Spy Catcher: The J.J. McCall Novels (Books 1-3) (The FBI Espionage Series) (34 page)

Chapter 8

Tuesday Morning—The Ellipse

A cold wind pierced J.J.’s windbreaker as she glanced up at the auburn sky. The ominous clouds portended rain and threatened the operation, but the team forged ahead. With just over twelve hours left to justify a full investigation, they could ill-afford any delays. The Ellipse was fairly tranquil except for the beat of joggers’ shoes against the asphalt, spate clumps of morning commuters, and a vagabond dragging garbage bags filled with his wares across the busying streets. After scanning the park to ensure Gusin hadn’t arrived, the entire team, including Gia (to J.J.’s dismay), began moving into position.

“Everyone wired in? I’m on 18
th
Street checking for countersurveillance. If they sent an officer out, he has to pass by here or Constitution Avenue.”

“Yeah, everything’s good here,” Tony said, “I’m next to the Boy Scout statue. Was messing around on my iPhone and got a text from the lookouts. Gusin was called out of the embassy about 25 minutes ago. He should be here any minute.”

“Messing around already? Didn’t take long, did it?” Six said.

J.J. huffed. “Save it, Six. What’s your position?” 

“You want me to disclose something so personal to the task force?” Six said, suppressing a chuckle. After a long pause he said, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Loosen up, people. I’m at 17
th
and Constitution, and I think we’re all good.”

A hard silence fell over the radio, and then J.J. growled in the throat. She patted her jacket pocket and pulled out her cellphone out to make sure the ringer was on. Then she looked down at her wristwatch before volleying her glance left and right along 18th Street, pretending to be waiting for public transportation so no passersby would question her presence. “Who’s got eyes on Walter?” J.J. asked.

“I just passed him. I’m sitting a couple benches away,” Gia said. “Looks like he’s playing Galaga or something on his laptop. Hey, Walter! Did you make it to stage six?”

Silence.

“Walter?” Gia said.

“Hey, enough with the freakin’ game already,” Tony interjected. “It’s time to look alert!” He waited for a response. “Walter?”

Silence.

“Walter?” Gia asked again with no response. “Something must be wrong with his radio.”

Through broken waves of static, Walter said, “I can bare—hear—guys.”

“Ugh. Bad signal. We are so screwed,” J.J. said.

“Tony, can you go over and—” No sooner than the smile disappeared from her face she spotted him. “Incoming! Gusin’s car pulled up to the light.” J.J. turned her back toward him and glanced over her right shoulder until his Corolla passed by in her peripheral vision. “Okay, guys. This is it. He’s parking and should be entering the park in a few minutes. Stay alert. If countersurveillance is out they won’t be far behind. Tony, text the lookouts and find out if any other intel officers were called out.”

A few minutes later, he replied, “Only Dmitriyev. But he’s declared so if he shows his face down here, he’s going back to Moscow.”

“Hmm. Strange nobody else is making a run….unless one of ‘em managed to slip past the lookouts through another gate. Wouldn’t be the first time. Tricky bastards.” 

J.J.’s senses sharpened as she scanned the area for Gusin. The warning signal at the crosswalk sounded forcing a barrage of morning commuters to run across the street. She knew he’d be carrying a bag of some kind with him so she focused her attention on spotting it. Before she could inhale, the treacherous Russian son of a bitch passed her.

And it wasn’t Gusin.

“Aleksey? You can’t be here!” They froze in each other’s gazes. His eyes were empty, emotionless, as if looking straight through her.

He said nothing.

The bright red flashing in her eyes when she saw him had little to do with the crisp new Washington Capitals baseball cap he donned, the bill pulled close to his eyes. Her anger swelled in a surreal frenzy and he seemed to move in slow motion. 

After a few moments that seemed like an eternity, he jerked his guilty mug toward the pavement and rushed past J.J. Once on the walking path, he headed to the right, in the direction opposite the White House. J.J. stood in utter shock, waited for him to glance over his shoulder and give her a sign, any sign, that his presence at the site of a damaging operation potentially targeting the highest levels of U.S. government was a mistake, mere happenstance. But he made no such move.

While her distracted mind churned over the implications, she’d missed Gusin’s approach; he rambled across her path a couple of minutes later. As Dmitriyev strolled to the right toward Constitution Avenue, Gusin continued his trek onto the trail toward the left.   

