Jenkins disconnected and slipped his phone in his jacket pocket. CJ’s line was in one spot, not moving. “Let me see.” He took the fishing pole, still thinking of what Federov had told him. “I think it’s just a snag, CJ.”
“Really?” the boy said, disappointed.
Jenkins pointed the tip of the pole at the snag and yanked the lure free. He handed the pole back to his son. “Reel it in and cast again.”
“Let’s just go in,” CJ said. “We’re not going to catch anything.”
Jenkins put a hand on top of the boy’s head. “You’re going to get a lot of snags in life, CJ, but you can’t let the snags keep you from trying. You keep trying and eventually you’ll catch something big again.”
“You really think so?”
“Charlie? Charlie!”
Alex called out to him from the porch. Everyone else had gone inside. “You’re going to want to come up and watch the news. You’re never going to believe it. David is taping it.”
Through the large windows, Jenkins could see the guests gathered in the family room. They had their backs to him, facing the glow of the flat-screen television.
Jenkins nearly put down his pole. He was tempted to go up and find out what exactly had happened, but he decided he knew enough. He thought of Viktor Federov and of Carl Emerson, and of justice, often meted out in ways unexpected, for all of them. He wanted nothing more than to watch his son cast his lure far out over the water, and reel in his line with a fisherman’s faith that, despite exceedingly long odds, this cast would be different.
“Flip back the bail and cast again,” he said to CJ.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A few years ago, I read the novel The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah. I was so impressed with the novel, the documentation, and the details that I wrote the author. We share the same literary agency. I asked her, “Where did you find this story?” Kristin responded, “Sometimes good stories fall into our laps, and we just need to get out of the way.”
I agree. The Eighth Sister is not a true story. It is complete fiction. But I did receive a call from a gentleman who had a story to tell. I took him up on the invitation, and that meeting spurred me to write this novel. I’m grateful to have had coffee with him, and for the help he lent me.
In the midst of writing this novel, I met another man at an event in Seattle. He told me that he worked in the Soviet Union at the Metropol Hotel during the 1970s. It was not a hotel at that time. We got to chatting, and he, too, had another career. He, too, helped with the writing of this novel.
In addition, I want to thank John Black, whom I met while teaching a writing class. John is a former international oil and gas lawyer who worked for oil companies in Moscow and Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk, Russia, from 1991 to 2008. He was trained in the Russian language by the US military during the Vietnam conflict. John read the manuscript and helped me with its accuracy. Thanks also to Rodger Davis, who lived and worked in the Soviet Union and contacted individuals to further help me write the novel. Rodger gave me great tips on Russia and Russian culture. He introduced me to several books as well: Peter the Great, by Robert K. Massie; Black Wind, White Snow, by Charles Clover; and Wheel of Fortune, by Thane Gustafson. Rodger is a talented writer and generous colleague. Thank you also to Tim Tigner, a novelist and a friend. Tim worked in the Soviet Union for a number of years and has written about the country in his novels, which include Coercion and The Lies of Spies. Tim also recommended Bill Browder’s book, Red Notice, which I devoured.
I also want to thank Jon Coon, who was trained as a hard-hat diver and explosives specialist and served as a dive safety officer and project leader on commercial salvage, archaeology, and scientific projects internationally. He’s written three novels and numerous articles. His photographs have illustrated textbooks and magazines for more than thirty years. He is a PADI course director, former PADI regional manager, cave diver, and trains emergency first response instructors.
I am indebted to all of these people for their help. If there are mistakes, they are mine and mine alone.
In addition to the above, I read a number of other books, fiction and nonfiction, including A Gentleman in Moscow, by Amor Towles; The Main Enemy: The Inside Story of the CIA’s Final Showdown with the KGB, by Milton Bearden and James Risen; Moscow City, by A. R. Zander; The Honest Spy, by Andreas Kollender; The Defector, by Daniel Silva; The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, by John Le Carré; Gorky Park, by Martin Cruz Smith; and Istanbul Passage, by Joseph Kanon.
I also spent three weeks in Russia. In 1998, a Russian opera singer, who had defected years earlier from the Soviet Union, and who had sung at my wedding in Seattle, was going home. She offered to help facilitate a trip to Russia. My wife and I, and our then eighteen-month-old son, my brother-in-law and sister-in-law, my parents, and my wife’s parents, took her up on the offer. Prior to departing, my brother-in-law and I decided to get flattop haircuts. We were told that conditions in Russia could be primitive and washing our hair would be a pain. (That proved inaccurate.) I got a flattop. My brother-in-law chickened out. We also decided to wear navy-blue berets to keep our heads warm. Are you starting to get the picture?
