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Authors: Shawn Hopkins
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son is?”
Jack raised his arms, defenseless against the question. “We weren’t supposed to be back for another ten days. The neighbor saw them loading up her car with luggage the other day… I can’t get a hold of them on the phone. I guess I’ll drive over to her house after you leave. Maybe she just took him there.”
Walking back to the mantle, Johnson touched the wedding photo Jack had been staring at. “How long have you been married?”
“Five years.”
“How long did you know each other beforehand?”
“Not long at all, actually.”
“What’s your mother-in-law’s name?” He left the picture.
“Viktoriya Arsov.”
“Russian.”
“Yeah.”
The agent looked out the window. “She been here long?”
“In the northeast? As long as I’ve known her.”
“Which hasn’t been that long.”
Jack was confused by this sudden string of questions. “I don’t understand how that’s relevant.”
“Like I said, at this point I have no idea what is and isn’t relevant. Do you mind if I pull your phone records, to see where that text came from?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Email?”
The Jerry in him was starting to tingle. Glancing at his books, he tried smiling. “Don’t you think you’re monitoring them already?”
“I doubt you made the cut,” he quipped. “Go check your mother-in-law’s house. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can get the security tapes from the ship before they erase them.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your help. I didn’t know where else to go.”
Johnson nodded his head toward the books, and Jack figured he’d had his eye on the one about the FBI setting up the 1993 World Trade Center bombing. But that was something that had been reported by the New York Times and Dan Rather and was a matter of public record now that the transcripts between Emad Salem and his FBI handlers were out of the bag. “Guess we’re not all that bad after all,” Johnson said.
Jack forced a humble smile. “No, not all of you.” He walked him to the door.
Before stepping outside, Johnson looked him in the eyes. “Listen,” he said. “I may be way out of line by saying this, but I think I’d want to hear it if I were in your shoes.”
“What?”
“From everything you just told me, there is no actual evidence to suggest that your wife is dead.”
That stunned him. “They searched the whole ship…”
“Security and the Nassau police? Doubt it.”
Unbelief and a flare of hope flickered in Jack’s chest.
Recognizing it, Johnson held up his hand. “Don’t go jumping for joy. I just don’t want to see you do anything stupid. Also, you should be careful what you tell your son. Give me some time before you write her off, okay?” He handed him his business card. “You don’t know anything yet.”
All Jack could do was nod and accept the information.
After the FBI pulled away from his house, Jack closed the door and leaned his back against it. Sliding to a sitting position, he hugged his knees to his chest. He wept there for fifteen minutes, the arctic terrain inside melting away and returning to an emotional jungle full of life and pain. When he finally wiped the last tear from his eye, he got up and headed out the door. He was pretty certain that he wouldn’t find Viktoriya or Joseph at her house, but he didn’t know where else to look.
He made sure to lock the door behind him.
12
The sun was nowhere to be seen, and only the faint afterglow of twilight was left to illuminate the skies over Viktoriya’s home some twenty-five minutes away. Jack pulled the Sonata into her driveway, the headlights reaching out in front of the car and sweeping over the small house before settling on the white garage doors at the top of the asphalt stretch. He turned the ignition off and got out of the car, studying the property for a few seconds. Nothing seemed out of place, but as he walked to the front, he knew that the house was entirely too dark for anyone awake to be there. He
Jack raised his arms, defenseless against the question. “We weren’t supposed to be back for another ten days. The neighbor saw them loading up her car with luggage the other day… I can’t get a hold of them on the phone. I guess I’ll drive over to her house after you leave. Maybe she just took him there.”
Walking back to the mantle, Johnson touched the wedding photo Jack had been staring at. “How long have you been married?”
“Five years.”
“How long did you know each other beforehand?”
“Not long at all, actually.”
“What’s your mother-in-law’s name?” He left the picture.
“Viktoriya Arsov.”
“Russian.”
“Yeah.”
The agent looked out the window. “She been here long?”
“In the northeast? As long as I’ve known her.”
“Which hasn’t been that long.”
Jack was confused by this sudden string of questions. “I don’t understand how that’s relevant.”
“Like I said, at this point I have no idea what is and isn’t relevant. Do you mind if I pull your phone records, to see where that text came from?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Email?”
The Jerry in him was starting to tingle. Glancing at his books, he tried smiling. “Don’t you think you’re monitoring them already?”
“I doubt you made the cut,” he quipped. “Go check your mother-in-law’s house. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can get the security tapes from the ship before they erase them.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your help. I didn’t know where else to go.”
Johnson nodded his head toward the books, and Jack figured he’d had his eye on the one about the FBI setting up the 1993 World Trade Center bombing. But that was something that had been reported by the New York Times and Dan Rather and was a matter of public record now that the transcripts between Emad Salem and his FBI handlers were out of the bag. “Guess we’re not all that bad after all,” Johnson said.
Jack forced a humble smile. “No, not all of you.” He walked him to the door.
Before stepping outside, Johnson looked him in the eyes. “Listen,” he said. “I may be way out of line by saying this, but I think I’d want to hear it if I were in your shoes.”
“What?”
“From everything you just told me, there is no actual evidence to suggest that your wife is dead.”
That stunned him. “They searched the whole ship…”
“Security and the Nassau police? Doubt it.”
Unbelief and a flare of hope flickered in Jack’s chest.
Recognizing it, Johnson held up his hand. “Don’t go jumping for joy. I just don’t want to see you do anything stupid. Also, you should be careful what you tell your son. Give me some time before you write her off, okay?” He handed him his business card. “You don’t know anything yet.”
All Jack could do was nod and accept the information.
After the FBI pulled away from his house, Jack closed the door and leaned his back against it. Sliding to a sitting position, he hugged his knees to his chest. He wept there for fifteen minutes, the arctic terrain inside melting away and returning to an emotional jungle full of life and pain. When he finally wiped the last tear from his eye, he got up and headed out the door. He was pretty certain that he wouldn’t find Viktoriya or Joseph at her house, but he didn’t know where else to look.
He made sure to lock the door behind him.
12
The sun was nowhere to be seen, and only the faint afterglow of twilight was left to illuminate the skies over Viktoriya’s home some twenty-five minutes away. Jack pulled the Sonata into her driveway, the headlights reaching out in front of the car and sweeping over the small house before settling on the white garage doors at the top of the asphalt stretch. He turned the ignition off and got out of the car, studying the property for a few seconds. Nothing seemed out of place, but as he walked to the front, he knew that the house was entirely too dark for anyone awake to be there. He
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