened?” Tony said, anxiously awaiting her response.

  “Seems she passed on all the counterintelligence issues,” Sunnie began.

  J.J. and Tony eyed one another then turned to Sunnie. It didn’t make sense. The counterintelligence issues, those questions related to cooperation with a foreign intelligence service, were the entire reason for taking an examination.

  “I don’t understand, if she passed on the counterintelligence issues, then she passed the test. Everything else is moot.”

  Sunnie shook her head. “No, look at the notes more carefully. She failed miserably on one of the control questions...you know, the baseline questions they ask to differentiate which readings represent a lie versus the truth.”

  “How in hell do you fail a control question?” J.J. asked.

  Tony’s phone rang again. Sunnie and J.J. exchanged looks before staring down Tony. He shrugged it off again and gestured to Sunnie to continue.

  “Good question. I’ll tell you how. To determine Lana’s truthfulness, they asked ‘Are you a U.S. Citizen?’ The answer should’ve been ‘Yes’ and shown no deception.”

  “Okay. And?”

  “When Lana replied ‘Yes’ the readings registered deceptive. Significantly so.”

  “Deceptive? To the citizenship question?” J.J. asked, incredulous at the possibility.

  That couldn’t be. J.J. wracked her brain until it struck her that the only way to fail the question was that Lana believed she was not a U.S. citizen.

  “Get outta here,” Tony said. “How’d she end up passing the test?”

  “They changed the control question, asked whether her age was thirty-two,” Sunnie said. “But hold the phone, there’s more...”

  • • •

  Jiggy followed the unknown subject’s car at a safe distance. Although the subject had checked his rear view mirror several times, Jiggy felt certain he hadn’t been spotted. Jiggy parked a short distance from the driveway and watched him pull up to the house, then waited for them to enter before moving any closer. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he moved to a closer space.

  Scanning the area and absorbing his surroundings, the location seemed eerily familiar, but he couldn’t recall why. He seemed to remember visiting the street with Jake after a night of heavy drinking. Yes, that was it. Jake.

  About a year before, Jake had gone over the deep end, obsessed with his new girlfriend. He droned on about how beautiful and sexy she was, wouldn’t introduce her to anyone on the team, which Jiggy found odd. He (if not the rest of the team) had met all of Jake’s ladies. The team was like family...before her.

  Over time, Jake grew distant, started behaving jealous and possessive, paranoid even. One game night, he’d cajoled Jiggy into riding by the house two or three times, checking her driveway for cars belonging to potential late night visitors. But Jake’s suspicions were never satisfied, so he fell deeper and deeper in love with this mystery woman.

  Why would surveillance of an espionage suspect lead him to Jake’s girlfriend’s house, unless...

  Jiggy covered his face and threw his head back in disbelief.

  Shit! Maybe she was a honey trap set by the Russians. But no way in hell would Jake ever turn. He’d never volunteer, Jiggy thought, shaking off his suspicions as ludicrous. She must’ve manipulated him. Blackmailed him. Drugged him. Something. Anything. Jake was a lot of things—a player, a jerk, and an occasional jackass—but he was no traitor. Perhaps he’d been more pissed about getting rejected from Quantico than Jiggy suspected. Failing the medical exam over an old collarbone injury he sustained during a college football game, obliterating his childhood dream, had to be a significant blow. But he wouldn’t be vengeful enough to spy for the Russians...

  Would he?

  Jiggy pursed his lips as he lifted the radio. “Blue Leader. This is Jiggy. You copy?”

  • • •

  “I checked Lana’s biographical information,” Sunnie said. “Turns out she’s a naturalized citizen; she wasn’t born here. Her name was Madeleine Bouchard. She came to the U.S. as a student from Canada, got a job after she graduated. After applying for and eventually gaining citizenship, she legally changed her name to Lana Michaels. A little sexier I guess. Cartwright, who was up to his ears in debt at the time, helped get her hired. Coincidentally, or perhaps not so coincidentally, Cartwright was debt free a year later.”

