“Capisch, Your Honor,” we both respectfully replied.
“Point two: Don’t forget point one. God help you, don’t forget point one. Miss Carlson, don’t confuse me with those pansy-asses you baited and sucker-punched in the past. I’ll rip off your head and poop down your throat.”
Katherine sat and stared at him, and I have to tell you, there wasn’t any doubt in my mind that Barry Carruthers was not a man to tangle with. Nor was there any doubt that he’d researched Katherine’s trial history and was well aware of her theatrical tactics.
He then said, “Now, you step outside, Miss Carlson. I need to have a word with Drummond here.”
It wasn’t like she could say no. It was his office, after all. For once, she didn’t backtalk, or grumble, or anything. She got up and left.
I sat nervously in my chair and anxiously wondered what this was about. If he didn’t want witnesses, it had to be bad.
He picked up the ball and started squeezing it again.
“Drummond, do I need to tell you that our friends in Washington aren’t real pleased with your performance out here?”
So that’s what this was. He’d asked the civilian to leave so we could have a soldier’s heart-to-heart. He was about to deliver the mail, as they say. I slumped down in my chair.
“No, Your Honor. I think I’ve guessed that.”
“You’re a SPECAT special attorney, right?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I replied, although my mouth was agape.
What I was admitting was that I’m a Special Actions attorney assigned to a secret court that handles the ultra-sensitive cases of soldiers assigned to what the Army calls “black units.” In other words, units whose purpose and missions are so absurdly secret and sensitive the military won’t admit they exist. There are a lot more of these units than the public has any idea exists, which is actually paradoxical, because the public supposedly is unaware
Although the soldiers assigned to black units take strict vows to never mutter a word about what they do, when one of these “black” troopers gets accused of a serious crime, most of them instantly forget that vow and start threatening public disclosure unless they get a favorable plea bargain. There’s also the danger that a public court-martial would expose information that could be hazardous to the nation’s security.
Thus the SPECAT tribunal, where I work. The judges are handpicked. The lawyers are handpicked. We all have security clearances that run down the length of our arms. I got to be one of these attorneys because I was in the outfit, which happens to be the “blackest” unit of them all, and I got wounded so badly on a mission that my career as an infantry officer, such as it was, was over. The powers that be decided to send me to law school and then make me pay it back by working as a SPECAT lawyer.
I’m sure they were all regretting it now.
Judge Barry Carruthers wasn’t supposed to know this, of course, because the existence of the SPECAT court was kept as secret from the rest of the JAG Corps as it was from the rest of humanity.
He was grinning. “Drummond, I spent four years as a SPECAT prosecutor.”
“I had no idea,” I admitted.
“Long time ago. But I’m not keeping you here to trade chummy stories about life as a SPECAT lawyer.”
“No, I don’t guess. You’re here to tell me to straighten up and fly right.”
“I’ve never heard of a court case that caused so much godawful carnage. You realize, don’t you, that this alliance is on the brink of disintegrating?”
“That’s what they say on the news.”
“The news don’t know the half of it, Drummond. The Secretary of State’s here on a last-ditch effort to keep it together. Personally, I don’t have any money on him. You should see the messages flying back and forth between here and Washington. It’s ugly. And if you and Miss Carlson come into my court and start trying to prove this Lee kid was gay, then don’t wait till the last American flight to get off this peninsula, because our boys will be loaded on troopships, and it won’t be long before Uncle Kim up north decides it’s time to come south for an extended visit.”
“Your Honor, I-”
“Knock off the ‘your honor’ crap. We both know this isn’t a proper judge-to-lawyer conversation. This is a mano-to-mano chat we’re having here.”
“Right.”
He fixed his eyes on my face. He paused for a moment to let me know this was a decisive moment. Then he asked, “Do you really believe Whitehall’s innocent? Don’t screw with me now, Drummond. I’m not the jury. You don’t have to persuade me. Give me a no-shit answer.”
I did not pause or hesitate. “Of murder, rape, and necrophilia, I do. The other crimes, I suspect he did.”
He leaned back in his chair and kept staring at me. I guess he was trying to look into my soul to see if I was capable of telling the truth or if I was just one more prevaricating, weasel-faced defense attorney.
Finally he nodded that big head of his and said, “All right. Do what you have to do. Talk to Moran and Jackson. On Friday, we’re gonna have a trial, and you and Carlson come in and give it all you’ve got. No holds barred. I won’t be easy on you, but if an American soldier, of all people, can’t get a fair trial, then you and I chose the wrong profession.”
I thanked him, left, and hooked back up with Katherine. As soon as we got outside, we stood right where we were, in the sunlight, blinded and awestruck for a second.
I said, “We’ve got permission to talk with Moran and Jackson. Also, trial starts on Friday. No holds barred.”
She nodded. “Friday. No holds barred.”
We fell quiet.
I finally laughed. “Ah hell, he’s not so tough. He’s a big pansy.”
Katherine giggled, too. “Did you hear what he said? He threatened to rip off my head and
“A man who means it.”
She sighed. “God, I’m not looking forward to this trial.”
CHAPTER 30
Imelda waited impatiently by the front door to the hair parlor. She grabbed my arm and dragged me into a back room, then closed the door behind us.
She said, “Michael Bales.”
“Right, Michael Bales.”
“I checked his ass out.”
“You checked him out.”
“In country five years. Came over on a three-year tour, married a Korean, and extended.”
“So he’s a homesteader?” I asked, or concluded. Homesteaders are troops who get tired of being shifted from one end of the earth to the other and fight to remain in one place. It’s a fairly common thing with troops in Korea especially, because so many of them marry Korean girls who aren’t real eager to leave Mamasan and Papasan to go live in a strange culture on the other side of the globe.
“Guess who his wife is.”
“A girl who’s into S amp;M. On weekends they send the kids to stay with Grandma and Grandpa so they can tie each other up and beat the bejesus out of each other.”
“Choi’s sister.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Actually it was a stupid question, because one of the things about Imelda Pepperfield is that she never kids.
