by Skye, S. D.
Bryer’s face glowed red as his cool officially left the building. The cell phone disappeared into his pocket and the seeming pillar of strength dissolved into a pile of salt. His bluff had been called and he nearly choked on the truth about to ooze from his lips. “I didn’t ask for the money. He offered it to me.”
“Offered it? For what?”
“He was the security officer when my wife filed for divorce. We lived a caviar and champagne life on a beer and pretzel budget. Our debt was nuts. Credit card bills out the wazoo. Living in a palace because she needed a closet the size of Iraq to hold all of her shopping spoils.”
“Ahem!” Six grunted again.
J.J. scowled at Six and growled. “One. More. Time.”
“Tried to make her happy and the bitch left me for a broke son-of-a-bitch convenience store manager. Can you believe that? Took everything with her except the damn bills. Cost me $20,000 in legal bills to keep a $7,000 car and $5 worth of clothes. I didn’t ask for help, but he knew I needed it.”
“So, what did he ask you to do…for this money?” J.J. asked, waiting for a reaction and getting none.
“I never turned over any classified information, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said. “At the time, all he said was when he needed a favor, I had to come through. I figured he’s a security officer, right? What’s he gonna ask that I can’t deliver? So I accepted the offer. He gave me money…never asked for anything. At least until we returned stateside and I took over as C-O.”
“Commanding officer?”
“Contracting officer. We were looking for a company to do the renovations on the Sit Room. He asked me to steer the business to a particular company—MCM Construction.”
“And did you?”
“I led him to believe I did. In reality, they submitted the winning bid. We were looking for technically acceptable, lowest cost. They offered the best price. I figured he got a cut and that’s how he paid me. Millions of dollars in renovations, even a one-percent commission on that job would’ve put his fee at over a million. I expect he got way more.”
J.J. bit her bottom lip. Based solely on appearances, she would’ve sworn he’d lied like a cheap rug through the entire interview. But her gift told her otherwise. Not a single reaction to a word he said.
She glanced at Six and Tony. “Just one last question. MCM didn’t, by any chance, do any work for the State Department?”
He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling to collect his thoughts. “As a matter of fact, they did. I remember because they used their work at the State Department as a past performance reference. We called to verify the work they did. I had also heard they did some work on the new American Embassy in Moscow.”
“You mean the Russian intelligence listening post?” Six interjected from his corner.
“Yep, the very one.”
“They found so many bugs planted in the walls, they thought termites ate concrete,” Six said. “But we understood the problem to be locals hired to pour the concrete, not the contractor.”
“Hmmm,” J.J. said before turning to Six and Tony. “That’s all I have. You two got any more questions?”
They both shook their heads no.
She stood and offered a kind hand to Bryer. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Scott. You’re free to leave. We’ll be in touch if we need you for anything else. In the meantime, I might suggest contacting your security officer and reporting the few accidentally overlooked discrepancies before we draft the 302. Otherwise, we may be asked to return under less friendly terms.”
“Will do,” he responded.
Her eyes followed him until his disappeared out of the door. She waved Six over and waited for him to take a seat at the table. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Yeah,” Tony said. “Had to be one of the contract workers. He must’ve recruited one. That’s got to be it.”
“Now to figure out which one,” Six said.
“First, we need to talk to Maddix Cooper. He filed a travel notice, but he’s nowhere he’s supposed to be. Might be traveling on fake documents. I’ll check with Sunnie to see if she’s got anything from Customs.”
At that moment, J.J.’s phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. It was Sunnie.
“Speak of the devil. I must’ve talked you up. What’s going on?”
“Remember the other day I told you I had Walter expand the search to contractors? Well, I’ve come up with something but it’s a little complicated to explain over the phone. When are you coming back to headquarters?”
“Complicated? Hmph,” J.J. said. “I’m on the way.”
“Oh, oh…one more thing,” she said. “ERT called. They didn’t find much of anything in the Sit Room. No prints. No nothing. Said it’s almost as if the room was wiped clean.”
