Spy Catcher: The J.J. McCall Novels (Books 1-3) (The FBI Espionage Series) (35 page)

Chapter 10

Late Tuesday Afternoon—The West Wing

Butterflies fluttered through J.J.’s stomach as she, Tony, and Six approached the Marine in dress blues standing sentry outside the West Wing entrance. His presence signaled the President was on deck. The air of majesty was both awe-inspiring and intimidating as J.J. trailed up the circular driveway at the grand, columned north entrance; it was accented by precision-manicured shrubbery. The sense of honor and history enveloped her, brought goose bumps to J.J.’s forearm as the crisp wind coiled around her.

She’d only been to the White House once before, in what seemed a lifetime ago. Ronald Reagan was president and she was a patriot-in-the-making, rolling eggs across the South Lawn. How times had changed. This day she wore a suit instead of a ruffled blue dress; had a holster with a Glock over her shoulder rather than a patent leather white purse, and the President and she shared more than a love of country—they shared the same skin color. J.J. sensed her mother’s smile in the glimmer of sun peeking through the clouds; the warmth gave her confidence to forge ahead.

In a few choreographed motions, the Marine opened the door and they paced across the threshold, Six leading the way and J.J. and Tony trailing close behind. J.J. eyes roamed the foyer, which was formal and painted in welcoming neutral tones. She marveled at the light shimmering against the chandelier dangling overhead when Tony’s voice jolted her from her daze.

“Good afternoon, I’m Special Agent Antonio Donato,” he said as he flashed his credentials to the stiff, brown-haired uniformed Secret Service police officer in a starched white shirt, black tie, and dark pants. He was posted in a room at the foyer’s edge leading out of the entryway and into the West Wing. Tony gestured toward J.J. and Six, introducing them in kind. “We’re here to see Kendel Phillips.” 

The officer stood up from his desk, examined their IDs, and mumbled some jibberish into a mic attached to the wire dangling behind his ear. “Afternoon. I’ll escort you all downstairs and get your visitors’ badges.”

“Thank you,” J.J. replied, following close behind him. He led them through a narrow hall and then down a short flight of steps, each pristine room and entryway accented with rich mahogany wood accents and Victorian tables and seating wrapped in soothing blues and neutrals.

“So, what’s the purpose of your visit today?” he asked, the sound of his voice somewhere between attempting small talk and collecting facts.

J.J. glanced at Six and Tony and replied, “We’re here to coordinate on an urgent matter. Can’t really disclose more than that.” Just past the stairway was a security checkpoint on the right and a second lobby area ahead and toward the left. “So, uhh…the President’s in?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s attending a meeting in the Sit Room on a VTC…with Putin. Should be leaving shortly.”

He nodded. “This way please.” He briefly spoke to another agent who handed him three visitors’ badges. He passed them out and they each clipped them to their lapels. “Agent Phillips will be out momentarily. I’ll make sure she’s on the way.” He disappeared down a short corridor. J.J. spotted the Secret Service shield on a wall in the back.

Moments later, a stylish black woman clad in a sophisticated navy suit and rimless eyeglasses, about J.J.’s height, sauntered up the hall. The tight bun in her hair gave her a stuffy but elegant appearance. The closer she got to the group, the more her eyes narrowed. She barely glanced at J.J. before locking a searing gaze on Six. In her heart of hearts, J.J. knew things were about to get ugly. And fast.

“Agent McCall. Six,” she said tersely without ever shifting her glare from him. “What brings you here…
today of all days
? This couldn’t wait?”

Six looked down at the vintage Omega beaming from his wrist and backed out of arm’s reach. “I…I, uhh, didn’t realize the date.”

Kendel tightened her lips. “Wouldn’t be the first time, would it Z?”

Tony leaned over to J.J. and whispered, “Z?”

“Zero,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “It was Zoro before the break-up.”

“Sorry,” Six interrupted, his expression one of genuine angst. “But, no, this couldn’t wait.”

After noticing Six’s flustered demeanor, J.J. glanced down at the date on her own watch—November 10th. She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. In a flash, a colossal white elephant soaked up all the oxygen in the room…and it was dressed in a strapless, floor-length Vera Wang with a lace veil.

