The Silent Sisters (Charles Jenkins #3)(88)

Before pushing from the car, Federov turned and spoke directly to Arkhip. “I would not volunteer your profession, Chief Investigator Mishkin. Or you may find yourself sitting in front of a bowl full of flies. Please, allow me to do the talking.”

“With certainty,” Arkhip said.





47


Irkutsk Meatpacking Plant

Irkutsk, Russia

Jenkins felt each blow, like wedges of sharp ice crashing into his skin, penetrating his body, then splintering into millions of shards that ran up and down his torso and into his extremities. They started with the body, which made sense since blows to the head would possibly knock him unconscious or senseless and unable to answer questions. They wanted him to feel every punch. They had also removed the black bag, wanting him to see each blow delivered.

His assessment had been accurate. They had brought him to a slaughterhouse. He hung from a hook attached to a conveyor belt in a long room that seemed the size of half a soccer field. All around him hung the carcasses of animals stripped of their fur; what remained of cows, sheep, goats, pigs, and buffalo. The two men from the back seat had meted out his punishment and were adept at doing so. They resembled boxers or wrestlers in training, wearing sweatpants and sweatshirts, their hands taped to keep them from breaking a knuckle while they delivered maximum impact. The man from the passenger seat, older than the others, sat comfortably in a chair, his legs crossed, his body bundled in a long wool overcoat, gloves, and an ushanka. He looked like a wealthy grandfather.

“I can assure you, Mr. Jenkins, this will end much more quickly if you simply tell me where to find Ms. Kulikova.” Condensation punctuated each word.

Jenkins didn’t know what the Velikayas would want with Maria, but if it meant more time, he would use it. Every second of every minute was another he remained alive. He had no idea where Maria had gone, or, even if she remained alive, but he wasn’t about to tell them. “I told you. I don’t know a Maria Kulikova.”

The man nodded and the two men swung their fists, taking turns delivering blows, like men on the railroad line alternately swinging sledgehammers. The blows came so quickly Jenkins couldn’t catch his breath, and when he did, it burned in his chest. After a dozen more punches, the seated man raised a hand and the two men stopped the punishment. “Do you really wish for this to continue?” he asked.

“What is your interest in this Ms. Kulikova, and why do you believe I would know where she is? I thought your interest was in Eldar Velikaya.”

“We will come to him soon enough,” the old man said. “My employer wishes to question you about him herself. Now, we are fully aware that you helped Ms. Kulikova to escape from Moscow, Mr. Jenkins. Our interest here is leverage. You see, we have a common enemy in Dmitry Sokalov. Ms. Kulikova can give him to us.”

So that was the answer. “What’s your beef with Dmitry Sokalov?”

“Unfinished business.”

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific for me to believe you.”

“Mr. Sokalov ordered the assassination of my boss. I now work for his daughter.”

“No doubt upon the president’s orders?”

“No doubt. But the president is not a realistic target. Not while he remains in office, anyway. My boss has waited many years for this opportunity. She does not intend to let it pass. So tell me where to find Ms. Kulikova and we can stop this nonsense.”

Jenkins chuckled. “Am I to believe that you intend to let me go?”

“That would be foolish. But I could expedite your death.”

“You’re a real pal. I wish I could help you, but I have no idea where Ms. Kulikova is. I would assume she is a long way from here. She left the train before we arrived in Irkutsk. I’m a larger target and I tend to stand out. I was a decoy. I guess it worked.”

The seated man nodded and the other two resumed delivering sledgehammer blows. After half a dozen he raised his hand and they stopped. “A lie,” he said. “Ms. Kulikova was spotted in the train station parking lot by two of our men. Tell me your plan to get her away.”

“Why would the men who took her away tell me that? It would only give you the opportunity to beat it out of me. I’m as ill informed as you.”

“A shame, then, for you.”

The fists struck again, this time moving up the body, likely cracking ribs and tearing cartilage. Each blow knocked the wind from him, and Jenkins had to struggle not to panic when he could not breathe. He clenched at the blows and fought to recapture his breath.

When the punches stopped, he said, “I thought you Russians were sports oriented. Why don’t you cut me down and let the three of us go at it? Or are you afraid one American would beat you both?”

The man in the chair smiled. “I am well aware of your abilities to fight, Mr. Jenkins. I watched the videotape of your fight with Eldar and Pavil. I was impressed. You are well trained. Tell me, did you learn to fight in the CIA?”

Jenkins shook his head. “I’m not CIA. I’m an independent contractor. A mercenary.”

“Then there is no one who would bargain to get you back or care if you should die. Pity.”

Shit. Jenkins hadn’t considered that logic. “You’d be surprised. If it’s a war you want, they’ll bring you one,” he said.

“What form of combat did you use to take down Eldar and Pavil?”