Mortal Allies (7 page)

Katherine bent forward fiercely. “Bullshit. You force them to abide by it. For Chrissakes, we’re the ones defending them from the bad guys, aren’t we? That’s called leverage.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Brandewaite insisted.

“Then
make
it work like that,” Katherine demanded.

“I couldn’t . . . even if I wanted to. My position has been approved by both the State Department and the National Security Council. The situation is already radicalized enough. We don’t want to do anything that will stoke the fires. Whitehall will be turned over to the Koreans at five o’clock today.”

“No, he won’t! I’ll file a motion and get this blocked,” Katherine threatened.

“With who?” Brandewaite asked, barely concealing a smile.

“What do you mean, with who?”

The acting ambassador leaned back into the couch and crossed his legs. He ran pinched fingers along the creases on his worsted wool trousers and admired the shine on his fancy shoes. “Who will you file the motion with? This is Korea, not the United States. File it with a military court, and I guarantee you it will be overturned by noon. File it with the Koreans and they’ll laugh at you.”

Janson was vigorously nodding his head, and since he was the military adviser to the Commander in Chief, that made it a fair bet Brandewaite wasn’t blowing smoke.

Katherine looked inquisitively at Keith, who shrugged, and only then did she turn her big green eyes beseechingly in my direction.

I could and probably should’ve ignored her.

Instead, I said, “Mr. Brandewaite, exactly what is your agreement with the South Korean government? Who’s it with and how much have you conceded?”

Brandewaite nodded at Janson to take over.

“We’ve already agreed to turn Whitehall over for pretrial confinement. In about an hour, General Spears is going to meet with Chun Moon Song, the minister of justice, to inform the Koreans we also formally relinquish the right to try Whitehall.”

“Only Whitehall? What about Moran? What about Jackson?”

“Uh, no. Only Whitehall. The South Koreans haven’t requested the other two. Their crimes were reprehensible, though clearly not as heinous.”

“Have we ever ceded the right to try before?”

“This is a unique case. You know how the law works, Major. Precedents are guides, but they aren’t binding. Every case is decided on its own merits.”

“Is this a reciprocal agreement?”

Janson’s expression was perfectly innocuous. “What do you mean?”

“Is there a quid pro quo? You turn over Whitehall, and in return other prisoners remain under our military jurisdictional courts. Are we trading flesh for flesh here?”

Brandewaite quickly placed a hand on Janson’s leg. “Major, you know that diplomatic discussions between the U.S. government and the government of the Republic of Korea are strictly confidential. We simply can’t disclose what we’ve discussed.”

“No?”

“No,” he replied, very firmly.

“Can you at least disclose who’s been negotiating with the South Koreans?”

“Of course. I have. And Colonel Janson has very kindly served as my co-interlocutor.”

Co-interlocutor? Where the hell did they find these guys?

But I didn’t ask that. Instead, I asked, “So, it was just you and Colonel Janson here, huh?”

Janson started to open his lips, but Brandewaite shut him off with a quick chopping motion. A bad mistake on his part.

“That’s right, Major. There were some notetakers, but the colonel and I spearheaded this effort.”

“Good, that keeps it nice and clean.”

“Keeps what nice and clean?”

“Who we cite.”

“Who you cite for what?”

“For obstructing justice and engaging in a criminal conspiracy to defraud our client of his legal rights. And the civil suit we’ll file for violating the constitutional rights of our client.”

A look of ugly shock registered on Brandewaite’s face. He patted his puffy, oddly nongrayed hair and stared at me. “Drummond, I am an acting ambassador and you’re a low-ranking military officer. If you dare threaten me, I’ll speak with General Spears and have you court-martialed.”

I looked instantly abashed. “Mr. Brandewaite, you’ll have to excuse me. Please. I don’t know what came over me,” I said, and that brought a slight twitch to the corners of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but it was moving in that direction before I said, “The problem we’ve got is mistaken identities. I’m not just any Army officer, I’m an attorney. Besides, there’s a big difference between a threat and a promise. Sometimes you have to listen close, but that wasn’t a threat. Right, Miss Carlson?”