“I think you’re the only one I’ve not met,” she said turning to Tony, flashing a fake smile. “I’m Agent Kendel Phillips. Secret Service. You are?”

“Special Agent Antonio Donato.” He extended his hand. “Tony’s fine.”

“Yes, you are,” she mumbled in a voice inaudible to everyone except J.J., whose face crumpled.

She cut her eyes at Kendel before catching herself and relaxing her tension.

“Uhhh, thank you Agent Donato. Shall we step into my office,” she said leading them back through the cramped corridor. They passed a few offices on the left and right until arriving at the Secret Service section in the rear.

Kendel led them into her constricted office with oversized mahogany furniture that took up precious free space. J.J. and Tony took the two seats in front of her desk while Six remained standing. She waited for everyone to settle in, then leaned back in her seat and defensively folded her arms over her chest. “So,” she said scanning each face at the table before returning her gaze to J.J. “This must be a serious matter for Six to risk coming to see me. What’s going on?”

J.J.’s gaze darted to Tony and back at Kendel. “Well, one of the Gs tracked a Russian intelligence officer conducting an op at the Ellipse a few days ago. Long story short, Russian intelligence has installed a listening device in the White House.”

Kendel let out a sharp breath, sat forward in her seat, and shook her head, incredulous at the notion. “You mean you suspect.”

“No, it’s here,” J.J. said.

“Impossible!” she yelled, appearing insulted, yet unsure. “My security team conducts weekly sweeps.”

A crawling sensation started in J.J.’s hand, seeping up through her arm and shoulder. She jerked back and bit her lips to maintain her composure. Kendel was lying—J.J. didn’t know about what and didn’t have time to drill deeper. She made a mental note of it and moved on. Her most pressing challenge was to get Kendel’s cooperation with the least stink possible, and doing so without applying excessive pressure now appeared unavoidable.

Six said, “Well, there must be a problem with your sweeps. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here. We all heard it.”

“You all heard it, where?”

“Here. Coming from the Sit Room,” Tony answered.

Kendel stood to her feet and slammed her palm against the desk. “We’ve got dozens of officers on this property every day and an upgraded security system. There’s no way in hell a Russian installed a bug in the Sit Room.”

J.J. waited for a reaction, but none came. “It’s funny, you know, how you phrased it,” J.J. said, “because we don’t believe
a Russian
did.”

Tony continued. “Based on the evidence we’ve collected so far, Director Freeman’s authorized a full investigation. We have the authority to conduct our own sweeps right now, but we’d appreciate and, frankly, expect maximum cooperation from your office,” he bluffed.

“I’m sure you do,” Kendel said as she returned to her seat. “But if anyone’s going to conduct a sweep in the Sit Room, it’ll be Secret Service.” She bent forward and, with her index finger, pointed to the nameplate on her desk that read Chief of White House Security. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this is
my house
.”

J.J. jerked her head backward, looked down at the floor, and started to bark out a reply but choked down her initial response. She only had a couple of hours left to gather the evidence she needed to justify the full investigation. Her patience was wearing thin and her time short. While her second-thought told her she might catch more bees with honey, a voice vaguely sounding like her ornery Auntie Adelaide said, “Sometimes you’ve got to be a bitch to check one.”  

She leaned forward, rested her elbows against her knees, and oozed a forced calmness as she retorted, “I don’t mean any disrespect, Kendel. I realize this situation must be difficult for you. After all, Six is, well…Six. But I must remind you that Tony and I are FBI Special Agents conducting a possible espionage investigation involving Russian intelligence on U.S. soil.”

“And?” Kendel snapped with a slight roll of the eye.

J.J. suppressed the “Oh no you didn’t” and snapped, “Well, according to the United States Congress, when a case involves Russian intelligence and espionage on American soil,
my house
is bigger than
your house
—and it includes the Situation Room.”

Kendel froze, clearly taken aback by J.J.’s brashness.

“Now I can have my director call your director,” J.J. continued, “or you can put on your big girl panties, lose the attitude, and escort us to the Sit Room. Then you can report to the President that because of your cooperative spirit, Boris the Russian diplomat won’t be able to listen in the next time he and the National Security Council are deciding what
not
to discuss with the Russian National Security Chief during an upcoming visit.” J.J. cocked her head to the side. “And since this is
your room
in
my house
, I’ll let you decide where we go from here.”

