The Kingmaker (6 page)

“Yeah. And who are you? I’m supposed to meet with some asshole named Eddie Golden. He here yet?”

It was a very stupid thing to say, and Eddie immediately chuckled like this was just so damned amateurish, so adolescent, but he’s so magnanimous he’d just take it in stride instead of stuffing it down my throat with some snappy comeback. Which, really, was a snappy comeback.

Admiring chortles erupted from his fleet of admirers. I swiftly said, “Uh, this is my co-counsel, Katrina Mazorski.”

“Jesus Christ, Drummond. Where’d you find
this
one?” He laughed, igniting another broadside of yuck-yucks from the gallery.

Katrina calmly weathered this, folding her arms and waiting patiently for the laughter to subside to giggles. She grinned. “You’re very funny, Eddie.”

“I know.”

“ ‘Where’d you find
this
one?’ That’s what you said, right?”

“That’s what I said.”

Her grin disappeared. “The implication being what, Eddie?”

“Choose your own implication,” he replied, ever the cocky prick.

“I can’t. Help me out here. ‘Where’d you find
this
one?’ What’s the implication? Why did everybody laugh?”

The background chortling died. It suddenly struck Eddie what everybody else just realized. “There were no hidden implications.”

“There had to be, Eddie. I hope it wasn’t sex discrimination. What? Where’d you find this skank? What gutter did she crawl out of? What?”

“I just meant. . . like, where’d she come from? Virginia? New York?”

She put a hand to her chin. “And that’s funny?”

“To some folks . . . apparently.”

She gave him a threatening look. “I don’t think it’s funny. Do you think it’s funny?”

“Uh, no, I guess not.”

She spun away and faced me. She winked, and did this little jerky gesture with her hand. Now that was funny. At least, I thought it was very funny. Eddie didn’t and he sulked the whole way back around the table.

I waited till he was seated before I said, “So who are the rest of your distinguished colleagues?”

He stopped sulking and produced a raw grin. “A few members of our interagency prosecution team. I obviously couldn’t fit everybody in this room—hell, I can barely fit them all on the three floors assigned to my task force. Hah-hah-hah. So I handpicked a few key members to sit in.”

This was a very shrewd way of saying he had a whole legion of lawyers behind him, which I already knew, but leave it to Eddie to reinforce the point.

He pushed back his chair, leaned on the two rear legs, and put his feet up on the table, soles facing me. In Asia, that gesture’s considered an unforgivable insult. He casually looked down and began playing with his fingernails, like he was digging
dirt out of one of them, which was farcical because Eddie never collects any dirt under his nails.

“So, Drummond, you requested this meeting. Why?”

“I just thought we should all get introduced.”

“We’re already introduced. You and I met in court twice already. What’s next?”

Which was another clever move, because it threw the onus of carrying this meeting on my shoulders. I replied, “A few procedural points. Have you decided what charges you’re going to bring?”

“Not yet. Your client committed so many crimes, over such a long period of time, we may take our full thirty days to decide on the full range. For the time being . . . just treason.”

And that confirmed my first suspicion. The deal was this: Eddie would stall till the last minute and then fire the full barrage of charges at our doorstep, forcing us to scramble around in confusion under a precariously short deadline to decide how we wanted to respond to a slew of unexpected disclosures.

“Okay, fine.” I worked up a menacing expression, then said, “I spoke with O’Neil and he said you have a group of attorneys clearing evidence for release to my team. I’ll tell you what I told him. If I don’t start seeing that evidence early, I’ll start holding press conferences. I’ll also lodge a request for dismissal on the grounds of obstruction of justice.”

Eddie looked up from his fingernails for the very first time. “That would be really stupid, Drummond.”

“Not from where I sit. Is it true you and Captain Zbrovnia have been working for months with the team that caught my client?”

“They’ve been exposing us to various details along the way,” he replied evasively, back to studying his fingernails.

“Then you’ve had plenty of time to consider your evidence and build your case. No judge is going to have sympathy for you. If I don’t get charges and evidence in a timely fashion, I
will
lodge that request for dismissal and you’ll have to explain to a judge how you wasted months of preparation before the arrest.”

