“Perhaps,” Sokalov said, “your time would be better spent directing your division’s attention to finding a solution, rather than casting aspersions, Gavril. That is, after all, what the chairman asked of us.”
“And do you have something?” Lebedev asked, falling directly into Sokalov’s trap.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said, and again directed his attention to Petrov. “My office is currently monitoring classified communications that indicate we just may obtain something the Americans would consider valuable enough to trade for the general’s two men and keep this matter strictly confidential.”
“And what is that?” Petrov asked.
“Not what, but who,” Sokalov said, now the cat playing the three mice. “Charles Jenkins.”
For a moment the announcement was met with silence. Lebedev looked like he had deflated.
“He has returned?” Petrov asked.
“It appears so,” Sokalov said, empowered by the information. “My office has worked diligently, as you asked, Director Petrov, to find a solution the Kremlin can use. The task force formed under my command to identify and capture any remaining American assets known as the seven sisters has picked up communications through an encrypted chat room that indicate Mr. Jenkins is in Russia.”
“Why was my office not made aware of this development?” Petrov asked.
“With all due respect, Director, I believed it wise to keep knowledge of this development to a limited few within my department to ensure the proper management and dissemination of the information. My intent was to provide you with a complete debriefing when Mr. Jenkins was in hand.”
“Mr. Jenkins has been in Russia twice before . . . that we know of,” Lebedev said, puffing air back into his deflated torso and looking to Petrov for support. “And he escaped. Russia is a large country. Knowing he is here and capturing him are two different things.”
“Yes. A good point, Gavril,” Sokalov said. “But I have it on very good and reliable authority that Mr. Jenkins has been traced to Irkutsk, that we have eyes on him, and that his capture could be imminent.”
“Do you wish to provide us the specific details of this operation?” Lebedev asked, not sounding convinced.
“I would. But as you said, Gavril, we seem to have a leak in the chain of information, and I am concerned that leak could result in someone tipping off Mr. Jenkins and result in his fleeing at this very critical time. In the interest of protecting the president, and those within the Kremlin, as well as the chairman, I opted to handle this matter internally.”
Lebedev looked as if he was chewing on a piece of bitter leather.
“When will you have information on Mr. Jenkins’s capture?” Petrov asked.
Sokalov made a showing of checking his watch. “Within the hour, I would say. I will monitor the situation closely and advise you when it has been accomplished.”
“Do so,” Petrov said.
With that, they moved toward the conference room doors. “But understand, Dmitry,” Petrov said, drawing their attention. He wore a thin, malevolent smile. “That your decision to act alone means that you alone will receive the Kremlin’s praise and gratitude when the operation succeeds, perhaps even this very position as chairman.”
Sokalov deflected the praise. “I do not wish—”
Petrov cut him off. “And you and you alone will suffer the Kremlin’s wrath and castigation if you fail.”
50
Irkutsk Meatpacking Plant
Irkutsk, Russia
Alexander Zhomov found the Irkutsk Meatpacking Plant in an industrial area of the city, across the Ushakovka River. A U-shaped building, it had loading bays perpendicular to the water and a butcher shop accessed from the street that sold fresh meat to the public. Zhomov dismissed the butcher shop as a likely holding place of Charles Jenkins and Maria Kulikova and focused on the two building wings. A quick surveillance revealed the black car into which Charles Jenkins had been forced, which was now parked outside a bay door alongside the car that had taken Kulikova away from the train station.
Zhomov sat in his car and studied a 3D exterior layout of the building he accessed from his laptop. To the east of the slaughterhouse was a mall. To the west, a vacant lot with grazing cattle and sheep. A stockyard. The stockyard included electrical towers with lines extending to the building. On the back side of the building facing the stockyard were two-story high windows, some boarded over. At the end of the building was a metal staircase ascending to second-story doors. Neither was an option. He would be too exposed.