J.J. was paralyzed, didn’t know what to react to first. She closed her eyes for a moment and let her instincts take over. Pressing her hand against her ear, she said, “Heads up, Gia. Gusin’s coming your way. Just passed me. He’s headed north.”

“I’ve got eyes on him—he’s coming toward me. Looks like he’s got an earphone plugged in. Why the hell is he walking so slowly?” she said.

After a brief pause, she continued. “Okay. Just passed me. He’s…oh shit! Looks like he’s walking in Walter’s direction. Repeat, he’s walking toward Walter.”

J.J. scanned the park and saw Walter in position. She gasped and through clenched teeth said, “Listen, Walter, can you hear me?”

Silence.

“Walter?”

More silence.

“Walter, our target’s approaching you from the left. The guy in the dark slacks and ugly shoes. Get that fucking earpiece out. If he sees any hint of a wire, this operation is over before it begins!”

Still no sound. Just the crackle of static.

J.J. hoped like hell Walter’s computer game was still on the screen. While J.J. waited for Gia to respond, she called Tony on his cell.

“What’s up?” he answered.

“You’re not gonna believe this. Our
friend
just passed me!”

“Our friend. What friend?” he asked. Before she could respond, Tony growled in a loud whisper, “What the hell is
Dmitriyev
doing here?!”

“Ahhh, saw him for yourself, huh? That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?”

“He’s declared now. He can’t engage in operational activity,” Tony said. “If that piece of shit’s been playing us, he just fucked himself royally.”

“Well, if we wait a few minutes, we’ll know exactly which side he’s on,” J.J. said. “If he signals that FBI’s in the area, and he knows I’m here, then Gusin will abort his operation and leave.”

“If he fucks this op, I’ll pinch his ass right here. State Department’s only a couple blocks over. He can grab his PNG papers and take them straight to hell for all I care.” 

The radio went silent as J.J. watched Gusin tread slowly around the circular walkway. She studied his movement; he appeared to be searching. Perhaps he was looking for the ideal position to get the best reception, just as Walter had done earlier. It occurred to her, they performed the same job, probably had access to much of the same training and technologies. So they probably…

Picked the same freaking spot!

She pressed the push-to-talk button. “Walter! Walter!” she said in a whispered scream. “Can you hear me? I need you to move. Now! Get out of there!”

Walter didn’t budge. No hint of reception on his radio. As Dmitriyev made his way around the path, the entire operation rode on her gut instinct.

Her stomach wrenched as her nightmare materialized. Gusin found a spot on the bench adjacent to Walter—and Dmitriyev was only fifty meters away. If he signaled Gusin and called off the op, she’d know she’d been played, and Golikov’s rage would pale in comparison to hers. After she finished raining down the fury of her wrath, Aleksey wouldn’t know what country he came from.

Six buzzed in. “Uhh…I might be seeing things, but the man who walked past me resembles the new security officer.”

J.J.’s eyes popped wide and she cleared her throat. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s declared,” she lied. “You’re getting old. Might be time for a glaucoma test.”

J.J.’s phone vibrated in her hand. Tony called again. “On my mother’s soul, if he makes one freakin’ wrong move, his balls will get back to Moscow before he does.”

“Depends on what’s left after I get through with him.”

The moment was upon them. Dmitriyev passed Gusin. He ran the palm of his hand across the back of his neck and tipped the bill of his  baseball cap with this index finger. Then he paced quickly out of the park, avoiding J.J.’s position and disappearing into the morning crowd.

“Looked like a signal to me,” Tony said.

“Yeah me, too,” J.J. replied. “The question is what did it mean?”

Suddenly, Gusin reached inside his jacket and bolted up from the seat.

“Son of a bitch! He’s leaving!”

As he began walking, J.J.’s blood boiled with Gusin’s every lumbering step. Her mind replayed the meetings and conversations with Dmitriyev in quick time. How could she, of all people, be deceived? Her gift of lie detection was the reason she held out a glimmer of hope, at least until Gusin rose to his feet.

Her gaze swept across the pavement in frustration. A barrage of thoughts rushed through her mind, including every method of punishing Dmitriyev for his betrayal.

