Spy Catcher: The J.J. McCall Novels (Books 1-3) (The FBI Espionage Series) (86 page)

Chapter 45

Wednesday Night — New York City

Tony crossed himself and thanked God. He felt relieved after talking to Santino. Now the time had come for him to make things right with Dante. They’d been estranged for so many years. They could never get back the wasted time, but he hoped, with all of his heart, they could begin again. Their decisions to take different career paths and Tony being falsely accused of being a rat had torn them apart, but with his reputation restored, he hoped they could pull the relationship back together now that Dante was on the mend.

Just as Tony turned to enter Dante’s room, he heard the thunder of feet across the floor. Masked doctors and nurses with worried faces fled past Santino and Tony, and burst inside the door. Tony followed and Santino behind him.

Tony’s eyes fell on Dante, and he watched as what little olive left in his brother’s skin turned white and disappeared with his final breath. The flat line’s tone seared through him as they yanked the defibrillators from the wall and slammed them into his chest. The nurses pushed them back into the hall, but he forced the door open, refusing to let it close.

“Clear!”

Dante’s chest thrust upward as the nurses tried in desperation to resuscitate him.

“Clear!” the doctor yelled again, at least two times more. For Tony, the words didn’t compute. The only sound that seeped through was the steady, monotonous beep signaling the end to his hopes—the cruel halting of an incomplete life.

Tony’s body went cold as his knees folded beneath him. He collapsed to the floor, tears raining from his eyes. Not just for the brother he’d lost, but for the relationship he could never restore.

One name thundered through his mind and filled his every cell with acidic venom—Pavlov Mashkov.

He didn’t pull the trigger, but his order was the shot that ended Dante’s life. In an instant too short to measure, Tony snapped.

He hungered for revenge.

He’d transformed; his state altered. A warmth drained from his soul, leaving him hardened and numb. His life would never be the same. Dante’s death left him shattered; he wondered whether he could ever be whole again.

His vision tunneled and vengeance was the bright light at the end of it. The darkness inside him drew toward it. He would not be satisfied until that light washed over him like torrential downpours…and he’d avenged his brother’s murder.

•••

There were three things Tony would never forget in his life – the piercing scream his mother cried out on the news of Dante’s death and watching his sisters dissolve into heartbreak; the moment he watched his brother draw his last breath; and the squeeze of his father’s embrace after he exited the morgue.

It had been over a decade since Tony had felt the comfort of his father’s arms around him, not since he graduated from college. He’d wondered whether his father would ever speak to him again, let alone hold him. It struck him that he was the last remaining son. The heir apparent to the Donato throne. He’d never witnessed Pop cry but as his father’s eyes fell on Dante’s lifeless body, he succumbed to the sorrow of a loss all too familiar in “the life,” yet unbearable just the same.

He kissed his son goodbye and left the morgue, meeting Tony and Santino in the hall outside. As his mother and sisters grieved for their loss upstairs. The trio traded their pain for premeditation as they plotted their quest for vengeance.

Sal’s voice cracked as he growled, “I want those fucking Mashkovs dead! You understand me? Dead!”

Santino nodded. “I’m on it…we can discuss it later.” He minced his words and glanced at Tony. “Maybe you should go upstairs while we talk business. This isn’t for your ears.”

This was the part where Tony was supposed to remove himself from the conversation. See no evil and hear no evil, so he’d never have to speak of it, or testify to it. He’d stayed in D.C. and out of New York so he could avoid both playing witness and turning a blind eye…but the toxic rage percolating beneath his grieving exterior refused to let him. Instead, he found himself saying, “There’s this rule.”

Sal and Santino looked at him curiously. “Rule? What’re you talkin’ about, Ton’?”

“Well, as an FBI Special Agent, if I learn of a hit on another mobster, it’s my obligation to meet with the potential victim and warn them,” Tony said. “As a Fed, I just overheard a threat on their lives. Guess I’ve got to schedule a meeting with the Mashkovs. It’s my duty.”

They each exchanged knowing looks.

“You sure about this, Ton’?” Santino said. “I mean, if we do this, it changes everything…at least for you.”

Tony turned to him, his eyes as empty and reddened as when Dante died. “Everything’s changed. Nothing will ever be the same. Ever.”

Chapter 46

Late Wednesday Night — New York City

J.J. allowed her mind to churn over the day’s events as she rode the elevator to her Plaza hotel room, leaving the men to discuss funeral, or so they said. The sadness of grieving for his family, Misha robbing her at gunpoint, the contract on her head, it had begun to take a toll on her body and mind. For the first time, she was afraid, not just for Tony and his family but for herself. All of a sudden, she lost her breath, inhaling in long dramatic heaves. Her chest tightened, and head felt light. The distress was compounded by the fact that she was flanked by two armed “family guys” who escorted her back to the room—Tony, Sal, and Santino insisted for her own safety. Somehow she thought she’d feel safer without them. She wanted a drink. Needed a drink. Just a small one to soothe her nerves. She couldn’t handle it, had almost forgotten her thirst for the taste until now.

“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.