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

by Skye, S. D.

  Jiggy looked at J.J. “We’ve got to go to WFO tonight and get authorization from MacDonald to use the MCC so we can find the signal and determine where the hell it’s coming from. I’ll bet the Goose will be back tomorrow.”

  “MCC?” Walter asked.

  “The Mobile Command Center,” Tony said. “On second thought, we may need to go a little more low key—it’s going to stand out like shit on cotton over there parked with the food trucks.”

  “I can find it with my laptop,” Walter said. “Just tell me where you need me to be and when.”

  Six interrupted, “I don’t mean to pry…”

  “Of course you do,” J.J. snapped.

  “But, uhh, this doesn’t sound like you’re standing down operations as ordered by your director.”

  J.J. tightened her lips and rolled her eyes. “You’re right, Six. Let’s call the whole thing off. But you might want to consider what happens to your all-important source if the Russians overhear the CIA briefing the Prez about him.”

  Six froze in his thoughts and said, “Point taken.”

  “We’ll brief Gia tonight,” J.J. said with a smile before turning to Tony and then back to Walter. “Looks like Task Force Phantom Hunter has a new target. Walter, we’ll see you back here at 6 am? We need to set up early.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Sure thing. Now, I should be getting out of here. Traffic on the BW Parkway’s gonna be a bear.”

  Within minutes, Tony, Six, and J.J. were pacing back to FBI headquarters. Since Director Freeman had ordered them to stand-down, they required his consent to pursue the investigation further, an authorization she feared she would not receive. At that moment, with only conjecture and analysis to support their theory, the case was sure to fall victim to politics. J.J. looked upward, her eyes drawn to the flags billowing around the Washington Monument as they turned onto Constitution Avenue. Her mind was jolted by an epiphany. She thought back to the contents of Cartwright’s letter that she received on Saturday—the words that he told her Lana spoke to him.

  We moved from Foggy Bottom to 1600…

  “Doesn’t it seem odd to you?”

  “What?” Tony asked.

  “Well, in the State Department operation, they targeted an unclassified conference room. Probably didn’t get much of anything from the wire from the information I read.”

  “So?”

  “Think about it. Why would they waste that level of time and effort, put the life of their agent and his support network at risk, to conduct a flawless installation of a listening device in a room where they’d get no classified intelligence?”

  J.J. turned to Tony. The sound of their footsteps against the red brick filled the air between them for a moment while he appeared to collect his thoughts. “One possibility is the agent got the wrong conference room. Based on its proximity to the Secretary’s Office, may be the jerkoff thought the space was classified,” Tony said.

  J.J. looked at him askance and shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  “Yeah, I know. That theory’s got more holes than Swiss cheese. You think Lana had something to do with this, don’t you?”

  “I think we’ve got a bigger fish to fry right now than Lana,” she replied.

  “Who? The President?”

  “Worse,” she said. “An angry Director Freeman.”

  Chapter 6

  Monday Night, November 9th—FBI Headquarters

  The team returned from the Ellipse convinced they had sufficient justification to pursue the case further. The next step: meet with Director Freeman to do the impossible—get authorization to conduct a preliminary inquiry, a directive contrary to the President’s orders.

  “Absolutely not!” Freeman roared like the thunder firing up outside in the night sky. “Look under my desk. You see my foot? It’s down and it’s not budging. Yes, you have a valid lead. Yes, you will pursue it. No, not tomorrow. We’ll put more Gs on Gusin and increase the FBI presence in the Ellipse when the lookouts call him out of the compound. He won’t get within a hundred feet of the park, at least not until we can conduct a thorough investigation.”

  J.J. shook her head in frustration.

  “But, Sir, if I may interject,” Tony began. “If we increase FBI presence, the Russians will know the op, whatever it is, is blown. If you will recall, we have a source in the Embassy. Shutting down the operation will put him at risk, especially with Golikov’s hoods running roughshod. Should we sacrifice an FBI source to avoid pissing off the President, who I guarantee you will be more ticked off than any of us when he finds out the Russians have wired his house? Even worse, learning the FBI suspected a problem but didn’t do anything about it because we didn’t want to piss him off?”