“Goddamn right,” she said with perfect timing. “I’d call it a favor, Brandewaite. He’s giving you the chance to warn your public affairs officer about the announcement I’m going to make at the press conference I’m going to convene as soon as we depart your office.”

“I will not be bullied,” Brandewaite said, glaring at her, at Keith, at me, then at Janson, whose only real offense was being a lawyer like the rest of us. Guilt by association, I guess.

“That’s right. We will not be bullied,” Janson loudly and indignantly echoed, trying to work himself back into the diplomat’s good graces. “Besides, you’re bluffing. You can’t sue a functionary acting in the best interests of the U.S. government.”

Then, to my immense surprise, Keith said, “Counselor, my field of expertise is suing federal officials. It’s how I make my living. Let me add, I make a good living. What I particularly like about this case is that not only will I win a great deal of money from both of you, but I’ll also get to cite you for criminal behavior. You said it yourself. You must be acting in the best interests of the U.S. government.”

“We are,” Janson insisted.

“You’re not. You’re conspiring with a foreign government to deprive an American soldier of his most fundamental rights. Open and shut. You’ve now been personally advised of such, which deprives you of any defense based on legal ignorance.” Keith leaned hungrily forward and awarded them a sly grin. “The facts being what they are, defending our client was going to be an uphill battle anyway. What were our chances of winning, right? This at least allows us to salvage something. An officer suspected of being gay makes legal history by being the first soldier turned over to the South Koreans for trial. It’s too bad about Whitehall being martyred and all that, but wasn’t it Robespierre who said you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs?”

I wasn’t all that pleased that he’d broadened the issue from the fate of our client to the overall cause, but before I could think about it further, Katherine caught on to his thrust. She also leaned forward. “We’re going to make you two very famous.”

And the truth was, they were right. They
would
make mincemeat out of them, and Janson, the trained lawyer, was the first to figure this out, because he was the first one to turn so apoplectic I thought blood might start leaking out his ears.

“Look, lady” — he pointed a finger at Katherine’s face — “we’re not flying by the seat of our pants on this thing. This action was approved by the National Security Council.”

Katherine smiled. “I don’t care if Santa Claus gave you permission, asshole. You’re the two government officials we looked in the eye and warned. Turn over Captain Whitehall and we’ll publicly fry you.”

After that, we probably could’ve sat there and spit more screw-yous at one another, but what would be the point? We’d gotten our message across, so we all got up and trooped for the door. And I had nearly made it out when Janson grabbed my sleeve and yanked me backward.

He whispered something short and pungent, and then let go and backed away.

What he said was, “I don’t like you, Drummond. I’ll fuck you for this.”

Subtlety didn’t seem to be his forte.

None of us said anything the whole ride back because there was an MP in the front seat and confidentiality was critical at this point. Besides, I was too infuriated to talk. I was furious at Katherine for roping me into this. I was mad at the Army and at General Clapper for conceding my services. I was mad at Keith for shifting the discussion away from Whitehall and his rights and enlarging it to the gay cause.

Know who I was maddest at? The guy with the really big mouth.

Why did I have to threaten the acting ambassador? Why did I have to jump out in front and stuff my stupid head into the lion’s mouth? I knew the answer to those questions, and I wasn’t real proud about it.

I was trying to impress little Miss Number One in the Class, who’d goaded and ridiculed me for three straight years. I was trying to prove I could outmuscle her as a legal brawler.

Well, I’d showed her.

W
e went straight to Katherine’s room, only nobody was there, just a message telling us a big surprise awaited at the hair salon at the top of the hill beside the hotel. So we trooped up there.

When we walked in, three female legal clerks in battle dress were lugging boxes and computers, and folding tables and chairs, and were converting the hair parlor into an impromptu legal office. In the corner stood a diminutive, squat Black female noncommissioned officer with short graying hair, gold wire-rimmed glasses, and a round, puffy face that somehow, improbably, looked harder than nails. She was barking commands at everybody, waving her arms this way and that, squawking to beat the band.

