“Not entirely, no.”
“Then who? Who are you going to trust to help you do this, Charlie?”
“Federov.”
She looked at him like he was crazy. “A colonel in the FSB?”
“A disgruntled former colonel in the FSB.”
“The man who hunted you across three countries.”
“His agency and country screwed him.”
“He isn’t trustworthy, Charlie. He could have set up that account to trap you. Maybe that’s why he didn’t use an alias.”
“He didn’t use an alias because he expected me to empty the account as soon as it opened. It was frozen weeks later. I had time to move the money and close the account. I chose not to do that. It’s blood money.”
“Regardless, this could all be a trap. The FSB could have spread a false rumor that Paulina is alive to lure you back to Moscow. Putin is arrogant, persistent, and vindictive. Look at the lengths to which he’s gone to kill those who spy on Russia.”
“I don’t think Federov did this to trap me. He never would have given me the four million dollars in the first place.”
“Putin was KGB. Federov was and may still be an FSB officer,” Alex said. “And, he profited from having killed Carl Emerson. What, are you going to tell me that he’s now some kind of a Boy Scout?”
“Mom?” CJ stood halfway down the stairs, dressed in his pajamas. “Why are you mad at Dad?”
“It’s okay, CJ,” Jenkins said. “We were just having an adult conversation. Go on back to bed.”
Concern and fear etched CJ’s face, as it had the prior spring and summer. “Are you in trouble again, Dad?”
“No, CJ. I’m not in any trouble. Everything is fine. Go on back to bed. I’ll be up in a minute to kiss you good night.”
But CJ did not go up the stairs. He stood resolute, tears streaming down his cheeks. “If everything is fine, why is Mom crying?”
5
The following morning Jenkins drove his son to school, and even this small change in routine did not go unnoticed.
“Why isn’t Mom driving me?” CJ asked.
“I thought it would give us the chance to talk, in case you have more questions.”
CJ shook his head.
“I know you’re scared, CJ. After what we all went through, you have a right to be scared. But I promise you no one is threatening to put me in jail.”
“Then what were you and Mom fighting about?”
“It wasn’t a fight . . . I have a friend, a good friend, who may be in trouble and need my help.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“I can’t really say, CJ, but if my friend needs help, you’d want me to help, wouldn’t you?”
CJ thought for a moment, his chest rising and falling. “I guess so. If it was a really good friend.”
“It is . . . a really good friend.”
They arrived at the school drop-off. Rather than bolting out of the car as usual, CJ leaned across and hugged Charlie, then pushed out the door and ran up the breezeway. Jenkins fought back tears until a car behind him tapped its horn, and he drove from the drop-off zone.
He returned to the Island Café to wait for Matt Lemore. Jenkins and Alex had agreed that he would get more information, which they would then discuss before he made a decision. He’d called the young officer at 5:00 a.m., fully expecting to wake him, but Lemore, who was on East Coast time, had been working out at an Anytime Fitness.
The café was significantly more crowded and significantly noisier this early in the morning, but Jenkins managed to slip into a booth as four construction workers gathered their hard hats and gloves and departed. The busboy cleared the table, and Maureen filled his coffee mug, not bothering to greet him; she was hopping busy. Jenkins sipped his coffee and pretended to consider the menu. Despite the usual rich aromas coming from the café’s kitchen—bacon and the sausage gravy spooned over biscuits—Jenkins didn’t have much of an appetite. He peeked out the bottom half of the window. A light fog had rolled in from Skagit Bay, dimming the streetlamps. Across the street a blue Ford parallel parked at the curb. Matt Lemore stepped out.
White puffs escaped Lemore’s mouth and nostrils as he waited for a car to pass, then he jogged across the street and stepped inside the café. He wore blue jeans, white tennis shoes, and a black down jacket that made him look even younger than the previous day. Spotting Jenkins, he crossed to the booth and slid onto the bench seat across the table. He blew into his hands, and his cheeks glowed red from the cold. “Have you been here awhile?” he asked over the clatter of silverware and plates, as well as voices in conversation.
“Just got here.”
Maureen dropped off an order at the table beside them, picked up a pot of coffee, and approached. She flipped over Lemore’s mug. He put a hand over the rim. “Decaf?”
Her eyebrows knitted together, then raised in a challenge. Lemore removed his hand. She filled the mug before moving on to the next table. “Thank you,” he said, calling after her.
“You’re learning. Slowly,” Jenkins said.
Lemore ripped open two sugar packs and stirred in the granules. Someone from the counter called out an order. The cash register rang.
“I think I have a way to find Viktor Federov,” Jenkins said.
Lemore sipped from his cup and placed the mug on the table, cradling it to warm his hands. “Yeah?” he said.
Jenkins nodded. “Maybe. Federov won’t speak to just anyone. I do think he’ll speak to me.”
“Okay. If you can find him, we can provide a secure number to call—”
“He won’t trust just anyone sent to find him. And he won’t trust a number provided to him by the CIA. He’s aware of my trial for espionage, and he sees the two of us as kindred spirits—each screwed by our agencies.”
Lemore sat back against the green vinyl. “Then, what are you proposing?”
“I’m proposing the only thing that might work. I go. I find him.”
“Go back into Russia?” Lemore asked with an uncertain smile.
Jenkins nodded.
Lemore chuckled, apparently thinking it a joke. The chuckle faded and the smile disappeared when he realized it wasn’t. He crumpled the empty sugar packs and set them on the table. “You’re serious?”
“I’m serious.” Jenkins sipped his coffee.
“Even if we got you in . . . It would set off all kinds of bells and whistles, and cameras all over Moscow. You’re not exactly inconspicuous, especially over there. The black population in Russia is less than one percent. Your light skin helps, but only to an extent.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t plan on living there,” Jenkins said. “And I have a way in . . . maybe. What I’ll need is a way out. For two.”
Lemore’s brow pinched in confusion. “Two?”
“I don’t come out without her . . . If it’s her.”
Lemore’s mouth opened but he spoke no words. He sipped his coffee, letting a few seconds pass. Finally, he said, “My job is only to confirm the asset.”
“You’ve run missions before?”