The Silent Sisters (Charles Jenkins #3)(104)

Jenkins could tell Federov had let the word “friend” slip unintentionally. Odd, that this former FSB officer now considered Jenkins a friend. Jenkins extended his arms. “Is this where we hug? I’m feeling a moment between the two of us, Viktor.”

“You are jackass,” Federov said, stepping away.

Jenkins stepped forward. “Come on, Viktor, bring it in.”

“Bring what in?”

Jenkins lowered his arms. “I think of you as a friend also, Viktor. And I know you didn’t do what you did for the money either.”

Federov shrugged. “Actually, I did. My ocean is not as full as Plato’s.”

Two black Mercedes pulled into the roundabout, bringing the smell of diesel and the click of the engines. “Any word on Dmitry Sokalov?”

“My contacts within the FSB tell me he has disappeared, and no one knows where he is. His secretary said the last person to visit him in his office was his father-in-law.”

“So, it’s unlikely he got away.”

“Very. People in Russia disappear all the time. Sokalov is likely sitting in Lefortovo, reconstructing what classified information he can recall divulging over the last three decades. Then he will be executed, rest assured. But we can’t be too careful even with Sokalov and Zhomov out of the picture; the FSB and the Kremlin, the president, will want you all the more, knowing now Kulikova was one of the seven sisters. The Fly will continue to provide you with security until you have successfully exfiltrated her. Even then, word will spread quickly, and the FSB will adapt just as quickly. For every Sokalov and Zhomov, there are a dozen more.”

“Then the sooner we are out of Russia, the better.”

“On this I agree,” Federov said. Maria appeared atop the steps, speaking to the armed guards, who smiled at her. “She is the last of the seven, no?”

“She is,” Jenkins said.

“Good. Then let me give you piece of advice, Charlie. Don’t return to Russia, under any circumstances. I can’t take it.”

Jenkins chuckled and felt it in his ribs. “I don’t intend to do any sightseeing over here anytime soon.”

“I am curious. What of the two assassins who tried to kill Fyodor Ibragimov?” Federov asked.

“I’ve been told that when I get back on American soil, the CIA will announce their capture and pin it on the Kremlin. The Kremlin will deny any knowledge of the incident, and the two countries will again begin that never-ending dance. One leading with an accusation, the other following with a denial and a counteraccusation.”

“Perhaps the dance will change someday,” Federov said.

“Both governments will have to change for that to happen,” Jenkins said.

Two guards came down the staircase and nodded to Federov. One opened the back door of the first Mercedes. It was time to go. Federov checked his expensive watch. “I will say, until I see you again.”

“See me again?”

Federov winked and slid into the back of the car.

Maria Kulikova came down the steps and watched the first car depart. “Where is he going?”

“I don’t know,” Jenkins said. “But I suspect this is not the last I will see of Federov, Viktor Nikolayevich.”

“Consider it a positive,” she said.

Her comment surprised him. “How so?”

“Viktor was one of the best FSB officers in the directorate. I did not know him to be a good person, but he is certainly a good person to have on one’s side.”

“Clearly.”

The second car, with two armed guards, drove Jenkins and Maria from Irkutsk to Ulaanbaatar. The drive took almost fifteen hours, though it felt shorter because the drugs Jenkins had been given for his pain made him groggy, and he slept for most of those hours, awakening when they stopped to change cars or to pick up food, diesel, and other supplies. Each time he awoke, Maria Kulikova would be awake, staring at him from the other side of the car, a book in her lap.

“You haven’t slept,” he said.

“I wanted to be awake when we crossed the border into Mongolia, when I left Russia for the first time. A moment to consider.”

“What are you considering?” he asked.

“What it feels like—to finally be free.”

“And what does it feel like?” he asked.

She smiled as bright as a schoolgirl and looked ten years younger. “Like I am flying. Like I have wings and I am soaring above the ground.”

“I’m glad,” Jenkins said.

She wiped away tears. It was the first time Jenkins had seen her cry. “Do you think Arkhip will be allowed to come?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Jenkins said. “But I think you will have some say in that decision.”

She shook her head dismissively. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I don’t want to have hope . . . to dream. Too many times I have been disappointed.”

“It’s better to dream and be disappointed, Maria, than not to dream at all. Take it from someone who knows.”

Jenkins thought of Alex. He wouldn’t call her a gentle soul, but in her company he felt complete. He felt whole. When he was away from her it always felt like a part of him was missing. “My father once told me that love is not about who you can live with, but about who you cannot live without.”