The Bigot List: (A J.J. McCall Novel)

by S. D. Skye

  “Don’t be mad. It’s like you always say,” J.J. said, snickering in Jake’s annoyance, “when all hell breaks loose, only the devil survives. I’m the devil today.”

  “Don’t sweat it, J.J.,” Jake said. “My turn is coming...”

  Moments later she pulled into the FBI Headquarters garage. Her stomach growled in a sound audible to outsiders. As soon as she locked the drop materials securely in her cabinet safe, she’d run upstairs. Food was a necessity before the research commenced.

  At the elevators, she ran into Tony and exchanged greetings. He looked rather fetching in his Dockers and denim blue-colored button down. He juggled a cardboard drink carrier containing two Starbucks coffees; the hazelnut aroma seized her senses. The Dunkin Donuts bag was no doubt filled with their favorite blueberry muffins. He had anticipated the suffering they’d endure after their long night.

  J.J. held the door open for Tony and a choir of hushed whispers met them when they entered. The room was eerily quiet with the exception of a few agents huddled around their colleague’s cubicles. She glanced back at Tony and his eyebrow raised. No one noticed that they had walked in, each was so engrossed in their conversation. But J.J. sensed the anxiety, and their colleagues’ faces were each painted with distress. A wave of uncertainty flitted through her mind.

  The weight of the briefcase in her hand jolted J.J., reminded her that she had a mission to accomplish. Refocused, she charged straight for the vault and swiped her badge.

  A red light.

  Her brow furrowed. She tried again.

  “What the hell is going on? I can’t get in!” J.J. placed her finger in the biometric reader and scanned her badge several times. The light blinked red again—no entry.

  Hmmm, she thought. Maybe the lock’s malfunctioning.

  Then her second thought: Maybe Sabinksi had found out she and Tony had misrepresented information on their administrative reports for months. Maybe he’d revoked their access. Suddenly, her face warmed as if she burned with fever.

  “Here, let me try.” Tony sat down the coffee and bag on the floor beside his feet and scanned his badge. Same result.

  “Something’s wrong. Very wrong,” J.J. said.

  • • •

  Admiring his new discoveries, the new agent listened as the patter of feet tapped across the upstairs floors. The team was headed toward the basement entrance.

  “Copy that. We’re on the way!” a colleague called out over the radio.

  Hopper smiled smugly. He couldn’t wait to get back to the squad. A rookie, they called him. Junior. They’d have to respect him now. This was the ideal way to kick off his counterintelligence career. He set the box of black trash bags, a carton of Crayola chalk, two rolls of white duct tape, and several case files classified “Top Secret—Human Intelligence” on top of the desk, then searched the area for more evidence.

  Even as a new agent fresh out of Quantico, he had been trained to recognize traditional spy tradecraft. Chalk and duct tape were often used to mark signals. Trash bags concealed classified documents so they wouldn’t be destroyed if left outside in the elements. Rudimentary but effective—and classic Russian tradecraft. The file had probably been intended for the next dead drop. Fortunately for the Bureau, Sabinski’s previous drop would be his last.

  When he rose from the desk chair to place the items in the evidence bag, one of the floor panels gave way beneath his feet. Floor panels on a basement floor? he said to himself. Most people install Berber carpet, pile, or even ceramic over the concrete. Curious. He lifted a loose plank and then blinked rapidly. Thousands in unmarked hundred-dollar bills lay beneath his feet. He pulled a stack from the floor and flipped through each, carefully eying the serial numbers. All sequential.

  Son of a bitch!

  “Well, I’ll be damned, Junior! Look at what you dug up!” his senior colleague said as he peered through the door. “We’ve got ourselves a spy!”

  • • •

  The Espionage Unit agents were solemn and quiet, some visibly angry. A misty-eyed Lana emerged from her cubicle and approached them. J.J. couldn’t stand the sound of her voice—she or her partner-in-crime for that matter. They always made her eyelids tingle.

  “Lana, what’s going on? We, uhhh, needed to get a file from the vault and neither one of our badges works.”

  “Oh my God, so nobody’s spoken to you.”

  “Spoken to us about what?” Tony said.

