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

by Skye, S. D.

  “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.”

  “Somebody 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.”

  Chapter 10

  Late Tuesday Afternoon—The West Wing

  Butterflies fluttered through J.J.’s stomach as she, Tony, and Six approached the Marine in dress blues standing sentry outside the West Wing entrance. His presence signaled the President was on deck. The air of majesty was both awe-inspiring and intimidating as J.J. trailed up the circular driveway at the grand, columned north entrance; it was accented by precision-manicured shrubbery. The sense of honor and history enveloped her, brought goose bumps to J.J.’s forearm as the crisp wind coiled around her.

  She’d only been to the White House once before, in what seemed a lifetime ago. Ronald Reagan was president and she was a patriot-in-the-making, rolling eggs across the South Lawn. How times had changed. This day she wore a suit instead of a ruffled blue dress; had a holster with a Glock over her shoulder rather than a patent leather white purse, and the President and she shared more than a love of country—they shared the same skin color. J.J. sensed her mother’s smile in the glimmer of sun peeking through the clouds; the warmth gave her confidence to forge ahead.

  In a few choreographed motions, the Marine opened the door and they paced across the threshold, Six leading the way and J.J. and Tony trailing close behind. J.J. eyes roamed the foyer, which was formal and painted in welcoming neutral tones. She marveled at the light shimmering against the chandelier dangling overhead when Tony’s voice jolted her from her daze.

  “Good afternoon, I’m Special Agent Antonio Donato,” he said as he flashed his credentials to the stiff, brown-haired uniformed Secret Service police officer in a starched white shirt, black tie, and dark pants. He was posted in a room at the foyer’s edge leading out of the entryway and into the West Wing. Tony gestured toward J.J. and Six, introducing them in kind. “We’re here to see Kendel Phillips.”

  The officer stood up fro
m his desk, examined their IDs, and mumbled some jibberish into a mic attached to the wire dangling behind his ear. “Afternoon. I’ll escort you all downstairs and get your visitors’ badges.”

  “Thank you,” J.J. replied, following close behind him. He led them through a narrow hall and then down a short flight of steps, each pristine room and entryway accented with rich mahogany wood accents and Victorian tables and seating wrapped in soothing blues and neutrals.

  “So, what’s the purpose of your visit today?” he asked, the sound of his voice somewhere between attempting small talk and collecting facts.

  J.J. glanced at Six and Tony and replied, “We’re here to coordinate on an urgent matter. Can’t really disclose more than that.” Just past the stairway was a security checkpoint on the right and a second lobby area ahead and toward the left. “So, uhh…the President’s in?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He’s attending a meeting in the Sit Room on a VTC…with Putin. Should be leaving shortly.”

  He nodded. “This way please.” He briefly spoke to another agent who handed him three visitors’ badges. He passed them out and they each clipped them to their lapels. “Agent Phillips will be out momentarily. I’ll make sure she’s on the way.” He disappeared down a short corridor. J.J. spotted the Secret Service shield on a wall in the back.

  Moments later, a stylish black woman clad in a sophisticated navy suit and rimless eyeglasses, about J.J.’s height, sauntered up the hall. The tight bun in her hair gave her a stuffy but elegant appearance. The closer she got to the group, the more her eyes narrowed. She barely glanced at J.J. before locking a searing gaze on Six. In her heart of hearts, J.J. knew things were about to get ugly. And fast.

  “Agent McCall. Six,” she said tersely without ever shifting her glare from him. “What brings you here…today of all days? This couldn’t wait?”

  Six looked down at the vintage Omega beaming from his wrist and backed out of arm’s reach. “I…I, uhh, didn’t realize the date.”

  Kendel tightened her lips. “Wouldn’t be the first time, would it Z?”

  Tony leaned over to J.J. and whispered, “Z?”

  “Zero,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “It was Zoro before the break-up.”

  “Sorry,” Six interrupted, his expression one of genuine angst. “But, no, this couldn’t wait.”

  After noticing Six’s flustered demeanor, J.J. glanced down at the date on her own watch—November 10th. She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. In a flash, a colossal white elephant soaked up all the oxygen in the room…and it was dressed in a strapless, floor-length Vera Wang with a lace veil.

  “I think you’re the only one I’ve not met,” she said turning to Tony, flashing a fake smile. “I’m Agent Kendel Phillips. Secret Service. You are?”

  “Special Agent Antonio Donato.” He extended his hand. “Tony’s fine.”

  “Yes, you are,” she mumbled in a voice inaudible to everyone except J.J., whose face crumpled.

  She cut her eyes at Kendel before catching herself and relaxing her tension.

  “Uhhh, thank you Agent Donato. Shall we step into my office,” she said leading them back through the cramped corridor. They passed a few offices on the left and right until arriving at the Secret Service section in the rear.

  Kendel led them into her constricted office with oversized mahogany furniture that took up precious free space. J.J. and Tony took the two seats in front of her desk while Six remained standing. She waited for everyone to settle in, then leaned back in her seat and defensively folded her arms over her chest. “So,” she said scanning each face at the table before returning her gaze to J.J. “This must be a serious matter for Six to risk coming to see me. What’s going on?”

  J.J.’s gaze darted to Tony and back at Kendel. “Well, one of the Gs tracked a Russian intelligence officer conducting an op at the Ellipse a few days ago. Long story short, Russian intelligence has installed a listening device in the White House.”