I almost ran across the floor to hug her. I didn’t, though. She would’ve slapped me silly if I so much as winked. Katherine and Keith eyed what was going on and appeared instantly bewildered.

I said, “Sergeant Pepperfield, could you please step over here so I can introduce you?”

She looked up as though she hadn’t noticed us until that very instant, which was balderdash because nothing ever happened within ten miles of Imelda that she didn’t notice. She hiked up her Army camouflage trousers, lowered her spectacles, huffed and puffed once or twice like I was terribly inconveniencing her, then waddled in our direction.

Katherine was inspecting the cut of her jib.

“Katherine, Keith, this is Sergeant First Class Imelda Pepperfield, the best legal aide in the United States Army. She’ll run our legal shop.”

Imelda firmly planted her feet directly in front of Katherine, and the two of them stared into each other’s eyes for what seemed an eternity but was probably only half a second. It was that kind of look.

“Nice to meet you,” Katherine said, sticking out her hand.

Imelda grabbed it and snarled, “Don’t you or none of your legal diplomas mess with me, y’hear. I run this show and you do what I say. This office is my turf. You remember that!”

“Okay,” Katherine said.

“You got something you want, you tell me. Ol’ Pepperfield will make it happen.”

“All right,” Katherine said.

At that very instant, Maria the grump and Allie the amazon came dashing out of an office in the back. Maria was actually smiling. It was a goofy-looking thing, but it was a smile, I guess.

“Would you look what this woman did! We’ve been here eleven days and couldn’t even get a phone line. She’s here two hours and she got a building, six phone lines, and five computers.”

“Three cars, too,” Allie chirped up. “With drivers.”

“That’s wonderful,” Katherine said. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but is a hair parlor the best we could do?”

Imelda shuffled her feet. “They gave us this ’cause all of the Koreans that work here’re on strike.”

“And because it’s a hair parlor and we’re the gay defense team?” Katherine asked.

“Don’t make a damn to me,” Imelda snorted. “Got three offices in the back, air-conditioning, toilets, and lotsa electric outlets.”

“You’re right,” Katherine said, giving Imelda a warm, proud smile. “It’s perfect.”

Imelda beamed like a happy child. Her mouth spread from one earlobe to the other. I was flabbergasted. This was a lovefest. They were all acting like big buddies, patting each other on the back and grinning like fools. It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. Imelda Pepperfield was the grumpiest, gnarliest person God ever put on this green earth. One of the smartest, too. She did this great impression of a poorly educated, backwoods southern Black girl that somehow fooled nearly all the people, all the time. Not me, though. Imelda is as sly as any lawyer I’ve ever met and nearly as well educated. She has a master’s in English lit and a master’s in criminal law. She keeps all this well disguised because, like many professional noncoms, she knows the ship runs much smoother when the officers on the upper decks feel there’s some tangible basis for their perch on the roost.

I stared hard at Imelda and she glared fiercely right back.

Katherine interrupted our silent showdown by announcing, “They still plan to turn Whitehall over to the Koreans at five o’clock this evening.”

The smile melted off Maria’s tiny face, and Allie looked around the room as though she were searching for something to throw, or break, or kill. They really were an odd couple: complete opposites; one tall, one short; one loud and brassy, the other quiet, withdrawn, and well . . . grumpy. Not that I understood the first thing about gay relationships, but what the hell did they see in each other?

Anyway, I said, “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Why?” Katherine asked. “Do you think we scared them out of it?”

“I think they’re on the phone to D.C. right now. They’re both pissing in their trousers. Brandewaite’s the ambitious type who’d like to be a real ambassador or an assistant muckety-muck someday. And that big-lipped colonel has dreams of general’s stars. The kind of public recognition you just offered isn’t likely to further their careers any.”

“Turn up the heat then,” Katherine snapped. “Allie, call Carson from the
Times
, and Millgrew from the
Post
. Tell them I want to meet right away.”

Allie took a step toward her office before I quickly said, “I wouldn’t do that.”

“And why not?”

“Because you don’t want to set a precedent of running to the press every time you don’t get your way.”

“Bullshit,” tiny Maria said. “You just don’t get it, do you?”