The Seven Year Itch (24 page)

Chapter 38

Early
Thursday Morning…

U
sually slow to rise,
Chris watched Koshechka slipped out of bed before the street lights shut off.
He wanted his coffee early, even though he had been jittery and his nerves
dangled on the edge of breakdown ever since he passed the information regarding
Vorobyev to the embassy against her advice. His over-eager chicken shit tongue
sparked a chaotic chain of events that threw Moscow and Washington into a tailspin.
He’d selected the wrong moment to man up. According to a late-night text from
her colleague, Freeman had turned up the heat on everyone. From the cafeteria
staff to the entrance gate security police, no one had been left untouched.
Full-scale internal investigations had been ordered for everyone. Freeman vowed
to leave no personnel file unopened until the snitch had been identified and
arrested.

Koshechka understood all too well the consequences which is
the reason she urged him to keep his mouth shut until after he’d passed the
polygraph, but he refused to listen. Now they’d both pay.

She heard him ease up to the kitchen doorway as she started
the coffee pot. Her back to him, she assumed he’d silently stalk her in his
usual unnerving way.

“You nervous about today?” she asked, spinning around to see
his face. She always monitored his responses. His facial expressions always
double crossed him and revealed his true feelings, even when his words said
otherwise.

“I don’t think this is a good idea. We have travel documents,
and we’ll have enough money to take care of ourselves for a long time. Why
can’t we just pick up the cash today and leave. You know, take the money and
run.”

“I have no immunity. I must be careful...and I also have a
child to think about now. This isn’t about you and me. We have another life to
consider here. I won’t be left with nothing, ever again!” she snapped. Her
obvious contempt threw Chris off guard. She stammered for a moment and then
softened.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a sexy moan. The coffee pot sounded
and she deeply inhaled the aroma. “You need coffee, darling. Come, let me
pour.”

He followed her to the counter as she prepared his cup.

Her voice calmed. “I just don’t want to leave here to live in
some godforsaken country in the middle of nowhere with a new baby, do you?” she
battered her eyelashes and rubbed her hand against his chest. “And when the
money runs out, what do we do?”

His spine curved. With a grave expression, he gazed down.
“You’re right my love,” he said. “I’m gonna pull myself together.”

“I knew you would honey. Never doubted you for a second.”

Koshechka had been running from poverty as a loner for most
of her life. She had few acquaintances and fewer genuine friends. Her father’s
work with the KGB First Chief Directorate, which deployed officers to Western
countries such as the United States, kept him away from home for most of her
childhood. Her mother, who had nary a nurturing bone in her body, succumbed to
a bottle-a-day vodka habit, refused to travel with him. Koshechka’s days were
filled with squandered money and unpaid bills. As she scorned her mother, she
placed her father on the highest pedestal, promising to rise to meet him at all
costs.

She kept her head in the books. Her father read everything
from Pushkin to Fitzgerald, and so did she. Her father studied English and
achieved the highest honors. She studied English with an almost obsessive
determination. Her father graduated at the top of his class. She shrewdly
positioned herself at the top of hers as well, determined to become more than
her circumstances allowed.

And then came the opportunity of a lifetime—a covert SVR
program offering students, mostly highly educated children of former KGB
elites, the opportunity to attend an American university on the Russian
government’s dime. She must first go undercover, then qualify for and gain
admission to the National Security Studies program to study under a former CIA
Director. He could introduce her to the people in the U.S. Intelligence
community she’d eventually target. Associating with him could get her entree to
places where she needed to be.

Once in the program, her will and determination to succeed at
almost any cost, coupled with her introverted nature, set her apart from her
classmates. The SVR’s plans for her changed—slightly. Directorate S, which
closely monitored her progress, decided she was well suited for a clandestine
position under a special cover legend they’d been developing for ten
years—Madeleine Bouchard. She traveled from the Ukraine, to Bern, to Vienna,
and finally to Canada. In each country, she established a new identity and
abandoned her past. In Canada, she received her final documents a Canadian
birth certificate and a passport, virtually erasing the life she’d longed to
forget.

Then she was off to the United States as a student.

