The Seven Year Itch (10 page)

Chapter 12

Thursday
Night…

T
he unit was desolate and dark. The only the exception was the
light from a desk lamp in Sabinski’s office. He’d stayed late to type up a few
reports, thumb through some closed cases, several involving Russian sources
that had mysteriously disappeared in mid-2005. He wanted to find out why. Could
ICE Phantom
go back that far? He
considered the possibility when Lana tapped on his door.

She stuck her head inside, scanned to ensure the coast was
clear. “Hey, Jack. I was trying to put my files away but couldn’t get into the
vault.”

Jack ran his hand along the back of his neck and then waved
her inside. “Come in. Close it.”

Sabinski’s eyes clung to Lana’s every move. Her sexy grin
sucked the air from the room and rendered him stuporous. His eyes locked on her
hands as she unfastened her suit jacket. Each button opened revealed a sheer
white blouse agape to the waistband of her mini skirt. Her nipples were taut
and visible through the sheer fabric. He licked his lips hungrily as she
sauntered toward him and bent over his desk just enough. A hint of cleavage was
all he needed to see to make him wild. Then Lana eased into the lone chair in
front of his desk.

Sabinski spun his seat sideways. “Come on now, Lana. You know
that’s not your seat.”

She glided to him, as a stripper to her pole, claimed a seat
on Jack’s lap, and pressed her lips to his.

As the passionate kiss lingered and Jack’s member swelled,
neither noticed Chris. He’d forgotten his wallet inside his desk, and swung by on
the chance that Jack was working late. And working late Jack was.

Chris heard voices and peered through the venetian blinds.
There she was. He wondered why she hadn’t answered any one of his dozen phone
calls or two dozen texts. Visibly flush, his jaw tightened and the tips of his
fingers rolled into his palms; his stomach burned. He wanted nothing more than
to storm inside and bash Jack’s head in. Lana belonged to him and him alone.
But she’d be livid if he didn’t stick to her plan. That’s why he created one of
his own, a plan to rid himself of Jack and ensure Lana could live without fat
bastard’s interference.

Chris turned away, stormed to his desk. He wouldn’t be played
for a fool this time. His hands juddered as he grabbed his iPod and earphones
from beneath the clutter in his desk drawer. Hurriedly, he plugged the buds
into his ears. The device took a moment to tune in. His buddy in the
headquarters’ Special Projects Unit, the “Q” of the FBI, modified the iPod so
that it no longer played music. Rather, it functioned as a receiver for the
wireless transmitter Chris had planted in the office beneath Jack’s desk. He huddled
into the corner of his cubicle, concealed in the darkness, and tuned into
Jack’s and Lana’s conversation.

Just as the signal came through, Jack cried out a loud moan.

“Ahhhhh…you’re amazing,” Jack said. His zipper sounded. “You
sure know how to make an old man feel young again.”

“Please. I don’t see any old men in here,” she murmured.

“What are you doing here, Lana?” he asked.

She relieved her knees and returned to his lap.

“A girl like you could have anyone you want,” Jack said. “Why
me?”

“Why not you? Seems you and I differ in our perceptions,” she
said flirtatiously, peppering his fat head with kisses.

Chris struggled to restrain his gag reflex. Hearing them coo
at each other like a pair of fucking teenagers made him sick. The things he’d
done for the love of that woman, but she’d warned him from the beginning that
her career was her first priority—and she would go to any lengths (or stoop to
any depths) to fulfill her mission. But he hadn’t banked on her tryst with
Sabinski becoming part of the package deal. Disgusted, he couldn’t stand to
listen to another heart-wrenching word. He slammed the iPod in his desk drawer
and slipped out of the office unnoticed.

“Now back to our discussion,” Lana reminded Jack, easing into
a business-like tone. “You were telling me about the vault.”

“Oh, yeah, I met with Freeman and the AD about this
compromise business. They’ve revoked access to everyone on the bigot list.
We’ll all have to take polygraphs. No access until we pass.”

“
Everyone’s
got to
take it? Even
you
?” she asked.

