Spy Catcher: The J.J. McCall Novels (Books 1-3) (The FBI Espionage Series) (54 page)

Hopper and Kyle exchanged glances. “You’re kidding,” Hopper said. “Did she accept?”

“Yeah,” Max responded. “She did.”

“So she knows you, J.J. and Tony are expected here this Saturday.” The expression on Kyle’s face grew urgent. “We need to get that plate enhanced. Pronto,” Kyle said. “Do you mind if we go to your house and burn a copy from the internet? We’ll talk to your son and be on our way.”

“That’s fine,” Max said.

Hopper disconnected the DVR and returned it to its place on the closet shelf. He set it back in place and closed the door behind him.

“You stick close to your son, Mr. McCall. If my suspicions are correct, we’re going to have a lot of dead bodies on our hands if we don’t get some answers to these questions…and I mean yesterday.”

Chapter 46

Friday—Russian Embassy

Aleksey dry-heaved and coughed over the cold whitish commode, gripping the seat with one hand while wiping the perspiration from his forehead with the back of the other. He’d slept like a Marine on night watch ever since his friend departed Washington. And with the nebulous tone of his chat with Vorobyev the night before, his stomach wound tight into knots of distress, boiling over with the acidic bile that had projected from his mouth only moments ago. One thing was clear—Vorobyev had found the phone and probably had turned it over to Golikov.

Dmitriyev could feel the heat of death’s breath on his neck. Between the vodka and his inability to hold down anything resembling sustenance, his morning spent hurling into the porcelain god was as inevitable as his fate. The time bomb ticked louder and louder by the second. Golikov’s people were coming for him. He could almost hear the steps, pounding louder and louder toward him. Each step marking a moment closer to the end of his life. He was through with living in fear. It was finally time to walk away and never look back. Today’s trip to Starbucks would be his last…at least from the embassy. As soon as his stomach settled, he would make his way off the compound forever. 

As he rose to his feet, the bathroom door flung open and slammed against the wall, the thud resounding moments after his company tromped in. He snapped out of his fog and realized the footsteps were real.

“Alek!” a voice yelled urgently. It sounded like that sniveling imp Filthchenko. “Alek! Are you in here?”

He wondered for a moment if he should answer, but he could see the man’s shadow bending over through the slight crack in the door jamb. “I’ll be out in a second.” Dmitriyev adjusted his tie, straightened his clothes, and flushed the toilet.

“Komarov wants to see you in the secure conference room,” he said. “Right this moment. You must hurry.” 

Aleksey stepped out of the stall and studied Filthchenko’s expression. His face was red, flush with distress, anger. The scurry of footsteps and waves of moans outside the bathroom signaled escalating confusion.

The hour was finally forced upon him and he was not yet ready to meet it.

He didn’t want to die.

But what he wanted no longer mattered.

“You can go ahead.” He held his hand up. He only needed a brief window of time to get away. “Need to wash my hands. I’ll be out in a sec.”

The scum did not budge.

“I assure you I don’t need an escort,” Dmitriyev demanded.

“I was told not to return without you,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

Aleksey patted his face with the towel before drying his hands. “What’s all the ruckus about? Somebody steal the vodka from the commissary?” he joked, chuckling uncomfortably. His nerves were like rip currents dragging beneath a calm surface.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Filchenko said. “Let’s go.”

Filthchenko grumbled beneath his breath as he led Aleksey to the stairwell and down five darkened flights into the basement where the air was still damp from a burst pipe. He stopped cold before they entered the hall. The only possible meeting place was the room used to process walk-in volunteers from American and other foreign intelligence services. It was bugged with listening devices and cameras. More suitable for an interrogation than a gathering.

“Wait. There’s no secure conference room down here,” Aleksey said. “You must be mistaken.”

He stopped and shook his head before continuing on his way. “This is where Komarov told me to bring you.” He finally reached the door and pushed it open. He stepped inside first and held the door open to allow Dmitriyev to follow. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

“What’s this all about?” Dmitriyev said. “Do I have time to run and get my coffee?”

Filchenko smirked and turned to leave. “Trust me. You won’t need it.”

When the door slammed, a gust of air washed over his face. Although his stomach churned over, revolving in agitated spirals, he remained cucumber cool on the exterior in case the surveillance equipment was running. He might go down, but he refused to give in. He’d fight for every minute he had left.

