The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(25)
“It is convenient for you though, no?”
“Does this look convenient to you?”
Volkov removed a knife from its sheath and sliced a ribbon of paper that fluttered to the ground.
Jenkins looked back to Federov. He needed to outsmart him. “Tell me, Federov, how is it that you confirmed the other three women were three of the seven sisters? Did they tell you when you tortured them? Or did they tell you they did not know what you were talking about, that they did not even know the term ‘the seven sisters’?”
“They might have been trained well to resist, Mr. Jenkins.”
Jenkins laughed, but inside his stomach churned. “If that’s the case, then you boys have fallen well off your game since I was sparring with the KGB. I understood the FSB was a more refined version of the KGB. Maybe I heard wrong, if you could not get three sixty-year-old women to admit anything to you.”
“We are going to find out if we have fallen off our game,” Federov said. He considered his watch. “I will go back to the booth,” he said, speaking Russian to Volkov. “You will excuse me, Mr. Jenkins. Our superiors have orders, but this is ugly business in which I do not wish to participate.”
“You’re not thinking this through, Federov.”
“You wish to enlighten me?” Federov sat again in the chair across from Jenkins. He folded his legs. “Enlighten. Please. But be conscious of the time. The second act is long, but not that long.”
“Why would I provide information on a Russian double agent that your people could easily verify wasn’t true? The information I provided to you would be, if divulged to my agency, enough to put me in a penitentiary for the remainder of my life. So why would I risk providing you with false information now? What purpose would it serve?”
Federov bent forward, inches from Jenkins’s face. “I am thinking it is because you want to make me look like the fool to my superiors, Mr. Jenkins. And I will not be made to look like the fool.”
“What I want is my money, as we agreed. I don’t give a good Goddamn about your image with your superiors, and based on what you’re telling me, I’m not sure I have much respect for them either. At least tell me your superiors performed their due diligence and determined the information is accurate.” Jenkins waited for an answer. When it didn’t immediately come he chuckled. “Seriously? How else did the FBI and the CIA know that the Russian nuclear industry officials were engaged in a conspiracy of bribery and extortion, unless they were receiving classified information from someone in a position of knowledge?”
“Artemyeva is dead, which means—”
“It means you can’t verify the information simply by torturing her. It means you have to get a bit more creative, like searching through documents and engaging in human intelligence. How were the FBI and the CIA able to thwart so many companies doing business with Russian energy companies, unless they had knowledge of the kickbacks and the extortion and threatened to make that information public? The illegal activities were made known to the CIA by a ‘confidential witness’ with intimate knowledge of the Russian atomic energy commission. That confidential witness was Uliana Artemyeva.”
At the table, Volkov removed a large snipping tool and held the cutting edges to the flame of the torch until the tool glowed red.
“Maybe she was and maybe she wasn’t this confidential witness,” Federov said, again picking at imaginary lint from his suit leg.
It was a tell. Almost everyone had a tell, even some of the best agents Jenkins had gone up against. Picking imaginary lint was Federov’s tell. He was not as confident as he was projecting. His daughter was not the only actor in the family who stunk.
“It does not mean she was one of the remaining seven sisters,” Federov said.
“No?” Jenkins said, becoming more confident. “She was sixty-three years old when she died. How old were Zarina Kazakova, Irena Lavrova, and Olga Artamonova?”
“Which would be the reason that you chose to disclose this name as opposed to another.”
“As opposed to some other woman working in the Russian atomic energy industry who just so happens to be the same age as the other three and who, through a little bit of work on your part, you would know was providing the US with confidential information? You disappoint me, Federov. I was a fool to deal with you. I should have asked for someone above you—someone with some intelligence.” He smirked. “You go ahead and throw away the only potential source of information you’ll ever have that might be able to provide you with the names of the other sisters because you think I could be a double agent feeding you a bunch of bullshit.”
Federov sat in silence, but his body language spoke volumes. Jenkins had gotten to him. He’d gotten to Federov’s ego, in front of Volkov, who had put down his play toys and now also looked uncertain and, maybe, concerned.
“I guess we’re at a crossroads,” Jenkins said. “And not unlike the crossroads you face with your daughter?”
Federov looked up. “How so?”
“You can either swallow your pride and accept your daughter’s chosen profession so you can have a relationship with her, or you can let your pride get in the way and lose any hope of ever having any relationship.” Jenkins waited a beat. Then he said, “So what’s it going to be, Federov? Are we going to have a relationship? Or are you going to let your pride get in the way and lose the best opportunity you’ll ever have in your career to make a name for yourself?”