The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(94)

“What about getting documents that support the government’s charges?”

“Jake’s working on a motion, but at the moment we’re concentrating on getting you out on bail.”

“How’s Alex?”

“The nurse is taking good care of her. She says the baby’s heartbeat is strong and can be delivered by C-section any day now. Alex is waiting until you’re home.”

“If we lose the motion for bail, tell the nurse to do what has to be done. I don’t want anything to happen to Alex or to the baby.”



The following morning, Jenkins appeared in court, this time to watch Sloane and Velasquez square off on Sloane’s motion for bail. The gallery was full for a relatively mundane motion, indicating again that Jenkins’s arrest was big news in Seattle. When the argument finished, Harden took the matter under advisement and said he’d issue an order late that afternoon. Sloane told Jenkins he wasn’t sure where Judge Harden would fall in his decision. He said that in a fifty-fifty argument, Jenkins would likely lose.

Harden, however, surprised them. In an afternoon conference call, he granted the motion, setting Jenkins’s bail at $1 million, and ordered Jenkins to wear an ankle bracelet that would alert US marshals if he left the Seattle area. Jenkins also had to call into a marshal each morning and each night.

Jenkins didn’t care. He was just glad to be out. “Did you hire a security company to sweep your office and home for bugs?” Jenkins asked as he and Sloane drove from the jail to Sloane’s home on Three Tree Point.

“Every morning,” Sloane said.

Inside the house, Jenkins could tell Alex struggled to hold it together when she saw him. Sloane excused himself and went back to the office.

“How are you doing?” Jenkins asked.

“I’m okay. I’m anxious to get this baby out. The doctor said we can go in any day now that you’re home.”

Jenkins smiled through tears. “Then let’s have a baby,” he said. “Where’s CJ?”

“Where he is every afternoon; he has a serious bug since catching that thirty-pound salmon.”

“Probably a good diversion for him. Does he know anything?”

“He asked me about the men who came to the beach that morning. I told him that he might hear people say unkind things about you, but that those people don’t know you the way we do.”

Jenkins blew out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for days. He knew from the crowd in the courtroom that there was likely a lot of unfavorable media coverage. It didn’t bother him, but he worried about his son. He was glad, at least, that CJ was not in school, where kids could be brutal.

Alex handed Jenkins a small jewelry box. “Open it.”

Jenkins opened the box and removed a sterling silver bracelet.

“Read the inside. I had it inscribed.”

Jenkins turned the bracelet over, and Alex handed him a pair of reading glasses from the counter. He slipped the glasses onto the bridge of his nose and manipulated the bracelet to catch the light.

THEN YOU WILL KNOW THE TRUTH, AND THE TRUTH SHALL SET YOU FREE. JOHN 8:32

“Whatever happens, we know the truth. No one can take that from us. And that’s what we’re going to tell CJ.”

Jenkins slipped the bracelet over his wrist. “I hope the truth is enough.”





55



Sloane and Jake sat across the conference room table from Conrad Levy, a retired CIA operative in his early seventies. In retirement, Levy had become one of the agency’s harshest critics for too often leaving field officers hung out to dry. He’d written a book chronicling how good men and women devoted their lives to serve their country, and how the agency had not reciprocated that same loyalty. Sloane sought Levy’s opinion on whether Jenkins’s story was indicative of the agency’s practice of which Levy was so critical.

Levy looked nothing like the James Bond or Jason Bourne characters from the movies. Short, with a slight build, he had receding gray hair and wore glasses, a well-worn suit, and nondescript shirt and tie—the type of person who could eat in the same restaurant each night and not be remembered.

“Obviously I have some questions,” Levy said, his voice high-pitched. “But I suspect from what you’ve told me that your client won’t answer those questions.”

“You know what we know,” Sloane said.

Levy pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sloane, but I don’t believe Mr. Jenkins’s story for a minute.”

Sloane had not expected this. “What don’t you believe?” he asked.

“All of it . . . For a man who had supposedly played games with the KGB in Mexico City, I don’t think it washes. He’s either the dumbest intelligence officer who’s ever lived, or he’s a liar and a traitor.” That left little room for doubt.

“Even if his story was true, you won’t get anyone at the CIA to back it up.”

“Why not?”

“Because if his story is true, it points to the agency’s inability to adequately monitor the conduct of a top-level employee, possibly for decades. It makes them look incompetent to intelligence agencies all over the world. Beyond that, the CIA will never publicly acknowledge a company working as a CIA proprietary.”