His stomach jerked at the sound of the doorknob twisting. The Crooked Twins were the first to arrive. He greeted them and they responded with only head nods. Neither took a seat, rather they remained standing, flanking the door on either side. Inside, his steeled will begin to falter but he kept his back straight and his shoulders square.

“Ah. Back from New York, I see,” he said, eyeing them from head to toe. “You don’t look any worse for wear. I hear the Resident there is a real goat.”

“We arrived this morning,” one Crooked Twin said. “And he’s more like a chicken running a coop full of foxes. That residency is shit.”  

“Bet that’s what they say about Washington,” he quipped. “I don’t suppose either one of you has a cup of coffee on you. You know I’m dying for my morning fix. I could be back here in ten minutes. Yes?”

“No!” the other twin barked giving him the eye. His other half grinned.

He wondered how long it would be before they beat him to a pulp.

“Have a seat,” Dmitriyev said, gesturing his hand toward the chairs in front of him. “I think we’re going to be here for a while.”

“I don’t think so,” Igor responded.

“Where is everyone?” Dmitriyev asked.

“Patience,” Igor said. “They’re on the way.”

“Who is on the w—”

Three taps sounded at the door and quickly Aleksey peered up at the door. One of the Crooked Twins, who was positioned at the rear, pulled it open. One by one his soon-to-be interrogators filed inside. Grim-faced operational line chiefs circled the table. The Resident, Lana’s father, and Filthchenko the scum, along with officers from the political, economic, science and technologies, and signals operational lines, took their seats and clasped their hands together, their glares burning through him like hot lasers. By the time everyone was seated, they’d blocked him in. Escape was now an impossibility.

Aleksey looked from side to side. “What’s this? A staff meeting? Did I miss the announcement?” he asked Mikhaylov, who had filled the empty seat left open for him at the head of the table next to the Resident.

“No, I’m afraid not. Where have you been all morning?” 

“I apologize for my tardiness. Bad stomach,” he said. “Must’ve been something I ate.”

The Resident glanced at Filchenko who nodded as if to affirm Aleksey’s statement, stunning him motionless. At that moment, he was assured of his fate. The balance of power in the counterintelligence line had shifted in Filchenko’s favor. It could only mean one thing.

“Today,” the boss began, “is a disastrous day for the Service.”

He paused leaving a thousand pounds of silence between them. Judging by the expressions on his colleagues’ faces, some knew what was wrong while others, like Aleksey, were still in the dark and waiting for the great revelation.

“We’ve had a traitor in our midst for some time,” Komarov said. The corners of his mouth turned down as he growled with disdain. “Fucking pig has jeopardized our mission, our lives, indeed our very existence in this country!” 

Aleksey’s stomach plummeted and his feet began to quake beneath the table as the Resident narrowed his eyes in Aleksey’s direction. With guilt practically bursting through his pores, he traced the grain of the wood with his eyes to avoid the expressions bearing down on him. He couldn’t look any of them in the face any longer.

“One of our own has indeed betrayed us. Someone in whom we’ve all trusted. Someone on whom we’ve relied. Someone we’ve all respected.”

Aleksey feigned a disgusted expression. “Who is it!” he demanded. “We will take care of him the way men deal with pigs. The slaughter.”

“Will you?” Komarov snapped. “I somehow seriously doubt that in this matter. It’s why I’ve called you here today.”

Chapter 47

Friday Morning—The West Wing

J.J., Tony, and Six stood impatiently in the West Wing foyer entrance waiting on Kendel to escort them to their temporary office. After three days of interviews, Kendel’s moment of truth had arrived. Attention had finally turned to the White House Chief of Security. J.J. tried to mentally prepare herself for Kendel’s wrath. Six had just finished telling the crew he’d heard all kinds of attitude in Kendel’s voice when he told her she’d be interviewed today. She accused him of concealing their planned interrogation. But she understood full well that failing to participate would be a direct indictment of her guilt.

J.J. took no pleasure in doing this part of her job. Interviewing law enforcement officers of any kind prompted a rare feeling of angst before questioning the suspect. They’d all made the identical pledge to one country. The dishonor of suspicion, the mere suggestion that an agent had broken his (or her) oath, was the worst kind of disgrace.

“Can you call her again?” J.J. said as she glanced at her watch and tapped her heel in an irritating beat against the pristine wood floors. “I can’t believe she’s playing games. Trust me when I tell you, she’s going to have a long day.”