The father she longed to know, Aleksandr Mikhaylov, had just
begun his first tour at the Russian Embassy in Washington. She wanted so much
to see him, to be near him, to hear him call her
Solnyshko
once again. But maintaining her cover meant she could
never go anywhere near the embassy. If the FBI lookouts noticed her walking in,
she would come under immediate scrutiny. She was forced to rely on impersonal
communication to contact him and so dropped a letter into his vehicle during
one of his cover stops.

After graduation, a well-placed sleeper agent sponsored her
application for citizenship while she searched for a position that would
provide her with access to cleared U.S. Government employees, biding her time
at the National Center for International Studies. She gained entrée into all
the Embassy holiday receptions—including the one held annually at the Canadian
Embassy—where, four years after her arrival in the U.S., she met the man whose
upside-down world would turn hers right side up—then Supervisory Special Agent
Jim Cartwright. His drunken confession revealed he was drowning deep in debt,
self-hatred, and misery. She introduced herself to him as Alex, her father’s
name, and rescued him from a reputation-damaging drunken meltdown certain to
end, or at least stifle, his burgeoning career. She became a confidant, a
friend, and thanks to Chris’s fortuitous discovery in the FBI garage after a
night of holiday partying—his Russian handler. She’d strongly suggested he
cooperate with her...or else. And of course she offered to ensure he was paid
handsomely for his services—of which he provided many.

Chris, on the other hand, had been too stupid to understand
the cost of becoming a liability, but just smart enough not to become a
liability, at least until the end. She viewed him as more of a necessary evil,
pliable, moldable, thin-skinned, and thick-headed. What her sugar words
couldn’t convince him to do, her sinful body could. And he could hang a suit
better than Jack any day. He’d been precisely the man she needed him to
be—until the Vorobyev debacle.

They had a plan.

Her plan? His plan? Merely an extraneous detail in the big
scheme of things; the line had blurred long ago. But the plan was clear in her
mind. She had but one goal, vowing with every fiber in her being, using every
means at her disposal, to return to the Motherland as a hero and win the
admiration and adoration of the father she so longed to please. Putin would honor
her for her cunning prowess, how she lured her prey and relentlessly
attacked—brutal, cold. Koshechka. Chris called her ‘the cat’ and his little
term of endearment was ironically accurate.

She and Chris had left significant damage in the wake of their
transgressions. With the money earned, her financial future would remain bright
for years to come. As for her father? Well, his absence would be her only
regret, but he’d return home to her soon and she’d be there, in Moscow, waiting
with open arms and an eager heart. Reunited almost seven years ago in perfect
time and the most uncommon circumstance, their communication had been sparse,
strained, an exercise in the economy of words. Although she realized Chris’s
suggestion to bail and leave the country had been more common sense than
nonsense, she had hoped closing in the physical distance to her father would
help bridge the emotional one. Then J.J. had to go and fuck up the plans,
whining about that pig Polyakov. If Jack had done his job and gotten rid of her
as she ordered him years before, she’d have been long gone and the
ICE Phantom
investigation a memory.

Hanssen’s arrogance, narcissism, and greed had led him to his
demise and Koshechka’s unquenched thirst for her father’s adoration and her
nation’s respect had nearly led her to the same dark sticky end.

Almost.

She entered the cramped office in her intentionally modest
home. Although the photocopied files she’d collected and stashed away for the
past few weeks
might
serve as Chris’s
last drop, they
certainly
would
constitute her final U.S. operation. She hadn’t been in the habit of drinking
but a shot of Stoliy would give her the patience to get through the morning
without making Chris suspicious of her true intentions. She reached behind her
favorite book,
The Daughter of the
Commandant
by Pushkin, and pulled out the small flask from which she drew
two long sips. She reminded herself of her mother, hiding liquor. Her
reflection in the framed photo sitting on her bookshelf, the one into which
she’d been Photoshopped, gave her pause. The Stoliy slipped down her throat
with barely a wince and warmed her to the tips of her fingers. She’d have
chased it with a cigarette but Chris must leave first.

After wrapping the packages carefully to seal the exposed
edges with the grey duct tape, she carried it to its courier.

