Spy Catcher: The J.J. McCall Novels (Books 1-3) (The FBI Espionage Series) (87 page)

Chapter 48

Thursday — Moscow Safe House

Time was up. The deadline had fallen upon him like dirt in a grave, and Ghost and his crew were waiting to take Mosin away—for good. Six entered the shack for what would be the last time. He’d brought Stan to safety on the U.S. soil that is the embassy. Now to complete his final mission, he had some unfinished business with Mosin, and today was the day they’d settle up the score once and for all. It all made sense to him now. The scanners. The surgeon. The FSB. Although Mosin’s plan was good, Six was more than convinced his was better.

He entered, and Ghost gave him a friendly salute. “You made it. Never thought I’d say this, but it’s been a pleasure to working with you.”

“Same here.” Six scanned the room. Scattered boxes waiting for tape lay around the floor. “Looks like you’ve got this place about packed up.”

“Yeah. One more day and I’m headed stateside. Think it’s about time for me to move south and find somewhere to fish and drink all day,” he said with a chuckle.

“Sounds like my kind of plan.”

“You mind leaving me alone with him?” Six said, looking at Mosin, his arms and legs strapped to the chair rendering him all but immobile from the neck down. At least Ghost had allowed him to dress and clean up, but he still needed a haircut and shave. “I need about twenty minutes. Maybe less.”

Ghost nodded and winked. “All right. Guess I’ll go see a man about horse. Just keep in mind my orders are to release him when I leave here. You might want to make sure he can walk.”

Six chuckled. “Yes, I will ensure we follow all orders to the letter. I’d just like to have a chat before we let him go. But, uh, why don’t you and I meet for a drink later.”

“Now that sounds like
my
kind of plan.”

Six nodded in agreement as he watched Ghost and his cohorts disappear into the woods. Then he turned his attention to the man of the hour. Hawk.

Six moseyed over with a smug grin on his face while Hawk monitored his every movement. He pulled a roll of gauze from his pocket and sat it on an adjacent table. Then grabbed a chair and placed it parallel, facing the traitor. After straddling his legs across the seat, he pulled out a pristine jackknife and peeled open the blade. Six wanted nothing more than to carve his heart out, but he had another target today.

“Now, it’s time for you to listen.”

“W-w-w-what are you doing with that?” he asked, his voice jittery. “Y-y-you’ve been ordered to let me go. You heard Ghost.”

“How about you shut the fuck up before I slit your neck from ear to ear?”

Mosin snapped his lips shut and breathed in heavy snorts through his nose, his chest heaving up and down with anger and fear.

Six leaned forward and glared at Mosin’s hand, his eyes locked on the tattoo strategically placed in the space between his thumb and forefinger. It was a red hammer and sickle. How appropriate.

“Nice tattoo,” Six said with a menacing glare as he spun the point of the knife’s blade against the tip of his finger.

The sound of Mosin’s heavy breaths ceased for a split second, then continued. “What’s this about?”

“I’ll tell you,” Six began. “For days, I’ve chased my tail from one end of Moscow to the other, scouring every inch of every place you’ve stayed looking for the intel you stole.” He ran his finger along the blade, staring at it as if he’d cracked up. The fluorescent light against the sharpened steel cast a blinding flash that made Mosin squint. “And I’ve come to a brilliant conclusion. But I’ll get to that in a minute. First, you need a drink. Don’t move,” he joked, laughing out loud…as if Mosin could.

Six sauntered over to the cabinet drawer where Ghost kept the booze and pulled from its stores two shot glasses, a half-empty bottle of vodka, and a couple of plastic gloves. He returned to the table, filled the glasses, and held up one to Mosin’s mouth. Hawk tightened his lips.

“Drink it.”

Mosin looked at him with a confused expression.

“Trust me. In two minutes, you’ll wish you had ten. I’m giving you two.”

He hesitated but then opened his mouth to gulp back both. Six set the glass down and returned to his seat. “Good. Now back to my brilliant conclusion,” he said. “You want me to tell you what it is, don’t you?”

