45
Upon his early morning arrival in Chios, Charles Jenkins found an isolated hotel with a vacancy up the street from the beach where the fisherman had dropped him—away from the marina and shops, and close to the airport. To the left of the hotel he entered a vacant lot of scrub brush, removed the burka from his backpack, and pulled it on before walking into the hotel to secure a room.
Inside his room, he crashed for the first time in days and did not wake until nearly five in the afternoon. He called Alex, no longer cognizant of the time delay, and awoke her.
“You’re safe?” she asked.
“I’m safe.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in a hotel in Chios, not far from the airport. Have you heard from Mexico City?”
“Your papers should be completed late this afternoon. Mexico City has a flight leaving at nine p.m. through Athens. It arrives in Chios at six p.m. the day after tomorrow, Greek time. What’s your situation?”
“I’ve left a trail of misinformation, and at present I’m not picking up any surveillance. I’m hoping they’ve come to the conclusion that I changed the travel plans I’d been given and that I’m already gone, but the Russian FSB agent is dogged and intuitive. He won’t give up easily.”
“And you don’t exactly blend in.”
“Maybe not in America, but I’ve been wearing a burka when in public. So far it seems to be working.”
“For how long, though? How many six-foot-five-inch women dressed in burkas in Greece?”
“Hopefully more than one. Have you heard from David?”
“He landed in Costa Rica a couple of hours ago and picked up a tail at a travel agency. Tomorrow afternoon he’s going back to the agency. Hopefully whoever is following will think he’s picked up your travel papers and is bringing them to you.”
“Where’s he flying to?”
“Cyprus.”
“Makes sense.”
“I thought so. If you had abandoned the fisherman’s plans in Bursa you would have taken a bus to the Turkish coast, then across the Mediterranean Sea to Cyprus and from Cyprus into Israel.”
“I hope he has frequent flier miles,” Jenkins said. He paused. He felt guilt for having lied to Alex and for worrying her. He knew the strain she was under. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay as long as I stay busy and keep my mind occupied.”
“I’m sorry, Alex. I’m sorry to be putting you through this. I—”
“Don’t start apologizing,” she said. “Just get home. We’ll all be waiting for you here.”
He knew she was projecting strength so he would also. Stay on mission. “I’m changing cell phones,” he said. “You have the second number?”
“I’m changing on my end as well. I’ll give Jake the new numbers when he calls.”
“I’m going to go out after dark and see if I can scout out a place where Jake and I can meet.”
This time she paused. He heard her voice catch. “Be careful, Charlie. Make sure Jake is careful.”
“He makes the drop and heads straight back. Hopefully I’ll be right behind him.”
“I love you, Charlie. Come home to me.”
“I will.”
He disconnected and walked to the window. At an angle he had a sliver of a view of the Aegean Sea, and across it to Çeşme. He wondered whether Federov stood there on the other side, perhaps at the marina, looking back across the strait, also wondering.
Federov disconnected the call and went to retrieve Alekseyov, who he had instructed to show Jenkins’s photograph around the marina in the unlikely event anyone had seen the American. As he reached the dock, he saw Alekseyov finishing a conversation with a man near a fuel pump.
“Nothing,” Alekseyov said when he reached Federov. “No one has seen him.”
“Because he’s not here in Çeşme.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just got off the phone with my contact in America. Mr. Jenkins’s likely carrier landed in San José, Costa Rica, and went to a travel agency just before it closed. Surveillance picked him up again when he exited the agency and walked to a nearby hotel.”
“Which would make it convenient to walk back in the morning and pick up papers,” Alekseyov said.
“Shortly after Mr. Sloane checked into his hotel he made travel arrangements to fly to Cyprus tomorrow afternoon.”
“Jenkins took a different bus in Bursa, as you suspected,” Alekseyov said.
“That would seem to be the logical conclusion. Alert our assets in Cyprus but tell them to forget the marinas. Mr. Jenkins would have arrived by now. Tell them to get eyes on the airport in Paphos where the carrier is arriving.”
