The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(37)

“She had a black eye,” the valet said.

Federov returned his attention to the valet. “What did you say?”

“The woman had a black eye, or at least the start of one. She had her hair down to conceal the side of her face, but I could see the area around the eye was already red and swollen. I asked her if she was all right.”

“What did she say?”

“She said it was just an accident. Too much alcohol, but it didn’t look like an accident. It looked like someone had punched her or slapped her.”

“Did she say anything else?”

The valet sucked his cigarette to the butt and flicked it across the pavement. He shook his head, releasing white tendrils as he answered. “No. I offered to get her car, but she said there was no reason for both of us to be cold.”

“Which eye?”

The valet shoved his hands in the pockets of his gray coat and thought for a moment. Then he said, “Left. It was her left eye.”

The blow would have most likely come from a right hand. So maybe Jenkins and this woman had not started out as friends after all. “Where was her car parked?” Federov asked.

“Over there.” He pointed to where the body of the dead FSB officer lay.

The shooter had struck the man in the center of the forehead, a kill shot, a shot made quickly and accurately by someone likely to have been tactically trained. Federov had assumed it had been Jenkins, but not any longer.

“Did you hear the shot?”

“No,” he said. “But I was inside with the electric heater making a racket.”

Federov turned to Alekseyov. “Find out if anyone heard a shot,” he said. “Ask the man at the door into the building.”

If no one had heard the shot, it was likely the woman had used a suppressor, further indicating she had tactical training.

“What type of car was she driving?” Federov asked.

“A Hyundai Solaris. Gray.”

“What year?”

“I don’t know the year.”

“Was it new? Old?”

“It was new. I would say within the last few years.”

“Did you park it?”

“Yes.”

“Did you notice anything more about the car or the woman you have not told us?”

The valet looked to Alekseyov. “I told him that she smoked Karelia Slims. There was a pack on the passenger seat.”

Federov raised a hand. “I’m going to have this officer put together a statement. If you think of anything else, do not hesitate to tell him, or to call me.” He handed the valet a card. “Anything at all.” Federov hobbled inside the hotel, speaking to Alekseyov. “I want you to put out a bulletin to every government office. We are looking for a woman with a bruised left eye. Ask for the names of every woman who does not report to work tomorrow, for any reason.” Federov stopped, a thought coming to him.

“Colonel, that would require—”

Federov raised a hand, silencing Alekseyov. He paced in a small circle in the hotel lobby. “Start with the FSB,” he said.

“Colonel?”

“I want the names of every woman who works for the FSB, in any capacity, who fails to report to work tomorrow. Crosscheck those names with vehicle registration for anyone who drives a Hyundai Solaris. And make sure that the hotel provides any tape they have of the parking lot. Go.”





18



Jenkins didn’t want to use the burner phone he’d used with Federov, or his actual cell phone, which was likely being monitored. He had to assume his home phone, and possibly Alex’s cell phone, were also being monitored. If he used the woman’s cell phone, he was taking a different risk. If the call could be triangulated, as in the United States, it could be another clue to the woman’s identity, putting her in still greater danger.

With little practical choice, and not a lot of time, he decided it best to use his own phone and keep the call short. The woman excused herself and stepped into the other room to give him privacy.

Jenkins dialed Alex’s number, paced the small kitchen, and prayed she answered. While he waited, he realized that he’d agreed to be reactivated to help his family, and now he was calling because he had put them in danger.

“Hey. I was just lying here thinking of you,” Alex said, answering.

He felt overwhelming relief. “I was thinking of you too. You’re in bed?”

“Just as the doctor ordered. What are you up to? When are you coming home?”

“I’ve hit a few complications that could delay things,” he said.

“What kind of complications?” she said.

“How’s Lou?”

Alex paused, but just a beat. “He’s sleeping at the moment.”

“When he wakes up, have CJ take him for a walk, would you? You know how much he loves to get out of the house.”

“He does,” she said. “I’ll get him out now.”

“Great. And take Freddie with you.”

“Okay. Listen, CJ just walked in. I’ll call you later,” she said.

“I love you, Alex,” he said, but she had already hung up.





19



Jenkins drove the woman’s car south on the M4 highway through farmlands covered beneath snow while she continued to press the bag of vegetables to her eye. A wind had picked up, gusts blowing snow across the road and making the car rattle and shake. Jenkins struggled to see, and to keep the car from being pushed off the road. If the wind did not let up, the road would soon become impassable.