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

by Skye, S. D.

  “Well, unless you’re carrying immunity from prosecution, what you’ve got in that brief case don’t mean jack!”

  “Prosecution? What the hell are you talkin’ about prosecution?”

  “The fucking Feds. They picked up The Razor on racketeering and narcotics charges.”

  “What? I told his stupid ass to lay low.”

  “Cocksucker doesn’t take instructions very well. They popped him while he was in the middle of boning his goomar. They followed her to the apartment where he was staying.”

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “Well, it gets worse. He’s turning state’s witness. Rolled over like a fucking Labrador retriever begging for treats. Indictments are gonna be falling from the sky like rain. And, given all shit he’s done, and the people he’s whacked, there ain’t a family from here to LA that ain’t gettin’ wet.”

  “Mother of God. Uncle Sal just got out. I gotta do something… and fast or he’s goin’ back in.”

  Chapter 51

  Friday Morning — Scranton Half-Way House

  Tony returned to the hotel room just past midnight after driving around for hours, too wired to sleep and too tired to function. Unable to settle down his mind, he took a two-hour drive to Scranton to visit his father. With his emotions swirling over Dante’s death and his own life turning in circles, for the first time in decades he needed his father…and for the first time in decades his father would be there for him.

  As they sat in the common area of the fifteen-room shelter developed from a duplex, Tony released his feelings to the person who’d give him the truth with brute honesty.

  “I’m confused, Pop,” he said. “What I did yesterday, I never thought I’d do. Now, I feel torn between two worlds and, for the first time in my life, I’m not sure which way to turn.”

  His father stood up, patted him on the shoulder, and took a seat in the chair adjacent to his. He leaned forward with his elbows on knees and clasped his fingers together. “Tony, my life is my life. I made my choices, and you made yours. You’ve been a lot of things in your life; indecisive’s never been one of them. You know what you want.”

  Tony bit his bottom lip glanced away.

  “Listen, whatever you think about this life, it allowed me to take care of my family, my kids. Fed you, kept you clothed, put you through five years of college. I have no shame about what I do or who I am. Did I want you to be a Fed? Hell no. But more than that I didn’t want you to live without honor. I didn’t want you to be a traitor to the life that sustained you for all those years.”

  “I have lived my life with honor, and I’ve stayed as far away the family business as I could.”

  Sal nodded. “Yep, and now the secret’s out. You never were a rat. Anything else, I can live with…from a distance, of course. But I can live with it.”

  “So, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying you drove two hours for me to help you with a decision you’ve already made. Be a man. Honor your decisions. You’re the warrior I raised you to be.”

  His father words soothed him like a balm. What he needed to do now, in his career, and in his life, seemed clearer than ever.

  “Now that we’ve cleared the air, Santino tells me you’re dating someone.”

  “I’m not dating her,” Tony said. “I’m in love with her.”

  “Hmph,” he said. “Is ‘at right?”

  “I know, right? Who woulda thought it. Me…in love with J.J. But she makes me happy. She’s my choice—nothing indecisive about it.”

  “Well, I don’t have to ask whether or not she loves you. From what I hear, she sounds a lot like your mother. But I’ll tell you what I told Santino—in the dark and under the sheets, it’s all pretty much the same. Courage? Loyalty? Protecting your family like her own? And taking shit from Dree without clockin’ her? Women like that are hard to come by…in any color.”

  Tony chuckled. His father always had a way of putting things that hit straight to the heart with no chaser. Tony left Scranton with his mind made up to max his credit cards at Tiffany’s and ask J.J. to be his wife. But first he needed sleep.

  He had no medicine. No Tylenol PM or other sleep-inducing drugs to help settle his mind, which raced, spiraling into depressing thoughts of Dante. Giving up the struggle, he decided to raid the minibar, mixing a makeshift Long Island Iced tea from coke, vodka, gin, tequila, and rum, and downing it on an empty stomach, which he realized was a mistake as the heat surged through his belly. He was a relative lightweight when it came to hard liquor.