  Freeman massaged his left shoulder, trying to ease the ache radiating through his arm. The stresses of the job were wearing the tread on his body thin, as was listening to J.J.’s tale of bugs and the White House. Impossible problems in even more difficult times. J.J. reminded Freeman of himself during early days in his career, running Organized Crime cases out of the FBI Philly office. He understood her dogged determination, her commitment and patriotism. Her persistence.

  Ugh, her persistence.

  But he’d like to strangle her with her blatant disregard for the rules and stubborn inability to follow protocol. She had a knack for doing the right thing for sound reasons at the wrong time. And with the President-ordered standdown, her timing couldn’t be worse.

  “J.J., consider one thing for a second. What do you think is going to happen when a team of FBI agents show up to sweep for bugs, right down the hall from arguably the most aggressive press corps in the world?” Freeman said, animated, his hands flailing about. “The Coast Guard couldn’t save us from the splash from those headlines. And all from the office of the man who issued the order to stand down in the first place. Do you not see that?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, running her fingers through her shoulder-length hair. “I hadn’t considered the press corps.”

  “Of course, not. That’s why they pay me the big bucks. To take into consideration situations that very smart agents forget to consider.” He stood, walked to the front of his desk, and took a seat on the edge. “With that said, there’s a reason the FBI Director cannot be fired. We’re a law enforcement organization first and we operate without regard to political machinations. But the ripple effect of throwing this boulder in the water has implications for every agency in the intelligence community.”

  “What if we could find a way keep the inquiry low key? Find out what we’re dealing with.”

  “If you seriously believe you can conduct a low-key investigation in the West Wing, you’re more naïve than I thought,” Freeman said.

  “But—” Tony said.

  “Thank you for stopping by this evening.” Freeman returned to his seat and clasped his hands together. “Now, if that will be all. My wife would like me to arrive home sometime this century.”

  J.J. and Tony stood in defeat and nodded before shuffling toward the door. “Okay. Thank you for your time, Sir.”

  “Always a welcome visit,” Freeman said as he watched them leave. He leaned back in his seat for a moment and shook his head. A half smile inched the corners of his mouth upward. He grabbed the phone and buzzed his secretary, Mrs. Whitehouse. “Catch J.J. and send her back in here.”

  He’d all but killed the task force, barred her from supporting the Michaels’ investigation. The dejected look on J.J.’s face told him she was at the edge. Somehow he knew he’d live to regret the decision, but for J.J. to ask him for permission was much more difficult than for him to ask for forgiveness. While his misstep would certainly require a few days on the Hill, it wouldn’t cost him his ten-year tenured job.

  A slip-up might cost J.J. hers—and she didn’t appear to take issue with the prospect.

  She poked her head in the door. “You asked to see me, Sir?”

  “Yes,” Freeman leaned back in his seat, elbows against the armrests, and
steepled his fingers. “Twenty-four hours and low key, do you understand me? I don’t want to see a blip on my radar in any way attributed to you. If you so much as turn up in the credits on the six o’clock news, if I see you in the society section of the newspaper, you won’t have to worry about turning in your resignation. Am I clear?”

  “Crystal,” J.J. said, unable to restrain her smile. “You won’t regret this, Sir.”

  “Famous last words,” Freeman said with a nod. After she disappeared, he grinned. He knew he wouldn’t. He turned to his desk and faced his monitor. As he reached to shut down his computer, an email appeared from SAC MacDonald. An update on the Michaels investigation.

  Metro Transit Police called. They’re inspecting subway footage from last Thursday and Friday. Think they’ve identified Lana. Will send to WFO first thing in the morning.

  He exhaled and dropped his head against the neck rest. He had a gut feeling the information would bring them a step closer to catching Lana, but any woman who could successfully operate as a foreign agent within the walls of FBI Headquarters could not be underestimated. If they didn’t find her soon, she’d be halfway to Moscow before the FBI’s radar blipped.

