charged with manslaughter and DUI, and he might be facing twenty years in a prison.”
Mercer said, “What was his access to plans and sensitive information?”
Spears looked puzzled. “He was cleared for Top Secret, but limited to whatever he needed to know. In Harry’s case it wasn’t much.”
I asked, “Did he sit in on briefings on war plans, or sensitive intelligence, that kind of thing?”
“Not routinely, no. Uh, actually, he might have sat in on some. Particularly if he assigned himself as the escort officer for some particularly important visitor.”
Brandewaite asked, “You mean, like a senator?”
“We don’t brief senators on war plans. Say the Secretary of Defense, or the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. They get over here a few times a year. Even the President was here last year.”
We fell quiet a moment.
Spears broke the silence. “Harry always handled the big ones himself. I never associated anything with that. I always thought Harry was just… well, taking responsibility for the tougher ones.”
That’s exactly what it was, I thought. Elmore’s guests were privy to the most sensitive knowledge. He could sit in the back of the room at the heftiest briefings and report back to Choi. He’d be the last person anyone would suspect because his position was so drab and perfunctory. He was the only person in the room who came as a coatholder, a petty, unimportant escort, the guy who was there to make sure the VIP got from this briefing to the next on time.
Was that why the North Koreans hooked him? Why they took him out?
I said, “Was there something he knew that made him special?”
Brandewaite said, “Maybe he was the only traitor. Maybe the others are innocent. Maybe that’s why they killed only him.”
As much as Spears, Mercer, and even I would’ve liked that to be true, Brandewaite was blowing smoke. I had this picture in my head of a policeman walking into a courtyard and coming upon Janson with his pants down, trying to remove the drawers from some poor little tyke. It was a sickening thought. Add that to Janson’s manipulations in the Whitehall case and Elmore definitely wasn’t the only one.
Mercer said, “Probably he was also useful for telling Choi when big VIPs were in town. Like some powerful senator or general. Elmore maybe even knew what their personal peccadillos were.”
Spears said, “Damn it, Buzz, we don’t run an escort service for the command’s guests.”
“I know that, General. What I mean is, some of these guys get here, and it’s a week away from Mama and the screaming kids, and they’re on the other side of the world, and ah hell, who’s gonna know if they run out and get a little Oriental nookie? I mean, who’d know, right? Well, Elmore and his guys would probably know. They talk to the VIP’s security guys. Maybe they provide him with the car and driver.”
I said, “I’ll bet that’s right. Maybe he was pimping targets for Choi to blackmail. Maybe the North Koreans eliminated him so he wouldn’t compromise somebody. Maybe they’re trying to protect some priceless asset. Maybe several.”
It was a fairly ugly thought, and you could see it register on everybody’s faces. But it did make chilling sense. If Elmore was trolling for Choi, he’d be able to identify others on Choi’s roll. That could justify an immediate execution. That could mark him for special consideration.
“Jesus,” Brandewaite muttered. “I hope to God this doesn’t get any bigger. This is sickening.”
Mercer, enjoying his discomfort, twisted it in. “Oh yeah, it’s gonna get bigger. I won’t be surprised if it reaches inside your embassy.”
The look Brandewaite gave him would’ve boiled cucumbers.
We talked for a few more desultory minutes, until it was obvious we weren’t making headway, and Spears and Brandewaite both had important phone calls to make to their respective bosses in Washington about the disaster unfolding around them. They got up and left.
Mercer went to get a fresh cup of coffee and this time he even brought me one. Either he was feeling sorry for me, or we were getting to be buddies.
Ah, how silly of me. He was CIA. He felt sorry for me, obviously.
“So what do
“No question of that,” I admitted.
“Hard to feel sympathy for the son of a bitch. He was betraying his own country, for God’s sakes. They spared him the anguish of getting caught.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I admitted, taking a sip.
He studied me over the lip of his cup. “You got enough to get Whitehall off now?”
I put my hand up in the air, palm down, and wiggled it back and forth. “How much will you allow me to enter into evidence?”
“Not a word. There’s reporters climbing all over the place. I’m putting a lid on this so tight folks’ll be suffocating.”
“Then I wouldn’t bet my mortgage on Whitehall.”
I yawned. Having not slept in about forty hours, I was exhausted. All the adrenaline rush of the past few hours had dribbled away and left me an empty hulk.
“Jesus,” Mercer finally muttered, “you look like crap. Go to bed.”
I gave him a grim smile. “You mean I’ve done enough damage today?”
“Damage? Drummond, you’re a walking earthquake. I can’t wait till this goddamn trial’s over and you get your overdestructive ass off my peninsula.”
I smiled and got up. “You think Bales and Choi are long gone?”
“Hell yeah. Maybe they climbed on some North Korean fishing trawler or submarine. Maybe they had a private plane stashed somewhere that flew them out under radar.”
“Too bad,” I said, thinking of what that would mean to Whitehall’s defense. Not to mention what it would mean to Katherine, who was expecting me to come up with the goods. If those goods were just getting settled into a hotel in Pyongyang, they were out of my reach.
“Yeah,” the spymaster said. “Very fuckin’ too bad.”
CHAPTER 42
The way the law works, the defense and the prosecution start each case with a tug-of-war on pretrial discoveries. The first real skirmishes of any criminal trial are battles of discovery, which is simply everything you can learn about the crime, the evidence, and the witnesses. You like to learn about these things before the trial begins because it tells you how to mold your strategy. It also keeps you from getting embarrassed and having your case completely trashed by surprises during the trial. Like maybe the prosecutor walks into court with a videotape you didn’t know existed that shows your client shooting a kneeling victim in the head, and all of a sudden your claim of self-defense has a gaping hole in it.
The prosecution, because it works for the state, has ready access to everything the police have, and that’s a fairly telling advantage. The law recognizes that advantage and offsets it by allowing the defense great latitude in learning what the prosecution knows. The prosecution actually has to provide advance notification to the defense of every witness and piece of evidence it intends to produce in court.
There was a time when the courts were so libertarian that defense attorneys had nearly a one-way street. In other words, the prosecutor had to empty the contents of his briefcase, whereas defense counsels only had to share limited knowledge with the prosecutor. Those were the good old days to be a defense attorney. That was before Ronald Reagan and George Bush reigned for twelve straight years and the Supreme Court got a strong injection of conservative steroids.
These days, the exchange of notification and shared evidence is nearly equal. The whole idea is to keep either side from monopolizing critical knowledge and unfairly bushwhacking the other in the courtroom.
All this is by way of explaining why Eddie submitted a motion to Carruthers about me. Like I’ve said several times, when it comes to matters of the law, Eddie has few equals.
