The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(28)

The woman gave another nod.

Jenkins spun the chair and untied the gag. He stepped back, out of range, in case she flung herself at him or attempted another kick to the groin. The woman squinted several times and opened and closed her mouth. He hadn’t broken her jaw or her nose. His aim in the dark had been off, but she would have a black left eye in a matter of hours.

“Let’s start with you telling me your name. Who are you?” Jenkins said, this time in English.

The woman responded with a blank stare.

“Nothing?” Jenkins said. “All right then. Why did you try to kill me?”

Again, she did not respond.

“Kto ty?” he said. Who are you?

“I speak English, Mr. Jenkins.” Her English was heavily accented.

“I could call the police,” he said. “And tell them that you tried to kill me.”

This time her lips slowly spread into a knowing grin. “And I would tell them that you tried to rape me and I fought back, bravely. The gun, I would say, is not mine. It is yours. Do you really want the Moscow police to be looking into your presence here?”

Did she know the reason for his presence? What he needed to determine was whether she worked for the FSB. He was beginning to think she did not. “I could call the FSB,” he said. “I’m sure they could extract information from you.”

Again, it drew no verbal response. He went to his coat on the bed and pulled out the burner phone. “No?” He shrugged. “Very well.” He punched in a number.

“Wait,” she said.

Interesting. “Something you want to say? Are you FSB?”

“If I were FSB, why would I want to kill a man willing to betray his country and the lives of seven women who may have done more harm to Russia than any others in its history?”

Rather than clarify, her answer complicated his situation. If she was not FSB, not the eighth sister, then how did she know of the seven sisters? He moved to the window and looked down at the hotel’s front entrance, but he did not see a Mercedes. “I don’t know. Why would you?”

“I wouldn’t,” she said.

“If you’re not FSB, then what are you?”

“Tell me first, Mr. Jenkins, why you are betraying these women? Why are you betraying your country?”

“I need the money,” he said, sticking to his story. “My business is failing.”

“You would so easily trade these lives for money?”

He shrugged. “I don’t bleed red, white, and blue.”

“And yet you did not kill me just now, though you had the chance. You still have the chance. I’d say the odds favor you. So why don’t you kill me, Mr. Jenkins? Why don’t you call the FSB and tell them to come and dispose of my body?” Before Jenkins could answer, she said, “No. You did not do so because you are having doubts. You asked me my name. What purpose would my name serve in making you money to save your business?”

“I’m curious.”

Her eyes bore into him. “I think I have misjudged you, Mr. Jenkins. I think that you wish to know my name because you are not here to tell Viktor Federov or Arkady Volkov the names of the remaining four sisters. That is why you provided them with the name of a dead woman. No. You did not come here for that purpose.”

Intrigued where this conversation was going, and why, but conscious of the minutes passing, Jenkins said, “So why don’t you tell me why I came here?”

“You came here to find the eighth sister.”

“Are you the eighth sister?” he said, now doubting that to be the case.

“Tell me if I am correct, Mr. Jenkins. What do you have to lose? I am bound and you are holding my weapon. You can kill me at any time. It doesn’t change your circumstances.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because, Mr. Jenkins, I am smelling a rat. And I think it has bitten us both.”

“What rat would that be?”

“The rat who sent you to Moscow to learn my name. The rat who told you that I work for the FSB and that I am killing the seven sisters. The same rat who is divulging the names of the seven sisters to Federov, and being paid much to do so.”

“You’re divulging the names to Federov.”

She laughed. “If I were, why would I try to kill the man who says he can provide the remaining four names? Why would the clerk not give me your room number if I worked for Federov?”

And those were two of the questions that continued to bother Jenkins. Logically, she was right, and Jenkins, too, was starting to smell a rat. He went again to the window and peered down at the entrance.

“Who do you work for?” he said.

“I suspect the same agency that you work for.”

Jenkins turned from the window, considering her.

She shrugged.

“Tell me why I should believe you.”

“Common sense.”

He stepped from the window and leaned against the desk. “Okay, explain it to me so it makes sense.”

“First, let’s discuss what you were told. You were told that I am the eighth sister and that my purpose is to determine the names of the other seven sisters. Correct?”

“Keep going.”

“But the circumstances of our encounter do not support what you were told.”