The Silent Sisters (Charles Jenkins #3)(92)

“Really? Tell me how,” he said, not sounding convinced.

“I will be sure the CIA is made aware that it was only because of your graciousness that we were able to recover Mr. Jenkins.”

Federov could see the wheels spinning in the Fly’s head. The CIA had its fingers all over the heroin trade, and it would not be bad to have them owe Plato a favor.

“What I will do is out of respect for our friendship and the friendship of our fathers, not for any expectations. Is that clear?” the Fly said.

“Absolutely.”

“What do you need?”

“I’m going to need your resources to find out where he has been taken.”

“What makes you think he is here and not in Moscow?”

“Sokalov also wants this man. Why bring him back to Moscow and give Sokalov the chance to take him from them? The Velikayas will hide their kill here. Once we determine where, I will need your manpower to get him back.”

“And potentially start a war with the Velikayas; I don’t think so, Viktor. It’s bad for business.”

“No. The Velikayas will give Mr. Jenkins back willingly. Without bloodshed.”

“Is that a promise, Viktor? I warn you, do not make promises you cannot keep.”

“It is a promise, Plato.” He returned the Fly’s hard stare. “On this I swear.”

After a moment Plato said, “The cost for shipment has doubled. Call your contact and get approval. If you do, I will take it as a showing of good faith and give you what you need.” He looked to his brother. “In the interim, Peanut, make some phone calls. See where the Velikayas have taken this CIA man.”

“Thank you, Plato,” Federov said.

“Don’t thank me, Viktor. Get on the phone. Get me my money. Then you can thank me. Otherwise, I might offer you something other than shrimp.” With that, the Fly rose, cinched tight his bathrobe, and departed inside the mansion.

Federov turned to Mishkin. “When Peanut finds Mr. Jenkins, I assume you have a contact in the ministry who will leak the information to the FSB.”

“Indeed, I do,” Mishkin said. “Vily Stepanov would sell his mother for the right price.”

“Use him, then. If he doesn’t already know it, tell him that Mr. Jenkins is on the president’s kill list, which will make Mr. Jenkins considerably more valuable. Leak also that Velikaya’s men have captured Maria Kulikova.”

Federov was playing a hunch. At the railway station, Alexander Zhomov had every opportunity to shoot and kill Charles Jenkins. He knew Zhomov had been a sniper in Afghanistan as well as when called upon by the government. He could have positioned himself in the parking lot or the rail terminal, or on the hillside above it, but he had not done so. That told Federov that Zhomov didn’t want Jenkins dead. His job was to bring him back alive, likely for the very reason Maria Kulikova had said. Jenkins was worth more to Sokalov alive than dead. He was Sokalov’s potential ticket to the Kremlin and, if Kulikova’s betrayal ever came to light, Jenkins might be the chit that kept Sokalov alive despite his having divulged classified information.

Irony was such a powerful tool. Federov would use Sokalov’s penchant for self-survival to likely get him killed. If he could pull this off.

“Won’t that lure Sokalov to wherever Mr. Jenkins is being held captive?” Kulikova asked.

“One can only hope,” Federov said.





49


Lubyanka

Moscow, Russia

Sokalov sat at the conference room table, the cat about to swallow the canary, but only after chewing on him and breaking every bone in his body. Lebedev and Pasternak took seats across the table. Petrov stood at the head. Minutes before entering the room, Sokalov had hung up the phone with Alexander Zhomov, who had spoken directly with their contact at the Ministry of Internal Affairs. He had it on good authority that Mr. Jenkins had been taken by Yekaterina Velikaya’s men from the Irkutsk train station to a slaughterhouse on the shores of the Ushakovka River. He said the men had also succeeded in capturing Maria Kulikova. Zhomov told Sokalov he was en route to the slaughterhouse and would kill Velikaya’s men and, if she was present, Kulikova. He would bring back Jenkins alive.

All of which meant this was working out better than Sokalov had hoped for. Within hours he would hobble the most powerful crime family in Moscow, kill the woman who could ruin him, and solve the president’s more pressing issue: how to get back the two would-be assassins and save face on a world stage. In return, the president would direct Petrov to name Sokalov his successor as chairman of the National Antiterrorist Committee, whereupon Sokalov’s first order of business would be to fire Gavril Lebedev.

The purpose of this meeting was to discuss the options each man had come up with to get back Pasternak’s two unsuccessful assassins, and by default, identify whose head would roll. American intelligence still refuted any suggestion they held Pasternak’s men, which left hope the CIA would be open to negotiations, once advised Russia held Mr. Jenkins.

“I am told this matter is now well up the Kremlin chain of command,” Petrov said gravely. He sucked on a cigarette and laid the butt in the ashtray. “Our diplomats have been of little help. They are like young men with their first woman, feeling around the edges to determine how she will respond, and so far the Americans have been cold and uninterested.”