“You ready?” she said, watching him descend from the stairs
cloaked head-to-toe in black clothing and an unattractive stench of fear.

“Ready as I’ll ever be I guess.” He grabbed the package from
her hand and bent slightly to kiss her blushed cheek goodbye. She offered it to
him so he wouldn’t smell the scent of alcohol on her breath. And then she
wished him luck.

“What are you going to do until I get back home?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe have another shot of vodka and smoke
a cigarette,” she said.

He paused until she smiled, then he laughed.

“You’re joking,” he said, chuckling. “But don’t quit your day
job.”

“Too late. Already did.” She patted him on the back and
followed him to the front porch. “Don’t forget what I told you about the test
and you’ll be fine. I promise.” She watched him shuffle to the car and blew him
a kiss goodbye as his car disappeared into the distance.

     
“Finally,” she
exhaled. “It’s time.”

Chapter 39

C
hris white-knuckled the steering wheel as he weaved through
traffic. He debated whether he should turn onto I-66, drive to Washington Field
office, and turn himself in and confess the whole sordid affair. But could he
do so without implicating his Koshechka? After all, she was carrying his child.
No child of his would be born behind bars because he ratted out the woman he
loved. Who would care for it? Both of his parents were globe-trotting retirees.
Saddling them with an infant grandchild, born out of wedlock no less, was
hardly an option.

Refusing the test, which would’ve placed him under immediate
suspicion, was also a non-starter. No, employing countermeasures was his only
option. He’d pass the test and maintain his cover through the painful four
hours. Afterward, he’d have the grounds to insist they defect sooner than
later.

He pulled into the park and noticed more people than usual
were out exercising. But then again, he had little to compare it to as he’d
only been in the location one other time. Still, if the drop site had not been
so far down the trail he might have considered aborting the op. Given the
distance, he’d be able to tell within seconds whether he was being followed.

He exited the car, and a cool howling gust made him shudder,
sent a chill through his core. He grabbed the package from the trunk then
paused and listened, wondering if the universe might be whispering to him,
maybe the winds of change. He pressed on, hoofed to the drop location. The
sound of crisp $100 bills was, at that moment, his only real concern.
     

Koshechka grabbed her cell phone and dialed
his number. He was her one true love, the lone silver lining in the dark clouds
of her chaotic world.

“Darling.” Her voice smiled at the sound of his. Her father
would be proud of her choice. He was stronger and even more cunning than she.
After all, he’d conned more people in less time. Though years younger, he
reminded her of what little she knew of her father, and those characteristics
are what drew her to him.

“There’s my girl,” he sang. “What took you so long?”

“Eh! Took forever to get him out of the house.” She placed a
few family photos into a large moving box. Their flight was scheduled and they
had nothing to do except show up at the airport and survive the security
checkpoint. Once through, they were home free. She wished she could see the
expression on Chris’s face. She’d duped him in more ways than one.

“I’m so glad you won’t have to deal with that asshole
anymore,” he said after his hearty chuckle ended. “What time’s his polygraph
this morning?”

“I think it’s at ten,” she said.

“You taught him the countermeasures, right? I can’t believe
he thought he passed those practice exams.”

“I can,” she said. “Now, we don’t have much time. Unlike my
colleagues at the embassy, if they catch me, I have no
 
diplomatic immunity and I’ll be no better off
than Jack.”

“I know. This operation should be over by noon. I’ll go home,
switch cars, and meet you at Dulles,” he said. “We’ll be in the air before
anyone’s the wiser.”

“Yes, indeed.” Koshechka looked out the window at the autumn
rainbow along her fence line. She’d miss her house most of all. Her flat on the
outskirts of Moscow would be home for some time. She wished she could transport
the Cape Cod to her village. “Now I’ll meet you outside the security gate at
1:00. That should leave us plenty of time. Maybe we can stop at Harry’s for a
toast to our future before we board the plane.”

“You’ll have sparkling apple cider, remember? We don’t want
you to hurt the
baby
,” he said,
enjoying a sinister laugh at Chris’s expense. “Silly schmuck.”