  Kendel let out a sharp breath, sat forward in her seat, and shook her head, incredulous at the notion. “You mean you suspect.”

  “No, it’s here,” J.J. said.

  “Impossible!” she yelled, appearing insulted, yet unsure. “My security team conducts weekly sweeps.”

  A crawling sensation started in J.J.’s hand, seeping up through her arm and shoulder. She jerked back and bit her lips to maintain her composure. Kendel was lying—J.J. didn’t know about what and didn’t have time to drill deeper. She made a mental note of it and moved on. Her most pressing challenge was to get Kendel’s cooperation with the least stink possible, and doing so without applying excessive pressure now appeared unavoidable.

  Six said, “Well, there must be a problem with your sweeps. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here. We all heard it.”

  “You all heard it, where?”

  “Here. Coming from the Sit Room,” Tony answered.

  Kendel stood to her feet and slammed her palm against the desk. “We’ve got dozens of officers on this property every day and an upgraded security system. There’s no way in hell a Russian installed a bug in the Sit Room.”

  J.J. waited for a reaction, but none came. “It’s funny, you know, how you phrased it,” J.J. said, “because we don’t believe a Russian did.”

  Tony continued. “Based on the evidence we’ve collected so far, Director Freeman’s authorized a full investigation. We have the authority to conduct our own sweeps right now, but we’d appreciate and, frankly, expect maximum cooperation from your office,” he bluffed.

  “I’m sure you do,” Kendel said as she returned to her seat. “But if anyone’s going to conduct a sweep in the Sit Room, it’ll be Secret Service.” She bent forward and, with her index finger, pointed to the nameplate on her desk that read Chief of White House Security. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this is my house.”

  J.J. jerked her head backward, looked down at the floor, and started to bark out a reply but choked down her initial response. She only had a couple of hours left to gather the evidence she needed to justify the full investigation. Her patience was wearing thin and her time short. While her second-thought told her she might catch more bees with honey, a voice vaguely sounding like her ornery Auntie Adelaide said, “Sometimes you’ve got to be a bitch to check one.”

  She leaned forward, rested her elbows against her knees, and oozed a forced calmness as she retorted, “I don’t mean any disrespect, Kendel. I realize this situation must be difficult for you. After all, Six is, well…Six. But I must remind you that Tony and I are FBI Special Agents conducting a possible espionage investigation involving Russian intelligence on U.S. soil.”

  “And?” Kendel snapped with a slight roll of the eye.

  J.J. suppressed the “Oh no you didn’t” and snapped, “Well, according to the United States Congress, when a case involves Russian intelligence and espionage on American soil, my house is bigger than your house—and it includes the Situation Room.”

  Kendel froze, clearly taken aback by J.J.’s brashness.

  “Now I can have my director call your director,” J.J. continued, “or you can put on your big girl panties, lose the attitude, and escort us to the Sit Room. Then you can report to the President that because of your cooperative spirit, Boris the Russian diplomat won’t be able to listen in the next time he and the National Security Council are deciding what not to discuss with the Russian National Security Chief during an upcoming visit.” J.J. cocked her head to the side. “And since this is your room in my house, I’ll let you decide where we go from here.”

  J.J. had crossed a major line of engagement and prayed her no-nonsense approach would work. If Kendel picked up the phone and called FBI Headquarters to kick up a stink with Director Freeman—all their effort would be for naught. Freeman would put the kibosh on the entire operation and she’d go back to leading her analytical working group until she quit. The Task Force had a mission to accomplish and there was no time for the stone-wall, ball breaking that plague
d cooperation between law enforcement agencies. Besides, Kendel’s frustration had more to do with the fact that Six fell in love with J.J. than any legitimate beef about jurisdictional encroachment.

  “Play the clip for her, Tony.”

  He pulled out his cell phone and played back the information from his voice recorder.

  Her eyes widened before her face contorted into a scowl. Her lips curled as she seethed and stewed in her own anger. She’d made it painfully clear she had no intention of extending anyone an olive branch except to beat Six over the head with it…and maybe J.J., too.

  “Well?” J.J. asked.

  After a few moments of focused thought, she ran her fingers through her hair and hissed, “What do you need?”

  J.J. exhaled and concealed her relief. “We’ve got a sweep team on standby not even ten minutes away.”

  “Fine!” Kendel said. “But when they don’t find anything, I expect an apology for your lack of professionalism.”

  “My lack of— Listen heif—” J.J. began before Tony nudged her.

  He leaned over and whispered, “We got what we came for. Leave well enough alone.”

  J.J. cut her eyes at him and tightened her lip.

  “May I use your phone?” Tony asked.

  Kendel nodded. “They’ll need White House clearance or we can’t give them access today.”

  Tony looked a J.J. then back at Kendel. “Uh, Walter Lowenstein from NSA counterintelligence is cleared. He can conduct the sweep. We just need you to get him in the gate.”

  “I’m on it,” she stood, walked to the door, and opened it. “Now, if you’ll all step outside for a few moments, I’ll make the necessary arrangements and escort you downstairs.”

  After stepping outside and shuttering at the slam, Six said, “That went better than I expected."

  Tony shot him a side-eye. “Well, what the hell did you expect? To get shot? Because that meeting was just slightly less painful than death,” Tony said before turning to J.J. “Now, somebody wanna tell me what’s so freakin’ special about today’s date?”