Untitled (50 page)

  "Yes," said Thounter.

  "Why did you use this particular gun?"

  "Because I knew that Mr. Mbutu there had been given one just like it to kill Farrel Douglas."

  "And how do you know that?"

  "Because I sent it to him."

  "And why was that done?"

  "So that it would appear that he shot Douglas. I used special ammunition called DH-9s in the rifle. I got them from Phil Easter. DH-9s explode on impact, not leaving a slug that can be matched with accuracy. Mr. Mbutu had ordinary bullets, but they would tie him to the shooting."

  "Why, Mr. Thounter?" asked Marshall. "Why not just let Mbutu do it?"

  Thounter laughed. "The people I work for don't leave these things to amateurs. And as a matter of fact, Mbutu missed his target."

  "Did you shoot Wendel Miller?"

  "No. I was only after Douglas. I hit what I aim for."

  "Now, Mr. Thounter," said Marshall. "Tell the court how you got to be so close to where Mbutu fired his shots."

  Thounter adjusted in his seat. The FBI men on either side of him reacted, turning inward and placing their hands on their weapons. Marshall tensed, as did the entire courtroom. Someone gasped loudly. Finally, Thounter settled.

  "Mr. Thounter?" said Marshall. "How did you get to be so close to where Mbutu fired his shots?"

  "I used an old air duct that leads to an area under the crawl space that Mr. Mbutu occupied. I got there a month before the speech and prepared the area, making a sliding door out of an old vent cover that I could shoot out of. I knew the security procedures wouldn't start until three weeks before the target came. When Douglas came in, I was right under Mbutu, maybe only three feet away. I hit my target twice. I even scored a head shot with the second."

  Thounter was cold, clinical, and proud of his deed. Marshall was chilled by his demeanor and suspected that everyone else was too.

  "How did Mbutu get out of the building?"

  "My employers somehow rigged the security team to leave the crawl space unattended. Mbutu was to pack the gun, run downstairs, and hand the weapon off to a man who would hand it off to another. Then one of Mbutu's men was to brandish a gun and take the security men on a chase while everyone else escaped. I simply climbed back down to the basement and walked out the back during the chase."

  Marshall surveyed the stunned courtroom. Nate and Toby looked at him with anger. They were obviously upset at not being let in on all of this. Marshall turned back to his witness.

  "Who hired you for this job?" asked Marshall.

  "I was recruited by Phil Easter, a CIA agent I got to know doing some special government jobs."

"Was Easter the only CIA man involved?"

"No," said Thounter.

  "For the record, Your Honor," said Marshall, "Phillip Easter was killed in the capture of this witness outside of Toledo after he killed his partner, Art Van Ness." To Thounter, Marshall said, "Did you know who Easter was working with?"

  "Not then, but I found out."

  "How?" asked Marshall.

  "When I heard who the target was, I wanted double my usual fee. And I thought that I needed some insurance, so I followed Easter."

  "And who were his contacts?"

  "A couple of other CIA agents, several high-level lobbyists for these big companies. They wanted to stop some trade bill from passing. When Easter met a man, I'd follow him, and so on and so on."

  "And what did you find?"

  "I ended up in D.C. following two senators, one from Pennsylvania and another from Georgia. They got a lot of money from these companies that wanted that trade bill defeated."

  Marshall stopped his examination and turned to Langworthy. "Your Honor should know that right now, all of these men are being arrested in various states and the District of Columbia through a coordinated effort between the FBI, CIA, the U.S. marshal, and local law enforcement. The government believes that Farrel Douglas was killed to defeat the Dixon-Green Trade Bill, which would be worth billions of dollars to the interested parties." To Thounter he said, "And what else did your investigation find?"

  "I recorded a conversation between the senators. They talked about how to do the hit."

  "Mr. Thounter, do you have proof of this conversation?"

  "Yes," said Thounter. "I followed them using a directional mike attached to a high-end surveillance camera. It wasn't easy, because they kept moving. The picture is fuzzy, but you can tell who they are just fine."

  Marshall rolled the TV monitor.

