The Silent Sisters (Charles Jenkins #3)(106)

“I wish you the best,” he said.

“And I you, Mr. Jenkins,” she said.

“Charlie,” he said.

“To use someone’s last name is a sign of respect, Mr. Jenkins.”

“Then I wish you the best, Ms. Petrekova.”

She hugged and thanked him again.

Jenkins felt comfortable leaving Petrekova and Kulikova because both had been treated well and responded in kind. Maria seemed almost embarrassed at the attention she received and at the accommodations provided. Lemore ensured she had Russian food, television programs, books, and other amenities to help ease her transition to the United States.

Toward the end of the week, Jenkins spoke to Lemore about Arkhip Mishkin and about his possibly taking a “vacation” to the United States after he retired. “Maybe a cruise ship,” Jenkins said. “He could get off in a port and simply disappear.”

Lemore said there were no guarantees.

“Will I see you again?” Maria asked Jenkins before he departed.

“I don’t know,” he said. “They’ll keep your location a closely guarded secret, but in time, and perhaps with a change in the Russian leadership, maybe those secrets will ease.”

“Then I will look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Jenkins. And coming to your home to meet your wife and your children.”

“I hope you can make a home here also, Ms. Kulikova.”

“In Russia we say, ‘V gostyakh khorosho, a doma luchshe.’ A guest’s house is nice, but it’s better at home. Thank you for all that you have done for me. All that you risked.” She reached up and warmly hugged Jenkins. He felt her tears on his cheek. After a moment, she pulled back and dabbed at her eyes. “Do vstrechi.” Until we meet again.

“Do vstrechi,” he said, and he hoped they had that chance one day. He hoped Maria Kulikova would one day be safe, and free to move about the world as she chose, but that seemed many years away.



A car picked up Jenkins at Paine Field in Everett and drove him home to Camano Island. The sun glistened off the Stillaguamish waters like diamonds, and it wasn’t until he crossed the Camano Gateway Bridge that he felt that he’d arrived at home. He’d completed a mission that had started with lies, but he had completed the objective, rescuing Paulina, Maria, and Zenaida. He felt good knowing he’d left no loose strings. He wished he could have rescued the other sisters, before Carl Emerson had betrayed them. They deserved far better for the sacrifices they had made. He realized the extent of those sacrifices more than ever before, getting to know both Kulikova and Petrekova. What they had given up and what they would continue to give up saddened him.

Would he undertake future operations? Maybe. But for now he was content just to be home, with the family he loved.

Jenkins’s new cell phone rang just as the car reached Camano Island on the other side of the bridge. He checked caller ID, but the caller was unidentified. He only had two numbers programmed into the new phone: Lemore and Alex. The area code, however, was for Camano Island.

Jenkins answered. “Hello?”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, “Dad?”

“CJ. Hi.”

“Hi, Dad. Mom got me my own phone.”

“I can see that.”

“You’re my first call.”

Jenkins fought his emotions. Every time he left, he asked himself why he had done so. He had everything he needed on his little farm—a woman he loved and who loved him, two beautiful children, a home, a place to call his own. And yet he had that longing. That need to be needed, to help those who asked for help. Maybe it was something in his genes, passed down from his ancestor who spent her life freeing slaves. He hoped he could find a balance.

“Am I? I’m honored,” he said. “Not one of your friends?”

“You are one of my friends. My best friend.”

Jenkins might have thought CJ was buttering him up, but the boy no longer had a need. He had his cell phone. He could hear the hesitation and the softness in his son’s voice. He missed his dad. Jenkins knew that feeling also. He’d lost his father at far too young an age. CJ might be growing, taller than his years, but he remained a boy at heart. Didn’t all men?

“I was wondering, when are you going to be home?” CJ asked.

Jenkins smiled. “I’m not sure.” He leaned over the front seat and directed his driver, using hand signals, to turn just past the Protestant church. “Why?”

“I was just missing you. I was hoping you’d be home soon.”

Jenkins again directed the driver, this time to turn on the dirt-and-gravel road. They drove past the old barn and his pastures. “Well, then, why don’t you look out the front window?”

“What?”

Jenkins stepped from the car. “Look out the front window.”

“Dad! Mom, Dad’s home! Dad’s home!”

Jenkins heard the phone thud when it hit the ground. The front door flew open and CJ bolted out. The boy came full blast and Jenkins reached out to grab his son. When he did, he remembered his ribs. Too late. He winced at the pain, but he wasn’t about to let go or to let this moment pass.

Alex came out the door smiling. She held Lizzie on her hip. She paused and said something to their little girl, who pointed her chubby fingers at the end of her chubby arm, which she began to flap up and down, excited. Alex put Lizzie down and she waddled quickly over to Jenkins, almost falling, but he bent and scooped her into his arms, again ignoring his pain. He lifted Lizzie into the air and she giggled and laughed, and in that moment, Jenkins thought of Maria Kulikova and hoped she could find not just a house, but make a home.