“Wiped clean?” J.J. repeated, her mind flashing back to Tuesday night. Kendel, Hawk, and the rest of the team left because of the fire alarm. There was no one else who knew about the investigation who would’ve been in a position to sanitize the room of evidence. So who could’ve cleaned up the evidence? “We’re on the way.”
J.J. disconnected the call and rushed to the outer office. She gathered her belongings and hustled toward the door, her confused colleagues dragging behind. “Well? What are you waiting on? Sunnie’s got some information on the contractors. We’ve got to get back to HQ.”
“What about Kendel’s interview?”
“It’s got to wait until first thing tomorrow morning,” J.J. said. “Besides, if Sunnie’s found what I think she has, Kendel may have to answer for a lot more than the bug in the wall.”
Chapter 40
Thursday, November 12th—Surveillance Detail
3 Days Left…
Jiggy’s heart thumped. His eyes shifted back and forth from the GPS tracker screen mounted on his dashboard to the twisted, wooded road ahead. He approached the site from the south to avoid spooking Mikhaylov, who took the north entrance. He was thankful Kyle’s op was successful. As an intelligence officer, Mikhaylov would expect the Gs to follow closely behind him. Someone arriving from the opposite direction wouldn’t register a blip on the radar.
As Jiggy reached for his radio, the arrow on the screen showed his target had arrived at the driveway and pulled into what appeared to be a large cul-de-sac; Jiggy’s eyes darted excitedly along the windy, wooded road peppered with autumn-colored leaves as he searched for the entrance. He hoped to get inside the area before his target exited his vehicle.
Finding the location of the drop was everything.
They usually marked them with benign items, pieces of trash or natural markers most passersby would mistake for litter or scenery. Jiggy knew what to look for, and once he found it, he would lay in wait for Lana, catch her red-handed, and call in the reinforcements to get her off the streets. The end was near. It was only a matter of time.
He turned into the driveway and scanned the area, his arrow getting closer to Mikhaylov’s, and spotted his target’s car in the center of the lot. He backed into a parking space directly facing the walking path into the woods. A large group of grey-haired women sporting sweat suits and sun visors were grouped at the entrance and most of the parking spaces were filled. Jiggy let out a hard breath and searched for an empty space at the end furthest from Mikhaylov’s position. Once parked, he grabbed his radio, rested it in his lap, and reported in. Time to give Kyle an update.
“Blue leader, this is Jiggy. Do you copy? Blue Leader, do you copy?”
The static-filled airwaves stopped him cold. Time dragged by like a bullet in a John Wu flick.
Mikhaylov stepped out of his car, leaned against the hood, and lit the cigarette he pulled from his pant pocket.
“Copy that,” Kyle responded. “What’s going on?”
“Looks like we’ve got a possible drop site, a cul-de-sac about two miles from the zoo entrance. Bunch of civilians standing around talking, though. Looks like some Granny walking group.”
“How many?”
“I dunno…fifteen, twenty.”
“He’s not going to make that drop right now. Grannies are nosy and he’s in a car with diplomatic plates. No, if he’s still there, he’s looking for surveillance. He’s not going to make a move.”
“Well, if he doesn’t make the drop today, he’s not going to mark the signal, so Lana won’t show up.”
“Unless he has a secondary site, in which case he drops the package there instead.” Kyle fell silent, so immersed in his thoughts Jiggy could almost hear the gears turning. “Listen, I want you out. Sit tight nearby and follow him when he leaves. We’ve got a lock on one location. It’s more important to find out where he goes next.”
“Roger that. And when I leave ahead of him, he won’t suspect that I’m FBI surveillance.”
“Exactly. Keep me updated. Junior and I are conducting interviews, so if you don’t get us on the radio, call my cell. You know the number.”
