Spy Catcher: The J.J. McCall Novels (Books 1-3) (The FBI Espionage Series) (43 page)

Chapter 25

Tuesday—The Situation Room

“How this could’ve happened?” Kendel asked, staring at her reflection in the glossy mahogany conference table anchored in the center of the Situation Room. On it laid one of the square removable panels concealing the wires and telecommunications and video equipment installed along the perimeter walls.

Burrowed into the rear of the panel were two circular inserts containing the devices.

With gloved hands, Walter and Tony carefully examined each component, while Six and J.J. stared at Kendel’s stupefied expression. “The space underwent renovations in 2007 and has undergone a few sporadically since. I mean, it had to be somebody on the security or construction teams. Had to be.”

“Tony, J.J., you see this?” Six asked. “I’m not a betting man, but I’d say this looks almost identical...” 

“To the device found in the State Department?” J.J. asked.

“Yeah, even down to the precision-cuts. This panel isn’t removable like the others that cover the cabling. They cut this panel especially to plant the bug. Look, you can’t even tell the difference. Whoever did it had expert carpentry skills,” Tony interjected. “At best the White House has a mole. At worst…”

“A sleeper,” Six said.

They each exchanged glances and turned to Kendel, whose scrunched brow served as a clear indication that her mind was spinning.

From the midst of her haze, she continued speaking as if she hadn’t heard anything but the sound of her own thoughts. “But we conduct sweeps regularly,” she urged, her shock apparent in her eyes which shifted nervously.

J.J. waited for a reaction, but none came.

“We installed electronics sensors during the last renovation. Why didn’t our equipment pick them up?”

Walter looked up with his glasses low on his nose and his eyes peering above the rim. “The sensors installed in this room scan for high-frequency devices like cell phones. This device operates,” Walter said, holding up the panel, “on a low frequency. The sensors wouldn’t detect it,” he said. “But there’s another possibility to consider. If I’m right, you may have a much bigger problem. Can I take a look at your equipment?”

Kendel froze as if momentarily paralyzed. Then she picked up a phone and made a call, mumbling something indiscernible under her breath. After hanging up, she said, “They’re on the way. Hawk will be here in just a few minutes. He’s fully cleared.”

“So, what’s next?” Six asked.

J.J. turned to Kendel. “Do employees badge both in and out of this space?” she asked.

Kendel nodded. “In, not out. The system maintains a log which goes back to 2003 when we installed it.” 

“Are there hours in which the room is regularly not in use?” J.J. asked.

“Most nights, unless there’s a major operation going on. We run a 24-7 watch desk, but that’s located in the space next door.”

“Okay, we’ll need a printout of the log. All entry records from the date of the last renovation.”

“Are you kidding me?” Kendel said. “You have no idea how much paper you’re talking about, but let me give you a clue. With the volume of information in this system, we could build a bridge from here Moscow.”

Walter shook his head. “If you can download it to a drive, our VECTOR program can conduct the analysis and identify patterns. You’d need an intel analyst to run down the leads, though.”

The face of Sunnie Richardson, her favorite go-to intelligence analyst, popped into a J.J.’s head. “No problem. I’ve got someone who can handle the job.”

A click sounded and the door opened. A well-groomed, middle-aged Caucasian man in blue coveralls pushed in a cart with an array of handheld frequency scanners. With eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted into a smirk, he scanned the room before staring down J.J. and Tony in a scornful glare. He had prominent European features, a strong jaw-line, cleft chin, and the worn skin of a man familiar with alcoholic beverages.

“Thanks, Hawk,” Kendel said, pointing out the visitors in the room. “Please meet FBI Special Agents McCall, Donato. That’s Grayson Chance, a career officer at the Agency.”

“Six, please,” he responded.

Kendel looked at Hawk askance. “Everything okay?”

“Couldn’t be better,” he answered. “I’ll be over here if
you
need anything.”

He stood with his back against the wall, monitoring as if he was on watch.

J.J. frowned in confusion. “Excuse me? What’s
his
deal?” she asked Kendel. She couldn’t help but notice the obvious disdain and look-that-kills sneer from this man who didn’t know her from a can of paint. While she understood “F-B-I” didn’t always engender feelings of light and love given it’s long and often tumultuous history, his attitude was over the top by all standards. This was going to be a long investigation.

“Technical security contractor. FBI made him jump a bunch of hoops to get his clearances,” Kendel whispered to J.J. “He got them but I don’t think he’s over it.”

J.J. smiled warmly and turned to Hawk. “The line for people holding grudges against the FBI could wrap around the Earth twice. You’ve got a long wait,” she said with a chuckle, trying to break the ice.

