by Skye, S. D.
“I’d already accepted his proposal. As far as I knew, I was investing with my husband, not just some guy I had a thing with once.”
“How much did you give him?” J.J. asked.
“Two-hundred fifty thousand,” she said. “Half the proceeds of my condo sale. The other half I sunk into this house.”
“Oh my God,” J.J. covered her mouth when she realized that was the exact amount of money Maddix had given Tomlin to buy the Devil’s Rest. He stole money from his fiancé to get Tomlin on the hook. J.J. couldn’t help but think that if she was Kendel, she wouldn’t be holding a gun to her own head. Maddix, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so lucky.
“Oh, yeah. Story gets worse. Months later Maddix informs me that he’s lost every penny. When I tried to take out a second mortgage to pay off my debt, I found out my house was underwater.”
“Worth less than you owe…”
“A lot less. So, I depended on Maddix for every penny I needed to stay afloat.”
“Right where he wanted you.” J.J. seethed inside, fuming at Maddix’s manipulation. “What about the coke?”
“It’s not obvious? I was at the lowest point in my entire life, trapped with a man who I hated, beholden to a man who personified everything in humanity that I despised,” she said. “He offered me a ride up from the abyss and I took it. But a ride with the devil is never free. And accepting that ride can only lead to hell. Found out later, too late, that he cut it with crystal meth…”
“Oh, God. To increase the addictiveness,” J.J. responded, her voice soft with empathy. “Kendel…”
She nodded. “I knew about the contracting. Thought he used those proceeds to afford his lifestyle. I swear on my father’s grave I knew nothing about the bug or the scanners until Walter identified the problem. Never thought they’d stoop to that level.”
“No?” J.J. asked, feeling the slight sense of an itch for the first time during their entire conversation. It’d become quite clear to J.J. that Maddix’s kind of low had no limits, no bounds, no respect for what was right—and no loyalty. And Kendel at the very least suspected that he was the scum he turned out to be. “Where’s he now?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. Said he had a date with the devil first thing in the morning,” Kendel replied. “Tried to make me leave with him. When I didn’t agree, well, you can guess what happened given the state of my living room. Wherever he’s going, he’s limping!”
The Devil’s Rest. He was planning to hide in the boat…or set sail. If he decided to run, he wouldn’t get far.
“You ever experience the pain of losing everything, J.J.?”
She shook her head. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Well, guess what?” she asked. “I’m not going to either.”
“No!” J.J. screamed.
Kendel’s eyes glazed over as if her soul left her body. She returned the gun to her temple. J.J. sucked in a deep breath. She leaned backward out the door, far enough to stick her hand outside, and she flapped it back and forth urgently waving Six inside.
“Don’t!” Six urged. He folded his hands together and pleaded with her to put the gun down. “You don’t want to do this to yourself. I’m the one who deserves it. Do it to me.”
J.J.’s eyes bulged open as she moved aside and allowed him to enter. J.J. had hoped he’d serve as a distraction, not a target. Six asking anyone to take a shot at him for the wrong he’d done was akin to suicide.
Kendel wrapped both hands around the butt and pointed the gun at his head. “Don’t tempt me! Now, back the fuck up. I mean it! Stop moving!”
Six ignored her and continued to tip slowly toward her with the confidence of a jungle cat. He was still out of her arm’s reach, but he’d moved closer than J.J. dared to tread. “Don’t you see that despite everything that has happened between us, I still love you? I will always love you. Don’t you understand? Do you think I could live with myself if anything happened to you…because of me?”
J.J. marveled at his sensitivity. She had never seen him be so kind so loving toward another human being. Not even her. She dismissed the slight feeling of jealousy at the relief that he had managed to move even closer. Despite Kendel’s constant refusal, she wanted him near her. J.J. could relate to that.
“I swear to God, if you take one step closer, I’ll pull the trigger,” Kendel screamed. “I swear I will!”
Six fell to his knees in front of Kendel. J.J. swore she saw a stream of tears washing down Six’s cheek. Was he really crying?