Before Jiggy could set the radio on the seat, Lana’s father had slipped back into his car, which crept slowly toward the main road. Missing the next location would blow, but following too closely behind could kill the op. Once Mikhaylov disappeared from the driveway, Jiggy pressed to keep the close-in distance short. Just as Jiggy pulled out to the edge, he glimpsed a couple passing him.
He followed Lana’s father out of the park onto Tilden, a narrow street that cut through to Connecticut Avenue, one of D.C.’s busiest thoroughfares. A block down, Mikhaylov parked illegally in a metered parking space just past the corner of Upton Street, in a quiet residential neighborhood where D.C.’s upscale residents lived in charming red brick Victorians on leafy streets. Jiggy followed suit, parking a half a block away, keeping his target in his sights.
Mikhaylov eased up next to the mailbox. With an almost slight-of-hand move, he swiped his palm along the side of the box before opening the hatch door and dropping an envelope inside. He broke into a slight jog back to his car, climbed in, and sped north up Connecticut for a block before hanging a left on Van Ness. Jiggy figured he must be on his way back to the embassy judging from the direction. He was more concerned about what his target had left behind.
Once Mikhaylov drove out of sight, Jiggy jumped out. Without dropping any money in the meter, he darted to the mailbox, examining all sides until he spotted it—a six-inch chalk mark along the edge facing Connecticut Avenue.
“Son of a bitch!” Jiggy said to himself, his mind churning. Lana’s father had marked a signal, but without making a drop. He started running back to his car when he screeched out, “Son of a bitch!”
The second outburst happened as he ran to the parking attendant slipping the ticket beneath his windshield wiper. “I was right there!” he said, pointing at the corner. He leaned forward and whispered. “I work for the FBI. I’m in the middle of an operation.”
She eyed him from head to foot and back again and said, “Wow, the FBI, huh? Today’s your lucky day!” Then she whispered. “They can pay the ticket.”
She rolled her eyes, cranked her neck with a ghetto twist, and sashayed down the sidewalk as Jiggy snatched the ticket from the windshield.
He opened the door, flopped into his seat, and groaned as he gripped the radio. “Blue Leader, this is Jiggy. You copy?”
“We copy, Jig. What’s going on?”
“He didn’t go to a secondary site. But he did mark a signal.”
“Wait. He marked a signal without making the drop?”
“Certainly appears that way.”
“Hmmm. You sure he didn’t make the drop before you showed up?”
“No way…he didn’t have time and too many people were standing around. I don’t think the signal is to let Lana know he filled the drop.”
“Then maybe he marked it to let her know he couldn’t fill it, and he’ll leave the cache another day.”
“If there’s no secondary site, then we’ll need round-the-clock surveillance at the one we’ve identified for a few days,” Jiggy said. “The good news is the next time we can maintain stationary positions there while Jazz follows him out the gate. He won’t see the same team members.”
“Park’s only open from 6 am to 8 pm so he’s got to make the drop during that time frame,” Kyle said. “We’re gonna get her. Victory favors the patient.”
• • •
“This isn’t good. Not at all,” Katherine said as Santino wheeled into Rock Creek Park. She scanned the area for an open parking space and found one toward the center of the cul-de-sac.
“Hey! You see that fanuk in the car that passed us checkin’ me out?” Santino grumbled after he’d locked eyes with a stranger staring at him. “Fuckin’ rip his balls off and shove 'em in his eye sockets he wouldn’t stare at me again.”
Katherine rolled her eyes. She had more important things to worry about—namely the fact that she’d once again risked going out in the open and being discovered for nothing. “The package isn’t here. No way.”
Santino backed the car into a parking space and turned off the engine. “So, you can’t get the money?”
She looked at him and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your payment as long as you do the job. Just won’t be today.”
He chuckled in disbelief. “You expect me to just believe what you say? I’m putting my own life on the line by helping you out and the best you can tell me…as long as I do my job, I’ll get the money someday? Fuck you, someday. I’ll get it now.”