“Enough of your jokes already. We need to get moving,” she
said. “I can see the finish line.”

“Me too. Meet you there.”

•
 
•
 
•

The sun’s rays broke across the horizon, and
a strong acrid breeze whipped through the trees. Thanks to Director Freeman’s
call to the Park Police chief, the patrol officers unlocked the gates a few
minutes earlier than usual to give the Gs a head start. Tony and J.J. watched
the surveillance personnel move into their positions—some camouflaged and
crouched beneath piles of leaves, others dressed in plain clothes, passing
themselves off as early morning fitness freaks.

MacDonald authorized enough personnel to post at seven of the
eight areas J.J. had identified as the most ideal operational sites. Jiggy’s
position was close enough to the eighth that he could view the area with high
powered binoculars, yet far enough away that he wouldn’t be spotted.

J.J. and Tony positioned themselves roughly twenty-five
meters down from Jake, where they could monitor cars approaching on the access
road. Jake’s cam-car, equipped with video, would capture anything they missed.

As J.J. thought about the significant odds against them, a
bout of panic overcame her. The locations she selected might not be correct;
the timing might be all wrong. For all J.J. knew the mole may have already
suspected the Bureau planned to roll him up and aborted the operation or
changed the drop location. Her hand began to tremble once more, heightening her
anxiety.

 
“Any word from
Dmitriyev on the cash drop? Even though we’ll have Chris covered for the rest
of the day, it’d be nice to get positioned ahead of time. That way we can tape
it for prosecution.”

“This will never make it to court,” J.J. said.

“Not once we get this on camera it won’t,” Tony said.

She glanced down at her cell phone and checked her text
messages. She’d set it to vibrate, thought she might’ve missed the incoming.
“No, nothing yet,” J.J. responded. “He’s supposed to text me the location after
Golikov’s people leave if he overhears a location.”

“He’s not going to text you from his personal phone, is he?
What if embassy security checks it?” Tony asked.

“No, no. I gave him a throwaway at our first meeting,
remember? He sends one text and tosses it. Those were my instructions and for
his own safety he better follow them to the letter,” she glanced at her watch.
“Time to do a mic check.”

She picked up the secure radio. “This is blue leader one. Is
team number one in position?”

“Ten-four good buddy,” Jake interrupted, sounding country
strong. “Team one is in position.”

“Team two?”

“Roger that, blue leader one. Team two is in position.”

“I’d like to lodge a formal complaint,” Jiggy interjected.
“Why am I out here in the sticks by myself? It’s dark and these squirrels got
me shook.”

Jake jumped on the bandwagon. “I just hope you picked the
right locations, J.J. Otherwise we might all have a long morning.”

“You mean,
you
might have a long morn—”

“Looks like we’ve got an incoming. Stay alert. Stay alert,”
Jake said.

J.J.’s head pounded harder than her heartbeat. She waited for
Jake to deliver the news they’d long waited to hear—the identity of the mole. A
few seconds passed before she realized she’d been holding her breath. She
released it and inhaled again. She wanted to grab Tony’s hand and squeeze it
until the blood gathered in his fingertips but she resisted.
This is it!
she thought to herself
. We’re now in the moment we’ve been waiting
for.
She and Tony eyed each other briefly before Jake spoke again.

“All right, Jake, we’re cooking with gas,” Tony said. “As
soon as you can see the license, give me the number so I can call in the
plate.”

The car crept along. Jake struggled to see the plate. Through
the tinted glass he could see a figure, a male figure as far as he could tell.
The man craned his neck, scanning the park, looking for something, maybe
suspicious visitors, as if he expected to see someone he recognized. After a
few seconds that felt more like a few hours, the driver pulled into a parking
space and turned off the ignition.

“Jesus, he’s finally parked. I can’t see inside the car,
but—he’s getting out. He’s getting out. He’s walking around to the trunk. Shit!
I missed the plate and he’s blocking the number! I can’t see it.”

The man walked with his head down. Dressed in black jeans and
a dark hoodie that concealed his face, he opened the trunk and pulled out a trash
bag sealed with duct tape and a pair of gloves. He glanced over both shoulders
before closing the trunk and heading into the park.