Mosin’s facial features shifted, flashing with a knowing expression. His level of discomfort appeared to increase as the vodka kicked in. He nodded yes.

•••

Two Days Ago – NIH Campus

After Hopper confronted Dr. Badal in the garage and outlined his options, they strolled to a nearby park bench on campus as the brisk winds blew the auburn remnants of fall across the landscape. The timid man fixed his gaze on Hopper with a somber air and a wrinkled brow. “This is about Gary Mosin, isn’t it?”

Hopper nodded. “He came to see you, didn’t he?”

Dr. Badal gulped hard. “I’ve been in this country for five years and I never had an ounce of trouble until Gary Mosin darkened my doorstep…my life.”

“How did you two meet?”

“My research. My department posted one of my articles on the Internet. He said he read it, but that was a lie, just as every word he spoke from his mouth was a lie.”

“What’s your field of study?”

“I specialize in biomedical engineering. Most of my recent work surrounded the study on the side effects of the VeriChip, a radio-frequency device injected beneath the skin with a syringe which holds medical records. They use similar technology to track dogs.”

“Yeah,” Hopper said. “Thought it sounded familiar. Did he say why he was interested in this particular subject matter?”

“No, not at first. His intentions became clear as time passed.” Badal wiped his brow, which was now sweating despite the cold air. “He treated me to lunches. Gave me expensive bottles of vodka and scotch. Always asked for unclassified reports that seemed innocuous…at first. But soon his requests became more demanding.”

Classic tradecraft
, Hopper thought. Dr. Badal wouldn’t be the first, nor the last to succumb to the enticement of Russian spies. Hopper kept nodding to assure the doctor his full attention had been captured.

“He started requesting more sensitive reports in exchange for small amounts of money. None of the research included classified information, but no matter how much I protested he refused to take no for an answer. Then one day he asked me about the program, and I knew…”

Hopper sat at attention. “What program?”

“The HITCH program.”

“What’s that?”

“The Human Intelligence Transport Chip. It’s a Top Secret defense program studying the impact of high-capacity radio frequency data capture devices in soldiers of war. Whereas the VeriChip can carry only one or two kilobytes, the HITCH can carry up to ten gigabytes of data, in a small chip right inside your hand. It’s bigger than a VeriChip so the implantation requires minor surgery and a couple of stitches. But there are few more secure or accessible ways to carry intelligence in a hostile territory.”

A microchip in the hand. Hopper was floored by the implications for Six’s case. He knew what was coming next but braced himself for it.

“About three weeks ago, he asked me to steal two HITCH prototypes. We had hundreds of them for testing purposes. I refused, and he threatened not only me but my family. At first he said he would out me as a spy for the Russians. When I remained unmoved, he said his people would kill us. I didn’t take his word with any seriousness until one day my car wouldn’t start. The mechanic checked under the hood and found a rudimentary bomb that failed to detonate.”

“Jesus,” Hopper said. “Did you report this to the authorities?”

He shook his head. “The local police, yes. They said whoever installed the device hadn’t armed it. If they planted it to scare me…well, the plan worked,” he said, his hand now trembling. “Oh, when I think of my wife and children, I couldn’t risk endangering their lives…or risk losing my visa. I had to give him what he wanted. I loaded many files onto two chips…I have no idea the number…then implanted them into his right hand.”

“You didn’t view the contents on the chip?”

He shook his head. “To be honest, given what he’d done…the bomb…I had no desire to know. Just wanted to get him out of my office and out my life as fast as possible. You’re not going to take my visa, are you? What I did was wrong, but I believe we’d be dead now if I didn’t comply.”

“I understand. Once I verify the facts of the case, I’ll be in touch. And the next time I set up an appointment—don’t run.”

•••

Six circled the room before he delivered the news. “The intel you stole. It isn’t
out there
,” he said pointing at the door with the knife in his hand. He shook his head. “It’s been
in here
all along.”