  Lana tugged on Tony’s arm and pulled him aside; J.J. closed in the circle.

  “It’s Jack. He’s been arrested for committing espionage.”

  “What!” Tony and J.J. yelled in unison.

  “When...when did this happen?” J.J. asked, overcome with shock. She’d witnessed Jack choke down a lot of food in her time, but never his just desserts. Finally, they’d been served on a hot platter. Her joy swelled. Had she sufficient floor space, she’d have turned a cartwheel and a backflip or two.

  “Only moments ago. Apparently he failed his polygraph exam so badly Cartwright got an emergency search warrant. They found the evidence at his house in less than an hour. A hundred thousand dollars in cash beneath a floor panel in the basement. Some Top Secret documents, trash bags, chalk...you know the drill.”

  I knew it! I knew it! J.J. thought. She’d suspected him all along. It made perfect sense. All those days he’d accused her of compromising her own sources and he’d been the one selling out the Bureau to the Russians the whole time. While her stomach soured at the thought of the information that he potentially had passed to his handler, at least the mystery had been solved.

  Tony and J.J. eyed each other knowingly.

  “Yeah,” she continued. “The AD and Freeman revoked everybody’s vault access and ordered that we all take polys. Jack failed.”

  “No one’s informed us yet,” J.J. said. One of Tony’s buddies had passed some RUMINT, rumor-based intelligence, but they hadn’t officially been notified.

  “Yeah, well apparently everything happened pretty quickly. They’d planned to notify us today, and I believe they’re still going through with them.”

  “So, how do you know?” J.J. asked.

  Lana’s mouth fell open, she touched her throat. “Uhhh...Someone told Chris.”

  “Shit!” J.J. yelped as she pressed her fingers against her eye. Lana had lied, and the itching intensified. She couldn’t take it, would’ve clawed her own eyes out with her fingernails if she could. J.J. bent and placed the briefcase on the floor, tried to blink through the tears streaming from her eyes.

  “J.J., what happened?” Lana asked.

  “You okay?” Tony asked as she stooped over to get a look at her eyes. She couldn’t blink them open, so she held them closed until the sensation passed.

  “I’m…I’m okay, now. Just an allergic reaction to this new eyeliner I tried out this morning.”

  “You don’t wear eyeliner,” Tony piped in.

  J.J.’s snarl pierced him; he snapped his mouth shut.

  Tony looked at J.J. suspiciously, his expression skeptical, unbelieving. A few seconds later, Chris walked up behind Lana.

  “Guess you guys heard about Jack, huh? Good riddance, if you ask me. Fat bastard. I hope he gets the death penalty. I’d love to see him roast.”

  Chapter 16

  Early Friday Evening…

  Although their loathing for Jack was quite mutual, J.J. didn’t understand Chris’s reaction. Why had he expressed so much hatred for Jack? After all, he was teamed up with Jack’s golden girl. Everything Jack did to benefit Lana, inevitably benefited Chris. He should’ve been near tears as was Lana.

  Lana’s reaction, her fear, was understandable. She didn’t want the Bureau to hire a new supervisor whom she couldn’t control with her breasts, who wouldn’t excuse her ineptness. And if justice existed anywhere in the world, the AD would replace Jack with a woman, a straight woman who wouldn’t give a damn about the height of her skirt, the depth of her splits, or the volume of silicone in her
cleavage.

  Lana’s head snapped around toward Chris and she glared at him, a fire brewing on her tongue. But instead of exploding, she yielded. “I’m off to take my poly now. See you guys later.”

  Chris watched her hips sway as she walked way. “Good luck with that.” He turned to Tony and J.J. “They booked him in Alexandria, and I hear he’s not talking.”

  “Not talking? There’s something new and different,” Tony quipped. “Well, I’m sure they’ll get some agents from Washington Field out there to grill him before long.”

  Chris shifted his glance to J.J. “Oh, by the way, Cartwright wants to see you in his office immediately. He told me to let you know as soon as you arrived. Said you should just go on upstairs.”

  “Me and Tony? Or just me?”

  “He didn’t mention Tony. Just you.”

  “About what?”

