Though raised Baptist, Jenkins lost his religion when he served in Vietnam and hadn’t rediscovered his faith. Alex, Catholic, wanted their children to be raised with a faith, and Jenkins capitulated. They clasped hands, forming a circle. Jenkins noted that Lemore bowed his head.
“Dear Lord, bless this family, and bless our guest, Matt Lemore,” Alex said. “You are the way, the truth, and the light. Let your light shine down upon all of us present so that we can be truthful.” Jenkins tried not to flinch or otherwise react. “Anyone else?” Alex said.
CJ spoke. “And thank you for helping us win our game today, and thank you for the three goals I scored today.”
Jenkins caught his son peeking out from the corner of his eye at Lemore. “And teach us all to share in your humility,” Jenkins said.
At that moment, Lizzie hurled her bottle onto the table with a loud thud. “That’s Lizzie’s way of saying, ‘I’m hungry,’” Alex said, retrieving it.
“I don’t blame her. It smells wonderful,” Lemore said.
They ate lasagna, salad, and garlic bread with a bottle of Chianti. The conversation flowed easily, and Lemore seemed comfortable in the chaos. If the young agent was putting on an act, withholding information, or lying to them, Jenkins could not detect it. Lemore told them he and his wife lived in Virginia, not far from Langley. They’d married later in his life, travel and work commitments having made it difficult to date with any consistency. He also had played soccer at the University of Virginia. It comported with the information Jenkins had learned from his contact.
“What position?” CJ asked.
“Center fullback,” Lemore said.
“Stopper,” CJ said.
Lemore speared his salad. “I had a coach who believed that if the other team didn’t score, we had a better chance to win. It worked too,” Lemore said. “My senior year we made the quarterfinals of the NCAA tournament.”
“Did you play professionally?” CJ asked.
“No. I really wasn’t good enough, and I wanted to serve my country. I enlisted in the Marine Corps.”
“I’m going to play professionally,” CJ said.
“CJ,” Jenkins said in a tone intended to convey a message to his son.
“I mean, that’s what I want to do . . . If I work hard enough and I’m good enough.” CJ looked to Jenkins for approval.
Jenkins gave him a nod.
“I like your confidence,” Lemore said.
Following dinner, after they’d cleared the table, Alex let Lemore give CJ and Lizzie an ice cream bar each. CJ took his into the family room to watch television.
“Don’t get it on the couch or the remote,” she called after him. Lizzie was a different story. She’d make a mess, adding to the lasagna all over her hands and face. Alex turned to Lemore. “Can I get you coffee, Matt?”
“Decaffeinated?”
“No problem.”
Lemore smiled. “You’re a lot easier than the waitress at the diner. I asked for decaffeinated the other morning and thought she was going to pour it in my lap.”
“Maureen takes a while to warm up to people,” Jenkins said.
“A decade or two,” Alex said. “Instant okay?”
“Fine.”
Alex handed Lemore cream and sugar, and sat again while waiting for the kettle to boil. Lizzie was making a mess of her ice cream and loving every minute of it.
“I’m not going to insult you,” Alex said. “I think you understand what this night was about.”
Lemore nodded. “I do,” he said. “Charlie is a husband and a father. He has a lot to lose.”
Jenkins nodded but remained silent. This was Alex’s conversation.
“We all have a lot to lose. We almost lost him once. Charlie’s dedicated. He can be loyal to a fault. Lizzie’s middle name is Paulina.”
Lemore sat back from the table. “I didn’t know that.”
She nodded. “Charlie wanted to remember Paulina’s sacrifice. You understand why I’m concerned about you coming here and telling him that she might be alive.”
“I do,” Lemore said. “And I wish there was something I could say that would alleviate your anxiety and your worry, but since I know you were also an officer, I won’t insult your intelligence. And since I can see what you’ve created here, how special it is, I won’t insult you by saying I understand.”
“Just tell me you’ll be there if he needs help this time,” she said. “Tell me that you won’t abandon him.”
“I won’t abandon him.” Lemore looked to Jenkins. “I won’t abandon you. You have my word. And not because I’ve met both of you, and CJ and Lizzie, though that’s a serious concern. I won’t abandon you because I was a case officer. I was in the field on my own.” He looked to Alex. “I told Charlie we all knew of the trial, and we were all rooting for him.”
“He said that. Not sure it means much,” Alex said.
“It does to me,” Lemore said, sounding sincere. Again he looked to Jenkins. “You’re one of us. What happened to you could have happened to any of us. I won’t forget that. And I won’t abandon you. That’s my word.”
The kettle on the stove whistled, at first a low hum that grew in volume and pitch. Charlie turned to the kettle, but the sound reminded him of the night he’d had tea in Paulina’s apartment, and the sound he and Alex had heard the other night, of the coyotes howling.
The sound of a woman in pain.
8
A week after his dinner with Matt Lemore, an unshaven and bleary-eyed Charles Jenkins stepped off a Turkish Airlines flight at the new airport in Istanbul. He’d slept little of the eighteen hours of flight time, spending nearly all of it practicing his Russian.
Given the recent conflict between Turkey and the United States, Jenkins flew under a British passport provided by Lemore. After clearing a crowded customs line and locating his checked bag, Jenkins stepped outside into the night. The temperature had dropped into the thirties, but the cold invigorated him after breathing recycled airplane air. Jenkins hailed a taxi at the curb and climbed into a well-worn back seat that held the aroma of Turkish cigarettes, which reminded him of the smell of rum.
“Rumeli Kavaği,” he told the driver, providing a street address.
The driver turned and looked at Jenkins as if he’d misspoken. “Rumeli Kavaği?”
“Ne kadar tutar?” Jenkins asked. How much will it cost?
They negotiated a price, and the driver turned off the meter and pulled from the curb. Jenkins leaned his head against the window, hoping to sleep on the long drive.
He awoke as the taxi wound its way through the hills above the Bosphorus strait. The lights in the homes and the hotels glistened on the sloped hillside and clustered in cluttered marinas at the darkened water’s edge. Further out in the strait, tankers had set anchor and turned on lights, looking like dozens of islands.
The driver slowed and Jenkins searched for an address on the homes, not finding one.
The driver stopped the taxi. “Işte,” he said. Here.
“Işte?” Jenkins asked.
“Evet. Bir yerde.” Yes. Somewhere.