“Jenkins could seek to cross to Israel by boat,” Alekseyov said.
“Which is why we need to end this in Cyprus.”
As they made their way back toward the street, Federov noticed the man at the fuel pump talking to a second man dressed in shorts, flip-flops, and a fleece jacket—a boat owner perhaps. The man at the pump pointed to Federov and Alekseyov, and Federov deduced he was telling the boat owner of his interaction with Alekseyov.
Federov stopped.
“Something wrong?” Alekseyov asked.
Federov realized he had just made a deduction about the two men based upon unconfirmed information, which was exactly what he was doing with respect to Charles Jenkins. He’d deduced, based on Jenkins’s excursion to Bursa, and the lack of any sighting of him by any of the bus drivers arriving in Çeşme, that Jenkins had abandoned plans to get to Çeşme and to get across the Aegean Sea to Greece. If Federov was on the run, he, too, would create just as much uncertainty by putting out as much misinformation as he could about his intentions.
“The two men talking down at the dock, did you speak to both men, or just the one?”
“I didn’t see the other man.”
“They appear to know one another.”
“What does it matter?”
“The information regarding the carrier has been made readily available to us, hasn’t it?” Federov asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that this carrier”—he pulled out a notepad—“has used his own name to purchase his tickets, and to make a hotel reservation. Much the way Charles Jenkins made his intentions regarding the hotel in Bursa easy for us to follow.”
“You think it is to focus our attention on the wrong place again.”
“Or the wrong man. If you were seeking to escape, and you knew we would learn of your travel plans from the fishermen, what would you do?”
“I’d change the plans,” Alekseyov said.
Federov smiled. “No, you would make us believe you changed the plans. Then when we learned of your supposed new plans, we would think we had outsmarted you, but maybe in so doing, you outsmarted us.”
“You think Charles Jenkins could be here in Çeşme? But no one has seen him. He was not on any of the buses. We’ve asked the drivers here and at stops along the way.”
Federov looked again to the two men at the end of the pier. The one Alekseyov had not spoken with was making his way back to a boat. If Jenkins was in Çeşme, and he was seeking passage to Chios, he would come to the marina to hire a boat, or to find out where he could do so.
Federov started walking down the pier toward the man.
“Colonel?” Alekseyov said.
“Do not call anyone . . . yet.”
Fifteen minutes later, Federov hurried up the marina’s dock. “Jenkins is here,” he said to Alekseyov. “Tell our assets to concentrate on Chios. Tell them I want the travel itineraries of any passengers flying from Seattle, Washington, to Athens and . . . No.” He stopped. “Tell them I want the identities of any passengers flying to Chios from the United States, or flying under an American passport. Provide every agent with Mr. Jenkins’s photograph. I suspect this has been intended to be, what do the American’s say . . . a false trail? Whatever. I do not intend to fall for it again.”
46
Exhausted, bleary-eyed from a lack of sleep, and sick to his stomach, Jake looked out the window as his flight approached the kidney-shaped island of Chios. The landmass rose from the Aegean Sea’s crystal-blue waters to a ridge of lush vegetation. Houses with red tile roofs descended down from that ridge to hotels and shops along the shoreline, where the water was tinted a neon green, and gentle waves lapped against a sandy coastline. The view reminded Jake of the trips he’d taken to Hawaii with David and his mother, back when she’d been alive. It looked like paradise, and under other conditions it might very well have been.
But not for him. Not this trip.
Across the sea, which he assumed Charlie had now crossed, Jake could see Turkey. No one had told Jake any of the specifics of Charlie’s efforts to get out of Russia or Turkey, and he knew that had been purposeful. He also knew why. If caught and interrogated, Jake could not tell those questioning him anything of substance. How long it would take such men to reach that conclusion, however, and what they might do to ensure Jake told the truth, was both sobering and frightening.
