I thought about Jennifer Rybak as I passed the freshly trimmed grass and rectangular hedges surrounding the Chester County Courthouse. She was nowhere to be seen. I wondered how I would have handled the situation if she were waiting at the entrance with a cameraman. Four Doric columns fronted the two-story Georgian brick building. Years of weathering had turned the columns from white to a dull cream color. Three ravens landed on the roof near the cupola with a copper dome covered in pale green patina.
Although the modern annex next door had newer facilities, Judge Arnetti liked the history and tradition of the old courthouse and consistently heard her cases there.
As I approached the entrance, a stocky man with a shaved head stood on the granite steps with his back to me. He spoke in Chinese to an Asian man who glanced over his shoulder as I grew closer. Then I recognized the stocky man. My friend, Glenn Bernthal, turned toward me as the man politely but abruptly said goodbye in English and walked inside the building.
“Hey, Glenn, what are you doing here?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.
“Oh, hi, Bryce. I had to come.” His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Your case has haunted me ever since you had me look into Benton Dynamics. If the Remora Shadow is operational and ready for deployment, well, the Navy could track and sink a whole fleet of nuclear subs. Unless my instincts are off, everyone in that courtroom will be after those plans. It’s going to be like a mini-United Nations in there.”
“But you said you’d be stuck at work all week.”
He shrugged. “Aw, no biggie, man. Took a personal day.”
“Who was that guy you were talking to?”
Glenn glanced toward the stately entrance to the Chester County Courthouse, but the man had already gone inside. “Just met him. Dr. Zhu. Said he’s a visiting professor from Beijing. He’s at Stephen Decatur College for a couple of semesters, researching our justice system and how we try cases. I didn’t buy a word of it.”
“Now you’ve got to fill out a Foreign Contact Disclosure back at NSA.”
“Well, yeah, of course,” Glenn replied nonchalantly. “But, hey, a good opportunity to gather intel and practice my Mandarin. Anything happen since I was here Sunday?”
Shaking my head, I said, “You wouldn’t believe it, if I told you.” Thrown by Glenn’s conversation with a professor from the People’s Republic of China, I decided to keep my thoughts to myself.
He said, “Look, this is all starting in a few minutes. We’ll catch up after the hearing. I’m going inside to get a seat. If I can help somehow, I got your back. Good luck today, Bryce.”
“Thanks. See you later.”
As Glenn walked into the building, I glanced around for Marisa Dupree, but the courtyard was empty. I went inside the historic courthouse, unloaded my pockets of anything that would set off the metal detector, and greeted the bailiffs working security. Marisa waited for me on a long wooden bench outside Courtroom One. Her face looked worried and pained, as if she were on the edge of a nervous breakdown. I said “good morning” to her, waved her into a cramped conference room along the hallway, and closed the door behind us.
Final preparations for the hearing took only a few minutes. Marisa was apprehensive and fidgeted with the handles of her handbag as we reviewed procedures in the stuffy room. She told me she was ready and did not have any questions. Her biggest concerns were testifying in public and then enduring cross-examination from E.J. Nielsen.
To put her at ease, I said, “That’s understandable. Trials are nerve wracking. We could still try to settle the case.”
“I’d settle in a heartbeat, but only if I hand over the missing KEL drive, and I can’t.”
“You can’t?”
“I don’t have it,” Marisa replied.
“Do you …”
“No,” she interrupted me. “I’ve got no idea where it is. You know that.”
“Right. Okay, then. We’ll try the case. And I’ll do my best for you.”
With resignation, she slowly nodded and thanked me. I opened the door to the conference room and suggested she go into court, not speak to anyone, and take a seat near the front. No doubt that Marisa wanted to be anywhere in the world right now but here.
Back in the hallway, E.J. Nielsen approached me with quick, purposeful strides across the polished marble tiles. He wore a dark pinstripe suit and a fiery crimson tie with a golden pin. His associate, Charlayne O’Malley, followed him, pulling a huge leather briefcase on wheels.
E.J. ran his fingers through his gray hair and grumbled, “Morning, Bryce. Any chance we’re going to resolve this thing? It’s never too late.”
“‘Fraid not,” I replied. “Wish we could. Marisa Dupree would cooperate with your client, but she doesn’t have anything she can turn over.”
“Too bad. I’d work with Ms. Dupree. Benton Dynamics would too, if she’d just give back the missing files and tell us what really went down. Well, if that’s her decision, then let’s do this.” He and Ms. O’Malley turned and entered the courtroom, leaving me alone in the hallway. The negotiations were over. My wristwatch told me that in less than five minutes, the judge would take the bench.
My ritual before a court appearance was simple. In the men’s room, I washed my hands at a sink with icy water. After drying my hands, I straightened my tie, smoothed my hair, and tugged on my shirt sleeves so they would not bunch up underneath my suit jacket. A final glance in the mirror let me know I was ready.
There was little hope of winning Marisa’s case today, but I had