She would leave no diplomatic sanction unexploited—splash his name through newspaper headlines worldwide. Have him declared PNG, maybe even start a rumor of how he’d volunteered his services to the FBI, but was rejected because the Bureau believed it to be a blatant provocation. That would teach him. She knew exactly who to call and scrolled through her cell phone contacts…Gill Bert from
The Washington Times
.

When she returned her gaze street level, Gusin was still there, seated at the opposite end of the bench, the side furthest from Walter.

He didn’t leave, after all. He just shifted positions. She expelled a long breath and swiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

Dmitriyev wasn’t a double after all—or he made the move that would save his ass for the moment. His loyalty was now in question. And he’d have to prove his worth before she gave him one shred of assistance.

“Lucky bastard,” Tony bellowed, breaking through the fog in her mind. “Looks like the op is still on. Walter’s fingers are going a mile a minute. He’s onto something.”

“Yeah. Lucky bastard, indeed. We’ll deal with him later. For now, let’s hope Walter can intercept a transmission.”

“No, J.J.,” Tony began, “if you think about the implications, we better hope he doesn’t.”

Chapter 9

Tuesday Afternoon—The Ellipse

Three hours later, the team took refuge in the FBI Mobile Command Center that had arrived shortly after Gusin left the premises. J.J. had ordered back-up in case Walter was unsuccessful, but she felt confident she wouldn’t need it. Inside the modified interior cabin, rectangular table tops affixed to the either side of the van’s wall served as desk areas for five personnel. Receivers and recording equipment lined the shelves as Walter’s fingers flitted across his laptop’s keyboard. J.J. and the team huddled around, waiting for him to process the signal intercepts. A large pair of what appeared to be commercial-grade noise-cancelling headphones pressed into his curly black mane, as line after line of computational gibberish scrolled down his screen. His mind was in the zone and he blocked out everything beyond the complicated world in his laptop…at least until the burn of four sets of eyes seared through him. Jolted out of his intense concentration, his glance darted nervously around the room.

“Uhhh…is there a problem? I feel like a guppy in a fish bowl,” he said.

“Sorry,” J.J. said. “How much longer before you find something?”

“Just a couple more minutes. I’ve isolated one low frequency RF signal that started emitting about the time Gusin arrived. I’m trying to determine whether it’s from the White House. It’s hard to tell.”

Gia spoke up. “How will you differentiate the intercepted signal from any other telecommunication signal?”

“Well, I won’t know for certain until we conduct a sweep to verify. But classified conversations should take place over encrypted lines. I can intercept encrypted signals but they’ll sound garbled. However, if I understand what they’re saying, if I hear a classified conversation, I know the signal is coming from an unsecure line or a transmitting device. Does that make sense?”

She nodded.

“But how can you tell whether or not it’s classified?” J.J. asked.

“Well,” he said, looking around at the doubting faces. “We’re all cleared here. I’ll play them out loud and we’ll all take a guess.”

“Good idea,” Six piped in. He looked down at his watch. “But we need to step this up. We’ve been at this all day and I need to get back to Langley before heading home.”

“Okay.” Walter yanked out the headphone cord from its laptop jack and cranked up the volume on the speakers. “Here’s the first one.”

The sound of static hummed through the speakers occasionally accentuated by a few pops and crackles more reminiscent of morning breakfast cereal than a signals intercept.

“Uhhh…am I missing something here?” Tony asked.

“If you’re missing it, we all are,” Gia said, with a shrug. “Maybe there’s no op after all.”

Walter shook his head. “No, no, something’s wrong here. I…I’m not sure what’s going on. I captured the recording. It’s here.”

His fingers rattled against the keys, focused and determined.

“Sweet baby, Jesus. I hope we don’t have to run this op again. I can’t handle another close call,” J.J. said, wishing she could choke her words back down. She glanced at Tony whose eyes were returning to their sockets.

“Close call?” Six asked, his eyebrow raised.

J.J. hesitated while she conjured up a response Six would believe. “With Gusin…sitting right next to Walter and all. I’d  hate to…have to get a new team out here. That’d…be a…pain in the ass,” she said haltingly, before clearing her throat. She craned her neck to check out the laptop. “Anything yet, Walter?”

“I’m ready. Let’s try it again.”

They stood and listened.

More static. More clicks.

“Fahrvergnügen!” Walter yelled. Everybody’s head snapped to attention before they bubbled up with laughter.

