I wasn’t, but I’d brought it up, so I said, “Sure.”
“What I think is you and Miss Carlson oughta have your sorry asses kicked. That’s what I think.”
“Huh?”
“You oughta be ashamed of yourselves. Playin’ all these games with each other, while you got a man facing the executioner. How’d you like to be that boy? How’d you like to see the two lawyers who’re supposed to be savin’ your ass running about pissin’ on each other’s backsides?”
Now, I could’ve told Imelda she was exaggerating, only that’d be splitting hairs. Or I could’ve tried telling her this was all Katherine’s fault – which, believe me, it was – except Imelda Pepperfield was a throwback to the old Army. And in the old Army, there were only two colors, black and white, and any attempt to find cover in the middle could prove lethal.
So all I said was, “Okay, okay. I’ll work on it.”
“You better,” was all she said before she stormed out.
She was obviously in a gnarly mood, partly because she’d just spent the entire night on the phones tracking down Melborne’s true identity, and partly because, well… I guess, just partly because. You gotta know Imelda.
I got cleaned up and went downstairs and had breakfast. When I got back to my room, an envelope had been slipped under my door. I tore it open. In a tight scrawl it said I had an eight o’clock appointment in the office of General Spears. This time, “8:00” was underlined about ten times in thick marker, like, Don’t be late again, Drummond.
It was already seven, so I killed thirty minutes spit-shining my boots, combing my hair, and meticulously pressing every square inch of my uniform. Although actually that’s not true; that’s what I should’ve been doing if I was an earnest, ambitious officer. Instead I watched some inane Sunday morning sitcom before ambling over to the big cheese’s office.
The same colonel was seated at his desk, only this time he was the one wearing civilian clothes and I was the one in uniform, because it was Sunday morning.
Remembering our last tepid encounter, I ripped off a salute. It was an awesome salute, too. It left a smoke trail in the air. The most incurably fussy drill sergeant would’ve swooned.
I said, “Major Drummond reporting as ordered, sir.”
I said it loud and crisply, too, and just knew the man would be impressed as all get out. West Pointers are so damned easy to please.
He shook his head and gave me a scowl ugly enough to melt tulips. “Drummond, you’re a lawyer, right?”
“Yes sir. JAG Corps all the way, sir. Hoo Rah!” I popped off. I was Johnny Gung-ho this early Sunday morning.
“Then you should know that when inside a building, you don’t salute a higher officer who is not in uniform.”
My hand was still stuck to my forehead, and I all of a sudden started scratching a non-itch over my right eye.
I was frostily instructed to go to the general’s door and knock twice. The colonel even quizzed me to make sure I understood it was knock twice – not once, not three times, but twice. He was a real sweetheart. We were getting along famously.
Spears glanced up from some papers after I knocked twice, not once, not three times. I walked straight to his desk and noticed he also was wearing mufti on this grand Sunday morning.
Knowing military etiquette like I did, I merely nodded and politely said, “Good morning, General.”
He pushed aside his reading materials, got up, and walked around his desk. “Please, sit down,” he said, gesturing at a couch group near the door.
We quickly positioned ourselves so I was sitting across from him, while he eased into his chair, hoisted up his trouser leg, and studied me.
After a moment, he said, “How’s it going?”
“Fine, General. Couldn’t be better,” I lied.
He awarded me a nice grin. “We’ve got a long week ahead. The judge arrives tomorrow. Press people have been flying in by the planeload. By Wednesday there’ll be more reporters in Korea than soldiers.”
“It’s the big show,” I said, which was a needless remark, obviously, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“You ever handled a case this big, Drummond?”
“Like this? No sir.”
“You feel like you’re under a lot of pressure?”
“Like a bicycle tire that’s been placed on a ten-wheeler.”
He chuckled briefly. “And how’s your client doing?”
“Could be worse, General. Not a lot, but could be worse.”
He nodded. “Korean prisons aren’t for the fainthearted. But they’re good people, you know. The Koreans. This is my third tour over here. I was here as a new lieutenant, back in the early sixties. And I commanded my brigade here, back in the late eighties. It’s miraculous what the Koreans have accomplished. Really miraculous. They’re incredible people.”
“Yes sir, they’re admirable folks.”
Then came a quiet lapse, because we’d obviously exhausted the let’s-pretend-we’re-comfortable-with-each- other chitchat and it was time to tend to the nuts and bolts. Whatever that was.
He went right for the jugular. “Drummond, I have to tell you, I’ve been very unhappy with the way your defense team has conducted itself. And I mean,
“Anything specifically?” I asked. Like I didn’t know.
“Start with Miss Carlson’s infomercials. I told you I didn’t want this case carried to the press. This is not the time to be fanning the flames.”
In my most humble tone, I said, “Look, General, telling a civilian defense attorney not to prattle to the press is like telling an addict not to go near a needle. It’s compulsive. They can’t stop themselves. It’s also perfectly ethical.”
I had the sense this was a throwaway conversational point, because I wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know, plus his face suddenly got more grave, or suggestive, or something.
“Then let me tell you what I really don’t appreciate. Your visit to Minister Lee’s home.”
“I have an obligation to my client to follow every avenue to prove his innocence. I wasn’t there for a social call or to harass them.”
I wasn’t going to disclose any more than that, because the existence of the apartment key in No’s possession was the only surprise we had for the prosecution. Besides, it was none of Spears’s business.
But, like I mentioned before, the general has these grittily intense eyes, and he was giving me a full-up dose. I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat.
He said, “Did you know I served with Minister Lee in Vietnam?”
I shook my head. How the hell would I know that?
His expression altered a little, maybe even softened. “I spent six months as the American liaison to the ROK First Infantry Division where Lee was a battalion commander. Most Americans don’t even realize Korean troops were in Vietnam. But the ROKs, you know, they earned a reputation as tough fighters. The Vietcong were scared to death of them, so the ROKs didn’t see as much fighting as most American units. The Vietcong made an effort to avoid them.”
“I’ve heard stories,” I said, which was true. And they weren’t pretty stories, either. Maybe they were exaggerations, but there were rumors of South Korean troops collecting ears for trophies and putting Vietcong heads on stakes to discourage sympathizers. On the other hand, maybe they weren’t exaggerations.
Anyway, Spears stared out the window, caught up in his reverie. “One day an ROK battalion was on a sweep, and before they knew it, they were attacked by two full brigades of North Vietnamese regulars. They were outnumbered nearly ten to one. What we guessed later was the North Vietnamese wanted to show the Vietcong, who were all southerners, that the ROKs could be beaten. Or maybe they wanted to try to knock the ROKs out of the war by inflicting a bloody defeat on them. They sure as hell weren’t happy that another Asian country was involved in their war. Anyway, the battle developed quickly. I flew in on a helicopter and landed at the battalion command bunker maybe twenty minutes after it began. Lee was the battalion commander. You probably guessed
