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

by Skye, S. D.

  “Calm down…you okay?” one of them said.

  “I’m fine,” J.J. said as she struggled to pull herself together and focus her thoughts. As she envisioned opening the minibar and twisting open the cap on the Smirnov, the doors opened on the fourth floor, and Gia stepped in, her face twisted in concern.

  “I was just going to look for you…and Tony.”

  “Well…you found me.” She forced herself not to roll her eyes and curse the heifer out. After all, Gia had lied her way into Tony’s hotel room five minutes ago.

  “Are you okay? I heard about what happened,” Gia asked, her concern put-upon. She didn’t give a rat’s ass about how J.J. was feeling. Stevie Wonder could see it. Maybe after a stiff drink, J.J. could muster the strength to pretend, but absent a few shots she couldn’t conjure up any award-winning performances after the horrible day she’d had.

  “Gia, let’s get real for a moment. I’m too drained to pretend to believe this bullshit you’re shoveling right now. You don’t give a shit about me, how I’m doing, whether I’m dead or alive. So, don’t ask.”

  “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “Gia, please,” J.J. gave her the hand, resisting the urge to palm her face like a Spaulding. “Skip the doe-eyed innocent bit with me. Your feelings about me are clear…and I have no misconceptions regarding your affection for Tony. You want to find out how he’s doing? Quit insulting my intelligence and grow a pair. Just ask.”

  Gia crossed her arms over her chest and tightened her lips, before saying. “Okay…how…is he okay?”

  The elevator doors opened on the seventh floor.

  “None of your fucking business. That’s how he is,” J.J. snapped. She held the doors open as she thanked the Donatos’ people and then sent them all on their way. She didn’t leave before saying, “Tony’s a grown man; it’s his job to put you in your place when you interact with him. As for me, the line is drawn. I promise, you don’t want to cross it.”

  As J.J. undressed and settled in her room, her thoughts switched back to Tony’s face as he cried for his brother’s death; J.J. couldn’t help but give into her tears. She didn’t have to imagine his pain or anguish or sense of hopeless despair since she lived them daily…and had done so every single day since her mother died, a fate he was destined to suffer. He couldn’t possibly comprehend how this void in his family would leave him just a little bit broken for the rest of his life. An ever-present sadness would bore a hole and hunker down just beneath his emotional surface, rearing its ugly head whenever he remembered the missing warmth, washing back the memories of his loss like a flood when he was least prepared to suppress it.

  Her anguish mushroomed, not just for him, but for everyone connected with Dante. Spending the night helping to console them, it was clear to see the place each held in the family unit. Carla was the comforter. She was as much a motherer as Mrs. Donato, who possessed a dignified strength. Mrs. Donato and her mother were different and yet the same. Dree, on the other hand, she was the helpless child trapped in a devil’s body. The news of Dante’s death exposed a vulnerability J.J. didn’t believe existed inside Dree. In her grief, she welcomed J.J.’s arms and eyed her as if she’d seen J.J.’s humanness for the first time.

  Although under the worst of circumstances, J.J. felt like part of their family. She thought it odd the way death stirred those left behind, at once it served both as a dividing and unifying force, joining aching souls together. She worried most about Tony. He played the part of the strong son well, but there was an emptiness in his eyes never present before, as if the pain possessed him like a dark spirit. She hoped he’d scrape his way out of the abyss and back into her arms where he belonged. Their argument now felt petty. None of it mattered, not anymore.

  Unblinking, she gazed at the minibar and shook her head. The thought of compounding Tony’s distress with her drinking helped her resist. Instead, she opted for the distraction of her case, which was riding on whether Sunnie’s analysis tied Troika to the spy rings. More than vodka, J.J. wanted warrants. She wanted to march into Troika and snatch every last one of them out of their shiny suits and into jail. She decided to get a progress report, and only one person would know. J.J. pulled out her cell and dialed.