  • • •

  FBI Headquarters – Monday Night

  J.J. removed her suit jacket and tugged at the shirt label which now grated like sandpaper against the skin on the back of her neck. She stood next to the whiteboard as she surveyed the brood of stone faces glaring back at her under the harsh fluorescent light. The room was thick with uncertainty and she could barely conjure the energy to motivate herself, let alone the rest of the team.

  She hadn’t slept well the night before. How could she after the eventful Sunday brunch? Now her day had gone into double overtime and the exhaustion had taken her near the edge. Her eyes felt grainy and hot and her lead-heavy body was drawn to the chair, but she had to stand and take charge, while the rest of the bleary-eyed team sat hunched around the conference table waiting for J.J. to impart direction.

  Except Six.

  He’d been in rare form the entire day. The contemptuous gazes he periodically shot in hers and Tony’s directions confirmed his frequent interruptions and doubt-casting was meant to stall the meeting, keeping her at headquarters and in his sights.

  “You’ve all been briefed. Now, we need a plan of action. We’ve only got twenty-four hours to collect enough evidence to pursue a full investigation. I’ve got some ideas, but I’d like to hear yours first. Anyone?”

  “Well I—” Walter began before Six rudely interrupted.

  J.J. rolled her eyes and gave a polite nod to assure Walter she would solicit his opinion after Six turned off the hot air.

  “As long as the embassy’s on stand-down and they don’t find out we know about their operation. Gusin will be out tomorrow, mark my word,” Six interjected. “We better be ready for him.”

  Gia and the rest of the attendees agreed before silence settled in.

  Walter waited a few moments before speaking his peace. “My equipment can detect the frequency and, if we narrow down the correct one, I can record the transmission.”

  “In downtown D.C.? Yeah, right. Do you know how many signals are transmitted through that area every day?” Six said. His skepticism was as evident as his disregard for Walter’s abilities.

  Walter’s shoulders slumped before he snapped to attention, his posture board stiff. “Hello! I’m NSA and I’ve got over ten years of experience in signals collection including Russian operations. So, no one here understands what we’re dealing with better than I do,” he retorted, kindly putting Six in his place. He turned to J.J. and without taking a breath, rambled, “I have a computer-based spectrum analyzer, UHF/VHF receiver, and historical knowledge of Russian operations. As long as I have Bureau authorization, I can configure the receiver and analyzer to conduct full spectrum targeting of the RF signals, intercept, demodulate, and record them…as long as the device is activated and within my target range—which is between 9 kilohertz and 3500 megahertz.”

  “Uhhh,” J.J. said, blank-faced and open-mouthed.

  “F-Y-I, that’s a broad range. I also developed a cloaking software to disguise the system. No one passing by will detect my activity,” Walter added.

  A hush fell over the room.

  Gia was the first to break the silence. “I’m no expert, but I’ll take his word for it.”

  “I didn’t unda’stand half of what he just said which means it’ll probably work,” Tony said.

  Six’s eyebrows raised and his lips pursed. “A couple of hours? Yeah right. We need a Plan B.”

  “Plan B?” J.J. was too exhausted to even think about devising a Plan A. “Why don’t’ we bet on it?” J.J. suggested, leaning forward with her shoulders hunched. “If Walter can’t narrow down the signal and record the transmission in an hour?” she looked at Walter who nodded in the affirmative, then she continued, “I’ll buy you a new hat. Judging from the hot air emanating from your area, the one you wore today probably won’t fit.”

  Everyone chuckled.

  “I’ll take that bet,” Six said as they shook on it.

  J.J. pointed to five positions on the map. “Okay, everybody knows where they’ll be posted. Radio communication and cell phone back-ups. The Ellipse, 7 am sharp. Dress warmly. It’s gonna be a chilly morning.”

