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

by Skye, S. D.

  “Yeeees?” Vorobyev called out from the end of the hall.

  “It’s Igor. Open the door!”

  “Just a moment,” Vorobyev yelled, scrambling to get out of his suit. “One minute. I’m not properly dressed.”

  He dashed back into the bedroom and threw off his clothes until down to his T-shirt and slacks. Pulling the sheets back, he messed up the bed as if he’d been sleeping, just in case Igor decided to nose around. Then he paced to the door and turned the doorknob.

  “Igor?” Vorobyev asked, leaving only a slight opening.

  “I need to speak with you for a moment. It’s urgent. Let me inside.”

  Vorobyev nodded, stepped back, and allowed Igor to push his way through. He could do nothing but shake his head in disgust at the disrespect from this younger generation.

  “What is it? What have you to accuse me of now? Or is high treason insufficient?”

  Igor made himself comfortable on the couch. “Well, it seems today is your lucky day.”

  “My lucky day? What do you mean?” he said, his mind flashing back to moments ago when he held a gun to his head, preparing to pull the trigger.

  “Turns out our source was fed some bad information. It was a provocation. As a result, you have been cleared of all charges.”

  “What? I...I don’t understand.” Vorobyev gasped and his knees wavered as the reality set in. He’d lost all hope for any kind of miracle. He caught his balance and then stood erect.

  “You will return home a free man,” Igor said as if he had any idea about what freedom was.

  Vorobyev smirked. “Free you say? You falsely accuse me. You beat me like a dog. You imprison me in my own home,” he growled, jabbing his fist into the air. “After everything you have put me through. What is free? No. I’m innocent. I’m not free.”

  Igor, stunned by Vorobyev’s insolence, could not find the words to retort, so he stood to leave. “I’ve said what I came to say.” He made his way to the door and gripped the doorknob. He and Vorobyev never broke eye contact.

  “Mhm hmm. You be careful.” Vorobyev offered his final words. “If Golikov did this to me, he could do it to anyone, including you.”

  • • •

  Back at FBI Headquarters

  “Hey Sam, where’s Sunnie?” J.J. asked Samantha Monroe, one of the newer agents in her office and the only other female apart from Lana. She certainly looked the agent part in her pin-sharp pantsuits, but J.J. hadn’t worked with her long enough to form any real opinion of her professionalism.

  “She was just here a minute ago,” she said, craning her neck around Sunnie’s partition which was adjacent to her own. “She may have run up to the cafeteria. I think it’s snack time.”

  J.J. glanced at her watch and then turned to Tony. “Yeah, she’s right. We should probably head upstairs.”

  Sunnie, one of the best analysts in the Bureau’s cadre, was the color of a milk chocolate Lindor truffle, and with her short crop, silky weave, or swaying braids, every day was a hair adventure. Her flamboyant, colorful dress was equally creative. She fed her not-quite-plus-sized curves frequently, never met a snack she didn’t like. Neither J.J. nor Tony had ever seen her eat a full meal; she just grazed all day.

  They entered Sunnie’s happy place and saw her hovering around the salad bar, carefully scrutinizing every piece of fruit before loading them into her Styrofoam container. Sunnie peered up in time to see J.J. and Tony approaching and appeared none too pleased.

  “Is it too late to run?” she deadpanned. “What do you two want?”

  “There’s our favorite analyst!” Tony said with almost too much enthusiasm. Sunnie’s bullshit detector rivaled J.J.’s and she could spot it coming a mile away.

  “Save it for your partner,” Sunnie said. “Now what can I do you for?”

  J.J. eyed Tony askance. “Anyway. We need you to run down some information for us.”

  “What information?” she asked, holding up a piece of fruit in tongs. “Does this pineapple look okay to you? I think I saw it here last week.” She threw it back into the container and continued to dig.

  “We need you to work your magic and get us access to the personnel files for everyone on the bigot list...except us and Lana.”

  “Personnel files, huh? You know you aren’t allowed to review such information without AD authorization. For me to do so would be breaking Bureau regulations.”

