The Eighth Sister

by Robert Dugoni

  “The two agents whose names you disclosed originally became CIA assets in Mexico City, where you also worked, correct?”

  “I didn’t know that at the time.”

  “But when Agent Daugherty told you both agents had died, you said, quote, ‘What have I done?’ didn’t you?”

  “I might have said that, yes. I couldn’t believe it. Carl Emerson told me that both of those agents were safe and the operations had been over for years.”

  “Agent Daugherty also told you that the CIA had no record of you being reactivated. Didn’t he tell you that?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  Velasquez kept up her attack for another forty-five minutes. Jenkins did his best to weather the storm. Beneath the confident exterior, however, Jenkins felt his T-shirt sticking to his back.

  “Isn’t it true, Mr. Jenkins, that you didn’t tell Agent Daugherty the whole story because you didn’t know the whole story when you met with him; that you were still making it up as you went along?”

  “No, that’s not true.”

  “You knew, Mr. Jenkins, did you not, that if the CIA didn’t confirm your story, you could be tried for espionage, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I knew that.”

  “And yet, you are asking this jury to believe that, with a wife suffering from pregnancy complications, and a nine-year-old son, you didn’t tell Agent Daugherty the whole story out of loyalty to an agency that, you knew, would not support you and that would try you for espionage? Is that what you’re asking this jury to believe?”

  “I didn’t tell him the whole story because I was concerned that if I did, I would expose agents and their operations, and those agents could die.”

  “So even now . . . you would have us believe that you still haven’t told us the whole story—is that your testimony?”

  “I can’t tell you the whole story,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  Velasquez looked to the jurors. “And neither can the CIA, can they?”

  “I don’t know whether they can or can’t,” Jenkins said. “All I know is they won’t.”

  Velasquez finished her cross-examination at just after three in the afternoon, and Sloane finished a brief redirect. Jenkins was excused and returned to the counsel table, physically and emotionally drained.

  When Jenkins sat, Harden said, “Mr. Sloane, you may call your next witness.”

  Sloane stood. During a break he and Jenkins had decided that if Sloane felt Jenkins’s testimony was strong, they would rest their case.

  “Your Honor,” Sloane said. “The defense rests.”

  Harden looked mildly surprised. He directed his attention to Velasquez, who spoke in hushed whispers with her co-counsel before standing. “The government also rests.”

  Sloane would be giving his closing argument in the morning. They all waited for Harden to thank, admonish, and excuse the jurors, as he had done at the end of each day. Instead, Harden sat forward.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the defense has rested its case. So, too, has the government, but I believe there is another witness the jury should hear from and I am therefore calling Carl Emerson as a witness. I am calling him because I want the evidence of his testimony in the record,” Harden continued. “And I don’t want either party to feel in any way obligated to call him, and they are not obligated to call him, but I think the jury needs Mr. Emerson to answer some questions.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Sloane said under his breath.

  68

  Velasquez quickly stood. “Your Honor, the government objects.”

  “Overruled.”

  “Your Honor, the government intended to call Mr. Emerson as a rebuttal witness.”

  “No, Ms. Velasquez, the government very clearly rested its case, and I believe the jurors should hear from this witness.”

  “Your Honor, we request that the government’s objection be noted in the record, and that the court adjourn for the day to allow us to take this matter up to the Ninth Circuit on an interlocutory appeal.”

  Judge Harden sat forward. “So noted,” he said. “The government’s motion is denied. Anything else?”

  “No, Your Honor,” Velasquez said.

  Harden looked to his bailiff. “Please go into the hallway and ask Mr. Emerson to enter.”

  And just like that, the reason for Harden’s decision to call Emerson at the end of the day became apparent. He did not want to give Velasquez time to again run to the Ninth Circuit for an order.

  Jenkins looked to Sloane, who leaned close and kept his voice low. “Haven’t seen this happen in all my years practicing,” Sloane said. “But so far, I’m enjoying it.”

  Emerson entered the court in a blue power suit. The fact that every juror considered him from the moment he entered was proof of their curiosity about this man whose name they kept hearing. Though Emerson was in his late seventies, he looked younger, with a full head of silver hair, and the glow of a man who spent time in the sun. His bearing and his gaze emitted the feeling that he considered the whole judicial process to be beneath him and was eager to get it behind him.

  After he’d taken the stand and was administered the oath to tell the truth, Emerson unbuttoned his coat, sat, and crossed his legs. He looked to the lectern, then to Jenkins’s side of the courtroom, and seemed genuinely perplexed when the first question came from Harden.

  “Please state your name for the record,” Harden said.

  Emerson looked to Velasquez, then to the judge. “Excuse me?”

  “State your name for the record,” Harden said.

  “Carl Edward Emerson.”

  “Are you presently employed?”

  Emerson uncrossed his legs and sat up. “No, I’m retired.”

  “What are you retired from?”

  “The Central Intelligence Agency.”

  “Did you retire from the CIA or were you terminated?”

  “I decided that forty-five years of government service was sufficient and I retired.”

