The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(84)
“That’s right.”
“And you hadn’t seen him since you left Mexico City.”
“Correct. That was decades ago.”
“But he came to you and asked you to run this operation in Russia.”
“Yes.”
Daugherty wrinkled his brow as if trying to solve a complex problem. After another moment he said, “Why would he do that?” Skepticism crept into his tone, but Jenkins had been expecting it and he had an answer.
“Because I was fluent in Russian and counterintelligence, and it’s cheaper and quicker to reactivate an agent than it is to train one.”
“And time was of the essence.”
“That’s what I was told,” Jenkins said.
“Okay,” Daugherty said. “But you can’t tell me the reason Carl Emerson sent you to Russia.”
“I can’t tell you specifically, no.”
“Classified?”
“Yes.”
“Operatives’ lives potentially in danger?”
“Yes.”
“But not Alexei Sukurov or . . .” Daugherty looked down at his notes.
“Uliana Artemyeva,” Jenkins said. “Carl Emerson provided me those names. I did not reveal any unauthorized information.”
“So, it was authorized.”
“It was authorized to me.”
Daugherty looked to Sloane, then back to Jenkins. “You understand why I would have a very hard time believing this without more to corroborate what you’re telling me.”
“I do understand, and I’m telling you there is more to it, more than I can tell you. The CIA has a leak, or a mole, and that person is doing damage to their operations in Russia. If the CIA investigates, they could put an end to it. You’ll have to bring in the CIA and have the agency fill in the rest, to whatever extent they’re willing.”
Daugherty sat back, seemingly studying Jenkins. “Would you be willing to take a polygraph test?”
Jenkins knew polygraph tests were inadmissible in court. He knew that both an examiner and a witness could manipulate the results based upon the phrasing of the questions asked, and the answers given. He also knew that without something more to convince Daugherty that Jenkins was telling the truth, the FBI agent might not be motivated to seek further answers.
“Under certain conditions,” Jenkins said.
“Such as?”
“I won’t answer questions about the specific operation. I will answer questions about my reactivation, and questions asking if I revealed any unauthorized information.” Jenkins wanted to get out as much as he could, but also to protect himself.
Daugherty flipped closed his notebook. “When can you come to the office?”
“I won’t,” Jenkins said, knowing the environment for the test was important. “We can conduct the polygraph here.”
“You want the examiner to come to you?”
“I want a neutral environment, and I want my attorney present to assure the questions are phrased appropriately. I also want the results before you leave the office.” Maybe he was being paranoid, but Jenkins didn’t want anyone to manipulate the results.
“What time tomorrow?”
“What about this afternoon?” Jenkins said.
“Let me make some phone calls.”
Jenkins had only been attached to the machine for twenty minutes, but it would take the examiner time to go through his physiological responses to each question. Night had fallen and Jenkins heard the banging of railroad cars coupling and uncoupling on the tracks behind the building. It sounded like distant thunder.
Sloane’s cell phone rang. Daugherty was ready for them in the conference room.
Daugherty stood at the head of the table beside the examiner, a dowdy-looking woman with an officious demeanor. He handed Sloane the report. “No deception indicated.”
Jenkins breathed a sigh of relief. Polygraph results could either be NDI—no deception indicated, DI—deception indicated, or INC—inconclusive. All Jenkins cared about was that the test gave Daugherty reason to further investigate.
“So he’s telling the truth,” Sloane said.
“He didn’t lie, not to the questions asked of him,” Daugherty said. He looked to Jenkins. “I’ll make some calls tomorrow and try to fill in some of the significant blanks in your story. If the CIA confirms you were working for them and some of the other things you told me, we’ll go to work and see if we can find the leak. We might have more questions though, depending on what we get. I imagine the CIA might also. You’ll be available?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The men shook hands, and Daugherty and the examiner departed. Shortly thereafter, Sloane shut down the office, and he and Jenkins left for home.
“So far so good,” Sloane said.
As Sloane drove, Jenkins checked the side mirror. “We’ve got a tail.”
“What?” Sloane said, eyes darting to the rearview mirror.
“The car behind us. Two men. FBI.”
“How do you know it’s the FBI?”
“Because the car isn’t attempting to conceal itself, which means the two men are not likely CIA operatives or Russians trying to kill me.”
“Why would the FBI be following us? Your test proves you’re not lying.”