Chapter Five

Here we go."I had my AI system find and flag all calls from Hoxha's line related to Albania. And in that way, I discovered that Hoxha was in communications with FBI's Leonard McMahan."

Finley pressed his hands onto his knees with a startled look on his face. "Wait. FBI Counterintelligence Chief McMahan?"

"That was my reaction," Nutsbe said. "When I heard McMahan's name, he was only involved in phone calls and never emails. When I heard the context of their conversations, I hoped I was mistaken, that I wasn't investigating an FBI head honcho. So, I checked McMahan's voice with our AI's library of known voice samples. It was a match. Too close of a match-percentage to think that nefarious AI software was manipulating the voice. It was him."

Finley turned to Kennedy. "Does that make sense? I mean, as counterintelligence chief, he wouldn't be running a case or even making any ground-level case decisions." He swiveled back to Nutsbe. "Do you know why Hoxha was talking to McMahan?"

"Yeah, I do. First, Hoxha introduced McMahan to an Albanian official. McMahan was trying to get help with getting a business deal to go through, mostly around oil. Oil is not one of the main focuses of our client's business. So this jumped out at me." He shot a glance toward Covington, who sat stoically while he listened.

"McMahan was doing this as part of an FBI operation, and you stumbled on it, putting the two together?" Finley asked.

Nutsbe shook his head.

"The oil business, did it sound like it had to do with an FBI investigation, or was it personal business?" Kennedy asked as he crossed his arms over his chest, his lips slightly curled with disdain.

"All I can say is that things evolved." Nutsbe squared his shoulders. "In my mind, it sounded like a private deal at this point. However, it could have been a well-designed, ongoing FBI operation. The FBI connection only made sense in that if this were an ongoing FBI operation, they had to get McMahan involved because they were interfacing government officials. It couldn't be John Q. Special Agent from New Jersey on the phone line. They needed someone of high stature in there doing what they were doing." Nutsbe bladed a hand toward Kennedy. "And I know that's the kind of work you do—develop relationships and steer people with power toward benefiting the U.S. —but, no insult intended this guy was pretty high up there."

"None taken. Keep going."

"During these calls, Hoxha acted like an interpreter. Seeing nothing new in the interactions, I was about to close out and hand the information over to Command to decide what needed to go in the report to our client, but things changed." Nutsbe looked toward Covington who gave him a nod to proceed.

"Note here that when Russia attacked Ukraine, Hoxha and McMahan seemed to change sides, becoming pro-Russia. They started working with a shipping guy—his Americanized name is Victor Popyrin. Not an oligarch—but oligarch-adjacent, who is very friendly with the Kremlin. Popyrin runs ships to New York, among other ports, or did. It seemed that Hoxha and McMahan really ramped up their work of favors to benefit various Eastern European businesses—the businesses that Popyrin and others used to thwart the world sanctions placed on Russia as a punishment when they invaded. As an aside, Hoxha and his wife disappeared just a couple of months after Popyrin was abducted on his yacht off the coast of the Seychelles. That attempt was thwarted." Nutsbe didn't add that Iniquus had inadvertently saved the man.

"Again, I need to know if McMahan was doing this as an FBI operation," Finley said.

"I heard—" Nutsbe cleared his throat. "What I heard on the last set of phone call exchanges before Hoxha died—this would have been the end of July—was that Hoxha and the execs were going on another retreat to Montenegro. Panther Force is the close protection on that company retreat. It's scheduled for end of September. But add in there that I learned McMahan was asking for side cash."

"Cash," Kennedy said. He'd stopped blinking.

"They talked about two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars. And it seemed that Hoxha had a way to smuggle that money back to the United States from his trip to Montenegro and would personally hand it to McMahan. Hoxha said there was plenty more where that came from for the right information."

"Information," Kennedy whispered under his breath, then turned to Finley. "McMahan worked in New York City. Much of his focus was on finding and shutting down foreign intelligence that wanted to operate near the United Nations. He'd have all the recent information in his mind. He'd know what everyone was working on and the details of the how and why. He'd decide what operations took precedence and where to place our assets. He could steer eyes toward or away from anything—shipping, for example."