“Everyone. I just finished drafting the list and you and I
are the first two. I want to make sure we don’t miss a second of precious time
finding this fucking mole.”

She swallowed hard, noticeably more uncomfortable than
moments before.

“What is it?” Jack asked, concerned.

“Now that you mention this mole, I’ve been hesitating to
speak with you...about Chris. It’s probably not my place to say anything but
uhhh...he’s been acting strangely as of late. Well more strange than usual. I
think he’s in trouble, and I’m not certain I can help him.”

Jack sat forward in his seat. “What kind of trouble?”

“I don’t know. He’s secretive. He’s been spending insane
amounts of money, buying very pricey gifts, too expensive for an agent’s
salary. There are also the crazy mood swings....and the flash drive. I’ve seen
him with it in the office.”

“Is that right?” he asked. “Well, I’ll definitely follow-up
on the flash drive issue. They’re not authorized in the SCIF. As for the money,
well, anybody could see he’s got it bad for you.”

She shook her head. “Well, he’s certainly not in love with
me. Obsessed maybe. I was really hoping you could just...I don’t know...have a
talk with him.”

He nodded. “I’ll speak with him tomorrow afternoon and see
where his head’s at.”

“Appreciate that Jack.” She stood in front of him, sighing in
relief. “So, what about J.J. and Tony?”

“What about ‘em?” Jack snapped.

“Another one of the agents mentioned they’re targeting a
diplomat providing intelligence on European missile defense negotiations. They
might need access sooner than we do.”

“Her case is shit.
Karat
’s
not giving up anything of value, so I made certain they’re the last two on the
list. They aren’t scheduled to take the exam until Friday. I’ll assign you to
work her cases until she gets access, if she ever gets access again. Wouldn’t
surprise me if the bitch is guilty.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me either. Which begs the question, why is
she still working here? I’ve been telling you to get rid of her for years.”
Lana cut him a sideways glance. “Don’t tell me you’ve bought this competent act
of hers. She’s not good. She’s lucky.”

“Lana, give me a break, will you? I’ve denied every promotion
she’s ever been up for. I’ve made her working environment as hostile as I can
without getting myself fired. I don’t get it either,” Jack replied. “Something
tells me she won’t leave until she finds what she’s looking for.”

“Looking for? What do you mean by that?”

“J.J.’s father was a Black Panther, one of those hoodlums who
killed cops for sport. I’ve overheard her talking to Donato about COINTELPRO a
few times. She’s probably biding her time until she can access the restricted
files,” Jack said, referring to the FBI’s 1960s covert program. J. Edgar Hoover
created it to neutralize the Black Panther organization and other black civil
rights and dissident organizations. “And don’t even let me get started on
Donato. His father’s a former Capo in the Bonanno crime family. He’s serving
seven years on racketeering charges. Trust me when I tell ya, the rotten fruit
don’t fall far from the tree.”

“So you’re suggesting the crimes of the parents apply to the
children? If so, my father doesn’t have a clean past either. I mean, he didn’t
before he died. So, what does your little theory make me?”

“Beautiful.” The glint in Jack’s eye suggested he’d finished
with his conversation. He wanted to talk about a more appealing subject. “Now,
are you coming to my place tonight so we can finish what we started? I don’t
know about you but I need an
entree
with my appetizer.”

“Let me wrap up my report. I’ll see you later. Maybe I’ll
even pour your favorite
cocktail
,”
she answered.

•
 
•
 
•

Chris, without realizing it, had held his
breath as he waited for her. Concealed in the FBI garage’s darkness, he stood
statue-still and fixed his eyes on the exit door.
What’s taking her so long?
he wondered as he stewed in his own
disgust. He watched until she appeared in the doorway. His gaze stalked her
until she entered her vehicle, the convertible Benz he bought with the spoils
of his dirty work. He clenched his eyes tight, trying to shake the image of
Lana and Jack from his mind.

Never again
, he
thought.
Never again.

He had one trump left. One trump that could make the Jack
problem disappear for good. And the time had come to play it.

