Other considerations aside, I suppose good. It surely helped that some semblance of his internal spirit was flogging its way into his cerebral cortex. A moment before he’d been a suicidal husk, and if something didn’t seep into that vacuum, his whole being might get sucked into nothing.
Anyway, I’d done my duty. I’d warned him, and it was time to complete my spiel. “The Army’s facing a time clock of thirty days to formalize your charges and get us into court to plead. A month or so later, there’ll be a trial. If you’re found guilty, there’ll be a sentencing hearing shortly thereafter. Do I need to tell you the ultimate penalty for treason?”
This is the kind of sly query we lawyers employ when our clients are assholes. He frowned, shook his head, and I continued, “Here’s how we’re going to do this. I’ll get a co-counsel who speaks Russian, and I’ll set up a satellite office here. Then I’ll start my discovery process. You understand how that works?”
“Of course.”
“Well, espionage cases are… different. It’s going to be a real tug-of-war.”
He nodded that he understood, though really he didn’t understand squat. He was going to discover that his fate hung on a bunch of secret evidence the government’s most tightfisted agencies would fight tooth and nail not to release, even to his attorney; that, unlike with nearly every other type of criminal case, his chances of defending himself were crippled by security rules and stubborn bureaucrats and the government’s very strong desire to burn him at the stake.
I mentioned none of this to him-yet. He was already on suicide watch, and I didn’t want to send him hurtling off the ledge into eternity. I stood up and said, “I better get going. I’ll stay in touch.”
He looked up at me with tortured eyes. “Drummond, listen, I’m completely-”
“Innocent… right?”
“Yes. Really, this whole thing is-”
I held up a hand to cut him off.
I wasn’t his attorney of record and had no business getting into any of this yet. Later he could tell me as many whoppers as he could dream up, and I would patiently sort the exceptionally unbelievable from the barely credible, until we settled on exactly which pack of lies we’d use for his defense.
But in retrospect I should’ve walked out and never returned.
CHAPTER TWO
The Pentagon is not my kind of place. The many people who work there do many invaluable things, such as making sure Congress sends enough money every month to pay me. However, the building is huge, dreary, and depressingly impersonal. Stay in uniform long enough, and you’ll inevitably end up assigned there. Along the same lines, live long enough and you’ll end up crinkly and farty, with a leaky bladder. I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about old age. I visit the Pentagon only when I have to.
I made it up to the third floor office of the Judge Advocate General, Major General Clapper, where his secretary insisted he was in a vitally, vitally important meeting that couldn’t possibly, possibly be interrupted. Her name is Martha, and it has not escaped my attention that she often repeats things when she speaks to me.
I replied, “Well, Martha, why don’t I take a seat, seat while I wait, wait?”
She said, “Shut up… just shut up.”
After a brief but chilly wait, Clapper’s door flew open and a long line of glum-faced men and women in dark business suits came filing out. For some unfathomable reason all spooks have that look. Maybe all those deep, dark secrets weigh down their facial features. Or maybe they’re all foul-humored pricks. What do I know?
Anyway, the instant they were gone I approached Clapper and handed him Morrison’s request.
We then walked together, he and I, into his office. The door closed somewhat less than gently, and why did I suspect that an outright “Yes, you’re the perfect guy for the job” was out of the question?
He jammed the request in my face. “Drummond, this… What is it?”
“Morrison’s requesting me as his counsel.”
“That’s pathetically obvious. What isn’t, is why?”
“Because he thinks I’m a great attorney, I suppose.”
“No really, Drummond… why?”
Truly, you have to love a guy with a sense of humor like that. I don’t actually love him, but I certainly respect him, and occasionally I even like him. As chief of the JAG Corps, he is akin to the managing partner of the world’s largest law firm, with lawyers and legal assistants and judges strewn literally around the globe, involved in a mind- boggling array of complex cases and legal duties. It is the kind of job that breeds irritability, impatience, and bossiness. Or perhaps it’s me.
My tiny piece of his vast empire is a small, highly specialized cell that focuses on what are called black crimes-which have nothing to do with racial issues and everything to do with units and soldiers whose missions are so staggeringly secret that nobody even knows they exist. It’s a bigger part of the Army than most people realize, and the job of my unit is to handle its legal problems under a blanket so dense that no sunshine sneaks in, or out.
This sensitivity explains why we, including me, work directly for Thomas Clapper. We are a very troublesome bunch and quite proud of it, and I have been told on more than one occasion that I am the most troublesome of the troublesome. It’s damned unfair, but nobody gave me a vote.
But, back to Clapper, I said, “I really don’t know why he wants me, General. It doesn’t matter-an accused man has the right to pick his own representation.”
My intuition or, more likely, his expression told me that being lectured on this overriding point of law hadn’t improved his mood. He asked, “Do you know who those people were that just left my office?”
“I can guess.”
“No-I don’t think you can. That was the interagency working group that’s supposed to assess how much damage Morrison wrought. Those were the chiefs of counterespionage from the CIA and the FBI, from NSA and DIA and State, and a few agencies I never heard of. They climbed deeply up my ass. They are incensed that an officer of the United States Army betrayed his country in ways you can’t possibly conceive. An Army officer, damn it… a general officer. They warned me that I had better not make a single mistake in handling this case.” He paused very briefly. “Does that help you understand why I have reservations about you?”
I nodded. Why make him explain it?
He drew a deep breath and added, “Sean, you’re a good attorney, but this case is just too damned sensitive. I’m sorry. You’re the wrong man.”
Well, right, I nodded again-truly, I did agree with him on this point.
“Good.” His expression turned friendlier, and a fatherly hand landed on my shoulder. “Now, you fly back out there and tell Morrison why you can’t possibly be his lawyer. Tell him not to worry, we’ll provide one of our best.”
He looked me in the eye and that fatherly hand dropped off my shoulder. “Damn it, do you have any idea what you’re getting into?”
“Something about a spy case, isn’t it?”
He ignored my sarcasm. This was a wise course. Encourage me and it only gets worse.
I’m not ordinarily predictable, but Clapper has known me long enough to appreciate my peccadilloes. Back when he was a lowly major, he actually instructed a dim-witted new infantry lieutenant named Drummond on the fundamentals of military law. He also happens to be the shortsighted fool who later persuaded the Army to allow me to attend law school and become a JAG officer.
You could argue, therefore, that this situation was his fault. Past sins do come back to haunt you.
Struggling to sound reasonable, he said, “Look… Sean… when the CIA and FBI first approached me with their suspicions and evidence on Morrison, I nearly choked. They’ve been watching him for months. They have him dead to rights.”
“Well, good. All I’ll have to do is strike the best deal I can get. Any idiot lawyer can do that. What are you worried about?”
Judging by his expression, a lot. “At least try to see this from my perspective. We’re dealing with Russia on