Eddie turned on that big flashy smile. This was all so much fun. “Won’t work, pal. Nobody’s been pushing harder to get it cleared than I have. I’ve got a file drawer filled with memos and requests to show any judge that’s interested. Isn’t that right, everybody?” he asked his admirers. They all began nodding furiously, like, Yeah, really, nobody’s pushing harder than the boss here. He’s just such a fabulous guy. Don’t you just love him? We sure do.

Eddie continued, “The sooner you see how this went down, the quicker you’ll realize the deep shit you’re in. I’ve never seen a stronger case. And please, plead innocent, because I’m really, really looking forward to shoving it up your ass.”

I worked hard at keeping my face perfectly bland, although from the expressions across the table I think I came up short. Before this got worse, I stood up. “I think we’ve accomplished everything we can today. I’ll be waiting for that evidence.”

Outside in the car, I turned to Katrina. “Well? What did you think?”

This being her first real dose of the big leagues of law, the poor girl seemed shell-shocked. She simply stared out the windshield for a while.

“He definitely won that round,” she finally said.

“Other than that?” I growled.

“He seems very, very good. And they seem very, very convinced they have an ironclad case.”

I chuckled. “Prosecutors always try to make you think that way.”

She went back to staring out the windshield. As did I.

I
t took three oversize vans to transport Imelda, two enlisted assistants, Katrina, our supplies and materials, and of course me from the Kansas City Airport north to Fort Leavenworth. The drive took fifty minutes, along an interstate and then a series of hilly, winding roads past small farming towns.

As there were no spare offices on post, we were assigned a set of quarters along what is known as Colonel’s row. This had its advantages, as these quarters are big red-brick Victorian houses constructed at the turn of the century, with wide verandas, living rooms with grand fireplaces, and full kitchens and dining rooms. There were enough bedrooms to spare us the need to stay in hotels, and enough nooks and crannies downstairs for offices and conference rooms. In Imelda’s typically competent fashion, she had already arranged for temporary furniture to be delivered and phones to be turned on, so that by ten that night we were in business.

An hour later Katrina and I slipped out. It was late, but I wanted her to get a quick introduction to our client. We’d ask
him a few simple questions, then return in the morning for the heavy stuff. It wouldn’t inconvenience him any. Prisoners in solitary know no time. They live in an infinity of boredom.

He was led into the interview room and the MPs went through the lock-him-to-the-table routine again. He seemed more aware than last time. Grumpy, but aware. I said, “General, this is Katrina Mazorski, who will serve as co-counsel. She’s a lawyer and she speaks Russian.”

He studied her for five sullen seconds before he exploded. “You’re shitting me.”

I had started to open my lips when Katrina held up her hand to shush me. She calmly said, “What part of that confused you?”

He rolled his eyes and said to me, “Christ, you stupid bastard. My life’s on the line, and you hire some groupie slut from a rock concert.”

“Ahh . . . it’s my looks that bother you?” She smiled. “That’s
so
surface. How about this? I got my law degree from U of Maryland—night school, no less. And I’ve only spent two years practicing law. Can you believe it? I can barely believe it. Now you can piss in your pants.”

He and I both stared at her in shocked disbelief. Like I needed this. She was going to give him a heart attack. She continued, “Consider this, however. I’ve won ninety percent of my cases and was top of my class at U of Maryland. No, it’s not Harvard Law, but if Harvard hadn’t been so damned expensive that I had to turn it down, who knows?”

He started to say something, she held up a hand, and said, “I have an IQ of 170, rate a 4.0 on the State Department Russian fluency exam, and I kick ass in court. Relax and have faith in Major Drummond’s judgment. He doesn’t tell you how to interpret satellite photos or whatever the hell you do, so why are you questioning his judgment in attorneys?”

I looked at Morrison, and his jaw was agape. I said, “How you doing, General?”

“Huh?”

“How you doing?”

“Shitty.”

“That’s prison for you. At least you don’t have some three-hundred-pound cellmate named Bubba who wants to give you a colorectal exam.”

He stopped staring at Katrina and faced me. “I have no television. They won’t give me anything to read. I just sit in my cell and go fucking crazy.”