Mosin attempted to feign surprise and failed.

“Oh, give up, Hawk,” Six said. “The secret’s out. You see Maddix told J.J. about your doctor’s appointment before you left the country. I saw the calendar on your netbook which noted your appointment and the receipt from the tattoo parlor…and I put two-and-two together after I got some information from Dr. Badal...well after the FBI did.”

Mosin’s expression was wide-eyed and glazed.

Six stood up, hulking over Mosin, then grabbed his arm just above the wrist and pressed his hand into the chair. “You had surgery. And what I had no clue about was the doctor you saw specializes in radio frequency chip implants. The intel is in your hand. And you got the tattoo to disguise the scar.” He rested the knife on his leg and slipped his fingers into the gloves.

“You’re crazy,” Mosin exclaimed. “You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I believe I do. And it’s because Ghost concocted that explosion and brought you to this safe house that the Russians don’t have the intel. With this chip, they could’ve passed you on the street with a scanner and taken possession of everything.” Six pressed his finger along Mosin’s hand until he touched two hard capsule-like forms the size of Tylenol caplets. “There they are.”

Mosin shrugged. “So you found it. What makes you think they didn’t already collect it.”

“Because they’re still looking for you. They wouldn’t waste their time if they’d gotten what they needed.”

“You said no one was looking for me.”

Six shrugged. “I lied. Sue me.”

“I’m a patriot,” Mosin said. “My country will reward me for my valor, my service, and my bravery while you spend the rest of your shitty career pushing paper at some desk facing a hole in the wall. You’ll never serve an overseas tour again after word of this debacle gets out.”

“Your country, huh? Well, I too am a patriot…and not a surgeon. Brace yourself, this is gonna sting a bit.” Six jabbed the knife into his skin until it broke and released blood, then carved into the stitches, prodding the flesh with the knife’s tip until the small devices fell onto floor. Mosin screamed and clenched his teeth gurgling and growling to endure the pain.

Six put the bloody capsules in a plastic bag and shoved them in his pocket. Then he grabbed the bottle of vodka, opened the lid, and poured it on Mosin’s hand, sending his screeching up another octave. After waiting for the noise to simmer down, Six pulled the gauze from his pocket and wrapped Mosin’s hand. He shook his head as it struck him that Mosin was a pussy. “It’s just a flesh wound and that’s 80-proof, a perfect antiseptic. I warned you. Bet you wish you had ten shots now. Keep in mind I didn’t have to give you anything.”

Mosin spat in his direction. Still dehydrated and a little tipsy from the booze, his attempts were, for the most part, dry.

“Now what? What are you going to do with me?” he asked, watching Six go to the sink and rinse the blood from the knife. He folded the blade and returned it to his pocket.

“Oh, we’ll be releasing you as scheduled. I’ve got the best part of you in this bag,” he said. “Mission accomplished. My work is done. The exfil team will pick you up later and drop you off where we found you. I’m heading back to the embassy.”

“It’s about time,” he said, his demeanor increasing in smugness by the second. He was a soulless bastard with no remorse. Always would be.

That’s why it gave Six such pleasure to hold up his index finger and say, “One more thing before I go. As a courtesy, I should advise you of a few administrative procedures the State Department has undertaken on your behalf since we detained you.”

Mosin looked at Six askance with a furrowed brow.

“First, at the request of the Justice Department, because you are a fugitive traitor, the State Department has revoked your U.S. Passport. It’s all over the news today. I’m certain that’ll blow over pretty fast when they find out your significance to my country is quite literally out of your hand and in my pocket.”

“Fine,” he said, his voice still colored with pain. “I’m Russian. I don’t need a fucking U.S. passport or your citizenship. You can take that, too.”

“Agreed. I told them you’d feel that way. So, the Citizen and Immigration Service determined that since it’s clear you lied during your naturalization process, including your statements regarding your allegiance to another country and your work in their intelligence services, they had grounds to strip you of your citizenship on the spot. So, you are now, in fact, a man with no country.”