The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(49)

His heart hammered in his chest.

The shed was too narrow for him to walk to the back of the car, but this did not stop him from climbing over the hood and the roof. He used his phone to illuminate the license plate, which he’d committed to memory. The plate matched.

The car had been parked facing out, with easy access to M27 if the need arose to quickly get away—if Jenkins and Ponomayova even remained close by. The possibility existed that Jenkins and Ponomayova had switched vehicles, maybe with a car that had been inside the shed.

Federov exited the shed and watched the house for any sign of people inside. Seeing no such indication, he returned to the shed, closed the doors, and put the rock back in place. Then he did his best to obscure the line in the dirt made by the door, as well as his footprints.

Back inside Matveyev’s car, he drove to the fork in the road and parked behind shrubs. He called Alekseyov on his cell phone, who told him that there had been no sighting yet of the Hyundai on the M27 or in any of the towns along it. “Border security has been alerted as well as the coast guard.”

Federov told Alekseyov he wanted as many men as Matveyev had available to guard each end of the road, from the sea to the intersection with M27. “Tell them no one drives in, and no one drives out without the car being thoroughly inspected. Do you understand?”

“Da.”

Federov provided Alekseyov with the house number associated with the shed. “Determine the owner. Send people to wherever they are currently and find out when they were last here, and also any cars they own and keep here.”

“Where are you?”

“I have found the car in a shed at the end of the road. I am going to the house now to determine if Jenkins is inside.”

“Do you want more men?”

Federov did not want others. He did not want anyone who might give away his position. Jenkins was a smart and formidable foe. Federov knew from his research that Jenkins had served in Vietnam and therefore that he could have experience with trip wires or other such things to alert him to someone’s approach. Ponomayova, too, was capable, given her shot of the FSB agent in the hotel parking lot. And both, he assumed, were armed. Beyond all of that, Federov did not want to answer to anyone. Not now and not later.

“Nyet. Position the men at each end of the road. If Mr. Jenkins is here, they are trapped. And this time he will not get away.”





28



Jenkins heard Anna reenter the house through the back door, one of several trips she’d made to map their path to the beach. The boat had made contact. One light. They were good to go. Earlier she had reported that the wind had died down and the seas had calmed, a good thing. This time, however, when she returned, she looked grave.

“There are men out front.” She said the words without emotion, the way one might say: “There are rocks on the beach.” But Jenkins knew what it meant. He knew the ramifications. Getting to the beach might be harder than the swim to the boat.

“We can’t stop now,” he said. “We move forward.”

They laid out the scuba gear on the brown shag carpet. Jenkins’s suit was more than a little tight, but he could squeeze into it—he didn’t have much choice.

“Can we get around the men?” he asked as they worked.

Anna shook her head. “No. Two men are sitting in a car at the end of the road where the path leads down to the sea.”

“Is there another path?”

“No. It is too steep and would be very difficult to climb down even without equipment. With tanks, is not possible. More men are also positioned at the other end of the road, near where I parked the car.”

“The gas station likely had a camera, maybe the store too,” Jenkins said. “Federov would have seen me make a U-turn and drive toward the sea. He assumes we stayed.”

“It is a logical deduction,” she agreed.

“If they found the car, they’ll start searching houses. We’re going to have to find a different path down to the water, or a way to get the two men to leave.”

“There is no other path. And the men will not leave unless they think they are pursuing us. You will have to go alone.”

Jenkins wasn’t sure exactly what she meant, but he deduced it meant that Anna would be the distraction to get the two men away from the path. “No. I’m not going without you. We’ll find another way.”

“There is no other way,” she said in that soft, resigned voice.

“There is always another way,” he said. “Don’t quit on me, Anna.”

She smiled, but it had a sad quality to it, the smile of a woman just before the state executed her. “I’m not quitting, Mr. Jenkins. I’m doing my job.”

“It’s Charlie, damn it. My name is Charlie.”

Another smile. “I’m not quitting, Charlie. You have to understand that if you survive, if you get back, then I have done my job. You must get back and stop whoever is leaking the information on the seven sisters, before others die.”

“They’ll kill you, Anna.”

“Paulina,” she said. “My name is Paulina Ponomayova.”

“No,” he said. “Do not tell me your damned name now. This is not the end.”

“They will come door-to-door, Charlie. They will find us both. You yourself said so.”