“And what if the Russians decide not to play by the rules? What if they decide they’d prefer that I stay as a guest in their country?”
Emerson never blinked. “If anything goes wrong the agency will disavow the operation. Your work can never be publicly mentioned or acknowledged. To do so would put the remaining four sisters at greater risk.”
“What about my wife and my son?”
“Your wife can know nothing about what you are doing.”
“I understand that. What assurances do I have that if anything were to happen to me they would be taken care of?”
“None,” Emerson said.
Jenkins sat back. “At least you’re honest.”
“Would you have believed me if I had said anything different?”
“I want two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, fifty thousand up front, the other two hundred paid upon my providing you with the name of the eighth sister.”
“That’s a lot of money,” Emerson said.
“It’s a lot of risk, and I have debt I need to resolve. Think of the first fifty thousand as an advance. I’ll ask the FSB for a similar amount to divulge the first name. When I receive that money, I’ll give it to you.”
Emerson smiled. “You haven’t changed. Still sticking it to the KGB.”
“I’ve changed a lot,” Jenkins said.
“I can’t get you a payment in advance,” Emerson said. “When we are certain the FSB is interested, I will authorize payment of fifty thousand. When we have the name of the eighth sister, I will seek another hundred thousand.”
One hundred and fifty thousand would get CJ Security out of debt and provide a cushion for Jenkins if LSR&C continued to falter.
The waitress returned with Emerson’s plate. She asked Jenkins if he wished to order, but he waved her away, not hungry. Emerson looked down at his pork shank, topped with red peppers and a green aioli sauce. “Do we have a deal?”
“Yeah,” Jenkins said. “We have a deal.”
“Brush up on your Russian.”
Jenkins looked over the top of the book, expecting CJ to be asleep or close to it, but his son remained awake. Alex had not allowed CJ to read the Harry Potter novels when he’d been younger. She said the stories contained adult themes frightening for a child. On his ninth birthday, CJ asked again to read the books. Jenkins had sided with CJ. Big mistake. Alex relented, but only if Charlie read CJ the first two novels.
“Next time, just tell me to keep my mouth shut,” Jenkins had said to her.
Ordinarily, Jenkins loved this time with his son, but tonight he’d been distracted. LSR&C had made another $10,000 payment, but that didn’t compensate for the additional debt. Jenkins was performing a juggling act, trying to appease the security contractors, the vendors, and the bank.
“Dad,” CJ said. “Are you all right?”
Jenkins realized he’d stopped reading. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He looked at the glowing red numbers of the clock on the dresser—9:00 p.m. “We better stop for the night.”
“Finish the chapter.”
“It’s the end of a section and the next section looks pretty long.” Jenkins closed the book and put it on CJ’s nightstand. He moved his chair back to the corner beside CJ’s soccer cleats, shin guards, and uniform. “How was soccer this afternoon?”
“It was okay,” CJ said, sliding beneath the covers.
“Just okay?”
“Coach wants me to play defense. Stopper.”
“That’s great. That’s one of the most important positions.”
“You don’t score goals from stopper.”
“Yes, but if the other team doesn’t score, your team has a better chance to win, doesn’t it?”
“I guess so,” CJ said.
“Sometimes the most glamorous positions aren’t the most important,” Jenkins said. “Sometimes the most important positions are the ones that aren’t as flashy.”
He bent and kissed CJ atop his head. “You know I love you, right?”
“I know,” CJ said, and he rolled onto his side.
Downstairs, Alex had a fire burning in the stone fireplace and sat on one of the burgundy leather sofas with a blanket draped over her legs, reading another book on parenting. Just thirty-nine, Alex was far too young for him, but also far more mature. He figured the latter was because she was the only child of two highly educated professors. Her father had worked as a consultant to the CIA during Jenkins’s time in Mexico City. Jenkins met Alex thirty years later when she came to his farm on Camano. She delivered a package from Joe Branick, Jenkins’s partner in the Mexico City field office. Branick had told Alex that if anything happened to him, Alex should get the package to Jenkins.
Alex looked up from her book as he approached. “Did he put up a fight?”
“Not too bad,” Jenkins said.
“I’m thinking of getting him the audiobooks. The counselor said having CJ listen to a narrator while he follows along will improve his vocabulary.”
Jenkins enjoyed his time reading to CJ. “Let’s not rush it,” he said.
“You were quiet at dinner, Charlie,” Alex said.
“Was I? I guess I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Come sit by the fire for a bit.”
Jenkins walked around the couch, and she pulled back the blanket. He slid beneath it, the two of them watching the flames flickering an array of colors behind the glass cover of the fireplace insert.
“What did Randy say?”
“The investments are strong, but they’ve had some expenses opening additional foreign offices, so cash flow is tight. He says he’ll work to get us and our vendors caught up. Things will work out.” He paused, considering the flames. Then he said, “LSR&C has asked me to fly to London to help them open their office and assess potential security risks. Randy will be there. It will be a good chance for me to speak to him in person about getting current.”
“When do you leave?” she asked.
“When things get set up. Could be just after Thanksgiving.”
“How long will you be gone?”
Jenkins couldn’t be certain, but he recalled an agent once telling him that counterespionage was like dating. You didn’t want to make yourself too available too soon. The initial date was simply to spark interest. “Probably a week.”
“I like it better when you’re home,” Alex said, nuzzling close to him.
“Freddie’s in the closet,” Jenkins said. It was the nickname they’d given the sawed-off shotgun Jenkins kept in a gun locker in the bedroom closet. Before Alex and CJ, he’d slept with the shotgun at the side of his bed.
Alex ran her hand below the blanket. “Freddie is not what I had in mind.”
“What did the doctor say about sex?”
She kissed him. “She said it was fine as long as I didn’t exert myself. Looks like you’re on top.”
4
A week after Thanksgiving, at 10:30 p.m., Jenkins boarded Aeroflot flight 2579 from Heathrow Airport to Sheremetyevo Airport, roughly twenty miles from the Moscow city center. Two days before, Jenkins had called LSR&C’s office in Moscow to advise that he would be flying in to evaluate their security measures.