“Please forgive me,” he said, gently caressing her cheek and wiping the tears from her eyes all while the Glock shook in her hand. Then he pulled back his fist and cold-cocked her in her dead in the jaw. Knocked her flat with one body-shaking blow. The gun was now lying on a pair of red Jimmy Choos.
“What the hell, Six?!” J.J. yelled in abject horror. Her jaw dropped into her lap at the sight of Kendel’s forced slumber. “Jesus, I need some chocolate. Where’s my purse?”
Tony heard the resounding thud of Six’s sucker punch and ran to the doorway. “What happ—are you kidding me?”
“What? She’s no longer a threat to herself or others, and in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re the others. So, sue me.” He stood to lift her limp body from the floor. “I’ll get some clothes on her. Anybody got ‘cuffs?”
“But…but…I thought you…” J.J. stammered. “Forgive me. For five minutes, I thought you’d actually heard me when I said have heart.”
“I did hear you. Just didn’t listen. Better for me to put a fist on her jaw than for her to put a bullet into her head, right?” he asked. “Now, what are we going to do with her? Don’t forget we’ve still got a subject to take down.”
Tony looked at J.J. “She’s looking at a possible obstruction charge. We don’t have enough to hold her for more than 24 hours, but I think we gotta try to put her into protective custody until we can get her some help. Last thing we need is for her to put one in her temple…or take header off the Wilson Bridge.”
“Call Washington Field and let them pick her up. Let them know what’s going on,” J.J. said as the sound of thunder rumbled in the night. “In the meantime, with this weather, Maddix isn’t going anywhere tonight.”
“Yeah,” Tony said. “We’ve got time to slow him down. If we give that douchebag the slightest opening, he’s goin’ underground. And he’s got enough money to stay under for a long time to come if we don’t catch him first.”
Chapter 52
Saturday Morning, November 14th—Rock Creek Park
1 Day Left…
“Blue leader, this is Jiggy.” He spun the steering wheel sharply to the right as he pulled into the parallel parking space. He’d found an alternate area adjacent to Mikhaylov’s Rock Creek Park drop location. “I’m moving into position.”
“Roger that,” Cannon responded. “Standing by.”
The pouring rain had slowed to a light drizzle by the time Jiggy arrived. The lookouts had called Mikhaylov out of the Russian embassy compound an hour earlier, giving Jiggy plenty of time to find a spot to cover down ahead of his target’s arrival.
It was only 8 am and the wet weather had deterred the usual exercise crowd. He parked further away and started on foot to the nearby woods so he wouldn’t be spotted by the Russians. His task was made difficult by the shedding trees which left wet leaves blanketing the landscape in noisy rust and golden colored mounds. Static buzzed in his earpiece transmitting to the radio. Something was causing interference.
Twitch and Cannon were posted at stationary positions nearby in case Jiggy got into any trouble, but they may as well be on the moon if they couldn’t hear him.
“I’m taking up a position in a bush about 15 meters off the trail. Hopefully, I picked a good spot,” he said, stomping around the area and kicking leaves to the side to frighten squirrels, or any other wildlife that could potentially blow his position.
“You got any idea where the drop site is?” Cannon asked.
“Not a clue.”
“So, uh, how do you know you’re not standing in it?”
Jiggy paused for a minute. His heart thumped. He froze and scanned the park. “I don’t, but I wouldn’t put a site here. Too far off the trail. Stand by.”
He hated that Cannon was such a know-it-all, but he did have a solid point. Jiggy was clueless and had nothing to go on except a little experience and a lot of intuition, standing on a strip of asphalt in a tunnel of identical trees. He reluctantly trekked back to the trail, his eyes nervously darted toward every random piece of trash and the incidental mark. The rush of wind heightened his sense of time whisking by. With that he pushed up the path, scanning from side to side, his eyes dancing through layers of trees and brush tangled in a wooded web, looking for a mark, a symbol, or anything resembling anything.
He wandered and wandered and saw nothing.
