man arrives from Washington. All inside twelve hours. All here in tiny Tuzla.”
“Taken individually, any of those things has a variety of possible explanations.”
“Or maybe they’re like those noxious weeds with a common root, with those long underground stems that make them bloom in different places.”
“If you have a fertile imagination.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I admitted. “Maybe I’m just paranoid.”
“Do you have some reason to be paranoid?”
“None I can put my finger on. But sometimes in battle, you look at a hill and just know there’s something lurking on the other side, something dangerous.”
“This isn’t a battle, though.”
“Tell Jeremy Berkowitz that.”
Chapter 18
Sleep did not come easily that night. I lay in my bunk trying to fit all these little pieces together, and frankly the best I could manufacture was a Frankenstein-like image: a gangly, stitched-together resemblance of a monster. Only my Frankenstein was missing a few arms and legs, and I couldn’t bring it to life. Everything I came up with was too moth-eaten for even me to believe.
Clapper’s call came at two o’clock in the morning, and I was still fully awake, so I didn’t grouse or grump.
He started the conversation with, “Damn it, Drummond, what the hell’s happening out there?” He sounded really pissed, which was another reason I didn’t grouse or grump.
I said, “Things are proceeding well. Some NSA guy stopped by today and said we’re in luck. Thanks for your help.”
“I’m not talking about that. I just got off the phone with General Murphy. He says you’re harassing him and other members of his command. He says your conduct has been unprofessional.”
“He never mentioned anything to me.”
“He faxed me a long list of official complaints. Being disrespectful to senior officers. Threatening senior officers with indictments. Blocking an officer from his defense counsel. Harassing and badgering witnesses. Not to mention forcing your way into an operations center and preventing key personnel from doing their jobs in the midst of a field operation, thus endangering the lives of soldiers in the field.”
“Look, sir, all of that’s bullsh-”
“He attached a stack of witness statements. Let’s see, here’s a set from Lieutenant Colonel Smothers and his attorney, Captain Smith. Here’s another from Sergeant Major Williams, and a Colonel Bitters. Shall I go on?”
“No, sir, I can ex-”
“Ah, let’s not overlook this one. It’s from the group chaplain. He says you tried to pressure him into violating his confessional confidences.”
“I talked to him, but I-”
“Now, I’m going to ask you once again, what the hell are you doing out there?”
He’d finally given me an opportunity to defend myself, but I was too busy trying to get some air back in my lungs. I felt like I had just dived into a swimming pool filled with big chunks of ice, and my gonads were now somewhere in my chest and heading toward my throat. It suddenly struck me that what I was apparently doing out here was being outwitted at every turn. I’d been framed, literally from the moment I’d stepped onto Tuzla’s tarmac. Everywhere I went, and every interview I’d done, someone had trotted along behind me. Or beside me. I’d underestimated the opposition.
Besides, the golden rule of the Army is that rank makes right. It might not be fair, but the whole damn system would collapse unless that rule was preserved and protected.
Not to mention the golden rule of law, which is that he who possesses the most compelling and abundant evidence wins. Murphy had gone to the trouble to manufacture statements and collect witnesses, whereas I had nothing but my word as an attorney and an officer. Such as it was.
I very weakly said, “I’m sure we can clear this up, when we have time.”
“You’re right. When this is over, there’ll be an official inquiry into your conduct. I hope I don’t need to remind you that Chuck Murphy might well be the most respected officer in the armed forces. He was first in his class at West Point. He was an All-America tackle and got the Heisman. He was a Rhodes scholar and a war hero. His integrity is unblemished and unquestioned.”
By extrapolation, my reputation and integrity obviously had some gaping flaws.
I stammered, “I understand that, b-”
“And another damned thing. The very damn reason we chose a lawyer to head this investigation was to have someone with enough acumen to navigate that legal minefield out there. Remember the ‘fruit of the poisonous tree’?”
“Of course I remember,” I said. The “fruit of the poisonous tree” is the legal doctrine that says that once the route of discovery becomes tainted by poor process, not only that specific piece of evidence but all that follows in its path becomes inadmissible in court.
He more or less yelled, “You recommend a court-martial now, and the defense will have a field day. You really screwed this up.”
“Look, sir, I-”
“Another thing. The head of the Criminal Investigation Division was in here a few minutes ago. He asked me for your military personnel file. He’s conducting a background check on you. What in the hell’s that about? What exactly is your involvement with Berkowitz’s murder?”
“None I know of, General. I told you Berkowitz came to see me the day he died. Two CID investigators have been to see me twice. They said they were bothered by some curious notes in Berkowitz’s journal.”
“Curious? What in the hell does ‘curious’ mean?”
“I asked them the same question, but they’re treating it like privileged information.”
There was this long, tense pause, then, “I’m not happy with your performance, Drummond. I mean, I’m really friggin’ unhappy.”
“I’m not happy with it, either,” I admitted, although for very different reasons than his.
“You just keep your nose clean till this is over. No more complaints from Chuck Murphy. I mean, I don’t want to hear another word. Have I made myself clear?”
“Very clear.”
“We’ll have an inquiry when this is done,” Clapper threatened again before his phone came down hard in the cradle, and our conversation, such as it was, abruptly ended. Other than a few “yessirs,” and “but I’s,” I hadn’t contributed much.
It was no use trying to fall asleep. I got out of my bunk, got dressed, then walked over to our little wooden building. Two of Wolky’s burliest MPs stood beside the door. I showed them my ID and they let me in. Imelda was inside sitting on her bunk, flashlight in hand, reading one of those big, thick books she likes so much. She glanced up when she heard the door bang open and shut and quickly stuffed the book under her sleeping bag. This is a woman who makes the most out of being underestimated.
“Who’s there?” She blinked into the darkness.
“It’s me, Imelda.”
“Oh,” she said. “What are you doin’ here at this hour?”
I said, “I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d come over and review some law books.”
The truth was, I was feeling like such a world-class heel that I thought I’d punish myself, like those fourteenth-century monks who used to horsewhip their own backs in expiation for their sins. Only I chose a more cruel form of chastisement. I was going to read every legal text I could get my hands on.
“This gig’s not goin’ too good, huh?”
“No, it really isn’t,” I mournfully admitted. “I think I’m screwing it up.”
She sat and pondered that for a moment. We’d probably worked two dozen cases together over the years,