  “Mr. Emerson,” Harden said, pulling out the documents that the CIA records clerk had introduced. “I have employment documents here indicating your employment was terminated. Are you telling me these documents are inaccurate?”

  Emerson gave a smug smile. “I suppose it is how one looks at it. I didn’t consider myself terminated. If I was, it was after I had already decided to retire.”

  “The documents also indicate you were reprimanded for exercising poor judgment in dealings with the companies TBT Investments and LSR&C. Are you saying you weren’t aware of that?”

  “No, I’m aware of it.”

  “So you were terminated?”

  “I suppose I was,” Emerson said, that slight smile still on his lips.

  “And why were you reprimanded?”

  Emerson again looked to Velasquez before answering. “For investing personal money in those companies.”

  “You invested your own money?”

  Jenkins leaned into Sloane. “I was right,” he whispered. “Emerson’s the leak. He was using TBT to wash the money he received from the FSB.”

  “I did,” Emerson said. “It was a mistake, given how everything turned out.”

  “There has been testimony that you previously served as the Mexico City CIA station chief. Is that true?”

  “That is correct.”

  “And you were the defendant’s, Charles Jenkins’s, boss.”

  “For a brief time when I was his special agent in charge. Charles was an excellent agent, but he abruptly left the CIA. He was upset and angry. I cannot discuss the operation that caused Charles to quit, but he was angry at the CIA and the United States government, and I guess at me.”

  “He told you this?”

  Emerson stumbled, then sought to recover. “No. I never heard from him. He just left.”

  Judge Harden paused, and Jenkins looked to the jurors, several of whom appeared to have caught the inconsistency. If Jenkins had abruptly left and had not spoken
to Emerson, then how did Emerson know the reason for Jenkins’s departure?

  “There has been testimony that you served as an officer of the company TBT Investments. Is that true?”

  “Nice,” Sloane said under his breath to Jenkins. “He’s relying on testimony, not on the documents.”

  “That is true.”

  Jenkins had expected Emerson to lie, but maybe Harden’s decision to call him so quickly prevented the government from telling Emerson that the LSR&C documents had been classified.

  “Did you have a TBT business card with your phone number on it?”

  “I had a business card with a number on it, yes.”

  “And there has been testimony that TBT was a subsidiary of a company called LSR&C. Is that correct?”

  “That is correct.”

  “There has been testimony that TBT Investments was a company used to funnel money to CIA field officers and their operations in other countries. Is that true?”

  “Yes, that is true.”

  Jenkins leaned close to Sloane. “We have confirmation that Goldstone isn’t a liar.”

  “There has also been testimony that in your capacity as an officer of TBT Investments, you used the alias Richard Peterson. Is that true?”

  “I did.”

  Jenkins watched the jurors’ reactions. They looked intrigued.

  “During November 2017, did you have occasion to travel to Camano Island and meet with the defendant, Charles William Jenkins?”

  Jenkins knew that was the key question. If Emerson was going to lie, now would be the moment.

  “No,” Emerson said. “That is not true.”

  It was as Jenkins had speculated. Emerson would admit that LSR&C was a CIA front but deny that Jenkins had been reactivated. That would allow Velasquez to argue that Jenkins had made up the story after Mitchell Goldstone raised it as his defense. The difference now, however, was Emerson had confirmed that Goldstone had told the truth.

  “When was the last time you saw Mr. Jenkins?”

  “The last time?” Emerson looked to Jenkins, the smug smile still on his face. “That would have been decades ago, in Mexico City.”

  “You haven’t seen him since?”

  “No.”

  “You’re excused,” Harden said.

  Emerson never lost the smug smile. He stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and stepped down.

  Harden turned to the jury. “That is the court’s evidence. Ladies and gentlemen, let me give you another status report. The defendant has concluded the evidence that he is going to put on, and I have plugged in the evidence that the court felt you ought to have. And now the government, if it is inclined to do so, may put on rebuttal evidence. Counsel, are you so inclined?”

  Jenkins knew the government had been painted into a corner. The judge’s questions clearly showed Carl Emerson had a connection to the CIA and to LSR&C through TBT Investments, as Jenkins and Mitchell Goldstone had both testified. Jenkins suspected the government attorneys would not leave well enough alone and would question Emerson.

  Velasquez stood. “Yes, Your Honor. The government recalls Carl Emerson.”

  Emerson wheeled as if it were a great inconvenience and retook the stand.

  “Mr. Emerson,” Velasquez said, “I want to draw your attention to an FBI agent named Chris Daugherty. Did you have occasion to speak to Agent Daugherty on or about January 2018?”

  “I don’t recall the specific date, but yes, I spoke to Agent Daugherty on the telephone.”

  “And would you tell the jury the substance of that conversation.”

  “Agent Daugherty called and said Charles Jenkins had spoken to him. I said, ‘Who?’ I was surprised to hear that name. Agent Daugherty then said Mr. Jenkins said he worked for me and that I would have details regarding work Mr. Jenkins was doing on behalf of the CIA in Russia.”

  “And what did you tell Agent Daugherty?”

  “I asked him if this was some sort of joke. I told him I hadn’t seen Charles Jenkins in more than forty years.”