  J.J. collapsed in a chair while she collected her thoughts. Lana a foreigner? Jesus Christ! She’d spent so much of her career trying to identify Russian spies at the embassy, she never thought she’d find one in FBI Headquarters. The more her mind churned, the more the scenario made sense. And the more it made sense, the more sickened J.J. felt.

  “So, what are you getting at?” Tony asked.

  J.J. spoke up. “I know exactly what she’s getting at. Don’t you see Tony? She failed the citizenship question. So whatever words she spews from her mouth, in her mind—and dare I say heart if she actually has one—her true allegiance is not to the United States.”

  “Are you suggesting she’s spying for Canada?” Tony said, shaking his head. “Because Canadians don’t even spy for Canada. When’s the last time you saw the Canadian Service at the top of a hard target list?” he joked.

  “No, Ton’,” J.J. chuckled and shook her head. “Try a little further east.”

  Tony stood stunned as his phone rang for the hundredth time. J.J. was fed up with the interruptions.

  “Tony, please answer that friggin’ phone! I can’t take anymore. We’ll wait.”

  He expelled a frustrated breath and pressed the answer button. “Donato.”

  “It’s Mike…sorry, Mike.” Tony said his name aloud for J.J.’s sake. “We were getting a briefing from our star analyst,” he said, winking at Sunnie. “What’s up?”

  There was a few minutes of silence before Tony yelled, “Fucking rat!” He placed his hand over the receiver and whispered, “Chris confessed and gave up the handler’s name.”

  J.J. and Sunnie sat at attention.

  “Svetlana Aleksandrovna Mikhaylova,” Tony repeated. “7700 Kalorama Road.”

  Sunnie bolted upright. “Hold up! I’ve seen that address before,” Sunnie flipped through her notes. “Where have I seen that before? Where have I seen it before?” she muttered more times than J.
J. cared to hear.

  J.J. almost wanted to ask Sunnie to quit while she was behind. Her mind churned. Svetlana. Aleksandrovna Mikhaylova. Svetlana. Svet. Lana. Lana Mikhaylova. Mikhaylova. Michaels. Lana Michaels?

  “That’s Lana’s home address!” Sunnie yelled.

  J.J. fell back against her chair, buried her face in her hands and shook her head. No. No. No.

  “You sure?” Tony asked.

  “Yeah. I’m positive. I got a photocopy of her bio . . . see here?”

  “Mother flying fu—” J.J. yelled, glaring at Tony. “Do you understand what this means? Svetlana Aleksandrovna Mikhaylova. Lana fucking Michaels. I’ll be damned.”

  “Thanks, Mike. I gotta go.”

  Tony sunk into his chair and checked his email for the NCIC report. “You’re really not gonna believe this shit. It’s also the address to which Jake registered his car.”

  “Jake too? She gets around. I’m just sayin’,” Sunnie said.

  J.J. nodded in agreement.

  “Wait!” Tony yelled, experiencing an epiphany of his own. “J.J., did you hear what you just said? Svetlana Aleksandrovna. Her patronymic is Aleksandrovna. That means her father’s name is . . .”

  “Aleksandr. As in Aleksandr Mikhaylov—the fucking illegals support officer at the Russian Embassy!”

  “Get Jiggy on the radio!” J.J. ordered.

  No sooner than Tony lifted the radio did Jiggy’s voice sound through wave of static. Cheap ass radios, Tony cursed to himself.

  “This is Blue Leader. We copy. What’s your twenty?”

  “Uhhh, looks like I’m on Kalorama road at…I’m squinting to see the house numbers, but I can barely make them out. The house is set back forty feet from the curb. I can’t really . . .”

  “Let me help you out,” J.J. said. “Seventy-seven hundred.”

  There was a long silence before he said, “How’d you guess?”

  Another silence.

  “Wait a minute, guys. You won’t believe who’s leaving the house right now . . . with two very large suitcases,” Jiggy said.

  “Who is it?” J.J. asked, expecting him to respond Jake.

  Instead, he gasped. “She’s got blond hair!”