  "The government would like to submit this tape into evidence as government exhibit one hundred and fifty-three."

  Marshall hit a button on the VCR. Two men appeared on screen. They were both about fifty or so. One was dressed in a light trench coat, the other in a dark one. The men made small talk, then: "I need some assurance of a conviction after the bad vote is eliminated," said the man in the light coat.

  "No problem," said the other man. "It's all taken care of."

  "This is goddamned unnecessary. The president is so obsessed with being liked that he can't see how he's hurting the country."

  "It's too bad we can't get to Douglas. He's just too inflexible on this issue. Attempts to influence him have failed."

  "A small price to pay for what we'll get."

  "Our DOJ contact wants assurances of the deal."

  "Send her the message not to worry. I can guarantee the number two spot on the ticket in the next election."

  "Then we're all set."

  "From today, this matter never happened."

  "Agreed."

  The men split up and walked away. The picture started to fade out. Marshall turned off the TV.

  "Your Honor, I know this is unusual," said Marshall. "But I could not allow this court to be used to perpetrate this grand injustice. The plot to kill Farrel Douglas was undertaken for billions of corporate dollars and the ambitions of powerful people. I'm done with this witness."

  "Any questions, Mr. Rashad?" asked the judge.

  Rashad was much too smart to follow this examination with anything. "None," said Rashad.

  Marshall walked over to Nate and Toby and stood before them as Thounter was led out of the courtroom.

  "I'd like to call one last witness. And it doesn't give me any pleasure to do so."

  Nate and Toby looked at Marshall as if he were the angel of death, huge, terrible, and there to take them. "I call the attorney general of the United States."

  The courtroom erupted again. Toby stood and looked at Marshall with contempt.

  "What the hell do you presume you are doing, Counselor?" said Toby. "None of this is authorized. It's over, right now."

  "I'm the judge here," said Langworthy. "It's not over. Will you take the stand or not, Ms. Newhall?"

  "I'll do no such thing," said Toby. "This is—"

  "Helen, be quiet," said Nate Williams.

  Toby looked at Nate with disbelief. "Nate, you don't believe—"

  "The man in the tape said 'her' and 'DOJ.' The acronym for Department of Justice," said Marshall. "He referred to an accomplice in the department who wanted to run for vice president," said Marshall. "Who else in Justice is even qualified but you?"

  "This is crazy," said Toby. "I am the attorney general of the United States!"

  "Your part in the conspiracy was to guarantee a conviction while they replaced Douglas. And you did a good job. Picking me as counsel, staying close to Nate, assuring a speedy trial. You've been the hand moving this case all along. In return, you'd ascend to high office. Now, for the last time, will you take the witness stand?"

  Toby was silent. She looked around the courtroom as if she'd landed in the middle of fierce enemies.

  "Your Honor," said Marshall, "I move to find her in contempt and place her under arrest."

  "So ordered," said Langworthy.

  Agent Sommers and two other government men went to Toby and took her into custody as the shocked gallery and media looked on. Nate just watched silently, his face a mask of hurt and disbelief.

  The court calmed down and was eerily silent except for the sound of TV cameramen moving to get their shots as Toby was taken out of the courtroom and into the judge's chambers.

  "The government will drop the charges of murder against the defendant, Your Honor," said Marshall. "However, he did conspire to kill Farrel Douglas, attempted to kill him, and his reckless disregard led him to wound Wendel Miller. We will press charges on those crimes in this case. The people rest."

  Marshall walked back to his desk. Nate looked at him as if he had never seen him before.

  "Well," said Langworthy. "I think that was a bellyful for one morning. Are you sure you don't have any crossexamination of any witness, Mr. Rashad?"

  Rashad was about to answer, when Mbutu pulled his arm. Rashad looked at his client, and Mbutu shook his head solemnly.

  "No, Your Honor," he said.

  "Okay," said Langworthy. "For reasons that are obvious, I'm dropping the charge of murder against the defendant. I'm calling a recess until tomorrow. Court's adjourned." He gaveled loudly. It was drowned out by the voices of the gallery. The reporters rushed toward Marshall but were held at bay by the bailiffs.