  “I take it you didn’t tell Agent Daugherty about any operations Mr. Jenkins was running for you in Russia?”

  “There were no operations.”

  “You didn’t authorize Mr. Jenkins to give information about CIA assets inside Russia?”

  “I didn’t authorize it, no.”

  Velasquez thanked Emerson and sat.

  Sloane stood. “Isn’t it a fact, Mr. Emerson, that TBT Investments was a company arranged for you so you could distance yourself from LSR&C?”

  “Objection,” Velasquez said.

  “Overruled.”

  “Yes, that is true.”

  “What was the phone number on the business card for TBT Investments?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  Sloane provided the number. “Would that be the number?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “Isn’t it true that you were terminated from the CIA within days of the collapse of LSR&C?” Sloane asked.

  “My leaving had nothing to do with the collapse of LSR&C.”

  “Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the collapse of LSR&C also result in the collapse of TBT Investments?”

  “I assume TBT Investments ceased to exist.”

  “As did Richard Peterson?”

  “I don’t understand your question.”

  “Was there any money in bank accounts controlled by TBT Investments—that is, by you—that was unaccounted for at the time you were terminated?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “You were the chief operating officer of that company, weren’t you?”

  “Only on paper.”

  “Isn’t it true that when you were terminated, you and your superiors at the CIA reached an agreement that no legal proceedings would be brought against you?”

  “No, that is not true.”

  “Didn’t TBT Investments receive millions of dollars from LSR&C, ostensibly to funnel money to agents all over the world?”

  “Objection.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Wouldn’t you, Mr. Emerson, as the COO of TBT Investments, using the alias Richard Peterson, have been responsible for funneling money to agents?”

  “Objection. Violates the CIPA order.”

  “Sustained.”

  Jenkins knew Sloane didn’t care, and that Judge Harden didn’t either. Sloane just wanted to get the questions before the jury. He’d accomplished what he wanted, a link between the CIA, LSR&C, and Carl Emerson. Whether that would be enough remained to be determined. Sloane surprised Jenkins when he continued.

  “You testified that you haven’t laid eyes on Charles Jenkins since the day he left Mexico City forty years ago. Is that right?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Perhaps you can explain to me how it is that Mr. Jenkins had in his possession a business card with the number for TBT Investments?”

  Sloane produced the document and handed it to the clerk, who handed it to Emerson. The business card with just the phone number was put up on the courtroom computer screens. Jenkins didn’t know where Sloane was headed, but he was curious. The jurors also looked interested.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Emerson said. “Perhaps he came into the office and took it to facilitate the story he intended to tell here in court.”

  “Perhaps,” Sloane said. “Except . . . According to the government’s theory, Mr. Jenkins’s story wasn’t concocted until sometime after LSR&C had been shut down, and there is testimony that the offices had been stripped to the concrete floor within hours of that event.”

  Jenkins smiled. “Son of a bitch,” he said under his breath. Three jurors sat back in their chairs, nodding.

  “Objection. Move to strike,” Velasquez said. “That is Mr. Sloane’s argument, not a question.”

  “Sustained.”

  “My question, Mr. Emerson, is how could Mr. Jenkins have gone into the office and taken a card, if the office, and every scrap of paper in that offic
e, had vanished just hours after the news broke on the television?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Emerson said.

  They left the courtroom that afternoon in better spirits than any other day of the trial. Sloane and Jake returned to Sloane’s office so Sloane could prepare his closing argument. Jenkins went to Three Tree Point with Alex. They had a family dinner with CJ and the baby. They were both dog tired, but they thought it important. They left unsaid that it could be the last dinner they would share as a family.

  After reading CJ several chapters of Harry Potter, Jenkins found Alex on the porch, sitting in one of the rocking chairs, feeding Lizzie.

  “How many chapters tonight?” she asked.

  “Three.” Jenkins sat in the adjacent chair.

  “You’ll spoil him.”

  “The first two were for him. The last one was for me.”

  They sat in silence, the chairs creaking as they rocked forward and back. Jenkins said, “Do you think I should have taken the plea? A year or two wouldn’t have been terrible, would it?”

  “It wasn’t just a year or two, Charlie. It would have been a lifetime of people believing you were guilty.”

  “I’m not worried about what people think of me anymore. I’m worried about you and the kids. I’m worried about them growing up not knowing their father. I could miss it all.”

  “We’re not there yet. Don’t go there,” Alex said.

  “I want you to promise me that if I’m found guilty, you won’t wait around for me.”

  “Charlie, stop.”

  “You’re too young, and the kids need a father.”

  “They have a father.” She reached over with her free hand and grabbed his. Her touch calmed him, if only a little.

  “We’ll get through this, whatever the outcome,” she said. “We could have taken the plea, but we chose to fight, Charlie, and not just for you, but for CJ and Lizzie, and for all those other agents out there who might someday find themselves left out in the cold.”

  “No agent has ever won.”

  “Then you’ll be the first.”

  “Emerson is going to get away with it, isn’t he? He’s betrayed agents and he’s betrayed his country. He’s responsible for those women’s deaths, maybe more, and he’s going to get away with it and live like a king.”