J.J. had crossed a major line of engagement and prayed her no-nonsense approach would work. If Kendel picked up the phone and called FBI Headquarters to kick up a stink with Director Freeman—all their effort would be for naught. Freeman would put the kibosh on the entire operation and she’d go back to leading her analytical working group until she quit. The Task Force had a mission to accomplish and there was no time for the stone-wall, ball breaking that plagued cooperation between law enforcement agencies. Besides, Kendel’s frustration had more to do with the fact that Six fell in love with J.J. than any legitimate beef about jurisdictional encroachment.

“Play the clip for her, Tony.”

He pulled out his cell phone and played back the information from his voice recorder.

Her eyes widened before her face contorted into a scowl. Her lips curled as she seethed and stewed in her own anger. She’d made it painfully clear she had no intention of extending anyone an olive branch except to beat Six over the head with it…and maybe J.J., too.

“Well?” J.J. asked.

After a few moments of focused thought, she ran her fingers through her hair and hissed, “What do you need?”

J.J. exhaled and concealed her relief. “We’ve got a sweep team on standby not even ten minutes away.”

“Fine!” Kendel said. “But when they don’t find anything, I expect an apology for your lack of professionalism.”

“My lack of— Listen heif—” J.J. began before Tony nudged her.

He leaned over and whispered, “We got what we came for. Leave well enough alone.”

J.J. cut her eyes at him and tightened her lip.

“May I use your phone?” Tony asked.

Kendel nodded. “They’ll need White House clearance or we can’t give them access today.”

Tony looked a J.J. then back at Kendel. “Uh, Walter Lowenstein from NSA counterintelligence is cleared. He can conduct the sweep. We just need you to get him in the gate.”

“I’m on it,” she stood, walked to the door, and opened it. “Now, if you’ll all step outside for a few moments, I’ll make the necessary arrangements and escort you downstairs.”

After stepping outside and shuttering at the slam, Six said, “That went better than I expected."

Tony shot him a side-eye. “Well, what the hell did you expect? To get shot? Because that meeting was just slightly less painful than death,” Tony said before turning to J.J. “Now, somebody wanna tell me what’s so freakin’ special about today’s date?” 

Six and J.J. glanced at each other, then at Tony, and in unison replied, “No!”

Tony strode into the corridor and shot back a blank glance over his shoulder. “I’m going to step outside to make a call. I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

Standing outside Kendel’s office, J.J. smirked and turned to Six as he studied her expression. “What is it, Six? You keep looking at me like I have spinach in my teeth,” she said running her tongue along the top row.

“No, no. Trying to figure out what’s up with you and the Italian Stallion. The air between you two was so cold I think my balls caught frostbite.”

J.J. chuckled and shook her head. “Is your brain in any way connected to your mouth?”

“Don’t try to deflect the question. Answer me.”

“If I wanted to talk about it, I would’ve.” She shrugged and paced ahead. “Let’s just say, what happened between you and me last Friday was a game changer. Things between Tony and I will never be the same.”

Chapter 11

Friday Morning, November 6th—FBI Headquarters

The Smirnov’s burn in J.J.'s throat served as a coarse reminder that she had knuckled under at the first hard blow, leveled by the human upper-cut called Grayson “Six” Chance. In five minutes, her life had taken a calamitous turn. One minute, she’d crossed the threshold into the FBI Headquarters Executive Conference room where Director Freeman had announced she'd be leading the Phantom Hunter Task Force along with her new love, her co-case agent Antonio Donato. By minute five, Six's lips were parting from hers and Tony walked in just in time to catch an eyeful of the remnants of their embrace, one J.J. neither invited nor welcomed.

After Sunnie left and her nerves calmed, J.J. set off to find Tony. She needed to make things right. Overcoming Tony’s stubbornness would be a difficult feat. Walking in on the disturbing scene no doubt ignited his ire and put a chink in his macho Italian armor.

She paced back to the office, rehearsing her speech with every step.
You didn’t see what you thought you saw...Okay, you did, but it's not what you think...Okay, it is what you think, but he kissed me first...Okay, I kissed him back, but not much.

