The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(70)

“In the morning I’ll buy burner phones for you, me, and Alex. Alex can call Charlie and tell him our plan.”

Sloane took a deep breath.

“They aren’t going to try and kill me, even if they could somehow follow me. They want Charlie, not me. The smart play would be to allow me to get the papers, then follow me to wherever Charlie wants me to drop them.”

Sloane looked from Jake to Alex. “He’s right, isn’t he?”

Alex nodded. “I don’t want him to do it either, David, but, yeah, he’s right. They don’t know him and even if they figured it out, they don’t want him. They want Charlie.”

“There’s a chance it will work,” Jake said. “If you go, there’s no chance. Our best bet is to use you to draw them away and increase my odds. They’ll follow you to South America. You can lead them on a wild goose chase, then get on the plane and come back.”

Sloane nodded. It did make the most sense. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “I do.”

“There’s another reason why this makes sense,” Alex said. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if Charlie makes it back home, he said he could need a lawyer, and if you help him to do this, to break the law, you’d definitely be disqualified from representing him, and very likely disbarred.”

Sloane nodded. He hadn’t thought of that either. He turned to Jake. “Can you get computer access at Seattle U?”

“Absolutely.”

“Go to the library, to a terminal unconnected to you, and look up flights to Mexico City leaving tomorrow. Purchase a ticket using your own credit card and go to the airport straight from school. Take Uber or Lyft. Don’t drive. Make sure you’re not followed. If at any time you suspect you’re being watched or followed, you promise me you’ll abort.”

“I promise,” Jake said.

He looked at his watch, then at Alex. “I’m assuming you have instructions for him, things to do and to look out for?”

Alex nodded and looked at her watch. “I’ll teach him everything I can in the time that we have.”

Sloane moved toward the kitchen. “I’ll make coffee.”





40



Viktor Federov swung the barrel of the gun left, then right. The hotel room was empty, the bed made. There was no closet door, just an area with a clothing bar and unused hangers. He heard water running in the bathroom. The shower. Light leaked from beneath the door. Federov motioned for Alekseyov to move to the side next to the door handle. Federov stood on the opposite side of the doorframe from Alekseyov.

He nodded and Alekseyov reached for the door handle. Unlocked. He gently pushed on the door. It snapped open and gave a small click. Federov stepped in and swung the barrel of his gun at the shower stall. Water sprayed against the glass and shower pan, with no one to deflect it.

Federov turned to the sink. On the counter was an opened bar of soap and the paper in which it had been wrapped. Someone had used the soap to write on the mirror.

Missed me.



The bus pulled to the curb in ?e?me at just after 6:00 p.m., one of half a dozen buses to arrive. Tourists disembarked, some dragging roller suitcases behind them. The wheels on the cobblestone street rumbled like small jet engines. The sun had nearly set, leaving a reddish-orange winter light and cool temperatures. The Turkish flag, red with a white star and crescent, hung lifeless from a flagpole. Behind it, the bare masts of sailboats protruded above a crowded marina. The street looked to have been recently renovated, with a center divider of stone pavers, immature palm trees—eight to ten feet in height—and decorative streetlights.

Charles Jenkins stepped from the bus wearing a full-length black burka that stopped just above his sandals. The headdress made it difficult to see, but with practice getting on and off buses, he could get by without stumbling.

Jenkins knew Yusuf would have had to tell Federov that Jenkins was on his way by bus to ?e?me. He also knew Federov would make his way to Istanbul, find the bus terminal, and, sooner or later, catch up with him, or with his bus. His detour to Bursa was intended to convince Federov that Jenkins, knowing Yusuf owed him no loyalty and would give up Jenkins’s travel plans, had changed how and where he intended to get out of Turkey.

After leaving an easy trail for Federov to follow, Jenkins had walked out the back of the hotel to an alley of restaurants and shops. He made his way to a Muslim clothing store. A woman on the bus had been dressed in a burka, giving him the initial idea. He told the man behind the store counter that he wanted to buy a burka for his daughter, who was almost as tall as Jenkins. The man did not have a garment long enough at the store, but he directed Jenkins to a store close by that did. Jenkins purchased the garment and the sandals, found an empty alley, and slipped them on, along with the headdress. Fully concealed, he made his way to a bus stop, and took a circuitous route to double back to ?e?me. Along the route, Jenkins got off the bus twice, wasted time, then boarded a different bus. He identified two men watching the terminal in Izmir, but nowhere else along the line. He hoped Federov had called off the dogs after he’d arrived in Bursa and read Jenkins’s message on the bathroom mirror.

Jenkins crossed to the opposite side of the street, to the stores that apparently did not close until after the arrival of the last tourist buses. He walked past sparsely populated restaurants emitting mouth-watering smells, and newly constructed two-and three-story apartment buildings wedged in the sloping hillside of red rock, shrubs, and small, spindly trees. He ducked into what looked to be a novelty shop playing loud Turkish music. At the back of the store he found a cheap backpack, bottled water, candy bars, crackers, sunglasses, a red baseball hat with the Turkish flag sewn on the bill, and a black cap with Turkish lettering. He did his best not to speak and not to display his hands any longer than necessary to the woman at the register. This time it was not his intent to draw attention to himself.