The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(104)

Midweek on a warm July afternoon, Sloane called Jenkins to tell him that three Ninth Circuit judges had unanimously agreed with Judge Harden’s decision and rejected the government’s appeal to classify the documents under CIPA. Jenkins hung up the phone and let out a contented yell. He was more confident than ever the government would either let the case go or offer another plea agreement, one that did not require Jenkins to plead insanity.

Jenkins’s euphoria, however, was short-lived. Sloane called back at the end of the day to tell him the government had again appealed, this time seeking an expedited decision from the full panel of twelve Ninth Circuit judges. Sloane explained that it was highly unlikely the full panel would overturn a unanimous decision of three of their colleagues, but when it came to the power of the CIA and the FBI, Jenkins was not so na?ve.

On the eve of the new trial date, the Ninth Circuit ruled seven to five to reverse Judge Harden’s decision, as well as the affirmation by the three-judge panel. All of the LSR&C documents Jake had gathered were deemed classified under CIPA, and therefore inadmissible. Sloane tried to console Jenkins by pointing out that Judge Harden, at least, knew the contents of those documents.

The jury, however, would not.

Not surprisingly, the government did not offer another plea deal.

That evening Jenkins walked down to the water’s edge. He now knew that those in power would never let the truth come out, never allow him to have a fair chance, never allow him to be free. He stared across Puget Sound. The sun had started its descent, coloring the sky in ominous hues of red and orange, and it reminded him of the sky over Moscow on his first trip to Russia.

He faced three life sentences, and he could offer virtually nothing to substantiate his defense.



Late in the evening before the start of trial, Jenkins sat on Sloane’s covered porch listening to the waves from a passing cargo ship pound the shore, like bursts of thunder. He understood now why the government had never lost an espionage case. It was like playing blackjack in Las Vegas. The odds of winning were not favorable, especially when the house controlled the cards.

Sloane stepped onto the porch, letting the screen door slap shut behind him. He carried two bottles of beer and handed one to Jenkins. They sat in rocking chairs, looking out at Puget Sound’s darkened waters. Jenkins knew Sloane had bought the two chairs before Tina’s death, and that he had anticipated sitting on this porch with her, admiring this view, well into his old age. How quickly and dramatically life can change.

Jenkins sipped his beer. “You get everything done?”

Sloane had spent all day in court, arguing pre-trial motions. If Judge Harden was pissed off at the government for lying about the LSR&C documents, or for being reversed by the court of appeals, he didn’t show it. He’d been efficient and professional. The defense won and lost the pre-trial motions pretty much as Sloane had predicted.

“Did the government produce Emerson’s last-known address?” Jenkins asked.

“Nope,” Sloane said. “And I’m not holding my breath they will. If they do, they’ll likely produce an address to a PO box in some town in the middle of nowhere. And if he’s out of state, he won’t come willingly, and I doubt we could get an order to force him. If we could even find him.”

Jenkins considered that for a moment. Then he said, “Might be for the best, especially if he knows you now have no documents to impeach him. We have to assume he won’t have anything positive to say about me, and if he’s the leak, or a mole, he’s had plenty of time to cover his tracks. Emerson has always been smart. He’s played this game for forty years. He could burn me if we put him on the stand.”

Sloane sipped his beer, then said, “I want it on the record that we tried to get him, and we asked the government to provide his address. It could be grounds for an appeal.”

Jenkins knew an appeal would only be necessary if he lost. “Did they produce a witness list?”

Sloane smirked. “Not a minute before five this afternoon. Twenty-seven names, and no information what any of the twenty-seven will say.”

Flying blind, Jenkins thought, not for the first time. The runners of Jenkins’s chair caused the planks of the old porch to creak and moan. It sounded like the sound of a man hung from the gallows in an old Western, his body twisting in a breeze.

“I won’t ask you to look after Alex and my kids,” he said, keeping his view on the darkened landscape. “Just to be there for them, if they need help.”

“I’ll take care of them as if they were my own,” Sloane said. “You know that. But we’re not giving up just yet.”

“I’ll never give up, David, but some things are not in our control.”

Inside the house, Lizzie cried. Jenkins looked at his watch. “She’s nothing if not punctual.” He handed Sloane his beer. “I told Alex I’d feed her so she could get some rest. Didn’t figure I’d sleep much anyway, and I’m not sure how many more of these opportunities I’ll have to hold her.”





61



The following morning, the government brought a motion asking Judge Harden to recuse himself because he had been made privy to the documents protected by CIPA. Harden rejected the motion, asserting that the documents would not prejudice his handling of the trial.

Sloane told Jenkins the motion was a good move, that he suspected the government filed it intending the motion to hang over Harden’s head to ensure his rulings followed the law.