  Chris shrugged. “I have no idea; he didn’t say. Why don’t you get up there and find out?” he asked as he walked away.

  J.J. faced Tony, her distress visible. Why in hell would he want to speak to me without Tony there? she asked herself. She didn’t understand.

  “Guard this with your life,” she said, sitting the briefcase next to Tony’s feet. “I’m going to head upstairs and see what he wants.”

  He leaned in and whispered, “You gonna tell him about the drop?”

  J.J. bit her bottom lip, unsure of her response. “I honestly don’t know right now.” J.J. scanned the area to ensure no one was listening. “I mean, I realize we’d planned to tell him. But if Lana passes her polygraph today then he’s going to order us to turn all of the information over to her. Let’s just wait and find out what he has to say.”

  • • •

  J.J. tugged on her suit jacket to smooth out the wrinkles as she approached Cartwright’s open office door. When she peered through the threshold, he was standing next to a cabinet safe, flipping through some files. Jim glanced up just as she opened her mouth to speak.

  “Ah, Agent McCall. Come in. Have a seat.” He moved back toward his desk and slipped into his chair. A sullen expression blanketed his usual jovial appearance. He seemed pensive, more intense.

  She took a seat in the guest chair, nervous and somewhat anxious. She had no idea why he’d asked to meet with her. Maybe he’d heard Jack had harassed her in the past.

  “So I guess you’re wondering why I called you here this morning,” he asked.

  “Uhhh…yes, sir. The question had crossed my mind.”

  “I’m assuming you’ve heard about Jack’s arrest,” he asked matter-of-factly. The supervisor of her unit had been arrested for espionage. Of course, she’d heard. She struggled to contain her elation.

  “Yes, sir. Agent Michaels told me the bad news just a few minutes ago. She didn’t give me any details, though.”

  “His polygrapher called me yesterday during his exam to express some serious concerns. He failed his poly and failed it miserably. I asked Director Freeman to request an emergency search warrant and sent an evidence team out to his house. Minutes into the search, we found a hundred grand in cash, trash bags, chalk, duct tape and several case files, including one for Karat.”

  Minutes into the search? J.J. found that odd. As an FBI counterintelligence agent, especially one who had helped draft the Hanssen damage assessment, seems he could’ve done a better job of concealing the dirt under the carpet so-to-speak. But she shrugged it off and inhaled deeply. Her only comfort was that Sabinski didn’t have the real case file. He’d taken the one with the doctored reporting inside. A surge of anger burst through her as she thought about his accusations, his indictment on her father’s and Tony’s father’s pasts. Nothing but the pot calling the kettle black.

  Still she had to perform for effect.

  “My God.” J.J. pressed her hand against the chest. “But I’ve had my suspicions. I saw him reading the file yesterday and he hadn’t logged it out.”

  “Is that right?” Cartwright responded.

  “Yes, sir. He called me in to tell me Karat had been recalled to Moscow.”

  A thousand pounds of uncomfortable silence hovered between them before Cartwright spoke again.

  “I’m afraid Jack refuses to talk. After we booked him, he evoked his Fifth Amendment rights and clammed up. He’s hardly said two words together since. Except...he’s, uhhh, he’s asked to speak to you. And you alone.”

  J.J. drew her head back stiffly then cocked it to the side. She wouldn’t have been more surprised if Cartwright stripped naked, sprouted wings, and flew out the window. Why in hell would Jack want to speak to her? She’d be the first person to pull the switch if he got the chair.

  “Me? W-why me?”

  “That’s what Director Freeman and I would like to know,” Cartwright responded.

  Confused, J.J. shook her head. Her instincts refused his request long before she could speak the words. “You don’t understand. Jack and I have a very contentious relationship, to say the least. Now, I hadn’t previously come forward with complaints. We both know that’s a useless exercise in this place. But, please understand, we have nothing to say to one another. And trust me, anything he might say to me wouldn’t be worth listening to.”

  Cartwright sat forward in his chair. “J.J., you and I both know headquarters isn’t that big, and I’ve known Jack since the Academy. Trust me, I’m well aware of that river of bad blood between you two.”

  “Well, that’s the biggest understatement since the discovery of fire.”

