“Mashina yemu tozhe nravitsya,” Jenkins said. He likes the car also.
“Have either of you ever flown on a bird this beautiful?”
Jenkins shook his head. “It isn’t really English,” he said to Maria in reference to Studebaker’s slang. “But you’ll get used to it soon enough.”
“Somebody at home must like the two of you,” Studebaker continued. “It’s outfitted with food, drinks, and a place to lie down and sleep.”
“Is it fast?” Jenkins said. “I’m just looking to get home.”
“Then you are in for a real treat,” Studebaker said. “This baby will really light your fire.”
“He’s quoting a song by the Doors, an American band,” Jenkins explained to Maria. “It means the plane is very fast.”
Maria nodded to Studebaker that she understood. “Yes. Then ‘I’m on fire,’” she said. When neither Jenkins nor Studebaker responded, she added, “That is Bruce Springsteen. Yes? Born in the USA. ‘I’m on Fire.’”
Jenkins laughed. “The Boss. I think you’re going to do just fine in America, Maria. I think you’re going to fit in in no time.”
“Then let us go, Mr. Jenkins, and do like your mother says. Let us turn the page and see what happens next.”
Epilogue
Camano Island
Washington State
Jenkins spent a week at Langley, just long enough for his pain to lessen considerably and his appearance to further improve. Langley doctors checked him over from head to toe and generally were impressed with the medical attention he had received in Irkutsk. Before departing he also spent time in the disguise department with a makeup specialist who showed him how to minimize his bruising, so he wouldn’t scare his children. The makeup wouldn’t fool Alex, however, though it might cause her to raise an eyebrow.
Jenkins had the chance to meet Zenaida Petrekova at a safe house near Langley. She was going through the process of debriefing, but also being educated on her new home. She remained distressed that she would not be able to see her son or her daughter or her grandchildren in person, at least not for a considerable time. If Russia searched for her, her children would be the first persons they put under surveillance. Langley had arranged for an encrypted call, and she had FaceTimed them, advised them that she was well, but provided no further details about her work on behalf of the CIA or her current whereabouts.
“Do you think they know of your spying?”
“They are smart. I’m sure they have figured some things out on their own and are coming to terms with it. My son says now he knows why he could never get away with anything.” She smiled. “I miss them. I will miss them.”
“I wish you the best,” he said.
“And I you, Mr. Jenkins,” she said.
“Charlie,” he said.
“To use someone’s last name is a sign of respect, Mr. Jenkins.”
“Then I wish you the best, Ms. Petrekova.”
She hugged and thanked him again.
Jenkins felt comfortable leaving Petrekova and Kulikova because both had been treated well and responded in kind. Maria seemed almost embarrassed at the attention she received and at the accommodations provided. Lemore ensured she had Russian food, television programs, books, and other amenities to help ease her transition to the United States.
Toward the end of the week, Jenkins spoke to Lemore about Arkhip Mishkin and about his possibly taking a “vacation” to the United States after he retired. “Maybe a cruise ship,” Jenkins said. “He could get off in a port and simply disappear.”
Lemore said there were no guarantees.
“Will I see you again?” Maria asked Jenkins before he departed.
“I don’t know,” he said. “They’ll keep your location a closely guarded secret, but in time, and perhaps with a change in the Russian leadership, maybe those secrets will ease.”
“Then I will look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Jenkins. And coming to your home to meet your wife and your children.”
“I hope you can make a home here also, Ms. Kulikova.”
“In Russia we say, ‘V gostyakh khorosho, a doma luchshe.’ A guest’s house is nice, but it’s better at home. Thank you for all that you have done for me. All that you risked.” She reached up and warmly hugged Jenkins. He felt her tears on his cheek. After a moment, she pulled back and dabbed at her eyes. “Do vstrechi.” Until we meet again.
“Do vstrechi,” he said, and he hoped they had that chance one day. He hoped Maria Kulikova would one day be safe, and free to move about the world as she chose, but that seemed many years away.
A car picked up Jenkins at Paine Field in Everett and drove him home to Camano Island. The sun glistened off the Stillaguamish waters like diamonds, and it wasn’t until he crossed the Camano Gateway Bridge that he felt that he’d arrived at home. He’d completed a mission that had started with lies, but he had completed the objective, rescuing Paulina, Maria, and Zenaida. He felt good knowing he’d left no loose strings. He wished he could have rescued the other sisters, before Carl Emerson had betrayed them. They deserved far better for the sacrifices they had made. He realized the extent of those sacrifices more than ever before, getting to know both Kulikova and Petrekova. What they had given up and what they would continue to give up saddened him.
Would he undertake future operations? Maybe. But for now he was content just to be home, with the family he loved.
Jenkins’s new cell phone rang just as the car reached Camano Island on the other side of the bridge. He checked caller ID, but the caller was unidentified. He only had two numbers programmed into the new phone: Lemore and Alex. The area code, however, was for Camano Island.
Jenkins answered. “Hello?”
For a moment, there was silence. Then, “Dad?”
“CJ. Hi.”
“Hi, Dad. Mom got me my own phone.”
“I can see that.”
“You’re my first call.”
Jenkins fought his emotions. Every time he left, he asked himself why he had done so. He had everything he needed on his little farm—a woman he loved and who loved him, two beautiful children, a home, a place to call his own. And yet he had that longing. That need to be needed, to help those who asked for help. Maybe it was something in his genes, passed down from his ancestor who spent her life freeing slaves. He hoped he could find a balance.
“Am I? I’m honored,” he said. “Not one of your friends?”
“You are one of my friends. My best friend.”
Jenkins might have thought CJ was buttering him up, but the boy no longer had a need. He had his cell phone. He could hear the hesitation and the softness in his son’s voice. He missed his dad. Jenkins knew that feeling also. He’d lost his father at far too young an age. CJ might be growing, taller than his years, but he remained a boy at heart. Didn’t all men?
“I was wondering, when are you going to be home?” CJ asked.
Jenkins smiled. “I’m not sure.” He leaned over the front seat and directed his driver, using hand signals, to turn just past the Protestant church. “Why?”