In the midst of his descent into the bottomless pit of panic and despair, a white man in a jeans and a brown bomber jacket appeared from nowhere and appeared to be heading directly for Jiggy, whose eye was drawn to the bright red cap on his head with royal blue lettering. As the vaguely familiar man neared him, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, which struck Jiggy as odd for a health nut on the walking trail.
“Excuse me, do you have a light?” he asked, hanging the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. The man’s eyes were clearly drawn to the twisted earphone cord running into Jiggy’s ear.
Jiggy looked at him askance while pulling down knit cap to conceal his ear a moment too late. More importantly, the glint of an accent rang in the man’s voice.
As Jiggy patted down his pant pocket searching for a lighter or matches, it struck him. The man’s identity. It was Aleksey Dmitriyev. His eyes bulged as he stuttered “Sorry, I-I-I don’t smoke.”
The man glanced over his shoulder and glared at Jiggy again. “You recognize me, yes?”
Jiggy nodded, peering over the man’s shoulder to keep an eye for cars arriving in the parking lot. They were still the only two people around.
“Good,” he said. “What you’re looking for is a few meters up the trail, on the left. The tree with a braided trunk. You don’t have much time. Send my regards to Agent McCall.”
He tipped the bill of his cap with his index finger and disappeared down the trail, returning his cigarette to his pocket still unlit.
Jiggy paced quickly up the still deserted trail, using his binoculars to scan for the signal. After a few minutes of shifting his glance he finally spotted it, near a large tree easily distinguished by the braid of branches twisted around the base. Of course, that was the tree. It was distinct yet hidden in plain sight. He hiked into the woods about ten yards until the sound of car tires popping over rocks jerked him out of his thoughts. He again used his binoculars to peer out to the lot.
Russian plates.
Had to be Mikhaylov. Jiggy settled back into the bush stooping low to the base, roots from a majestic oak nearby poked into his stomach and ribs and the soggy ground soaked his clothes. He held his breath as Mikhaylov’s shadow broke the sunlight and moved rapidly from the clearing into the woods, tree branches snapping under his feet as he moved off the path. The sound of harried footsteps drew uncomfortably close. Jig shifted his gaze slightly upward to get a clear view through the underside of the bush when a low hiss emanated from his side.
Hiss.
Above him, a jaunty squirrel on a long branch rattled the tree as acorn fell and pelted him in the face. The only thing that scared Jiggy more than snakes was squirrels. He struggled not to grunt, tightening his lips and laying as still as possible, but he could feel something moving against his lower leg.
Hiss.
It was the perfect storm. His every fear came to fruition in one brief, fleeting moment. He thought, “The FBI doesn’t pay me enough for this shit!”
Hiss.
Jiggy’s every instinct told him to scramble to his feet and bolt back to his car like Usain, vowing to never volunteer for park duty again—ever. But he could not allow his fear to ruin the Bureau’s best chance at Lana. If he could just stay still for sixty seconds more, he could wait out Lana’s father and get his hands on the package.
In a stroke of unadulterated luck, a cavalcade of cars began to flood the lot, stopping Mikhaylov cold. He froze and turned long enough to survey the lot. Jiggy guessed it was the senior exercise group again. Nosy old ladies—an intelligence officer’s nightmare. Mikhaylov scurried to place the wrapped package in an indentation in the soil about a foot away from the tree. He kicked leaves over it until it was covered and placed a small strip of duct tape on the base of the tree, where it would go unnoticed by anyone not looking for it. He then scuttled back to the path and disappeared into the parking lot. Jiggy listened intently until he heard Mikhaylov’s engine fire up and disappear.
Hiss.
Jiggy snapped his head toward the sound. And there it was. Scaly and black with bands of white circling its skin every few inches. Jiggy trapped the scream and jumped to his feet with the speed and grace of a grizzly bear. The sound of rustling leaves drew the attention of the old bitties who’d just begun their morning walk.
“Stalker! Stalker!” the woman in front screeched, angrily thrusting her walking stick toward him.