When we arrived at Sheremetyevo International Airport in Moscow, the officer checking my passport sternly uttered, “Nyet.” I was taken out of the passport line to a room where all of my belongings were thoroughly searched. When we finally arrived at the Hotel Rossiya in Moscow, each couple received a room assignment. Interestingly, we were assigned every other room on the same floor, and in each of our rooms hung a large mirror on the wall of the adjacent, and presumably empty, room. We joked that we were being watched, and each morning I’d parade in front of the mirror naked. That first afternoon, we all agreed to take a short nap and to meet for dinner at 6:00 p.m.
None of us made it.
Each of us, all eight adults, said we tried to get up from the bed and couldn’t, that we felt drugged when we tried to sit up. We didn’t meet until the following morning.
We ventured out to Red Square and the Kremlin. As we walked the grounds from St. Basil’s to the Lenin Mausoleum and other attractions, my brother-in-law approached and said, “We’re being followed.” He then pointed out a woman in white boots. He said, “She’s been with us everywhere we’ve gone.” And she continued to follow us through the GUM department store and other locations. We went to Detsky Mir, the huge children’s toy store, and we walked around Lubyanka Square and marveled at what had been the famed KGB headquarters. The woman came with us, until we returned to the Hotel Rossiya.
I also recall that when we went to the Church of the Twelve Apostles, we encountered a group of schoolchildren. They looked at us and smiled knowingly. One young boy, finding the courage, walked up to me and said, “You military.” I assured him I wasn’t. My assurances were not believed. His friends, now emboldened, came forward and soon many were repeating, “You military.”
So, if we hadn’t attracted enough attention, two nights later, my brother-in-law, in search of a stone from Red Square, convinced me to go out at midnight to smoke a Cuban cigar. We stood near the platform where Ivan the Terrible was said to have executed many. There was a small, loose stone in the bricks. My brother-in-law said, “How do I get it?”
I said, “Drop your cigar and when you pick it up, pick up the stone.”
My brother-in-law dropped his cigar. When he did, a car across the square turned on its headlights and shot straight for us, stopping about ten feet in front of us. My brother-in-law, concerned, said, “What should I do?”
I said, “Shut up.” Then I said, “Step on your cigar.”
He did, and we walked back to the hotel on our best behavior.
I later learned, through research, that the Hotel Rossiya was the hotel where all international visitors were placed. I also learned that when the hotel was purchased to be remodeled, they found listening devices, cameras, and pipes, apparently to dispense gas, embedded in the walls. The hotel had to be torn down. A park was crea
ted. Vladimir Putin took credit. I also learned that Red Square had directional microphones everywhere, and they were said to be so sensitive they could pick up a whisper. I don’t doubt it.
So, were the Russians interested in me and my family? Probably not. We were a pretty boring lot in terms of careers and espionage. But all of the above sure made for great intrigue, didn’t it? And that was the beginning of my fascination with Russia. We all agree that the trip to Moscow, St. Petersburg, and Zagorsk was the most interesting and fascinating we have experienced. Russia is a country of incredible beauty and wealth and just as incredible poverty. The people generally walked with their heads down, as if hoping not to be noticed, but when approached, they would go out of their way to assist us and take us wherever we were trying to go. We were not on a tour, which meant interaction in newly formed food stores and restaurants was imperative. Few spoke English. In St. Petersburg, we stayed in an apartment the family had lived in for five generations. They gave it to us because the rent we paid for the week was more than the owner made in a year. I watched ice float up the Neva River and thought of Napoleon.
A friend said I had to go back to write this novel. That was just not in the cards. So I pulled out my photo albums, and read many books, and I went back over the restaurants we went to and the places we explored.
Russia was the last big trip I took with my father. He died of melanoma on Father’s Day in 2008. I want to remember him in the square in St. Petersburg, kissing my mother, who bent one leg backward, like a movie star in some iconic film. I keep that picture on my wall.
I could never write a Charles Jenkins novel without acknowledging and thanking my law school roommate and dear friend, Charles Jenkins. Chaz, as we called him, is a living legend. At six foot five and 230 pounds of sculpted muscle, we were in awe of him in the weight room, but more so outside of it. Chaz is a gentle soul, quiet and funny with a unique perspective of the happenings in life. A good man and a wonderful father, he’s also one of my dearest friends. I told Chaz long ago that he was larger than life, and that someday I’d write a book and use his name and likeness. Now I have. I also hope I captured his essence.