Nothing sounded reasonable. If the shoe was on the other foot, she wouldn't have believed a single excuse. Any attempt at explaining would've been met with a detailed description of the many express routes he could take to hell. In her final analysis, only one truth mattered: Whatever her wayward lips succumbed to at the moment, her
heart
belonged to Tony—and Tony alone.

J.J. flung her purse over her shoulder and gathered her inner strength as she twisted the doorknob. She stepped inside her office and scanned the area for Tony. Most cubicles were empty except for a couple of voices mumbling back near Tony's space. She wasn't surprised. Everyone tended to cut out early on Fridays if they put their hours in throughout the week. J.J. stood on her tip-toes to view over the top of the cubicles and noticed a brunette hovering around. A burst of jealousy quickened her steps. Just as she suspected—Gia Campioni.

J.J. growled in a low steady rumble as her stomach hardened. From the moment the interloper laid eyes on Tony, she knew Gia had put a target on his back. Her eyes were filled with the hope of a woman who longed to take the bull by its horn so-to-speak. As J.J. made her way up the aisle, Gia did a double-take before sidestepping to allow J.J. to enter.

“Hey, Tony,” J.J. said. “You ran off before I had a chance to explain what happened. Can we talk for a minute?”

When Tony glared at J.J., eyes narrowed, Gia’s gaze shifted nervously between them before she grabbed her purse and jacket from Tony's guest chair. “Uhhh, I know you two have a lot of work to do. Tony, if you get time tonight I’m heading up the block to Gordon Biersch. Maybe you’d like to stop by and have a drink.” She turned to J.J. and, with much less enthusiasm, said, “Of course, you’re welcome, too.”

“I'm sure,” J.J. snapped as she returned the cold sentiment. “But, no thank you. As you said, I’ve got work to do.”

J.J. watched Gia leave, waiting until she heard the door to shut before turning to speak to Tony.

“Seriously? Gia? The corpse of our relationship isn’t even room temperature yet,” J.J. whispered in aggressive hushes. 

“Really, J.J.?” Tony responded, his expression tightly pinched and his cheeks visibly flush. He lowered his voice. “Don't even try to turn the tables on me. What you experienced is nothing compared to what I walked in on!”

She slipped into his guest chair and pulled it close to him.

With his face crumpled, Tony closely examined hers.

“Something in my nose?” she asked.

“No, something’s missing,” he said. “Ohhh, yeah. Six's lips!”

She released a heavy sigh. “That's how you're going to carry this?”

He turned from her, aligned his fingers to the keyboard, and tapped annoyingly loud. His bullheadedness never ceased to amaze her. She never believed the day would come in which she’d bear the brunt of it. J.J. struggled to find the right words to say. She opened her mouth and hoped they would come. 

“Look at me,” she said, her eyes chasing his. She needed him to believe her sincerity and hear the truth in her tone. Still he refused. “Please, Tony. Look at me.”

He didn't turn around. Just kept typing up his report.

“Okay, fine. The only reason I even stayed behind is to tell him in no uncertain terms that I don't love him anymore. Whatever he wants or believes, my heart belongs to someone else. Before the words formed in my mouth, bam! On my mother's grave, I didn't welcome it. He caught me totally off-guard.”

He abruptly stopped and turned to her. “What about the picture on your entertainment shelf?”

“It's gone. Last night. In about fifty pieces at the bottom of my trash can, along with the Belvedere bottles. I'm trying, Tony. I'm trying.”

He shifted his gaze back toward the computer. “Well, if I was the right man for you, maybe you wouldn't have to try so hard.”

Her rapid blinking was followed by an open stare. “Or perhaps this situation presented the excuse you needed to pursue more
family friendly
options at the bar tonight.”

He cut his eyes at her. “You must be freaking kidding me. Man, you’ve got a hefty pair given that we’re here because of you.”

“No, Tony, we’re here because of Six,” J.J. replied. Then she disobeyed her mother’s biggest piece of advice—she asked the question she didn’t want the answer to. “You’re attracted to her, aren’t you?”

Her stomach plummeted. She knew there was a possibility her gift would tell her much more than she really wanted to know. But she needed to know.

“How do you expect me to respond?” he asked.

“With the truth.”

He rolled his eyes and hesitated before barking, “No!”