“He took the package out of the trunk and headed into the
park. Looks like we’ve got D.C. plates—David, Tango, 9-9-2-2.”

Tony and J.J. looked at each other and she picked up the
radio. “Is that a Black Toyota SUV?” she asked.

“Roger that, looks like a Sequoia.”

“That’s Chris Johnson’s truck.”

“Well, I’ll be a caught dog,” Jake said. “That’s Agent
Johnson all right. All dressed in black and carrying a plastic bag wrapped in
duct tape. I’ve got the dash cam running.”

“We nailed him!” Tony said, giving J.J. a high five. “I knew
the son of bitch was dirty. Smile for the camera, douche bag!”

J.J. nodded in agreement.

“We need to pinch this jerk-off, now,” Tony said. “Let’s roll
him up.”

“All in due time,” she responded. “Even on the outside chance
he doesn’t show up for his polygraph, he’s not making a single move without
picking up that money this afternoon.”

“No doubt,” Tony said.

“We’ll let Money T’s team cover him for the rest of the day.
As soon as he returns to pick up the money we’ll get him. And this mess will be
all over,” she turned to face Tony. “Mike’s going to hold him at the exam site
until we give him the okay to let Chris go, right?”

“Yep,” Tony replied. He’d spoken with Mike early that morning
and made all the necessary arrangements. “He’s got that part under control. He
ain’t goin’ anywhere without our okay.”

 
She held the radio to
her mouth. “All right, Money T, when he leaves here, you’ve got the eye. He’s
got to mark the signal to let the Russian’s know it’s time to pick up the drop
and leave the cash,” J.J. ordered. “Let him out of your sight and you’ll be the
next one with the pink Mini Coop, are we understood?”

“Roger that,” said Money T. “Trust me. I’ll be on his ass
like a summer breeze. He might feel me but he won’t see me.”

“That’s what I want to hear!”

Not five minutes later Chris left the park empty handed. How
he could live with himself J.J. didn’t know but she couldn’t wait to pop his
ass later that day. The arrest would signal an end to the Bureau’s woes and her
misery.

“Blue leader, this is Cham.” She posed as a power walker on
the trail in order to scout out the exact drop location. “Looks like he made
the drop about 100 meters in. I couldn’t get eyes on the exact location because
I had to keep moving.”

“Good work, Cham,” J.J. said before turning to Tony. “All
right! Time to make the switch.”

Tony grabbed the radio. “J.J. and I are going in, Jake. I’m
taking the radio. I don’t care if you see a bird flying crooked, make sure you
radio me if anything looks suspicious. Don’t let us get caught out there with
our balls hangin’ out.”

“Roger that, blue team,” Jake said. “We’ve got you covered.”

J.J. retrieved the package from the back seat. She and Tony
moved quickly under cover of the towering trees to find the drop location.
Based on the information they’d received from Dmitriyev the site was
approximately 100 meters down and to the right of the walking path in a hollowed
log. A twisted Coca Cola can next to an adjacent rock would mark the area. Her
gaze darted around as she scanned to find the precise location.

“Hurry up slow poke,” Tony said. “Chris should be marking the
signal any minute and I’m sure the Russians won’t be too far behind.”

No sooner than the words passed Tony’s lips, Money T radioed
in. “Blue leader, this is Money T. The subject just marked the signal. White
duct tape on a light pole in a shopping center parking lot approximately three
miles west of the drop location, off of Connecticut Avenue. I’m hanging tight
to see when our friends drive—uh!” Money paused.

“What is it? What is it?” Tony asked.

 
“He must’ve been
running late. A vehicle with Russian diplomatic plates just passed me. Couldn’t
catch all the numbers but I’ll bet they’re on the way to the drop location.”

“Copy that, Money,” Tony said. He picked up the pace, his
feet crunching the fallen leaves as he hoofed along the trail. “You just stay
on Chris. Make sure he gets to the Bureau offsite for the test!”

“I’m on him.”

“Shit! We’ve got to hurry up,” J.J. said breaking into a run. “If
Golikov’s people are only three miles away, they’ll be here any minute.”