“I’ve called her twelve times already, J.J.” Six was clearly frustrated by her impatience. “Short of beaming her up, I don’t understand what else you expect me to do!”

“All right, you two,” Tony interjected. “Maybe she had an unexpected meeting this morning. Let’s give her a few more minutes before we go fully postal.”

Hawk approached them with a confused look on his face. He eyed the three of them and said, “I haven’t frightened you away, yet?”

“Hawk, fear is a futile emotion and would suggest a level of interest in you that we don’t have.” She flashed a gritty smile then planted her hands on her hips. “Kendel Phillips was supposed to meet us here about thirty minutes ago. And we’re not getting any answer at her desk.”

“Uh, that’s because she’s not in today. Called in sick about an hour ago.”

“Sick?” J.J. shot Tony and Six sideways glances.

“Not well. Yes.”

“Well, would it be possible to speak with Sheldon Vance?” J.J. asked. “He’s our secondary contact when she’s not available.”

He nodded. “Sure, he’s here. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to his office.”

He started up the hall as each of them trailed behind. Their eyebrows crinkled as they passed the stairway they usually took downstairs to Kendel’s office. They crossed a busy hall with a sign marked “Administrative Section.”

“Where the hell’s he takin’ us?” Tony whispered, his teeth clenched. “I thought he worked downstairs.”

Six shrugged.

“Me too,” J.J. said. She felt a little suffocated, as if she was walking in slow motion. She was confused, still trying to understand why Kendel didn’t show up but afraid she already knew the answer.

Five doors down the hall on the left, he stopped at a door with the sign on it that read “Senior Staff.” He twisted the knob and pushed it open, allowing the visitors to enter first. Inside the small room was a reception desk and a closed door leading to a back office, almost identical to the one they’d been borrowing downstairs in the Secret Service section. The guard walked to the inner door and knocked on it.

“Hey Sheldon, you in there? You’ve got company. FBI.”

“Oh oh…okay. Just a second,” he responded. His voice sounded small, feeble, much different than he had the day before. J.J. wondered whether the gorgeous man had caught a cold. It had certainly taken a toll if that was true. Before she had time to center her thoughts, a miniature black man with a receding hairline appeared. He wore Navy slacks, an argyle sweater vest, and a polka-dotted bowtie pinched him at the neck of his dress shirt.

J.J. craned her neck inside the office, still waiting for Sheldon Vance to appear.

“Good m-m-morning,” he stammered. “How, uhhh, how can I help you?” J.J. studied him as his eyes shifted nervously between the three. He appeared jittery, almost scared. J.J. wasn’t sure if his demeanor resulted from the usual intimidation most people experienced upon meeting FBI agents for the first time or something more. 

“Who’s this guy?” Tony blurted out, looking at Six and J.J. confused as hell. His face mirrored everyone else’s…except Sheldon’s.

J.J. took note.

“Uhhh,” Six said. “I’m sorry. There must be some understanding. We’re looking for
Sheldon Vance
.”

His quivering lips turned up at the corners and slowly curled into a slight smile. “Last time I checked, I was Sheldon Vance,” he said. “Been him all my life, at least that’s what my mother told me. See? Says so right here on my identification badge.”

He held up the card while they all hovered around the desk, leaning in to take a closer look.

“Ain’t that a bitch!” Six yelled, unintentionally startling Sheldon. “It wasn’t him!”

J.J. was suspicious at the level of his nervousness. The problem was more than the FBI’s presence. No, he was scared and his fear had nothing to do with the people standing in the office. After some thought J.J. decided to play Sheldon’s game. “Ummm, that can’t be right. Someone else introduced himself to us as you. Why do you suppose a person would go to such lengths?”

Sheldon looked down and his eyes shifted right before he let out a nervous laugh. “Tha—That’s ridiculous. Who  would…who would do such a thing?”

“It’s clear you had nothing to do with this misunderstanding,” she continued. “We’ve been grossly misled. Now that we’ve established that you’re Sheldon Vance. The question is, who is the tall dark-haired guy who wears the designer suits? I think he has a circular birthmark thingy on the left side of his neck.”

Sheldon shrugged. “I wish…I’d like to help you. But I can’t. Sorry.” 

J.J. pursed her lips together and looked at Six and Tony through skinny eyes. Both appeared puzzled at first and then caught the hint.