He forced a fake chuckle before baring a sliver of his teeth like a rabid dog. “Perhaps.”

Hawk’s attitude took up more space than he did as Walter stood up, rolled his eyes, and walked over to the cart. He palmed a few of the devices and examined them closely. After removing a jackknife from his pant pocket, he slipped the blade into the scanner’s seam to crack it open.

“No, you can’t do that!” Hawk said, loud enough to draw Kendel’s attention.

“Are you nuts?” she said. “That’s a $500.00 device.”

“Just as I suspected,” Walter said, facing the circuit board toward her and pointing to a small grouping of wires. “You see this?”

She nodded as everyone nearby turned their attention to Walter.

“Someone disabled the sensor. This $500 scanner isn’t worth 5 cents. It’d make a better Christmas decoration,” he said, pointing at the blinking light. “And if my suspicions are correct the others aren’t worth a nickel either. Someone’s been tampering with your equipment. That’s why you never detected the bug during your sweeps.”

“Jesus!” Kendel braced her hand on the table before taking a seat. “Who would… There’s no telling how many bugs are in the building, or how long they’ve been here.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t have time to think,” J.J. said. “Let’s check for other devices so we can determine the magnitude of the breach.”

“Use our equipment,” Tony said to Kendel. “Your officers can conduct sweeps throughout the entire residence to determine whether we need to expand the crime scene.”

“Yeah, meanwhile, the first thing we need to do is get the ERT in here,” J.J. said, slightly uncomfortable with Hawk staring down her throat. “They may find prints or anything else we’ve overlooked. Although, if the spy is shrewd enough to pull this off, I doubt we’ll find much.”

“ERT can’t show up with the van or raid jackets or the Press Corps will be all over the story like stink on shit. We’ve still got to keep this under wraps, remember?” Tony said.

“We don’t want to risk tipping off the Russians either,” Six added, before continuing, “which begs the question, what are you going to do with the bug? The minute you remove it, the Russians will shut down the op and begin an internal investigation.”

As J.J. thought about it, Six had a good point. An internal investigation would be disastrous for all involved. Dmitriyev, although he had made a major error in judgment, might still pull through with some critical intelligence. With him supporting the op at the Ellipse, he’d come under immediate suspicion if the Bureau shutdown the device. Yes, the bug had to go, but they couldn’t afford to throw Aleksey under the Golikov bus. Losing yet another source, by her own hand nonetheless, was not an option. Once Director Freeman understood the consequences, he would have to agree.

“We’ll need to get authorization from Freeman, but it’s got to stay, at least for now.”  

“Have you lost your mind?” Kendel asked.

“No, my mind isn’t the loss I’m worried about,” J.J. said, glancing at Tony. She conjured up an excuse, hoping he would put two and two together. “I’ve got to confer with Director Freeman to ensure we don’t compromise our sources and methods. Once the ERT arrives, nobody can use the room, not even the President. So, barring the discovery of any new devices, there’s no danger of leaking any more intelligence to the Russians once it’s sealed.”

Kendel reluctantly nodded in agreement and scanned the room. “This situation feels incredibly surreal. I mean, any number of things should have tipped us off to a problem. How did the perpetrator mitigate the risks and pull off what appears to be a flawless operation? It’s not like you can practice this.”  

At once, the deafening blares of a fire alarm sounded. Everyone in the room jumped, then froze amid the muffled grumbles and chaotic footsteps pounding outside the conference room. All FBI team members eyed J.J.; all Secret Service personnel looked at Kendel.

J.J. scanned the room and yelled to Kendel, trying to raise her voice above the screeching bonks. She inhaled but smelled no smoke in the air. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Fire alarm! We’ve got to go.”

J.J. shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got to secure the scene.”

Kendel smirked. “I’m sorry, but if the President has to leave the premises, so do you,” she said. “Hawk is fully cleared. He will secure the room.”

J.J. hesitated for a moment, staring down Kendel. Finally, she conceded. “Let’s go,” she said to Tony and Six. She looked back and watched everyone leave, then stood outside the door as Hawk brought up the rear and secured the room.

“Don’t worry,” he said, waiting for her to follow the crowd heading outside. “Go ahead. I’ll lock it up.”

She waited for a reaction, but none came. He appeared sincere in the eyes, but a slight edge in his voice left her with a strange chill of uncertainty. Seconds after she exited the building, Hawk appeared in the doorway and headed toward a group of White House personnel. He hadn’t lingered behind for as long as she suspected he might—but long enough.