“Right. . . that’s their game. They want you so freaking lonely and bored you’ll turn diarrhetic when they interrogate you.”

“And what are you going to do about that?”

“About what?”

“I’m a brigadier general in the United States Army, asshole. That’s supposed to mean something. Get off your stupid ass and do something.”

“Like what?”

“You tell me the answer to that. Get me a fucking TV. Get me books. Get me a cellmate, something, anything to keep me from going mad.”

“The Chief of Staff of the Army couldn’t get you a TV. This is part of the process.”

He began cursing and shaking his head like this was absolutely deranged. I allowed him to vent a few more seconds before I interrupted, “We’re going to ask a few questions. Nothing too intense, just a few start points.”

“Drummond, God damn it, you’re not listening to—”

“Question one,” I interrupted, affirming that he was right. “Did you betray this country?”

“What? No . . . of course not. It’s complete horseshit.”

“We’re your lawyers. Our conversations are protected and we need to know the truth to properly defend you. Did you betray your country?”

His face lurched forward and the veins stuck out in his neck.
“Damn it, you asshole, I just told you. I never betrayed my country.”

“Why’d they arrest you?”

“I don’t know. Damn it, I don’t even know what I’m being charged with. How the hell do they expect me to defend myself when I don’t know what they’re saying I did? Huh?”

“The full range of charges hasn’t been filed yet. This morning’s newspapers say you began working for the Soviets in 1988 or 1989, that you transferred your loyalty to Russia when the Soviet Union collapsed, and you continued feeding them information through all these years. They say Ames and Hanssen were tossed to protect you. They say you’re the vilest mole in the history of espionage.”

This blunt soliloquy was intended to make him back down and stop climbing up our asses. I might’ve been more gentle had he not called me an asshole three times in one minute.

His eyes bulged. “Who’s saying this?”

“Unnamed sources leaking things in a torrent. And nearly every day leading up to the trial there’ll be a fresh revelation. And by the way, the CIA’s general counsel mentioned they may add murder to whatever charges they settle on.”

He was furiously shaking his head. “Oh, God damn it, no! This is so wrong. I didn’t betray anybody. I didn’t murder anybody. Nineteen eighty-eight? How did they come up with that?”

“We haven’t seen any evidence yet.”

“Get the fucking evidence, Drummond!” he shrieked.

“I’ve lodged requests with the CIA and the prosecutor. I’m not hopeful, though.”

“Why? They’d better produce something. What kind of fucking country is this? What kind of idiotic lawyer are you?”

Katrina soothingly said, “You need to get ahold of yourself. This is all part of the game.”

“It’s not a fucking game, bitch!”

“We’ll get the evidence.” She calmly said, “Your arrest put us
on a treadmill. Right now, they control the pace. We’ll look for a way to reverse that.”

“And what the hell am I supposed to do in the meantime, huh? You assholes don’t know what it’s like in here.”

I said, “We’ll spend time tomorrow getting background. I’ll want to start back in 1988. I’ll need to know what you’ve been doing all these years.”

“Read my fucking record.”

“I did.”

“Then what the hell is there to talk about?”

“Job titles don’t help.” I added, “We need to know what you were doing, what you were working on, what you were exposed to. Then, when the evidence does come, we’ll have something to work with.”

He kneaded his temples and stared miserably at the table. I looked at my watch. It was nearly eleven-thirty. I said, “Tonight, think carefully about your actions over the past ten years. We’ll begin our questioning first thing in the morning.”

“I’m innocent,” he grumbled.

“Then fight to prove it. Get mad. Fight for your honor. Fight to see your family again.”

He looked up as though I’d just jarred his memory. “How’s Mary?”

“Fine. I stopped by her father’s house yesterday. She asked me to tell you she loves you.” Although that wasn’t really true, because now that I thought about it, she hadn’t said that. I added, “One more question . . . that father of hers, Homer?”

“What about him?”

“How can you stand that son of a bitch?”

He looked confused. “What are you talking about? Homer and I get along fine.”

Of course. Why had I even asked?

Once outside the prison and heading toward the car, Katrina, looking somewhat disapproving, said, “Your bedside manner sucked.”