The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(75)

Carlos stood behind an antique partner’s desk in an office at the back of the room. The other pastry Jake had ordered sat on a napkin beside a mug of coffee. The yellow lighting emanated from a fixture above Carlos’s head.

Carlos smiled as Jake entered. “Please, take a seat.”

Jake set down his coffee and bag and sat in a chair on the opposite side of the desk.

Carlos sat and took a bite of his cinnamon roll. He handed a napkin across the desk. “Please. I hate to eat alone, and you look as though you could use some food.”

“I could, actually.” Jake opened the bag and removed the cinnamon roll, taking a bite.

“Where did you come from?” the man asked.

“Seattle,” Jake said.

“And Charles Jenkins is your uncle?”

“He’s like an uncle,” Jake said.

“I thought so. You don’t look alike.” After a pause, Carlos smiled. “It was a joke. You look tense. Relax.”

“You know him.”

“Only from photographs my father has on file.” Carlos tore off a piece of pastry, sat back, and dipped the pastry in his coffee. “I had to send you away to be sure you had not been followed and to give me time to review my father’s files.” He ate the pastry and wiped his fingers on a napkin. “I watched you go into the coffee shop, then hurried down here to determine whether you were telling the truth.” He pointed to a laptop on his desk. “I’ve computerized most of my father’s files. There were many. Your uncle’s file was in the archives. It appears my father and your uncle did business together, more than once, but many years ago.”

“Is your father really dead?”

“Yes. That part is true.”

“You took up his profession?”

“I worked with and learned both professions from my father. He made a good living because he was careful in what antiques he purchased and what clients he chose to accept. If he couldn’t turn a profit on an antique, he didn’t accept it. If he didn’t like or believe he could trust the person asking him to make travel documents, he simply feigned ignorance, as I just did. It’s the reason my father never conducted business over the telephone. He liked to look a man . . . or woman . . . in the eye. He was highly selective and highly accurate. He was also an artist, as your uncle said, much better than I am, though I don’t have to be as good, with the new technology. Much of what my father did for your uncle had to be done by hand. I rely heavily on computers.” He set down the coffee. “What is it that you need . . . ?”

“Jake,” he said.

“What is it that you need, Jake?”

“May I borrow your knife?”

The man handed Jake the knife. He used the sharp point to cut loose one of the threads Alex had sewn and carefully opened the lining of his jacket. He pulled out the envelope—on an airport X-ray machine it would look as though the envelope was inside his coat pocket. With TSA precheck, Jake never even had to remove his jacket to be scanned. He handed the envelope to Carlos. Carlos opened it and shook out what appeared to be several recent photos of Charlie, along with photocopies of his passport, his birth certificate, and his driver’s license. Alex kept these documents, as well as travel documents for her and CJ, in the go bag she brought with her from Camano.

Carlos removed his wire-rimmed glasses, which left red indentations along the bridge of his nose. Without them, he looked younger, his nose and cheekbones more prominent. He read handwritten notes provided by Alex, placing each page facedown as he proceeded. When he had finished reading, he picked up the pages, methodically tapped them on his desk to even the edges, and set them down again.

“Your aunt?” Carlos asked, placing his palm on the written notes.

“Charlie’s wife.”

“She also was a case officer?”

“Yes. From here, Mexico City.”

“I can tell.” He pressed the tips of his fingers to his lips and bowed his head as if in solemn prayer. His eyes went back and forth between the materials. After nearly a minute he said, “She said there is urgency. I can get the materials to you by late tomorrow afternoon. That’s as fast as I can go.”

Jake nodded. “Then I guess that will have to do.”

“The price is five thousand dollars.”

Jake felt like a large stone dropped in his stomach. It was all the money he had.

“But I can tell that you’re worried about your uncle.” He tapped the pages again. “So is his wife.”

“Very,” Jake said.

“I’ll do it for twenty-five hundred,” he said. “Since your uncle knew my father. Where will you be staying?”

“I don’t have a place yet.”

“Hang on.” Carlos picked up the receiver of an old-fashioned telephone and dialed a single digit. He spoke Spanish, much too quickly for Jake to understand, and replaced the receiver. “I rent out the rooms on the second floor. Veronica tells me we have an opening. You can stay there. I would suggest you stay indoors and largely out of sight. I don’t believe you’re being followed, but better safe than sorry, as they say. Veronica will bring you food. Leave your jacket and your backpack. Everything your uncle needs will be sewn inside the lining.”





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