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

no longer an option. J.J. realized that tracking suspects all day with seven years at Princeton, two degrees, and the downgrade from his broken dream to become an FBI agent hadn’t inspired him to greatness. Even still, his “G” status seemed to give him sufficient (if not equal) satisfaction, half the paperwork, and a set of credentials nearly identical to those issued to FBI agents. He’d developed a gift for anticipating his targets’ next move, but now his success seemed more luck than skill. His teammates, J.J., everyone joked that he was “whipped,” distracted by his new girlfriend. J.J. believed he just quit caring. She had no idea why. She just wanted to the old Jake back.
    Jake’s team was always the first called, the most eager to serve. True professionals, all of them. Never overstepped the bounds between meddling and mission, and were all crazy enough to hell ride with the Russian during their rip-roaring, piss-your-pants surveillance detection runs. They lingered in the shadows when the Russians wanted them in the open and knew precisely when to back off because aborted operations did little to help the FBI identify dirty Russian intelligence officers.
    And they knew it, they meaning Jake and the rest of the motley crew.
    The Gs were the FBI’s “gift with” purchase. Buy a diplomatic visa, get a G-team. On the street. In the woods. Under footbridges. Their eyes were watching. And the fate of J.J.’s sources depended on it. Her future depended on it. The future of the FBI’s counterintelligence program depended on it.
    •  •  •
    Upper Northwest, the location of the Russian Embassy, was thirty minutes from FBI Headquarters in traffic. Jake turned down his window and allowed the cool September air to wash away the ill-effects of his ritual adrenaline rush, then mashed his gas pedal to the floor.
    His Charger cut through the wind as he hot-dogged it to Tunlaw Road, double-fisting his wheel like a gray-haired grandmother. He steered tightly and carefully, though; another accident would set him back even further.
    His chronic distractions might cost him more than a few traffic tickets if he didn’t pull it together. Two electric poles and a marked Secret Service police car sideswiped in the heat of surveillance, the list of damaged vehicles had expanded as fast as his personnel file.
    Jake glanced at his watch and exhaled. He’d arrived before schedule. He scanned the area to ensure he couldn’t be seen, and then shook his head in dismay. Why in hell would the State Department give the Russians land on the highest peak in the Nation’s Capital? The location was a signal collector’s dream. They could tap into communications from every U.S. government agency east of the Mississippi.
    Jake slipped on his sunglasses and then flipped the switch on his   secure radio. Everyone would be expecting an update by now.
    “Breaker breaker one-nine. This is J. Swiff behind the wheel of steel. I’m in position. Let’s keep it short, guys. Our friends are listening,” Jake reminded the crew. Russian Impulse officers monitored the area for FBI radio traffic. The Gs’ radio signals were encrypted so the Russians couldn’t hear conversations. But increased signal activity put them on alert.
    His stomach growled as he rifled through the remnants of his  Burger King bag with his free hand. “Waiting for Plotnikov to exit the building. Jiggy, what’s your twenty?”
    “Copy that Swiff. I’m at the corner of Wisconsin and O Streets. Cham and Money T are a few blocks south of you at Calvert. Jazz and the rest are running a picket near the choke point. Over,” Jiggy responded.
    “Roger that, everybody! Sounds good.” J.J. said on her long range radio. “Tony and I are headed into the vault and won’t have any reception for a few minutes. But this is just a simple routine coverage. Stay loose and keep an eye out for Golikov’s people. Piece of cake. We’ll see you back here in a couple of