•
 
•
 
•

Early
Friday Morning…

More than two hours later, Tony and J.J. had sifted
through everything
Karat
passed,
the massive pile of documents he had smuggled out of the residency before the
SVR recalled him to Moscow. He didn’t provide the codes as they had expected,
as they had hoped.

No, the material he passed was infinitely more important, of
greater valuable than anything they could’ve imagined.

Pages and pages of Xeroxed files, operational files no doubt
intended for encrypted transmission to Moscow Center or slated for courier by
diplomatic pouch to the Center.

U.S. military intelligence information reports, CIA
communication cables. Pages and pages pilfered from FBI case files and
surveillance reports. NSA signals intelligence reports. Defense Intelligence
attaché reports. Human intelligence source reports on Russian intelligence
officers operating in the United States and abroad. An intelligence disaster as
bad as Hanssen and Ames combined.

The sound of J.J.’s heartbeat thumped in her ears, her body
tensed. She could feel her veins constrict the flow of blood through her entire
panic-stricken body. The compromise wasn’t as bad as they initially thought.

No, it was worse.

Much
worse.

Her level of distress compounded a hundred fold each and
every time she turned a new page. All the major agencies in the community had been
burned. No, burned didn’t adequately describe the massive security failure that
had left the Bureau and the intelligence community with their balls flapping in
the wind. They’d been charred to the core, gutted like a school of mahi-mahi at
a midnight Luau. With this information in the hands of the Russians, the
community would need to shut down half the nation’s intelligence operations
targeting Russians around the world. Not tomorrow—yesterday. And the CIA would
have to exfiltrate at least three assets operating in Moscow or they were dead,
Golikov cautionary tales.

“FBI, CIA, NSA, DIA. This traitor’s giving up the baby and
bathwater,” she said. But one question nagged at her. “How could a code clerk
get his hands on this? I mean, look, Tony. These are photocopies of original
documents. He wouldn’t have had access. Encryption codes and cables, yes.
Original documents, no.”

Tony shrugged. “I’m at a loss. I’m just glad we’ve got ‘em so
we can find this nut job.” He wiped his perspiring brow with the back of his
hand. “Looks like Plotnikov photocopied every document the rat passed. Case
files, surveillance and lookout logs, message traffic, everything. And we’re
even more screwed because most of this information is available to the entire
community through the joint communication system, except some NSA SIGMA
collection and the military special ops reports.”

“Yeah. Every agency, military and civilian, has access.
Anyone with a log-on and password could pull this information from the network.
Even with cyber forensics, it would be nearly impossible to pinpoint the
source.”

“Yeah, you’re—” Tony started. He flipped through the stack of
papers carefully before sinking into his chair in disbelief and resignation.
“No...not the surveillance reports and lookout logs. That information is only
available at FBI Headquarters and the field offices. We don’t share these
reports on the Joint network.”

“Shit! I’ll be...”

“Damn!” Tony yelled in frustration. Tony turned to J.J., his
face solemn. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“Yeah. No one else could access the surveillance and lookout
logs. I can’t speak for the other intel, but whoever took
these
documents has got to be an FBI agent. And judging from these
cases,” she heaved a weighty sigh, “he’s someone with access to the vault.
Someone who probably smirks in our faces every damn day knowing that we’re
working our asses off so that they can cash our cases in for a few thousand
dollars and a Jaguar.”

“A few thousand? No, J.J. This information is potentially
worth millions of dollars, you hear me? Millions.”

What they had once only suspected, Plotnikov’s drop had
removed all doubt. The FBI was at least one source of the problem—not the CIA,
not the NSA, not DIA, but the FBI. And they still didn’t have enough evidence
to convict anyone, including Jack.

J.J.’s anxiety was compounded by Tony’s earlier revelation.
If his contact from the Director’s office got his information straight, the
next few days might spell the end of at least two careers. They would be
subjected to polygraph examinations both were doomed to fail.

They were working against time, and every second that passed
brought them one step closer to becoming the primary suspects, locked up, and
facing death penalty charges.