Jake had spoken to Charlie before getting on the plane in Athens—by way of Frankfurt, Germany. Charlie told Jake to deplane as if he were a college student visiting the island as a tourist. When entering the terminal, Jake was not to look for him. When satisfied Jake was not being followed, Charlie would contact Jake and tell him where to go and what to do.
In keeping with the tourist theme, Jake wore shorts, Teva sandals, and his jacket over a T-shirt, though the January temperature in Chios wasn’t exactly balmy. Just before they landed, the pilot announced that daytime temperatures had reached an afternoon high that he calculated to be sixty-one degrees Fahrenheit. When the plane’s wheels touched down at just after 6:00 p.m., dusk had descended over the island. Jake grabbed his bag from the overhead compartment along with the wide-brimmed hat he’d bought in Mexico, and he tried to match the other passengers’ demeanor and enthusiasm as he walked down the stairs to the tarmac. He hoped it was convincing.
Viktor Federov waited inside the terminal building at Chios Island National Airport with three other FSB officers, including Simon Alekseyov. Each was stationed with a view of the airport’s two gates. They had stood in the same locations the day before, the same locations at which they would stand tomorrow, if necessary. The men dressed as locals awaiting arriving passengers—shorts or jeans, sandals, and lightweight shirts, with windbreakers to conceal their firearms. The tiny airport accommodated only eighteen to twenty arriving flights per day, all of them from larger airports within Greece.
At just after 6:00 p.m., an overhead voice echoed from the terminal speakers announcing the arrival of flight GQ240 from Athens. According to Federov’s FSB sources, three passengers had boarded traveling under US passports. Two were newly married, the trip to Chios an apparent honeymoon. The third passenger, a young man, was traveling alone. Each of the FSB officers had been provided passport photographs.
Federov straightened as the first passengers entered the doors of the terminal building. The young man walked quickly to the line forming at customs and immigration.
Federov touched his ear. “The subject has just entered the building and is standing at the back of the line.”
“I have him,” Alekseyov said. Alekseyov sat on a bench across the terminal. Since this was the last arriving flight of the evening, Federov sent the other two officers to retrieve their rented car. Federov listened closely to the messages being broadcast over the loudspeakers and watched the young man for any reaction to any message. Federov saw none.
The young man stepped forward in line. Was he looking for someone? Jenkins? A contact perhaps? Federov doubted Jenkins would be so bold as to arrange a drop at the airport, but this young man could also be acting as a go-between, someone to get the documents to a second courier, who would then take them to Jenkins.
The young man stepped to the immigration booth and slid the officer his passport. Federov took another step closer and heard the officer ask the purpose for the young man’s visit to Chios.
“Vacation,” he said.
The customs officer stamped the passport and slid it back. The young man picked up his bag and walked toward the terminal’s front doors. Federov and Alekseyov fell in step behind him.
The young man stopped, pulled out a cell phone, and pressed it to his ear. An incoming call. He continued to talk as he walked outside the terminal doors and crossed the road to a taxi stand. A stiff breeze rustled the leaves of palm trees.
Federov’s car pulled to the curb. He and Alekseyov slipped into the back seat. The taxi pulled from the airport onto the two-lane road hugging the coastline, driving north, into Chios.
“Give him room,” Federov said.
Minutes later, the taxi stopped at a hotel not far from the marina. The young man stepped out and entered the lobby.
“Pull across the street,” Federov said. His driver did so.
The hotel rooms were located off an outdoor balcony, with views of the marina. After several minutes the young man emerged and climbed the outdoor steps to the second floor. He entered the room second from the end.
“How long do we wait?” the driver asked.
Federov rolled down his window and lit a cigarette. “We shall see.”
Jake descended the stairs to the tarmac, carrying his duffel bag and his backpack. He bypassed the luggage cart and proceeded inside the terminal, standing in line behind the couple he’d met briefly on the plane. Newlyweds from San Francisco, they were honeymooning in the Greek isles and already complaining about the cool temperature.