  Marshall told Walter to tell Chemin and Danny to wait for him. He told Ryder to speak to the press in his place. Ryder gladly accepted the offer.

  Marshall walked toward the judge's chambers. He didn't want to talk to the media. He was tired and had just one additional matter to attend to. Suddenly, Nate was beside him, looking at him with anger.

  "Marshall!" said Nate.

  "I'm sorry, sir," said Marshall. "I couldn't tell you."

  "That's unacceptable," said Nate. "When this is over, we'll talk about your performance."

  "When this is over, sir," said Marshall, "I quit."

  Nate was shocked. He searched Marshall's face to make sure he was serious. Marshall could see that his boss knew it was not a lie. Nate's face turned complacent.

  "You don't mean that, do you?"

  "You should go to see Toby," said Marshall. "I think she'll need a friend right now. I have an appointment with Judge Bradbury downstairs."

  Marshall walked out of the courtroom with the press behind him, screaming his name.

M
arshall could hear the echoes of his heels clicking on the floor as he entered the chambers of Judge Stephen Bradbury. The sound was discordant, a contrast to the beauty of the dark wood and polished floors. He'd called and left word with Bradbury before he went to trial, saying that he wanted to talk to him.

  Bradbury's chambers were empty. Since being nominated for Douglas's vacancy, he'd dropped out of the normal rotation of judging cases. His staff had taken this as a sign from God and took paid time off. The normal expanse of the place seemed even bigger without people in it.

  Marshall entered Bradbury's office. It was dim inside. The blinds were drawn, and the lights turned down. Bradbury was sitting in his leather chair, holding a drink. A bottle of cognac sat on the desk.

  Marshall walked up to the desk, and looked at his friend and mentor. Bradbury's normally alert eyes were red, his face sad and flushed. Marshall couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol, or if he'd been crying.

  Bradbury had been watching the trial on TV. A color portable sat in the corner in pieces. It had been thrown against the wall.

  "Did you know?" asked Marshall.

  Bradbury didn't answer. He looked past Marshall, as if seeing some apparition behind him.

  "I have to know," said Marshall. "I couldn't find anything to link you to the conspiracy, but it seems to me you're much too savvy about politics not to have known something was up. Toby and her people had to be sure that the new justice would vote their way."

  Bradbury stood up. He was a little unsteady on his feet, and Marshall noticed that the cognac bottle was about a third empty.

  "After all the struggle of our people," said Bradbury. "After all the death, pain, and misery we've suffered, we finally get to a position of power in this country, and they pick an Uncle Tom to represent us."

  "He was a man," said Marshall. "He may have been misguided, but that's not a crime."

  "What do you know about it?" said Bradbury. "Your generation did nothing to advance our people. Did you march in front of murderers, did you run from attack dogs, and get knocked off your feet by high-pressure hoses? Do you know what that feels like? It's like getting hit by a car. I paid my dues, Marshall. I suffered for black people. I deserved to be on that Court!" Bradbury sat back down.

  "Don't you get it?" said Marshall. "Douglas wasn't killed because of his ideology, he was killed for money. In all your wisdom about who was the blackest black man, you forgot that America only cares about who's the richest man. So, I'm asking you again,
did you know
?"

  Bradbury emptied his glass. Then he poured another and drank half of it.

  "I didn't know anything, but I suspected. I knew that people were trying to squeeze Farrel on his vote on the trade bill. They didn't know he'd be liberal on that one issue. So when he was shot, I tried to deny that it was related, but in my heart I knew."

  "But you were not part of the conspiracy?"

  "I'm a judge, not a politician. And it was clear from my record that I would vote the trade bill into law."

  "Why didn't you say something, Judge? Why didn't you come to me or Nate or anyone with your suspicions?" Marshall's voice had anger and sadness in it.

  "Because I knew if I did, I'd never get to the Supreme Court. The powers that be would not like it if I started trouble. Don't you understand? I wanted the job, Marshall. I wanted it more than anything I've ever wanted. The Supreme Court is more than a judgeship. It's immortality."