The Silent Sisters (Charles Jenkins #3)(64)

Jenkins figured, given what was at stake, Sokalov would have gone to some lengths to ensure the phone was secure. He also did not have a lot of choices. They needed help. He flipped open the phone and called the number he had memorized. The number went through an internal switchboard at Langley, where it was also scrambled and redirected so, if traced, it, too, would lead to a random phone number somewhere within the United States.

If a call was an internal call, Lemore answered “Lemore.” If it was an outside call, he answered “Hello.”

“Hello?”

“I’m calling about the two love seats to be reupholstered,” Jenkins said. “I’m going to need some help.”

After no more than a beat, Lemore replied. “Yes. What about them?”

“I’d like to change the fabric we picked out, something that will better conceal their current appearances. Can you deliver two different fabrics for me to consider, one feminine and one more masculine?”

“Certainly.”

“I’ve also changed my mind and wish for you to make arrangements to pick up the two chairs, but tell your driver to be discreet. This is a surprise for my wife.”

“Your address?”

Jenkins provided the address. “Tell your driver to ask for Nicholas, the superintendent in 3C. If my wife is out, I will respond ‘spasibo.’ If she is home, I will respond ‘nyet.’ Do you know how long this will take? My wife indicated she would be out no more than half an hour.”

“We’ll do our best to be there before she returns.”

Jenkins disconnected. He slipped the phone into his pocket, then thought better of it. If Sokalov suspected Maria might use the apartment, he might also consider the phone and somehow be able to track it. He put the phone back in the drawer and spoke to Kulikova. “I have disguises and transportation on the way, but I assume they will be nothing as elaborate as what I originally was given—likely just a change of clothes, something to conceal our hair, perhaps wigs and facial hair.” He moved to the window and pulled back the curtain, peering down at the street emerging in the dawn light. “I’m assuming that at some point one or both of us will be identified on the CCTV cameras and those cameras will track us back to this apartment building.”

“Sokalov had the camera on this block removed to better conceal our meetings. That might buy us a few more minutes,” she said. “But not many. If he tracks us moving in this direction, he’ll deduce we chose this apartment for the reasons you just explained.”

Jenkins hoped they’d be long gone before that happened.





29


Velikaya Estate

Novorizhskoye, Russia

Mily Karlov hung up his desk phone, left his office, and walked to the other wing of the house, to where Yekaterina Velikaya kept her office. He rapped softly on the door three times.

“Voydite.”

Mily entered. Yekaterina spoke on the phone in the light of her desk lamp. Out her arched windows dawn broke through the dark sky, offering muted blue-gray light. Steam rose from a cup of coffee beside a slice of toast. Both looked untouched. Mily deduced she was discussing funeral arrangements. After a few more sentences, Yekaterina hung up and stared vacantly across the room. “Eldar will be buried with his grandfather in Yekaterinburg,” she said, her voice soft. “I am arranging to have a similar marble statue erected in his honor.”

Mily had never understood the desire to erect grandiose statues or slabs of marble depicting a decedent to mark that person’s grave. In Yekaterinburg Cemetery it seemed the mafiya families tried to one-up one another, erecting sculptures with the decedent’s fingers bearing large jewels, or his body standing beside expensive cars and lavish homes. Mily understood the display was intended to represent that the deceased would lead just as grand a lifestyle as the person had lived in life, but he found them to be gauche and a waste of money. They only reminded him that the men who died had been too young.

He didn’t believe in the afterlife. If there was one, he’d know soon enough. Until then, he’d enjoy this life as much as he could.

“I’m sure it will be lovely, Comare,” he said.

“You have information,” she said.

“I just spoke with Maxim Ugolov at the Information Technologies Center. Mr. Jenkins has surfaced in Moscow, and it seems we are not the only ones interested in him.”

“The police, I am sure,” she said.

“And the FSB,” Mily said. “Dmitry Sokalov was in Ugolov’s office early this morning along with another man tracking Mr. Jenkins. They are considering CCTV footage now to find him.”

Yekaterina’s face hardened at the mention of the name of Dmitry Sokalov, the man she held responsible for her father’s death, along with the president. She paced near the windows, half her face in shadow.

Mily knew Yekaterina had, on more than one occasion, contemplated killing Sokalov, as she had evened the score with others who crossed her father, but she did not make rash decisions. To kill someone of Sokalov’s stature would start an all-out war with the government and potentially Sokalov’s father-in-law, the former leader of Directorate S. It was a war Yekaterina could not hope to win.

“You have told Ugolov the importance of this information to me?” she said, her voice controlled.

“He assures he will advise me before he advises the deputy director, if he gets a hit for Mr. Jenkins.”