Standing outside in the driveway, just beyond the Presidential cavalcade, J.J. pondered Kendel’s question. It was a good one. How in hell do you conduct an operation of this magnitude so flawlessly? It was almost as if they had…
Oh my God! That’s it!
  J.J. stepped away from the bustling crowd and motioned Six and Tony to follow her.

They paced toward her and huddled up.

“You remember the State Department case? The listening device was placed in a conference room down the hall from the Secretary, but the space wasn’t classified. They probably got nothing in terms of valuable intel.”

“Yeah?” Tony and Six said at the same time.

“Well, what if they
never meant
to collect intelligence? What if the operation was practice, a dry run? What if the Russians had another target all along?”

“The Sit Room,” Six said.

“Interesting theory,” Tony said. “And if that’s the case, narrowing down the list of suspects should be a matter of finding the person in the White House who also worked at the State Department.”

J.J.’s eyebrow popped up. “Well, off the top of my head, I can think of
one person
who fits the bill on all counts.”

Tony and Six glanced at J.J. and then, one by one, each turned toward Kendel.

With their gazes burning holes into her back, Kendel spun around, appearing confused. She shifted her gaze between the trio and, with a bemused expression, said, “What?”

“Uhhh, nothing,” J.J. said. “We’re going to let the team wrap up here and go back to headquarters. Our analyst needs to get started on the deep dive. Who should we call to coordinate interviews?” 

“Me,” Kendel said. “I’ll get you access to whomever or whatever you need.”

J.J. knew the answer before she responded. She suspected that if the case implicated Kendel in any way, she’d want to be alerted as early as possible.

Based on the itching sparked during the discussion in the office, J.J. was certain Kendel knew much more than she’d let on—but expert carpentry was probably not her forte. At worst she was a mole—at best, a Paper Doll. Thus, the questions lingering in J.J.’s mind circled around the depth of Kendel’s involvement and who, if anyone, had helped her.

Chapter 26

Tuesday Morning, November 10
th
—Irving Street

5 Days Left…

Lana woke up earlier than usual, peering through the black strands of wild hair shrouding her face; they blocked the sunlight bursting through the window. Her vivid, rampant dreams allowed her little rest. The more her mind churned over the inevitable, the death of J.J.’s father, the more difficult it became to still her mind. She’d come to the sobering realization that she would much rather see J.J. screaming in pain as she watched Tony bleed out from shots to the head and chest than Mr. McCall. But getting close enough to slaughter them without risking capture was nearly impossible. And leaving the United States without making J.J. suffer was not an option. No, though his only fault was his genetic connection to J.J., Max McCall must die.

But a spirit haunted her, perhaps her guilt, and an eerie, uncomfortable darkness consumed her every time she looked at the front of his house. She quickly shrugged off the thoughts as paranoia born from stress, and, fortunately, she had no time to stew. With hardly three hours of sleep, she needed to leave and check the signal as soon as possible. In the last dead drop, her father had instructed that he would leave one when her travel documents were prepared. Once in her possession, she would escape this godforsaken country.

Santino had posed a minor threat to her plan but not anymore. She had him right where she wanted him…dependent on her for his safety, just like all the others. Her newest Paper Doll—her cut out. As long as he needed money and she had it to earn, he would do her bidding to save his own hide. In the mafia, whether Russian or Italian, the only principles that ranked above anger and revenge were money and self-preservation. He would forgive her the minor transgression to pay his debt and return home.

Lana checked her closet, which was woefully bare, and selected the day’s outfit. Nothing to wear except the identical jeans, shirt, and jacket she wore at McCall’s store two days ago. The fashion rotation was short and would remain so until she left the country. After winding her hair into a bun and tucking it into the Washington Nationals’ baseball cap that she swiped from a vendor near the metro, she moved quickly to the window and scanned up and down the block. The neighborhood was funeral-home still. The only light poured from tall street lamps.

She quietly crept down the stairs and slipped outside, turning her back to the street as she pulled the door shut and locked the bolt. She threw her head back in relief and drew in a long breath before trotting downstairs. Just as she stepped beyond the gate a deep voice called out, “Hey!”

It sounded familiar. “Uhhh…excuse me?” Her eyes searched the darkness for the body connected to the voice, but nothing appeared. Before she could turn to run inside, fast-paced footsteps padded toward her. Her eyes darted around the area. The voice was close, but the man still out of view.

“I’m over here,” he said, his dark figure appearing on the sidewalk. “It’s me. You were in my store the other day.”

Max McCall. She stared at his front steps until his body materialized from the darkness of his porch door and into the street lamp’s beam.

She gasped and grabbed her chest. “Oh my God! You scared me.”