“Marg, call the cops! The stalker’s back!”
“Oh shit!” Jiggy yelled. Park Police would soon arrive and they weren’t fond of FBI anything. Especially not the Gs. His mission was to photograph the contents and return the package as close to its original state as possible, but with the police on the way he might not have enough time.
He pressed the mic on his radio. “Twitch, I’m gonna need a ride outta here pronto!”
“What’s going on?”
“Some old lady thinks I’m a stalker. The police will probably be burning up the road in a couple minutes.”
“You find the package?”
“Yeah, I’ve got eyes on it, but I don’t have time to talk. Just get your ass over here.”
He hurried to the tree and dropped to his knees, digging the drop from beneath the leaves. From his backpack he pulled out a box cutter and sliced the garbage bag open. He had another bag and more tape to repackage it. A large manila envelope filled with hundred dollar bills. Fifty grand if there was a penny. A letter written in Russian. He photographed it. A second white envelope inside contained something squarish, stiff.
He opened it.
A passport.
The picture looked like Lana and yet it didn’t. Black hair suited her and disguised her well. The Bureau assumed she already had the passport and yet he was holding it in his hand. Even though he was told to photograph only, his stomach curled at the thought of leaving it behind. A feeling in the pit of his gut told him he couldn’t risk allowing her to get it in her hands. With travel documents in her possession, there was a decent chance she could getaway. With the travel documents in the Bureau’s possession, traveling outside the U.S. would be next to impossible. He started to request authorization but changed his mind. The police were on the way and he had to go.
So, he called an audible.
J.J. always told him it better to ask for forgiveness than permission. She also reminded him when he made mistakes that he was an FBI employee and it would take the government at least three years to fire him for incompetence.
His hands trembled with nerves as he dug inside his backpack to find the trash bag and duct tape he carried with him. He quickly rewrapped, sealed, and buried the money, threw the passport and letter in his backpack, and grabbed the strap as he sprinted to the edge of the woods, avoiding the parking lot altogether. He regretted the four Heinekens he guzzled the night before as he wheezed to his destination. Twitch or Cannon better be waiting for him where the brush met the exit road as he told them. As he cleared the trees, Cannon’s car streaked past him in a blaze of gold, while sirens blared in the distance.
Jiggy screamed in the earpiece. “Hey, hey! You passed me!” He stood in the lan
e waving his hands frantically until the brake lights flashed red. With the road clear, Cannon threw his Charger in reverse and floored it until Jiggy saw his face through the passenger window. He hopped inside just as the Park Police car zipped by them and let his head fall back against the headrest.
“Whew!” Jiggy said. “Damn that was close. They’re gonna be all over this park for the rest of the day. But Lana won’t be traveling any place anytime soon.”
Cannon gave him the side-eye. “How do you know?”
“I’ve got this,” he said, holding up a small plastic bag containing her ticket to freedom.
“Aw, man! How in the hell did you manage to find the package, you lucky bastard?”
“It didn’t have shit to do with luck. I can tell you that.” Jiggy shook his head in disbelief, still in shock at the exchange. “I had some unexpected help.”
“Help?”
“Yes, help. J.J.’s never gonna believe this.”
Chapter 53
Saturday—The Devil’s Rest
The sun was still concealed beneath the horizon when J.J. and Tony arrived at the boat dock in Fort Washington. She radioed Money T to ensure he was in position with the equipment at the ready; now it was time to get the show started. The rain sliced sideways and the brisk wind rocked the boats in the crowded pier, as they crept along the deck of the Devil’s Rest and made way for the cabin.
Bryer Scott appeared more than happy to turn over the keys when Tony called to inform him that Maddix had planned to steal it. With a 600 mile range, he could make himself difficult to find if he managed to get away. J.J. and Tony had arrived while the rain was still pouring, believing he wouldn’t leave until the weather cleared. Fortunately, their guess paid off.
Tony tip-toed toward the cabin door and opened it as J.J., who was rain-drenched from hair to heels, flipped her jacket hood over her head and tightened it.