  “You must have read my mind!” Sunnie said at the sound of J.J.’s voice. “I was just getting ready to call you. I’ve got an update. But, first, how are you and Tony holding up?”

  “Eh. We’re here. We’re survivors. What else can I say?”

  “Well, I have news, but not about the flash drives. Damn near every file is encrypted. Walter says it’s 128-bit encryption, which isn’t the best, but still tough to break.”

  “Did you just use the ‘d-word’? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse.”

  “Well, this case is driving me past drinking and straight to vulgarity. Get used to it.”

  J.J. let out a strained chuckle. “Amen to that.”

  “NSA’s system can break the code, but it takes time. They’re hoping Trifonov used the same password on all of his files so when they break one, they break them all. Nobody can give me a hard estimate. Barring the minimal chance of Matvey volunteering the information there’s nothing else to do except wait.”

  J.J.’s brow furrowed. “Fantastic. Then what’s the news? ”

  “It’s about the file…your mother’s case file. You received my text, right? Nixon got it.”

  “Yes. It was the exclamation point at the end of a very shitty day.” J.J. rubbed her temple to relieve the tension. Another setback was almost too much to bear. The minibar started looking better by the second. “What happened?”

  “He waited for Wendell to leave for the day and strong-armed the night clerk who didn’t know any better. He’s acting director after all.”

  “Shit! I’ll never find out the truth now.”

  “Ah, ah, ah…not so fast. I wouldn’t go that far.”

  J.J. perked up. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Wendell’s got more cajones than either of us thought. That’s for sure,” Sunnie said. “When Nixon came into the Special File Room ordering him to turn over the file, Wendell found it suspicious to say the least. So he Xeroxed the entire file. As soon as he heard Nixon got his hands on it, he expressed the package to you in New York. You’ll have it in the morning.”

  Finally!

  She closed her eyes and pumped her fist in the air, relieved at Sunnie’s words. Still she was apprehensive about what she’d find. After all the years of living in the darkness and deception surrounding her mother’s case, the shroud would be removed. She could put her dogged curiosity to rest. But something told her, given the level of pain Nixon had gone through to keep the truth buried, she may very well have set in motion a tidal wave that threatened to reveal much more than a long-held bureau secret.

  Chapter 47

  Thursday Morning — New York City

  Tony turned onto Beard Street, on the Columbia Waterfront, not far from Brooklyn’s Red Hook. That’s where he scheduled his meeting with the Mashkovs. The morning brought a bone-chilling frost that kept the streets surrounding the barren industrial complex lifeless and bare, just as he’d hoped. His emotions were still raw, the wounds on his soul still fresh, the pain of Dante’s death still choleric fire burning through him. The thought of sitting in front of the motherfuckers responsible and holding a conversation that didn’t involve his Glock and two slugs to the backs of their heads sickened him. But the ends justified the means, made his course of action tolerable if discomforting. He stood on the brink of crossing lines he could never uncross. To Tony, his badge no longer mattered. Neither did his future. Only now.

  He thought the Mashkovs would refuse to meet him, but they capitulated with little coercing. The task should’ve been more difficult which concerned him. But he didn’t give them his true name, so they had no idea they were slated to meet with the brother of their latest victim.

  When Tony called Levi, he identified himself as an FBI
agent and told them he needed to speak to both on a life-and-death matter.

  “I have no idea what you’re speaking about,” Levi said. “My brother, he is in Moscow. He’s banned from traveling to the United States.”

  “Bullshit,” Tony replied. “I saw him with own eyes. Last night at Troika. Trust me, if I wanted to arrest him I’d have done it already. I’m obligated to deliver an important message. But if you insist on blowing smoke up my ass, I’ll show up with the cavalry. Our informal, off-the-record discussion will become an interrogation…at Federal Plaza.”

  “I don’t know what you—”

  “Listen, you and your brother can meet me at Red Hook tomorrow, or your offices and warehouses will be blanketed with so many FBI agents, looking into every crack and crevice, you’ll wish the Orkin man had a spray for federal agents. You understand me?”