“Well, you can’t tell us what you don’t know, right? I totally understand. We’ll be on our way.” J.J. let out a frustrated breath. “But before we go, I’m obligated to inform you that we are conducting a national security investigation. If I can be frank and cut through the bullshit for a second…”

“Sure, you can be frank…as long as I can be Sheldon,” he said with a chuckle and a snort.

J.J. rolled her eyes. “Ha. Ha. Funny. If you think that’s amusing you’re really going to laugh at this,” J.J. began. “If I cross this threshold and later find out you weren’t completely forthright, you’ll be doing your little stand-up routine for five years in Allenwood Federal Prison for every count of obstructing federal investigators I can dream up in my
funny little
head. And here’s the kicker: I’ll go to my grave ensuring you serve every second of your sentence. Now, isn’t that hilarious, fellas?”

“Hysterical.” Tony deadpanned. “By far, the best joke I’ve heard all week.”   

Six just stared at him with a cocky smirk and his head tilted to the side.

“Okay, guys. It’s clear we’re done here. Let’s go,” J.J. said, reaching for the doorknob. She twisted it open, pulled the door, and placed one foot through.

“Wait!” Sheldon leaned forward on the reception desk and rubbed his temple. Deep in thought. “Circular birthma…Ohhhh, the person you’re talking about sounds like…Maddix. Maddix Cooper.”

“Maddix Cooper!” they all said in unison. They spun around to face him.

Sheldon’s forehead creased with worry. “Can you come back inside, please?”

J.J. closed the door as he walked from behind the counter. He lowered his voice in an urgent whisper. “He warned me you’d be coming around asking questions today. Said if I breathed one word he’d kill me.”

“Is ‘at right?”

“You gotta get him, before he comes back for me,” Sheldon begged.

“What do you know about him?” he asked.

“He’s a regular Don Juan. Flashy. Custom-tailored suits. He and Agent Phillips were an item for a while, but I don’t know why they split up. I always wondered how he could afford his lifestyle. I mean I make more than he does,” Sheldon said.

“Anything else?”

“I don’t know why he would claim to be me. Who does that? But he told me if anyone came asking I was to deny knowing anything. As you can see, I’m pretty much in the dark.”

“Trust me, you know enough. You’ve been a big help,” Tony said.

“Could I have a minute to confer with my colleagues?” J.J. asked. “If you could step out of the office for just a second, I’d appreciate it.”

“Son of a bitch!” Six yelled again after the door shut.

“No, this one’s a daughter. And she’s been playing us the entire time. She intentionally led us to believe Maddix was Sheldon.”

“Kendel got a job at the White House first. Maddix followed her,” Tony said. “She’s dirty. He’s dirtier. It’s that simple.”

“Whatever this case is, it’s not simple,” J.J. said. “If everything between them was so hunky dory then why would she break off the engagement? No, I don’t believe she’s the ringleader, but we can’t discount her involvement. Sadly.”

“So, what’s next?” Six said.

“We gotta find Kendel and Maddix,” Tony said. “How much you wanna bet he didn’t show up for work today either? Bet they’re gettin’ ready to run.”

“You can keep that bet. But, speaking of bets,” she said, turning to Tony. “I want my twenty bucks back! This Sheldon looks
exactly
like a Sheldon. I think that makes you 0-3.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Now, let’s get him back in here.”

Six opened the door and waved him inside. “You’ve been very helpful this morning, Sheldon. Tell me, how can we find out if Maddix Cooper showed up today?” 

“Oh, that’s easy. I can just call down to the guard’s desk. He comes in the same entrance every day and everyone here knows him.”

“Great, great. I knew you were the man in the know,” Six said, patting him on the back before resting his hand on his shoulder in a shameless schmooze. “One last thing. If you want us to get to him before he gets to you, we’re going to need Kendel’s and his address. And I mean fast.”

He made the call to the front desk. No Maddix, of course. Then he paced to his computer. After typing his fingers feverishly on the keyboard he said. “She lives in Mitchellville, Maryland. 23145 Brock Court. He’s in Fairfax, Virginia. 980 Swan Lane.”

“Thanks, Sheldon. We’ll be in touch.” J.J. left her business card on the counter. “You call if either one shows up here…or if you need anything.”

He nodded.

They exited the door and paced quickly through the hall.

“Where to first,” Six asked.

“Kendel’s place,” J.J. said. “She broke up with Maddix for a reason. With Six there to push the right buttons, I know she’ll talk.”