He had a warm, gentle smile, and his tall frame hovered high above her. Except for his pumpernickel skin, his girth and the strength emanating from his eyes reminded Lana of her own father. “Thought I recognized you. I never forget a face, although you don’t have sunglasses today so that threw me off. But the hat…and…you know, the clothes,” he said uncomfortably. “So, you’re bunking with Mr. O, huh?”

“Uhhh, yeah. Just for a couple of weeks. Had a little trouble at home. Needed a place to stay.”

“You don’t have any family in the area?” he asked.

“No, not in the area.” She shook her head and looked down to check the time. “Anyway, I should get going. I’ve got an early appointment. Nice seeing you again,” she said pointing in the direction opposite of his store.

“Oh, okay. Well, thank you again…for the other day. If you ever need anything, stop by the store. Your groceries are on me.” He turned to walk away. A few steps into his stride he stopped and said, “Hey, what are you doing for dinner Saturday?”

“I don’t know,” she answered in confusion. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, my daughter and her friend from work are coming to dinner for my birthday. It would be great if you could come by…and meet
him
. You two would be perfect for one another. ”

“Well, I don’t—”

After staring at her expression, he shook his head and chuckled. “Ohhh…no no no. He’s not …like
me
…he’s more like…
you
. So, what do you say? 6 pm?”

“I say…,” she began, as an evil smile edged the corners of her lips upward. “Six pm would be
perfect
. I look forward to it.”

As Lana paced toward the metro station, a sense of calm enveloped her body. Max McCall’s life had been spared. In an instant, her main enemy was back in her sights and headed for the slaughter. The tips of her fingers tingled with anticipation. Just as Lana’s heart would forever ache for Jake, J.J.’s would ache for Tony—right before her own death. A miserable and just way to die. And after Santino finished the crime, collected his money, and Lana locked the vision of J.J.’s expression into her mind, Lana’s well-timed call to the police would shift the focus of their manhunt from the Red Honeytrap to the new agent killer—Santino Santino—while she sailed the high seas onto France, and finally to Moscow.

Saturday evening couldn’t come soon enough.

• • •

Tuesday Morning – Washington Field Office

Hopper walked briskly through the vacant hallway to Kyle’s office tucking in the tail of his shirt while he replayed the conversation with the Metro Police in his head—a 7 am breakthrough. Lana was still in D.C. He was certain of it. The long-awaited call came just as he bit the sole hunk out of his morning bagel. The noise from his stomach growls muffled his thoughts as he tried to anticipate what Kyle would ask him to do next. He’d learned the hard way to stay two steps ahead of him if at all possible. This morning he was ready.

He knocked on the door frame and poked his head past the threshold. “Hey Kyle. You got a minute?”

“Yeah, come in. What’s up?”

He stepped inside and plopped down in the guest chair. “Metro called this morning.”

“They said they would,” Kyle said. “What’s the good word?”

“The footage is fuzzy but looks like they found a clip of Lana leaving the station. Green line, U Street area. Not far from Howard University, right?”

“You work in this city. Do you get out?”

“Yeah, just not U Street. Wonder what the hell she's doing over there?”

“The fact you ask is no doubt the precise reason she exited at that stop.” Kyle rose from his seat. “I doubt her bestie lives in the area.”

“Certainly nothing in her file.”

“So, tell me, hot rod, what do you think we should do?”

Hopper blew out a long puff of air and a pressed his lips together in a slight grimace. “Well, if she’s laying low in the area near Howard, she’s got to find a place to stay. And there’s probably plenty of rooms to rent in the area—no shortage of college kids looking for local housing.”

“Now, you’re thinking, Sparky.”

“Not Sparky. My sister has a dog named Sparky.” Hopper frowned. “A labradoodle.” 

Kyle chuckled. “Fair enough, Junior, how do you propose we follow-up this brilliant theory of yours?”

Hopper thought for a second, flashed a cocky grin and squared his shoulders. “Check the
Post
, school newspaper, see who’s renting rooms in the area. Then go door-to-door.”

Kyle pursed his lips. “Is that your last and final answer?”

He thrust out his chest and, with over-confidence, said, “Yeah. Last and final.”

“Figures,” Kyle said flatly. He scribbled on a Post-It, which he tore from the pad and thrust at Hopper. “Here. Start with the
Post
. Call my contact. He’ll get you a list of all the renters who have
pulled
their ads since Thursday. If anyone’s rented a room…”

Deflated, Hopper’s chin dropped to his chest as he finished Kyle’s sentence. “They don’t need the ad anymore.”

“Lucky for you, the list should be pretty short. Now scram. The timer’s winding down, and we’re running out of time.”