  Tony had learned well from his lineage. If you give a man two shitty roads, he’ll take the one that requires less toilet paper. It’s human nature. Meeting with Tony was the lesser of two evils.

  He found the perfect spot with a view of the river, abandoned buildings behind him, the East River trail ahead, and waited for them to arrive. Within moments, a car pulled up along the far curb, and the two brothers exited their cars and headed toward him. With Tony standing at six-foot-three, they were bigger than him in height and girth. The largest brother appeared to be the size of Tony and the smaller brother put together. Both were dressed in turtlenecks, black leather coats, and jeans.

  Tony stood up from the hood of his car and greeted them with his badge and credentials which he flashed and, within seconds, returned to his jacket pocket. He introduced himself using his fake last name. Their faces were beet red from the cold and foggy air expelled from their noses and mouths like charging bulls.

  “You wanted to meet us here,” Pavlov said. “Now, we’re here. What is so urgent for you to discuss?”

  “The FBI has received information from a confidential informant that your lives are in danger. Members from the Bonanno family are planning a hit on both of you, in light of the shooting and recent death of Dante Donato.” Tony choked the words out like rancid meat.

  They glanced at each other, back at Tony, and then chuckled. Laughed as if Tony had told the joke of the day. “We had nothing to do with it. But that guy was a nobody. Nothing but a street thug. They will never attack us over him.”

  Tony’s breathing grew more shallow. Rage spun through him like roaring tornadoes. He wanted them dead and had every intention of making it so.

  “He was the son of a Bonanno Boss,” Tony said, forcing the words from his lips. His hands shook with anger; his fury exploded. “And today’s your unlucky day. So am I.”

  Before Tony could process his move, his gun was in his hand, aimed, and ready to fire. “That nobody you’re talking about, he’s my family. That agent you put a contract on, she’s my family, too. Seems to me all of my family’s troubles go away if I unload my Glock in you, you pieces of shit.”

  Tony’s gun clicked as he loaded the first bullet in the chamber. He trained his eyes and locked his glare on the larger of the Mashkov’s head. He smiled as their eyes bulged.

  “My name isn’t Tony DiCosta; it’s Antonio Donato. And that nobody is my fucking brother. Welcome to Brooklyn.”

  Just as Tony pressed his finger against the trigger, a black Mustang skidded around the corner and screeched to a stop in front of them. Through the fog in his mind, Santino’s voice screamed, “Get outta here. Put the gun away, Ton’. Get outta here!”

  Tony’s head heard what Santino said, but his heart wouldn’t allow his feet to move. The taste of their deaths settled on his lips and satisfied him in a way walking away never would. Tony aimed at the knees, wanted them to die slow and painful deaths. Then he squeezed his finger to the trigger again.

  “Think of J.J., Ton,” Santino said.

  Tony froze for a moment that seemed an eternity…and inched his arms down to his side. He glanced at Santino, who pointed his own gun at their heads. After another moment of thought, Tony turned his back on the scene and headed toward his car.

  The first pop startled him.

  But those that followed, at least ten more, satisfied him, edged the corners of his mouth upward in a sadistic smile. Those cocksucking killers were dead and the threat to his family a bad memory…save one.

  Santino rolled up to him as he opened his car door to leave. “It’s done.”

  “And the gun?” Tony asked.

  “Left it at the scene of the crime, of course. Now get out of here. Our family needs you. J.J. needs you.”

  Santino was right. He needed to be with his family. But he had one stop to make first.

  Chapter 48

  Thursday — Moscow Safe House

  Time was up. The deadline had fallen upon him like dirt in a grave, and Ghost and his crew were waiting to take Mosin away—for good. Six entered the shack for what would be the last time. He’d brought Stan to safety on the U.S. soil that is the embassy. Now to complete his final mission, he had some unfinished business with Mosin, and today was the day they’d settle up the score once and for all. It all made sense to him now. The scanners. The surgeon. The FSB. Although Mosin’s plan was good, Six was more than convinced his was better.