  As the rest of the group proceeded to leave, Gia hung behind and made a bee-line toward J.J. and then she slipped beside her, patted her arm, and said, “I wanted to let you know that you’re doing a great job, but you look exhausted.”

  “Thanks?” J.J. looked askance as Gia continued.

  “Tony and I were talking over coffee this morning and he told me you’re probably not getting much sleep with that Lana Michaels still on the loose, huh?”

  J.J.’s blood steamed instantly. “Hmph. Tony said, huh? Well I’m fine…and WFO’s got the Lana Michaels’ investigation under control. She’ll slip up. It’s only a matter of time.”

  At that moment, J.J. was less concerned about Lana and more concerned about her source—Aleksey Dmitriyev. She prayed he would survive Filchenko. Whether the knife plunged into his back or sliced across his throat, Dmitriyev better be prepared to fend off Filchenko’s attack. All available information on Golikov’s protégé indicated that a confrontation between the two was inevitable.

  Chapter 7

  Tuesday Morning—Russian Embassy

  Dmitriyev nerves were on edge. He’d stayed up all night thinking about passing the news of RAPTURE to J.J. and what that meant for his future. Now this—an early morning visit from Komarov.

  The palpitations in his heart rumbled in his ear, but he mustered enough calm to keep a steady hand before the java flowed. Such visits from the Resident did not bode well for the day. Either he was in trouble or about to be. Still donning a t-shirt and pinstriped pajama pants, he dragged his bare feet across the cold linoleum floor.

  “Ugh, Comrade,” Dmitriyev grunted as he shuffled into the kitchen. The sun had barely emerged over the hazy horizon when the Resident arrived at his flat, which was sparsely decorated with a sofa and table and chair in the breakfast nook. He grabbed a mug and pot and started to pour. “I can’t wait until Olga returns from Moscow. Maybe you’ll go back to sleeping past the cock’s crow. Coffee?”

  The Resident waved his hand in refusal. “No, too early. Gives me the shits.”

  “So what brings you down to the fourth floor so early in the morning?”

  “A favor…and a question,” he said, surveying the room before turning to Dmitriyev.

  “A favor? Or an order?” Dmitriyev asked.

  “Both.”

  Dmitriyev took a seat on the sofa opposite the Resident. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need you to back up Comrade Gusin today,” he looked down at his wristwatch. “And I don’t have a lot of time to explain why.”

  Dmitriyev froze, his face turned from flush to pale before he could form his next sentence. He shook his hea
d feverishly and with eyes widened, lowered his voice above a whisper. “No, Comrade. You can’t mean that. I can’t. Filchenko…why can’t he go alone?”

  If the FBI caught Dmitriyev supporting an operation—a security officer and one of only two declared Russian intelligence representatives working in Washington—his career was effectively over. He would not only be expelled, he’d be declared persona non grata in the United States and unable to serve anywhere in the West, not to mention compounding the damage already done by the “Mikhaylova Affairs.”

  Even more problematic was the fact that he had no time to alert Agent McCall. God forbid she or someone she worked with caught him conducting countersurveillance in an operation she was, as of yet, unaware. With their relationship still tenuous, he had no doubt she’d believe him to be a double agent playing against the FBI. He feared she would withdraw support from him immediately, destroying any hope he had to settle his family comfortably in America. The Resident’s order couldn’t have come at a worse time.

  “First, he’s not ready, but our choices are limited and the FBI is unfamiliar with him,” Komarov began. “The minute he or another officer leaves the compound they are immediately followed by a hoard of surveillance personnel. Because you are declared and cannot participate in operations, you are the ideal person to cover this operation. You will not draw coverage,” the Resident insisted. “We need you on this. Just for today.”

  “But—”

  “Stop, please. I understand the position I’m putting you in, but it’s not as bad as you think,” the Resident insisted. “You do not have to participate. Just monitor. Watch out for FBI surveillance. Signal Gusin if you see anything suspicious. We’ve been running this operation uninterrupted for almost two years and based on our success, we’ll be running it for the next five—or longer—if we are successful today.”