Jake resisted the urge to look around the terminal and, despite the comfortable temperature, he felt perspiration trickling down his sides. The back of his shirt clung to his skin. He wasn’t about to remove his jacket.
The cell phone in his coat pocket vibrated. Jake reached inside to retrieve it, pressing it to his ear so he could hear over the echoing voice thrumming from the airport speakers.
“Do not look around,” Jenkins said.
“Okay.”
“The terminal is being watched by at least two men. Probably more. Smile like you’re happy to be receiving this call.”
Jake did.
“Now, look to your right. Do you see the man in the blue windbreaker across the terminal?”
Jake did. “Yes.”
“Laugh again.”
Jake did. The woman standing in front of him turned and smiled.
“Now, look to your left. Do you see the blond-haired man seated on the bench?”
Jake turned his head to the left. “Yes. What do I do?”
“Nothing. Just proceed forward.”
The newlyweds stepped to one of two booths at the front of the line. Jake stepped to the booth on his right when the couple in front of him departed.
“Passport,” the customs officer said.
Jake handed the man his passport. The officer opened it and considered the picture, then considered Jake. “Remove your hat, please.”
Jake did as the customs officer asked.
The man eyed him for another moment. Then he set down the passport and typed on the computer keyboard. “What is the purpose of your visit?”
“Pleasure,” Jake said.
The man pecked at the keyboard, then stamped the passport and handed it back to Jake. “Enjoy your stay in Chios.”
Jake picked up his bag and stepped into the terminal. When he did, the man on the bench stood. The man to his right also began to move toward him.
“What do I do?” Jake said into the phone.
“Just walk forward. Do not look around. Smile and look animated for a second. You’re happy to be in Chios.”
Jake tried, but wasn’t certain he was convincing. He departed through the terminal doors. A car pulled to the curb. Jake envisioned the man in the passenger seat stepping out, grabbing him, and shoving Jake into the back seat, but the car drove past him.
Jake let out
a held breath.
“You all right?” Jenkins asked.
“Yeah. I’m okay.” Jake started for the taxi stand.
“Do not take a taxi. Get a rental car. Take a right out of the parking lot and follow signs for GR-74. Stay on that road for thirty-five minutes. Don’t speed. The roads in Greece are dangerous and there are few streetlamps.”
“Seriously?” Jake said. “That’s what I’m supposed to be worried about? Because at the moment I would say the lack of streetlamps is the least of my problems.”
Jake heard Charlie laugh. Then he said, “I’ll call you when you get your car and provide you with further instructions. It’s good to hear your voice, Jake.”
“It’s good to hear yours also,” Jake said.
Federov considered his watch. They had waited outside the hotel for nearly an hour but no one had come. It might be another hour. It might not be until the morning. Tired and frustrated, he tossed the butt of a cigarette out the window and stepped from the car. The other officers, not expecting the sudden move, scrambled to catch up.
“What about waiting until he makes contact with Jenkins?” Alekseyov asked.
“If he has Mr. Jenkins’s travel papers I will convince him to tell us where he intends to meet him.”
“He might not be meeting Jenkins. It might just be a drop,” Alekseyov said.
“Then I will have someone Mr. Jenkins does not know make that drop.”
Federov shuffled up the steps to the second-floor landing and made his way to the second-to-last door on the right. Reaching it, he removed his weapon and knocked. When the young man pulled the door open, Federov did not wait for an invitation to enter. He shoved the man backward. The young man started to protest but Federov quickly covered his mouth with his hand and showed him his weapon. “Not a word. Do you understand?”
The young man nodded, his eyes wide.
“Check the luggage,” Federov said to the others.
They rifled through luggage and cut the lining of the young man’s suitcase. Federov lifted the man’s jacket, flicked open a switchblade, and cut the lining. “Search the room,” he said.
The Eighth Sister Page 24