  The booze warmed him to the point of sweating. He had begun stripping off his clothes when a knock came at the door. He blinked a few times to clear his blurring vision and stumbled over to answer it, each step less sure than the last.

  “J.J.,” he thought to himself. “My future wife.”

  He twisted the knob and pulled it open. “Gia?”

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “I’ve been sick worrying about how you’re doing.”

  “I’m okay,” he said, looking down at his feet and noticing that he was standing in the door in his underwear with no shirt. He closed the door enough to conceal his body behind it.

  “I’m fine,” he said. The words didn’t sound slurred in his head, but he could tell from Gia’s expression something had not come out as intended. “Just had a drink so I could get some sleep. You better go. J.J. will be here in a minute.”

  “Please,” she said, pressing her hand against the door to keep it from closing. Her eyes were innocent, her voice soothing and sweet. “Let me come in, just for a few minutes…to talk.”

  She’s just a friend, he thought. J.J. would be his wife, and he was strong enough to resist her. He pursed his lips as he considered the choice he was about to make.

  “Tony, you’re over twice my weight and ten inches taller than me. What am I gonna do, rape you? I just want to talk. There’s no harm in talking, right?”

  He felt a pang in his stomach as he pulled the door open to allow her inside. “Okay…just let me throw on some clothes.”

  Chapter 52

  Friday Morning — New York City

  J.J. was borderline frantic all day and night until she received a text from Tony saying, “I’m okay. See you later.” No mention of where he was or who he was with. Just some vague reassurance that he would live long enough to tell her about it later. She’d pulled the load for both of them at the office, finishing up paperwork so they could make a clean getaway back to D.C. after Sunnie completed the analysis. Now Devin Fitzpatrick, the squad supervisor, had called her into an emergency meeting, and she’d have to cover for Tony in his absence.

  His brother’s death had ripped him to the core, and it would be months before he found peace of mind enough to emotionally reattach himself to the world, to her, but with patience and time they’d muddle their way through together.

  J.J. suited up and whizzed into the New York Office inside of a couple of hours. She was half awake and chomping on a bagel by the time the call came through. She rushed into Fitzpatrick’s office to catch him in the middle of a phone call. He held up his index finger signaling he’d be ready to talk in a minute. In the meantime, she made her way to her temporary desk.

  “J.J.! There you are,” Manny’s voice call from behind her. “How are you and Tony holding up?”

  She flashed her bandaged finger. “Tony’s having a rough time, but at least I have all my extremities which is a good thing, huh?”

  “Yeah, that’s more than we can say for Nicky Mumbles. At least they left one finger so we could identify him.”

  “Still no signs of his head?”

  “No, not yet. They’re still searching the area.”

  “If I know anything about the Russians, you’d have better luck checking with the Postal Service. It’s probably in an express box on the way to his wife,” she said. “Anyway, Fitzpatrick called me this morning. I’m gonna run and check my voicemail before he calls me in.”

  “Oh, yeah,
before you go…a package came for you. Let me grab it.”

  He returned a few minutes later with two large inter-departmental envelopes no doubt containing the FBI files from her mother’s case. “Here you go.”

  Her hands shook as she grabbed the packages from his hands. The answers to all of her questions were inside. She burned with anticipation ready to rip them open. “J.J.,” Fitzpatrick called out. “I’m ready for you now.”

  “Shit!” she said to herself. She dropped the files in her bottom desk drawer and ran to him. Just as she reached his office door, he backed her out of it and said, “Follow me.”

  He led her downstairs to the twenty-second floor, the interview area where he she’d debriefed Zory Kozlov a day before. She hated to tell him, but Zory wouldn’t be coughing up any more information. She’d bled him dry…and he’d lied to her. The only reason they had a snowball’s chance in hell of using his debrief is because she could detect lies, another fact she couldn’t share.