  “Bella!” Tony said, laying on the Italian as thick as frozen molasses. The lilt in his voice nearly lulled Sunnie into a hypnotic state. “Ho bisogno di andare in bagna prego,” he pleaded, batting his lashes as he begged like a puppy dog.

  Sunnie’s mouth fell open. She nearly salivated, while J.J. stared blankly at them both.

  “What did he say?” she asked, still swooning, dazed by the sound of his voice.

  J.J. cranked her neck. “Does it matter?”

  Tony narrowed his eyes at J.J. then shifted them toward Sunnie. He needed her help, not her attitude.

  “I said you are so beautiful and begged for your help. We thought you could . . . you know, pull some strings with Wendell.” Wendell was the pocket-protector wearing Chief of Filedom—better known as the senior file clerk. He defended his turf as if he was guarding the crown jewels. A recent graduate of Brigham Young University, Wendell was a black Mormon and still a virgin, a regretful state he hoped Sunnie would rescue him from. “You know he’s got a ‘thing’ for you,” Tony said, creating air quotes with his fingers.

  She rolled her eyes and resumed her quest. “So, what are you now, my pimp?” Her face was void of expression.

  “No . . . no, it’s not even like that. I just—”

  “I’m kidding.” She laughed. “Had you going, didn’t I?”

  Tony exhaled as J.J. got a chuckle at his expense.

  “Of course I’ll help my favorite agent. You too, Tony,” she said. “You’re the only ones in this place who don’t treat me as if I put my brain on layaway.”

  “We owe you big time,” J.J. said.

  “Yes, you do. And I’ll need a full briefing so I’ll know what the hell I’m looking for,” she said. “But for starters, who’s paying for my snack?”

  She jammed her hand in Tony’s face, palm side up.

  Tony pulled a twenty dollar bill from his wallet. Before he could hand it to her, Sunnie snatched it and headed to the cashier line.

  “All right,” J.J. whispered. “I know your Italian sucks. What did you really say?”

  “I’m not sure.” Tony chuckled. “But I think I told her I had to go to the bathroom.”

  “Good one,” she patted him on the back. Then her face contorted. She appeared uneasy. “We should get back to the office.”

  “What’s a matta with you?” Tony asked.

  “You ever get the feeling you’ve forgotten something important?”

  Chapter 42

  As Sunnie entered the Special File Room, she took a deep breath and sashayed to the customer service counter. Personnel files and the most sensitive codename cases were stored under heavy security there.

  “There’s my man, Wendell!” Sunnie prepared to put on yet another Academy Award winning performance. Wendell, with his nerdy style and resistible charm, was shunned by his colleagues for his unsophisticated manner and pathetic crush on Sunnie. He’d been begging her for a date for too long and gave in to her every demand with ease, mere putty in her uninterested hands.

  She leaned over the counter and fanned herself. Gave him a glimpse of what he wanted to see. He was always more pliable staring down at her distractions.

  “Is the air on? It’s quite warm in here, don’t you think?”

  “Quite,” he said. He couldn’t tell you the color of her eyes, but he could tell you the number of the dye that was used to create the thread holding the cleavage area of her sweater together. He licked his ChapStick-deprived lips and peered shamelessly at the divide between her breasts.

  “So, when you gonna take me to dinner?”
she asked.

  He snorted and blushed. “Every time I ask, you tell me you have a boyfriend.”

  “You’re not going to give up that easily, are you?” She smiled flirtatiously. “Anyway, I need a teeny tiny favor.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  She handed him her file request form. “I need to look at these personnel files. Can you pull them for me?”

  He scanned the sheet then looked at her over the top of his glasses. “Wow. These must be pretty popular employees. This is the second request today.”

  “Second?”

  He glanced over both shoulders, checked to ensure no one else was listening to their conversation. Of course, the room was empty except them, but he seemed excited by the intrigue. He whispered, “Director Freeman’s secretary submitted an earlier request. It’s part of some big investigation.”

  “Is that right?” she replied.

  “Yeah. So, I can’t let you take them.”

