The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(117)

“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.