  Once inside the secure area, he glanced over his shoulders to ensure the hall was empty before whispering, “This is between you, me, and the walls. You understand me?”

  She nodded. “What’s going on?”

  “We had a new walk-in today, but we’re keeping his identity secret for his own safety. His life is in danger, and he’s scared shitless.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Matvey Trifonov. Says he witnessed two murders, wants a plea deal. In exchange for the information we need to shut down Troika Technologies, he wants to go into the program.”

  “Witness protection?”

  He nodded.

  J.J. stood stunned. He must’ve been scared as hell to walk into the FBI, but the reason was no mystery, at least not to her. He had no inkling the cleaning woman was an FBI agent. He’d trusted the evidence to a stranger who had disappeared. In hindsight, going inside Troika was the best move she could’ve made. And now that he was in FBI custody, there’d be no turning back.

  “Who got killed?”

  “A chauffer…and his cousin.”

  “Jesus, Misha and Dani,” she muttered. Now, Matvey’s appearance at the FBI office made even more sense. When she disappeared with his flash drive and the money and Misha showed up with a blank drive, he had to wonder if she’d snitched on him to get more cash. “I warned Misha this would happen. A victim of his own greed. Where’s Matvey?”

  Fitzpatrick bowed his head toward the closed door next to them.

  J.J. jutted her chin toward him and walked inside to see Matvey molting away in this seat. His face was ashen, and he’d turned his hands into his armpits, appearing almost doubled over in pain.

  She pulled out her credentials and introduced herself. “I’m FBI Special Agent J.J. McCall.”

  He started to speak but froze and did a double take before his eyes narrowed and his mouth fell open. “It’s you. You’re the one who took my flash drive.”

  “No, you gave it to me,” she said. “But, yes, I have it.”

  The realization that she was an FBI agent crystalized in his mind and his shoulders began to relax. He clasped his head with his hands and let out a long breath. “My God. When you didn’t deliver it…I thought…I thought you turned me over to the Mashkovs. I’ve been walking around like death on a stick ever since.”

  “What happened? What brought you here?”

  “Somebody I’ve never seen before, I heard him called Misha, handed over the flash drive; they checked it. When it turned out to be blank they killed them…slaughtered them both for not killing some agent...” his mind did a quick calculation, and he put the names together. “Wait, McCall. They wanted to kill you?”

  “I’m afraid so,” she said, “but who is they?”

  “The Mashkovs. They told me they’d murder me if I said a word, but I had no doubt they’d do so no matter what.”

  “They’re dead now, so why come here today?” J.J. said. So far, she had no reaction to anything he said. He’d been truthful. But the threat to his life had died with the Mashkovs…or so she thought.

  “Yes, they’re dead…but Max and Leonid are not. Together, they can be worse than both of the Mashkovs. If the Mashkov’s told Max I was a threat to talk…I would’ve been dead all the same, just tortured for much longer.”

  “I see,” J.J. replied.

  “I want to go into witness protection. Me, my wife, my kids. I want a new identity. I want my family placed where they can be safe.”

  “And in exchange?”

  “I’ll tell you anything about Troika. The accounts. The people. Anything.”

  “You’re willing to testify in open court?” she asked.

  He offered a hesitant nod. “If you guarantee my protection…yes.”

  J.J. nodded. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do. But I have a couple of key questions I need to ask you…and I need you to tell me the truth. If you even think about lying to me, I’ll walk you outside and call Troika to tell them we’re sending you back to work. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes…try me. Ask anything.”

  “What can you share about the Svetlana Mikhaylova accounts?”

  “They do exist. There’s a definite connection. The Mashkovs transferred the money irregularly but a few times a month at a minimum. They set up the accounts as part of an agreement between Mashkov and General Golikov. You know him, yes?”

  J.J. nodded. All too well.

  “Mashkov gave me the cash and I deposited it into multiple accounts but this…it can all be traced if you’re aware of what you’re looking for. And I know what to search for.”

