The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(41)
In fact, the room was so clean, Federov initially wondered if it was a false address, an address Ponomayova had provided on her employment files, but not a place where she actually lived. Her neighbors, however, confirmed that she did live in the apartment, and the match in the sink indicated she had been there recently. The neighbors described her as quiet, said she did not socialize, and revealed very little about herself. No one could recall seeing anyone else at the apartment, and no one had heard her come home the prior evening.
Federov continued to scour an FSB dossier on Ponomayova, which he’d read front to back on the drive to her apartment. It confirmed what the tenants were telling him, and it all pointed to someone working diligently to remain anonymous, and to have largely succeeded. Fingerprint technicians would dust her apartment, but the lemon-ammonia smell made it equally unlikely they would find Jenkins’s prints.
As Federov read the dossier, looking for something he might have missed, Alekseyov hurried down the hall toward him, grinning like a young boy on Christmas morning.
“We have the car,” he said.
Federov felt his adrenaline spike. “Where?”
“A tollbooth camera on M4 recorded the license plate. Subsequent tollbooths confirm the car continued south throughout the night.”
“They’re heading to the Black Sea,” Federov said. He checked his watch. “They should almost be there. Find us a plane or a helicopter. Alert the local police in the towns along that route of the car’s potential presence. Tell them if they locate the car they are to keep an eye on it, but they are not to approach. Am I clear? They are not to approach the car or any house or apartment where the car is parked. Go. I will be right behind you.”
21
After hanging up the phone with Charlie, Alex grabbed Freddie from the gun safe, a go bag she kept with a change of clothes for her and for CJ, basic toiletries, medications, and $5,000 in small denominations. Old habits died hard, for her and for Charlie.
She drove to CJ’s school and pulled him from class, then drove directly to David Sloane’s law office in the SoDo district. Sloane had bought a warehouse and converted the building in an up-and-coming area south of Seattle’s downtown. Charlie would know to call Sloane’s office to reach her. They had established this plan if ever needed. Alex had never thought it would be.
As she pulled into the parking lot, a commercial train crossed at the intersection behind the building, bells clanging and the train’s horn blaring. Max sat up in the back of the Range Rover and barked.
“Stop it, Max,” CJ said, pouting. He wasn’t happy to be missing soccer practice. He’d talked to his coach, just as Charlie had prepped him, and the coach told him he would play striker in their next game. Alex didn’t have the heart to tell her son that wasn’t going to happen, at least not until she determined what was going on.
What have you gotten yourself into, Charlie?
Alex, CJ, and Max took the elevator to the third floor of the pet-friendly, converted warehouse.
Within minutes of checking in at reception, Carolyn, Sloane’s secretary, walked into the lobby. Close to six feet, Carolyn protected Sloane’s calendar like a hawk. “Alex,” she said. “And CJ.” She looked to Tara, the receptionist. “You didn’t tell me it was family.” She bent to pet Max. “What brings the three of you here?”
“I need to speak to David,” Alex said.
“He’s in a deposition, but he should be finishing soon. Why don’t you wait in his office? I’ll let him know you’re here.” She looked at Alex’s stomach. “You look like you’re getting ready to bust.”
“Not too soon, I hope,” Alex said. “I have several more weeks to term.”
“Tara, can you call Jake and tell him Alex and CJ are here?”
“I know where his office is,” CJ said, and he took off running down one of the halls, Max in pursuit, setting off dog barks in the offices as they went.
Carolyn led Alex to Sloane’s office in the front corner of the building, told her to make herself comfortable, and departed. The office was large, with a desk in one corner, a couch in the other, and a round table with two chairs. Alex sat at the table and took out the laptop they used for CJ Security business. Her mind churned. They had never used the protocol before, and she had no idea why Charlie had used it now, or what danger she and CJ could be in. She felt better now that they were in Sloane’s office and she could set her mind to determining what had happened.
She logged onto the Internet and studied Charlie’s search history, scanning what he’d been doing, looking for his travel itineraries. She found his most recent itinerary and noted his flight to Heathrow, but what followed sent a chill down her spine. After a two-hour layover, he’d taken a connecting flight to Sheremetyevo Airport, Russia.
Alex broke out in a cold sweat. She researched further and found a second flight coinciding with his current trip. It, too, included a stopover in London before a connecting flight to Sheremetyevo.
She opened a second tab and quickly accessed CJ Security’s business accounts, scanning the recorded charges on the company credit card. She found charges for multiple nights at the Metropol Hotel in downtown Moscow. The dates of the charges coincided with the dates Charlie first flew to Sheremetyevo Airport. She did not find hotel charges coinciding with his current trip, at the Metropol Hotel or any other hotel in Russia.