  She released a woeful sigh. “Wendell, this is really important. Life and death.”

  “I dunno,” he said, hemming and hawing.

  She moved close to him and traced her finger around his ear to his lips. “Please, Wendell.”

  His body trembled. “Woo!” he screeched, wiping his brow. “O-O-Okay. But you can’t leave the room. Grab a seat at a booth and review them here. Please make it fast. They’re coming in an hour.”

  “You’re a life saver! I owe you one,” she choked out.

  Sunnie didn’t hate Wendell. In fact, with some new glasses, clothes, and a decent haircut, he wouldn’t be half bad. Still not her type, but not half bad.

  He lifted the heavy stack and placed them in the booth closest to the service desk, no doubt by design. He gave her cleavage one last glance. “Just let me know when you’re done.”

  Sunnie took a seat, removed the file from the stack, and flipped the first page open when she felt Wendell’s eyes on her. She whipped her head toward him. “Okaaay, you can go now. Run along.”

  When she turned her attention back to the file contents, she noticed Lana’s name. She hadn’t planned to review it, but she couldn’t resist the urge to peek. After all, that’s why the Bureau paid her the big bucks, for her inquisitiveness.

  She thumbed through page after page, scrutinizing each sheet. The more she read, the faster her pulse raced. All of a sudden, her mouth felt dry. J.J. and Tony were missing a big piece of their puzzle.

  The first page contained Lana’s polygraph examination report. I’ll be damned. Sunnie’s eyes widened as she scanned Lana’s biographical information. Full name. Date of birth. Place of birth.

  Sunnie fell back onto her seat, vowing to take a moment to pause for her conniption later. She snapped herself out of the shock. No time for that. She had to skim through each of the files as quickly as possible. Jack, Chris, everyone. In just a few short minutes, J.J. and Tony would have the information that might change the course of their entire investigation.

  “Tony, this is it!” J.J. scrolled through her cell phone after the text ringtone sounded. Dmitriyev finally sent the text message they’d been waiting for—the location for the money pickup.

  “About time! What did he say?”

  “He says the drop is going down at noon in Rock Creek park’s location 5, right off of Beech drive.”

  “But Chris is still at his poly exam. Do we need to go?”

  “Yeah, we better cover our bases and get some coverage, just in case.” She glanced down at her watch and held it up to Tony’s face. “Damn, there’s no way we can get into position in time.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Tony said. “Let’s radio Jake and get him up there.”

  J.J.’s eyebrows scrunched. Ever since she returned from the morning operation she had a feeling something was missing. She finally realized what it was. “Wait a minute. Jake’s supposed to be here . . . with the package. Is he back yet?”

  “I was in the cafeteria with you, remember?”

  “Oh . . . right.” She stood up from the guest chair in Tony’s cubicle. Hurriedly, she tromped around poking her head in partitions elsewhere in the office. As she headed back toward Tony’s desk, her skin tingled as if warning her that the shit was but a breeze away from the fan.

  “Don’t panic. You know how Jake is,” Tony said. “He probably stopped off to get a burger or something. I mean we’ve been at it since five this morning.”

  “Hmmmm.” Overcome with regret, she wished she hadn’t ignored her earlier intuition, her gift. But this was Jake, a man she’d worked with for the past five years. A man she’d treated to lunch and attended basketball games with. A man who’d learned as much about her cases as Tony. A man who’d...her stomach sank. “You may be right, but I’m seriously not getting the warm and fuzzies about this. Get him on the radio. Now!”

  “His radio’s down, remember?”

  She pressed her eyelids closed. “How convenient.” An almost sickening sensation permeated her. “We need Jiggy on this. He should still be in the area.”

  “Roger that,” Tony said.

  “In the meantime, I’m going to try and reach Jake on his cell phone.”

  “Jiggy,” Tony said after grabbing the radio. “This is Blue Leader One. What’s your twenty? We need you.”

  Static poured through the speaker for a moment just long enough to make J.J. nervous.

