The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(103)

“They might,” Sloane said. “Especially if they lose the appeal.”

Near six o’clock, after further discussion, Jenkins said, “I better get home and give Alex a break. Call me if you need anything.”

Jenkins grabbed his jacket and walked to the door. The phone in the center of the conference room table rang. Since the receptionist had left for the evening, Sloane had forwarded his calls to the conference room. The lights on the telephone console indicated the call was from outside the firm, but when Sloane answered, the telephone number did not register on the small screen.

He hit the “Speaker” button. “Law offices of David Sloane.”

“David Sloane?” The caller’s accent stopped Jenkins’s retreat. He turned to the phone as if hearing a ghost.

“Yes,” Sloane said.

“Good. Mr. Sloane, my name is Viktor Federov. Your client Charles Jenkins is well familiar with me.”

Sloane looked to Jenkins. He nodded, returned to the table, and sat down.

“You have placed me on the speakerphone,” Federov said. “May I presume that Mr. Jenkins is there with you now?”

“I’m here, Viktor,” Jenkins said.

“Mr. Jenkins. How are you?” Federov asked the question as if they were two old friends getting reacquainted.

“I’ve been better, Viktor.”

“Yes, I have been reading with great interest of your arrest and pending trial. In Russia, we are not so fortunate. My failure was viewed as an embarrassment to the government and I was summarily dismissed.”

“I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that,” Jenkins said.

Federov laughed. “No. I did not think you would be. I never had the chance to congratulate you on your escape. You are a formidable foe, one I think I might like to know under other circumstances. Maybe someday I will come to United States and we will have a toast.”

Jenkins gave Sloane a puzzled look. “Did you call just to congratulate me, Viktor?”

“No. I did not. I called to tell you that in Russia the government is direct. In your country, not so much. I would let bygones be bygones, but what I think does not matter. There are those in your country who do not want to see you go to trial. It would be . . . embarrassment to them. I thought you should know.”

“Are you referring to Carl Emerson?” Jenkins said.

“Me, I am not referring to anyone. To do so would not be so good for my health.”

“Why are you telling me this, Viktor?”

Federov sighed. “I say again, we are not so different, Mr. Jenkins. We work for bureaucracies that do not always appreciate what we do, but that are swift to punish us when we fail.”

Jenkins gave that comment a moment of thought. Then he said, “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Is no problem.”

“What will you do?” Jenkins asked.

“Me? My brother runs a concrete business and does much work for the government. I will make more money working for him, though not nearly as much as others have made at our expense, Mr. Jenkins.”

Jenkins again looked to Sloane. He interpreted the comment to confirm what he had suspected, that someone, possibly Carl Emerson, had made millions of dollars. “I understand.”

“Then it is good that I called. Until we meet again, Mr. Jenkins. Za zdaróvye! ”

Federov disconnected the call. Jake pressed a button on his phone. He had recorded the conversation. “I have it,” Jake said. “We can take this to Harden and play it for him.”

Sloane shook his head. “It would never come into evidence. You taped it without Federov’s knowledge, and the government will argue they had no ability to cross-examine Federov on what he said.”

“That’s not the biggest problem,” Jenkins said. “It also confirms my relationship with a Russian FSB agent, and it makes us sound like we’re friends. The government could spin it and use it to convict me.”

No one spoke for a moment. Then Jake said, “Do you think he was trying to set you up somehow?”

“No,” Jenkins said. “He has no stake in this game anymore. I think his warning was from one agent to another. I think he also wanted me to know that someone made millions of dollars at both our expense. He’s pissed. It’s why he called. He wants me to win.”

“Why? What’s in it for him?” Jake asked.

Jenkins smiled, thinking of Federov, and of the respect he had developed for the man’s counterespionage skills. It appeared Federov had developed a similar respect for Jenkins.

“Absolutely nothing,” Jenkins said, “which is why I believe him. He and I are the same in one respect—his government screwed him and mine is trying to screw me. This is his way of helping.”

“But if you believe there are people who could try to kill you, why are you so calm?” Jake said.

“Because no contract killer will honor that contract, if one exists. It’s a small fraternity, and I’m sure they sense what has happened. They’ll want to find out the result. Because they know that if this can happen to me, it can happen to them.”



The appeal resulted in a four-month delay of the trial. Jenkins spent that time with Alex and the kids. School was out for the summer, which caused CJ to scale back his request to go back to his school. Alex was working part-time at a supermarket. Jenkins, however, was unemployable because of the publicity surrounding his arrest and the pre-trial activities. He was dipping into what retirement they had to make ends meet. Sloane would not take any money, either for rent or for food. “What good is my money if I can’t use it to take care of my family?” he’d said one night.