The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(86)

“Well, he just sort of inadvertently said the FBI knew you worked for the CIA, and they needed your files to document it.”

Jenkins smiled. Daugherty’s digging had confirmed the biggest hurdle, that Jenkins had been acting on behalf of the CIA. His desire to obtain Jenkins’s files could only mean he was trying to document what Jenkins had told him.

He thought of Sloane’s comment about the business card and need for more tangible proof. “Claudia, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sure,” she said, though she sounded tentative.

“I need you to type up what you just told me and attach the business card from the agent to that document. Then I want you to date and sign the document. When you’re done, I want you to make a copy. Put the original in an envelope, seal it, and take it to the post office and be certain to get it date stamped today.” Jenkins had worked with Sloane long enough to know that a person sending herself certified mail was a way to prove she had written and signed a document on the date stamped on the envelope. He instructed Baker to do this, then said, “When you get the envelope, don’t open it. Keep it someplace safe in the office.” He gave her David Sloane’s name and his law firm mailing address and told her to also send the copy certified mail.

After thanking Baker and disconnecting, Jenkins turned to his son. “Hey, CJ, you about ready for some breakfast?”

“I had a bite,” he said. “A few more minutes?”

Jenkins checked his watch. It was just after 8:00 a.m. “Half an hour. Is that fair?”

“Yeah,” the boy said, bringing the rod back over his shoulder and flinging the lure out toward Sloane’s moored boat. The lure hit the water with a splash and CJ clicked over the bail and started reeling, moving the tip of the rod up and down as Jake had shown him.

“I’ll go up and get breakfast ready for your mom,” Jenkins said. He wanted to call Sloane, tell him what Claudia had told him, and ask if he had any additional advice.

The tide was out, leaving a thirty-foot stretch of rocky beach from the water’s edge to the lawn leading to the covered back porch. When Jenkins reached the porch, he heard the doorbell, quickly crossed through the house, and answered the door. Chris Daugherty stood on the porch dressed in a suit beneath a down jacket and a knit ski cap. A second agent, standing behind him, had also dressed for the cold.

“Mr. Jenkins,” Daugherty said. “I hope this isn’t too early.”

Jenkins was glad he’d left CJ at the beach. “No. It’s fine. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to ask you a few more questions.”

“My wife is trying to get some sleep and my son is home.”

“We could do it at our offices downtown,” Daugherty said.

“Did you speak to the CIA?”

“I did.”

“And did they fill in the blanks like I told you?”

“I’m still working on it. Some additional questions were raised. Just a few things I need to clear up.”

Jenkins had sent Daugherty on this trail, and the FBI agent appeared, at least, to be digging for answers. He decided it best that he continue to cooperate. “I’ll call David and see if he’s available.”

“We’ll see you both in an hour,” Daugherty said.



An hour later, Jenkins sat beside Jake at a table in a utilitarian conference room at the FBI’s field office. Sloane had an arbitration in Port Angeles and told Jenkins to reschedule the meeting with Daugherty, but Jenkins didn’t want to do that. He told Sloane of his conversation with Claudia Baker, and said that Daugherty had confirmed that he’d spoken to the CIA and had some follow-up questions.

“I’m anxious to get this behind me. Alex is close to her due date and I want to get home and get things prepared before the baby comes. And CJ wants to go back to school with his friends and play soccer. You and Jake have been more than accommodating, but it’s time to get home.”

Jake, who had a limited license under Rule 9 that allowed him to practice law, was the compromise. Jake’s role primarily would be to take notes, ensure the questions were appropriate, and not allow the FBI to record the conversation.

Chris Daugherty and the second agent walked into the conference room, pulled out chairs, and sat across the table from them. “We made some phone calls, as you suggested,” Daugherty said. “Your service record indicates you voluntarily retired from the Central Intelligence Agency in 1978. That was after only a few years of service, correct?”

“Two years and a month.”

“Did you leave the CIA on good terms?” Daugherty asked.

“Not particularly, no.”

“Why not?” Daugherty asked.

Jake sat forward. “What does this have to do with the current operation in Russia?”

“Just a foundational question . . .” Daugherty looked at the business card Jake had provided him. “Mr. Carter, I want to establish his background, who he worked for at the CIA before he was reactivated. Those kinds of things.” He looked to Jenkins. “Why did you not leave on good terms?”

“I still don’t see the point of the question,” Jake said. “How is it relevant?”

“It’s okay,” Jenkins said. He knew Jake was just trying to do his job, but he also wanted Daugherty to do his. “I felt that the agency had misled me with regard to a specific operation and as a result people died.”