  His story aligned with her theory. Now she had one final issue to resolve—Gary Mosin. She needed to confirm that he was indeed responsible for maintaining the new accounts and paying the remaining agents after Svetlana’s death.

  “You heard of Gary Mosin?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he answered. “I watch the news. Everyone with a television must know who he is by now.”

  “Was his name linked to any of Svetlana’s accounts? Was he linked to the new account after she died?”

  “No,” he answered without a second’s hesitation…and she felt no reaction, which meant that he was telling the truth. The answer surprised her. She’d banked on the exact opposite response, and she was wrong.

  “Are you sure?”

  “One-hundred percent certain. The person responsible for the new account is an American. He lives in the Washington D.C. area; the name attached to the account is a false identity, but he has documentation.”

  “Do you have any other information?”

  “Nothing but rumors. But from what I understand, the person is a male…and he is an officer in the military at the Pentagon.”

  J.J. gasped. “The Pentagon?”

  * * *

  Six couldn’t pack his suitcases fast enough. He wanted more than anything in the world to get out of Moscow. He’d finished his business and accomplished two very difficult missions. Now, his only regret was that he couldn’t get an earlier flight to Prague, the pit stop he’d have to make on behalf of Vorobeyev’s family before returning stateside…to J.J.

  A gnawing in his core told him J.J. and Tony were in the midst of some relationship upheaval. It was only a matter of time before the reality of its complications, in the stark light of these days and times, made it crumble under the weight of societal and familial pressures. Six would be there to lift her up, to remind her of the good in him, the love in him, before he turned into an egomaniacal Neanderthal…at least in her eyes. He needed to get home first, and he had one stop to make before he made his way to the airport.

  After high-tailing it to Mark’s office inside the secure vault, he knocked on his door.

  “Take a load off and close the door behind you.”

  Six scanned the room and spotted an urn on the table next to Mark’s desk. “Is that Stan?”

  “Yeah. The cleaning crew emptied the contents from the vacuum cleaner. Mr. Vorobyev’s ashes are ready for
delivery to his family in Prague. There’s a compartment under the false bottom with travel instructions.”

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  “When they get to Germany, we’ll get them out on a military flight. Stan, too. If all goes well, they will be flying to the U.S. together,” Mark said. “You catch the news this morning? The headline was very interesting.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The MVD found Gary Mosin’s body. Fifteen rounds between his chest and head.”

  Six should’ve been happy; he should’ve celebrated. J.J. and the task force would. But instead, a pang of guilt overcame him. Perhaps, he could’ve dealt with Mosin in a different manner. The question lingering in his mind was whether he should’ve. “I gave him every chance to cooperate. He remained defiant until the end. At least we’ve got the intel.”

  “And your name is on the director’s radar…again, in a good way. I see yet another commendation in your near future.”

  Six tried to force back the smile, but he couldn’t. For what he’d accomplished, he deserved a commendation and more. “Speaking of future, I need to catch my flight. I’d tell you I look forward to working with you again…but I don’t. Gonna settle myself down behind a desk at Langley for a while.”

  “Uh, uh. Not so fast. I’m not finished with you yet, Mr. Chance. I had an interesting visitor this morning. The FBI Legat. Imagine my surprise when he handed me a preliminary report from the CART team. Said you ordered it a few days ago.”

  Six swallowed hard and flashed a sheepish grin. “Oh, that. Yeah. I requested it before my confession. I thought it would take longer than that. Did you, by any chance, review the results?”

  Mark handed the file across the table. “As a matter of fact, I did. Take a look. I think you’ll find the initial findings as interesting as I did.”

  Six grabbed the file and scanned through the few pages in the folder. “They broke the encryption on one of the files.” The contents almost made him lose his breath. “Jesus. These are Top Secret documents from the Joint Staff…and the J2 in Washington, no less,” he said. The J2 was the Directorate of Intelligence, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs intelligence representative. “What’s this doing in Mosin’s netbook?”