Thanks to Meg Ruley, Rebecca Scherer, and the team at the Jane Rotrosen Agency, my incredible agents. I am so blessed to have them. They are tireless advocates, knowledgeable advisors, and truly wonderful people who make travel to New York always a blast.
Thanks to Thomas & Mercer. This is the tenth book I’ve written for them, and they have made each one better with their edits and suggestions. They have sold and promoted me and my novels all over the world, and I have had the pleasure of meeting the Amazon Publishing teams from the UK, Ireland, France, Germany, Italy, and Spain. Wonderful people in every sense of the word. I am so very grateful for all they have done and continue to do for me and for my novels.
Thanks to Sarah Shaw, author relations, who never seems to have a bad day. She is always smiling. Again, thank you for always brightening my day.
Thanks to Sean Baker, head of production; Laura Barrett, production manager; and Oisin O’Malley, art director. I love the covers and the titles of each of my novels, and I have them to thank. Thanks to Dennelle Catlett, Amazon Publishing PR, for all the work promoting me and my novels. Dennelle takes care of me whenever I’m traveling and it always feels like first-class. Thanks to the marketing team, Gabrielle Guarnero, Laura Costantino, and Kyla Pigoni, for all of their dedicated work helping me to create an author platform both interesting and accessible to you, the reader. Thanks to publisher Mikyla Bruder, associate publisher Galen Maynard, and Jeff Belle, vice president of Amazon Publishing, all truly good people.
Special thanks to Thomas & Mercer’s editorial director, Gracie Doyle. She is with me from the concept to the final written novel, always with ideas on how to make it better. She pushes me to write the best novels I can, and I’m so very lucky to have her on my team. She’s also become a close friend whom I enjoy traveling with.
Thank you to Charlotte Herscher, developmental editor. This is book ten together, and she has the unenviable task of telling me when things in the book don’t work. I pout for an hour, realize she’s right, and get back to work making the novel better. Thanks to Scott Calamar, copyeditor. When you recognize a weakness, it is a wonderful thing—because then you can ask for help. He makes me look a lot smarter than I am, and I’m grateful he does so.
Thanks to Tami Taylor, who runs my website, creates my newsletters, and creates some of my foreign-language book covers. Thanks to Pam Binder and the Pacific Northwest Writers Association for their support of my work. Thanks to Seattle7Writers, a nonprofit collective of Pacific Northwest authors who foster and support the written word.
Thanks to all of you tireless readers, for finding my novels and for your incredible support of my work all over the world. Thanks for posting your reviews and for e-mailing me to let me know you’ve enjoyed my novels. It sounds trite, but you push me to put out a book worthy of your time.
Thank you to my wife, Cristina, and my two children, Joe and Catherine. Joe went off to college four years ago and I thought that was a tough day. This year Catherine followed. Catherine is our baby girl. She is my Bubster, as everyone on Facebook has come to know. She makes me laugh and smile. Just seeing her makes me happy. Taking her to college was going to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done as a dad. And then one day, she got word that she’d been accepted to her first choice, a school close by. Her first words to me were, “Dad, now I don’t have to go.” She did have to go, for herself, and she’s having a ball and doing wonderfully. I get to see her at sporting events, and for dinners, and I see how happy she is and I imagine all the wonderful years God has in store for her and for all of us. I love the classic movies, like Peter Pan. Time to crow, Catherine. Time to fly. Love you.
Truly blessed. I give him all my thanks for all the special people God has placed in my life.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2018 Douglas Sonders
Robert Dugoni is the critically acclaimed New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and Amazon bestselling author of the Tracy Crosswhite Series, which has sold more than 4 million books worldwide. He is also the author of the bestselling David Sloane Series; the stand-alone novels The 7th Canon, Damage Control, and The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell, for which he won an AudioFile Earphones Award for the narration; and the nonfiction exposé The Cyanide Canary, a Washington Post Best Book of the Year. He is the recipient of the Nancy Pearl Award for Fiction and the Friends of Mystery Spotted Owl Award for best novel set in the Pacific Northwest. He is a two-time finalist for the International Thriller Award, the Harper Lee Prize for Legal Fiction, the Silver Falchion Award for mystery, and the Mystery Writers of America Edgar Award. His books are sold in more than twenty-five countries and have been translated into more than two dozen languages. Visit his website at www.robertdugoni.com.
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