“I’m sorry. Did he just use the ‘F’ word?” J.J. said.

When he slapped his hand against the desk, another pop rang out then voices emerged through the crackle of static. A burst of laughter—males, females, a group of voices. Then a man spoke.

J.J. gasped and her breath grew heavy. As she scanned each face, everyone stood frozen. Not a single movement. Not even a blink. “Director Miller,” Six said, remarking on the voice familiar to him—the head of CIA.

The recording continued to play.

“Oh my God, DIA. That’s General Ronaldson. I’d know that Southern accent anywhere,” Gia said.

“That’s definitely Director Freeman,” Tony said as the talking persisted. He ran his fingers through his hair. “And that one sounds like the DNI.”

“This…is a…
National Security Council
meeting.” Walter stood, turned his back to the desk, and leaned against it. His face went beet red and his voice sounded as if his throat had constricted. He gulped hard and said, “Do you know what this means?”

“I’ll tell you what it means,” Tony said. “The Russian’s have ears in the White House.”

J.J. shook her head. “No, this is much bigger than ears in the White House—this has to be coming from the Situation Room. We couldn’t hear this conversation over a secure communications line.”

“S
omebody
planted a listening device,” Walter said. 

“Which means the Russians have a mole in the White House,” J.J. said, glancing at her watch to gauge how much time they had left before the Director-issued deadline was up. They only had a few hours to get authorization for a full investigation or they’d potentially have to wait weeks to pursue this lead. “We’ve got to get in there and do a sweep—tonight.” 

“Isn’t the White House Secret Service jurisdiction?” Six asked. “I don’t think they’ll be thrilled about FBI encroaching on their turf.”

“The White House may be their turf in terms of security and presidential protection,” J.J. began, “but inside the United States, any activity involving counterintelligence and counterespionage is the FBI’s turf. But we probably should walk softly. Who do we know over there who can maybe help ease tensions?”

She looked to Tony first. He always hadda guy or knewa guy.

Tony thought about it and shrugged. “I’ve got a lot of contacts but nobody high enough at Secret Service to help us,” he said.

She turned to Gia who also shrugged and tightened her lips. “We’ve got analysts who brief the White House most days, and one of my friends works in the Navy Mess, but I’m afraid no contacts in Secret Service.”

J.J. turned to the one person who would usually be the first to speak but hadn’t made a peep of a sound since the discussion on Secret Service contacts began. “Six? What about you?” J.J. asked.

He tightened his lips and looked at the ground, avoiding the curious gazes of his colleagues. “I, uhhh, I-I-I-I don’t think using my connection is a good idea.”

“What’s the problem?” J.J. recognized the look of anxiety on his face. As much as he liked to be the aggressor in confrontational situations, he hated when such instances were out of his control. His expression betrayed his fear. “Or should I say
who
?”

“I don’t—“

“C’mon
two-point-seven-five
, can’t be that bad, can it?” Tony chimed in.

Six rolled his eyes. “You might want to stay out of this one, Stallone. Trust me,” he said.

J.J. cranked her neck toward Six and cocked her head to the side. “Why get snippy at
him
? He has nothing to do with your contact.”

“No,” Six said, “but
you
do.”

“Me?” She appeared incredulous at the suggestion when the complication finally struck her—the only person in the world who wished for her demise more than Lana Michaels. “Ah, hell! I thought she went to State…to Diplomatic Security.”

“She did, right up until she left to head up the White House Security Detail for Secret Service.”

J.J. cut her eyes at Six and dropped her head. She cupped her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Somebody kill me! Just put a bullet between my eyes right now. Our probability of obtaining an authorization for a full investigation just went from impossible to ‘You must be fucking kidding me,’” she growled. Through clenched teeth, she hissed at Six. “We’re in a major pickle, and this one’s all
your pickle’s
fault.”

“Kendel might beg to differ,” Six said with a chuckle, which disappeared at the sight of J.J.’s scowl.

Gia, Walter, and Tony looked at each other confused and then at J.J. and Six.

“What on earth did I do to deserve this?” J.J. let out a long breath and rolled her eyes up at the ceiling. “Six, go ahead and make the call. Tony, record a short clip of the end of the meeting, so we have a sample that isn’t classified. We’re running out of time. If our twenty-four hours runs out, this case is tanked no matter what we do.”