  He half chuckled. “Jack’s reputation precedes him, but I need you to talk to him. The Bureau needs you to speak with him. We’ve got to find out as much as possible about his cooperation. We can’t begin our damage assessments without his statements. And our secure intelligence collection channels are still vulnerable. Most importantly, we must adjust our HUMINT operations—both in the Bureau and throughout the Community—so we don’t lose any more sources. This is a mission imperative.”

  J.J. began to waver against her own will. She looked down at her lap to gather the strength to fortify her resolve, but to no avail. If nothing else, she owed it to her dead sources and their families to listen to what Jack had to say. She didn’t need to say much in return. And the visit would offer her a prime opportunity to do something she’d wanted to do for years, gloat and relish in his misery. As she contemplated her concession, the thought of Jack bound in handcuffs brought her a fountain of joy. She needed no more convincing.

  “I’m asking you to do this as a favor to me. Hear him out, report back to me, and you’re done. You never need to see or speak to him again as far as I’m concerned.”

  She hesitated, for the sake of show, and then blew out a long breath. “Okay, okay. I’ll meet him. But if he so much as blinks the wrong way, with all due respect to you, Mr. Cartwright, he’s going to be begging for the death penalty.”

  Chapter 17

  Saturday Morning – Back at the Alexandria Jail

  More than a decade earlier, during the Hanssen damage assessment, a sketchy Russian source suggested a second mole was burrowed deep within the Intelligence Community. The heads of all Intelligence Community agencies initiated Operation ICE Phantom—Intelligence Community Phantom—to find the turncoat allegedly more dangerous, more insidious than Hanssen and Ames combined.

  A stagnant search had since yielded nothing, nothing except a dead-end ghost chase. As of late, the only mark of his existence was J.J.’s dead sources. They’d been dropping off too quickly, suggesting the mole was afraid, desperate. These facts were all but completely ignored by senior leadership who opted to claim ignorance, a game J.J. and Tony could ill afford to play.

  One source vanished from the face of the earth and the other was brutally murdered. Only one remained thanks to the son-of-a-bitch selling secrets like popcorn at National’s stadium. And the new target would no doubt be Viktor Plotnikov, codenamed Karat.

  J.J. broke every rule and regulation to protect him: falsified FD-302s, the B
ureau’s official interview reports; intentionally wrote a false assessment identifying him as a low-level diplomat to conceal that they knew his true identity; and Robert Ludlum couldn’t produce better fiction than that found in his “duplicate” case file. She even designed his codename as an operational security measure. The misspelling would differentiate those who’d seen his file from those who’d merely heard about him. She refused to lose another source to the ICE Phantom or Golikov’s thugs.

  Jack drowned in denial, and J.J. and Tony had long suspected his reasons were rooted in more than professional self-preservation. ICE Phantom had struck during his duty, his watch. The blame was squarely at Jack’s doorstep. Rather than confront the problem, Jack thought it better for his career to simply ignore the problem. Rumors of moles deterred other agencies from sharing intelligence with the Bureau and frightened sources that feared arrest, imprisonment, death, or some combination of the three. Not to mention, they wreaked havoc on an already tenuous relationship between the FBI and CIA.

  Now, sitting in jail, the problem had returned to bite Jack squarely in the ass.

  “The bigot list? Who do—”

  “Chris,” Jack said with hardly a moment’s pause. Didn’t even allow her to finish the question.

  “Chris? Wait, Lana’s Chris?”

  “Yeah, I think he’s in love with Lana,” Jack said. The red in his face intensified. He squeezed his hands and cracked his knuckles repeatedly, the sound of which made J.J. cringe. “No. That’s not true. He’s very much in love with Lana, almost to the point of obsession.”

  J.J. shifted in her seat, constantly examining her feelings. “And? What’s that got to do with you?”

  He looked at J.J. stone-faced. She waited for an answer when the gravity of his statement pulled her smack into the reality of his insinuation. “Wait. You…and Lana?” The words propelled from her mouth like vomit.

  J.J. dropped her head in shock and disbelief. What could Lana possibly want with Jack?

  “What can I say? She came onto me.”