She let her head fall back against the headrest and shook it, exasperated by the fact that she was dependent on a Neanderthal for her safety. She bit her bottom lip before eyeing his snarling expression. “Look around. What do you see?”
Santino watched the old ladies heading to their cars and one-by-one drive away. “A buncha geriatrics.” He winced and shuddered. “Haven’t seen this many droopy boobs since Uncle Paulie took me to the chubby chaser strip club.”
“Exactly. Too many people. It’s my fault. I didn’t check the signal. Start the car up. We need to take a ride,” she said, rustling through her purse until she palmed her wallet. She pulled out a folded slip of paper, opened it briefly and returned it to the slot.
“Appreciate you explaining the situation to me. So let me explain something to you…watch your fucking tone when you’re talkin’ to me, eh? I’m not your fuckin’ kid, you understand me? This is the last time I’m gonna warn you.” Santino turned the ignition key and cooled his attitude as fast he put the car in gear. “Now, where to?”
“Connecticut Avenue. It’s not far from here. Five minutes,” said Katherine.
The tires screeched as Santino sped out of the picnic area, his lips tight and nostrils flaring. His frustration had bubbled to its peak and Lana’s snappish attitude was close to shoving him over the edge.
She glanced at Santino’s reddened face and quickly relented. “I honestly didn’t mean to push your buttons. This is irritating to me as well. I just want this over with, and I’m ready to get the hell out of here.”
His frustration might be warranted but couldn’t outstrip hers. He could conduct any manner of illegal activity to earn the funds he needed to pay his bosses back. The passport and travel documents were her only chance for a one-way ticket to Moscow, to freedom, to peace. And getting them seemed as challenging as stealing the Hope Diamond.
At once, she was flush with fear and regret, two emotions she’d not been acquainted with for some time. She could’ve run years ago. She’d done more than enough to prove her value to a country that had hardly embraced her presence the few years she’d lived there. She’d earned her hero status the moment she stepped onto U.S. soil and went undercover without the protection of diplomatic immunity. The boys in the embassy couldn’t even claim that level of courage, not even the father she so admired.
But her satisfaction from her job well done was insufficient to fulfill her as long as J.J. McCall still drew breath.
She could not leave the United States without watching McCall suffer, wit
hout rejoicing as J.J. stood helplessly over the body of the man she loved and watched him die. She would not. Whatever cost she had to pay to see that plan come to fruition, it could never be too much. And if doing so required her to make peace with Santino, so be it.
“You forgive me?” Katherine asked, playfully batting her eyelashes. He didn’t respond, kept his eyes facing forward.
“All right. We’re on Connecticut. Where’s this place at?”
“In the next block,” she said, watching carefully, pointing to the corner. “Slow down so I don’t miss it.”
She craned her neck as they passed the mailbox, spotted the mark. “Saturday.”
“Cuttin’ it close isn’t it? Your freighter leaves Sunday afternoon,” Tony responded, breaking the silence.
“I don’t care if I have to leap fifty feet from the dock in an ice storm. I’ll be shipping off as scheduled.” She rubbed his leg near his crotch until she felt involuntary movement. “We friends again?”
Santino grunted and locked his eyes forward. Everything about his demeanor said, “Hell no.”
After twenty minutes of driving in stone silence, they finally turned up Georgia Avenue, only a block away from the house. Lana pressed her forehead against the window as her mind churned on how she could shift Santino’s attitude. For many reasons, she didn’t want to waste their last days together stewing in resentments over a few misspoken words. When he found out the actual mission she was paying him to conduct, he’d have a genuine reason to be upset. As her thoughts drifted from her regrets for what she’d said, back into her present hell, they arrived at the end of their block. She sat up in time to spot an empty parking space close to the house when she saw…him. The hair. The walk. The icy glare.
“Oh shit!” sprayed from her mouth as she crouched low in her seat. “What the hell is he doing here?”
Kyle Oliver…and a new flunky she presumed. He stared into the window. Did he see her? Probably not through the heavy tint, but her paranoia told her yes.