A sharp stab jabbed at her heart, which was unrelated to the intense itching sensation permeating her feet. He did have a thing for Gia. For the first time, he’d deliberately lied to her. She rose to her feet sullen and defeated.

“I'm going to my desk. Director Freeman expects our report by close of business.”

“Whateva,” he mumbled under his breath.

J.J. sulked with every step toward her cubicle and collapsed into her chair. She hadn’t anticipated this level of anger from him. She hoped Tony would cool down and drop by her desk later, but she realized convincing him that Six meant nothing to her would be difficult. The question was how to convince him that he meant more? And even if she managed to convince him, did she mean anything to him? If he could switch his feelings off like a light switch, maybe his words to her last night were as empty as her heart felt that moment.

She wondered if this conflict was a sign they weren't as compatible as she’d hoped. Maybe Gia would be a better match. An attraction that crumbled under the weight of one week’s turmoil may suggest they weren’t meant to be together. The mere thought gave her a migraine, so she rejected the notion by refocusing her attention on other pressing matters—like her own safety. 

She needed to plan her next steps.

Lana was still on the streets, no doubt drowning in rage, desperate, and vengeful, which made her a very insidious threat to both J.J. and Tony. J.J. would need to be extra vigilant about her safety with every move she made, on guard every moment of every day. While J.J. had no clue about Lana’s strategy to strike back at her, she knew Lana's success would culminate with one of two events—J.J.’s admission to a hospital or burial in a casket—unless she got to Lana first.

As J.J. stirred in her thoughts, the phone rang. She eyed the caller ID and hesitated to answer. She didn’t recognize the Northern Virginia number and feared Six might be trying to woo her. After second-guessing herself, she picked up the receiver.

“McCall.”

“Uh, J.J.? This is Debbie. Debbie Cartwright. We met last year at the Christmas Party,” the woman said as her soft voice trembled. She was the wife of James Cartwright, the former FBI Assistant Director of Counterintelligence and father of two whom Lana murdered before attempting to make her escape to Moscow. “I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time.”

“Oh my goodness, Mrs. Cartwright. I hardly know what to say. I'm...I'm so deeply sorry for your loss. Jim was a good man.”

“Thank you for those kind words at this difficult time. I hope he’s remembered that way. He just...” Her voice cracked then trailed off. Moments later J.J. was deflated by a barrage of sniffles.

“Are you okay?” J.J. asked as if she had the power to ease what she could only imagine must be crippling grief.

“I'm sorry. It's all so overwhelming. News reporters camped outside on the front lawn. FBI Agents turning my house inside out. It's all just ... so overwhelming,” she said, collecting herself.

“How are you and the girls holding up?”

“We're all devastated, of course. The girls are struggling to understand. I'm trying to help them understand situations I can't even begin to grasp myself,” Debbie said. “But we do what me must, right? With God's grace and mercy, we'll make it through.”

“Yes…you certainly will,” J.J. said, still confused as to the reason Debbie had called to speak with her. After a lengthy, uncomfortable pause, she continued. “Is...Is there something that I can do for you? As you can imagine, things are pretty crazy here.”

“Oh, of course, dear,” Debbie said. “I called because I was going through Jim's things. He had the forethought to collect his insurance policies, retirement accounts, and such. And among the paperwork, I found a letter specifically addressed to you. His secretary, Sue, gave me your number.”

J.J.'s eyebrows scrunched. “Jim left a letter for me?”

“Yes. Marked 'For J.J. McCall Only',” she said. “It’s thin, one or two pages at the most. I thought you might want to come by and pick it up.”

J.J. shifted in her seat and sat back. Her mind began to spin, wondering if he wrote the confession she suspected he'd planned to deliver before his death. She was tempted to ask Debbie to open the envelope but decided against it. She didn't want to add anymore to Debbie’s hurt and confusion than humanly necessary. J.J. sensed her struggle to come to grips with the man she loved and the man she was now discovering him to be. “I can't imagine what it could be. I'm finishing up a report for the Director today. Would it be possible for me to stop by tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. We're having family here about noon, following the memorial service. Any time later would be fine.”

She fell back into her seat, curiosity piqued. He died before he and she could meet. She had an inkling about the contents, but she'd have to wait until Saturday to find out for certain.