"Can you imagine the amount of damage McMahan could do to U.S. security?" Finley asked. "The practices and names of the people in the field that could be exposed?" He turned back to Nutsbe. "This is mind-boggling in its capacity to harm."

"Yah think?" Nutsbe pressed his hands against his knees.

"I have to commend you, Nutsbe," Kennedy said. "A man could keep that to himself and be able to sleep better at night."

"Only if sleeping better meant not fearing for my life. That was every day when I deployed to the sandbox. I'm used to it." He skated a hand out. "I don't like it. Don't want to live that way. But I know how to deal with that part. The part where I would choose to ignore my oath and fail to defend my country? That's what would keep me up at night. So here we are."

"I'm caught on the two-hundred-and-fifty thousand," Kennedy focused on Finley. "At retirement, McMahon would have a cushy pension and would be paid high dollar to give speeches and advice. Does just over a quarter million sound like a reasonable amount to risk a soft retirement versus the potential for a hard cot in a supermax cell?"

"It sounds like the amount of money you offer someone as a carrot," Finley said. "And the stick is exposure. The timing for the ask makes sense. McMahan's last polygraph test would be in his rearview. They only do a thorough security check every five years, so he was cleared through retirement. He wouldn't have to lie, and he wouldn't have to thwart the technology."

Kennedy turned to Finley. "This hasn't been in the papers. There haven't been any arrests." He wiped a hand over his mouth, then turned to catch Nutsbe's gaze. "You didn't tell the FBI?"

Covington leaned forward. "We handed it off to the DOJ. They're investigating."

Kennedy's voice was painted with sympathy, "Brother, the communications we intercepted make all the sense in the world. Russia knows we—the US government—know about their McMahan asset. And Russia knows we know because of you. So it looks like you're the key that might end up locking out at least some of Russia's ability to bring in revenue to fund their war effort against Ukraine."

"Lucky me." Nutsbe felt his face blanche as his blood pooled in his stomach. It was a body's technique to send all the nutrients to the vital organs in a survival crisis. Obviously, he felt exposed and vulnerable.

"I'm sure you understand," Kennedy said quietly. "That there's no quick fix here. Investigations take time. Then there's the possible trial where you're called to testify against McMahan." Kennedy paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "I want you to know this isn't going away. You'll be dealing with the ramifications for years to come. It's going to be a low hum in your world for the foreseeable future. Of course, with Hoxha dead, you'll be okay once McMahan's behind bars and out of the picture. Time."

"How did Russia and Albania land on his name?" Covington asked.

Nutsbe nodded. "I need to know if they just have the name or if they have more. Can they find me and trace that back to my family?"

"When did you hand this information to your commanders?" Finley asked.

"First week of August after they found the Hoxhas's bodies. Why?"

"There was an email that McMahan retired," Finley glanced at Kennedy. "August, right?"

"That sounds right. Let me—" Kennedy pulled out his phone and did an Internet search. "August first." He looked up as he slid his phone back into his suit pocket. "McMahan no longer has access to our data banks and can't do a search of our security clearance files. Even if Russia asked McMahan to reach out to a colleague to do it for him, I'd find out who used their login code. There's no way to hide that. I have your file tagged looking for just that. I did that search as soon as Prescott mentioned your name. So far, there's nada from the FBI's direction."

"Good timing with this coming to a head after that retirement, I guess," Nutsbe said.

"Small favors, right?" Finley asked. "In fact, Kennedy and I are here asking you questions because nothing is popping up with your name on it from any direction other than Russia. I'm glad, for your sake, that Iniquus runs a tight ship and keeps everyone's personal information undiscoverable." Finley stood. "Kennedy and I will keep looking into this thing with Russia." Seeing Nutsbe's startled reaction, he added, "We'll do it quietly." He reached out a hand to Nutsbe. "In the meantime, stay frosty."

Kennedy stood. "We'll keep close tabs on the players in the Eastern Europe station. We"ll keep you and Covington advised if there's any chatter about you going forward." He shook hands first with Covington and then with Nutsbe, holding it just a moment longer. At the same time, he said, "Just keep an awareness for anything out of the ordinary and report it to Finley immediately—anything at all that makes you think that you've been lined up in their crosshairs."