  “Copy that Blue Leader,” Jiggy said, to Tony’s relief. “I’m about fifteen minutes from location one.”

  “Okay, we need you to break every traffic law possible and get to location five! The drop’s going down in less than a half hour and we’ll never make it in time.”

  “All right. I’m on my way. I’ll radio in when I arrive.”

  Tony laid the handset on his desk and ran to find J.J. at her cubicle. She looked up, her face tense with distress.

  “I just called Jake’s phone. His cell’s no longer in service.”

  “What!” Tony said. “What the hell is going on?”

  J.J. knew, the way she knew Santa didn’t exist. He’d gotten away clean with the contents of the real drop intended for the Russians, which they would pay a boat load of money to get their hands on. And he could pretty much name his price. She regretted that she had not been firmer with Tony. If they didn’t get the package back, they’d have hell to pay when Director Freeman found out.

  • • •

  “Blue Leader, it’s Jiggy. Do you copy?” He pulled into the small cul-de-sac. If J.J. and Tony’s source got his information right, the drop would take place in minutes. Maybe seconds.

  “We copy,” Tony said. “See anything yet?”

  Jiggy scanned the park. “No, nothing so far. There are a couple of cars here. I’m going to park in the rear of the lot so I’ll have a better view. Hang tight.”

  “Don’t forget to turn on your dash cam,” Tony said.

  Jiggy turned his head to the rear, backing into a spot parallel to the parked cars. By the time he turned around to stop the ignition and turn on the camera, he noticed someone, a man maybe, throw a garbage bag into the back seat of the vehicle. An oversized hoodie and sunglasses shrouded his hair and face.

  “Blue Leader, I think we’ve got something. Maybe a male five-feet, eight inches. Dark clothing, a hoodie. Can’t get any more of a physical description but I saw them throwing an object wrapped in a garbage bag into the back seat. Looks like a white male from what I can see.”

  “All right. You stay on him. What’s the plate number? We’ll go ahead and run it while we wait for your next update.”

  “Roger that. Looks like we’ve got D.C. plates Juliet Charlie, five-zero five-zero.”

  Tony and J.J. snapped their heads toward each other. J.J. remembered the mole wrote a letter signed as “Juliet Charles” and snatched the radio out of Tony’s hand.

  “I’m sorry,” J.J. said. “Did you say Juliet Charlie?”

  Chapter 43

  When Mike turned to Don with his eyebrows raised, Chris
folded like a broken beach chair under a Sumo wrestler. They had him, and Chris knew it. And from the expression on Mike’s and Don’s faces, they knew it too. “Uhhh...why don’t you pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable,” Mike said to Don. “I think we may be here a while.”

  Chris’s voice trembled as much as his hands. He gripped the arm of the chair to suppress the obvious shaking.

  “Would you like something to drink? Some water?” Mike asked.

  Chris nodded. The profuse sweating had left him parched, apparent from his dry, cracking lips. He struggled to find some semblance of comfort or calm. Koshechka’s voice echoed in his mind; he envisioned her scorn-filled glare, watching him literally dissolve into a puddle of perspiration and fear. He thought he’d be strong enough to withstand the stress of the examination, but his body told him what his mind wouldn’t allow him to believe.

  He no longer wished to try.

  For so long he’d struggled with his own deception, and the shame from the lives and careers he’d destroyed as a result of his constant treachery; it haunted him. Sitting across from his soon-to-be interrogators, he realized it would require more strength to tell another lie than to tell the truth. Still, he’d keep them off Koshechka’s scent for as long as possible. When she eventually realized he wouldn’t be returning home from his examination, she’d run away with their child and never look back. His only regret was the thought that his only child would grow up without knowing the sacrifice he’d made to keep him (or her) free.

  “Since this is no longer a polygraph interview, we must read you your rights. We’d also like to record our conversation with your consent.”

  Chris tightened his grip on the chair arms and nodded yes. Then Don cited Miranda.

  “Do you understand these rights as I’ve explained them to you?”

  “I’m still an agent. I’m vaguely familiar with this part,” Chris retorted.

  “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.”