  He entered, and Ghost gave him a friendly salute. “You made it. Never thought I’d say this, but it’s been a pleasure to working with you.”

  “Same here.” Six scanned the room. Scattered boxes waiting for tape lay around the floor. “Looks like you’ve got this place about packed up.”

  “Yeah. One more day and I’m headed stateside. Think it’s about time for me to move south and find somewhere to fish and drink all day,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Sounds like my kind of plan.”

  “You mind leaving me alone with him?” Six said, looking at Mosin, his arms and legs strapped to the chair rendering him all but immobile from the neck down. At least Ghost had allowed him to dress and clean up, but he still needed a haircut and shave. “I need about twenty minutes. Maybe less.”

  Ghost nodded and winked. “All right. Guess I’ll go see a man about horse. Just keep in mind my orders are to release him when I leave here. You might want to make sure he can walk.”

  Six chuckled. “Yes, I will ensure we follow all orders to the letter. I’d just like to have a chat before we let him go. But, uh, why don’t you and I meet for a drink later.”

  “Now that sounds like my kind of plan.”

  Six nodded in agreement as he watched Ghost and his cohorts disappear into the woods. Then he turned his attention to the man of the hour. Hawk.

  Six moseyed over with a smug grin on his face while Hawk monitored his every movement. He pulled a roll of gauze from his pocket and sat it on an adjacent table. Then grabbed a chair and placed it parallel, facing the traitor. After straddling his legs across the seat, he pulled out a pristine jackknife and peeled open the blade. Six wanted nothing more than to carve his heart out, but he had another target today.

  “Now, it’s time for you to listen.”

  “W-w-w-what are you doing with that?” he asked, his voice jittery. “Y-y-you’ve been ordered to let me go. You heard Ghost.”

  “How about you shut the fuck up before I slit your neck from ear to ear?”

  Mosin snapped his lips shut and breathed in heavy snorts through his nose, his chest heaving up and down with anger and fear.

  Six leaned forward and glared at Mosin’s hand, his eyes locked on the tattoo strategically placed in the space between his thumb and forefinger. It was a red hammer and sickle. How appropriate.

  “Nice tattoo,” Six said with a menacing glare as he spun the point of the knife’s blade against the tip of his finger.

  The sound of Mosin’s heavy breaths ceased for a split second, then continued. “What’s this about?”

  “I’ll tell you,” Six began. “For days, I’ve chased my tail from one end of Moscow to the other, scouring e
very inch of every place you’ve stayed looking for the intel you stole.” He ran his finger along the blade, staring at it as if he’d cracked up. The fluorescent light against the sharpened steel cast a blinding flash that made Mosin squint. “And I’ve come to a brilliant conclusion. But I’ll get to that in a minute. First, you need a drink. Don’t move,” he joked, laughing out loud…as if Mosin could.

  Six sauntered over to the cabinet drawer where Ghost kept the booze and pulled from its stores two shot glasses, a half-empty bottle of vodka, and a couple of plastic gloves. He returned to the table, filled the glasses, and held up one to Mosin’s mouth. Hawk tightened his lips.

  “Drink it.”

  Mosin looked at him with a confused expression.

  “Trust me. In two minutes, you’ll wish you had ten. I’m giving you two.”

  He hesitated but then opened his mouth to gulp back both. Six set the glass down and returned to his seat. “Good. Now back to my brilliant conclusion,” he said. “You want me to tell you what it is, don’t you?”

  Mosin’s facial features shifted, flashing with a knowing expression. His level of discomfort appeared to increase as the vodka kicked in. He nodded yes.

  •••

  Two Days Ago – NIH Campus

  After Hopper confronted Dr. Badal in the garage and outlined his options, they strolled to a nearby park bench on campus as the brisk winds blew the auburn remnants of fall across the landscape. The timid man fixed his gaze on Hopper with a somber air and a wrinkled brow. “This is about Gary Mosin, isn’t it?”