Thaddeus lifted his sandwich and took another bite. He needed time to think.
Then, "What would I be doing?"
"Spreading disinformation. Giving them bogus data."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"And in return they give me money?"
"Yes. And it goes into your account in Geneva. They'll be tracking it and it all has to look legitimate."
"Who gets the money when it's all over?"
The agent and the DOJ lawyer looked at each other.
"You," they said in unison.
"Do I get any training? Spy school?"
"There will be some. But mostly you'll be working as a lawyer and meeting them on the side. There won't be any real cloak and dagger. You're needed for this more important role."
"What about my salary? I need at least two-twenty-five to make this work."
"Done," said McGrant. "There will even be a promotion. You'll be taking over Cybercrime's A Team prosecutor job."
Now they had his attention. At long last, a trial lawyer role. This was why he went to law school.
"So you're good with the money and the prosecutor role? Then I'm in. I'll pass along your phony documents and keep the money."
Ranski and McGrant looked at each other. Then they turned and violently shook Thaddeus' hand.
"Welcome aboard," said McGrant. "Come down to my office after lunch. We're ready for you."
"I'll be there. Now if I can finish this tuna in peace, that would be good."
"How is it?"
He paused chewing. "What?"
"The tuna."
"Fishy."
"That's fitting," said McGrant. "The whole world's fishy."
He shrugged and kept chewing. "You beat me to it."
16
Early Tuesday morning, when he was finished checking mail, Thaddeus completed stocking his new office but then shut down his computer, and crept back down to his old office. Busying himself to look like final cleanup before he left the office for good, he suddenly crept up to the door of Broyles' office. There was no one else around in the hallway; he had made sure of that in the last five minutes.
Ever so slowly he twisted the doorknob and peered inside. The office was dark and the curtains drawn. Against one wall were the couch and three opposing chairs, coffee table in the center. Against the wall on his right was the desk facing him, four visitors' chairs and single executive chair--the place where Broyles made the office's policy and selected its victims for prosecution. If Broyles were seated in his chair, the picture of President of the United States would be centered on the wall to his immediate left. It was not a large picture, at most fourteen by twenty inches, and was done in four colors with a tiny engraved tag on the mahogany frame that named the president. Here was Thaddeus' target.
Drawing on a pair of latex gloves, he worked quickly.
The coring tool removed a portion of the subject's lapel, the darkest coloration on the entire photograph. The tool punctured just as Thaddeus had been taught. The piece removed went right into his pocket. Then came the camera. It was inserted from the back side of the photograph until the lens was level with the photo. The lens was tinted and blended well with the president's lapel. It was motion-sensitive and the battery was said to last for up to one month in normal traffic situations. The video was broadcast over a channel that would be received by a card Thaddeus would place in his own computer and then upload to the cloud.
Just as he was securing the camera to the photograph, he heard voices in the hallway beyond his own door. He immediately froze, thought better of it, and hurried back into his office. The voices passed on down the hallway. He waited a full five minutes before again entering Broyles' office and finishing with the installation. He then looked underneath Broyles' desk for the earlier bug he had dropped. Nothing was seen, so he assumed the vacuum got it.
At last his work was completed. Thaddeus crept out of his boss's office and went back to his new office. He opened his own computer, using only a dime as a screwdriver. Inserting the receiver into its empty card slot was a simple task, taking all of four minutes.
Now for the acid test.
Thaddeus returned to Broyles' office and passed back and forth before the presidential visage twice. He counted one to ten out loud. Then he returned to his new office and awaited a text on his cell phone. Moments later, it beeped with a notification of arriving messages: ALL GO.
The camera was in place and producing images and sound.
Thaddeus started loading his final belongings from his old office into a cardboard box. The new office was waiting in the Cybercrime wing and he was ready.
Ready to go to court.
He was sure it was just a matter of time now.
17
The new office wasn't a corner office--only group heads got corner offices--but it was much larger than his old space and much nicer. Fresh paint on the walls, new carpet, clean overhead light covers--it had all been put together to welcome him into his new role. McGrant was keeping up her end of the bargain, which encouraged him and confirmed he had made the right decision. He admired the sign on his outer door. It identified him as the new Cybercrime A Team lead.
Washington's legal industry had its own daily newspaper, The Daily Washington Law Reporter. Thaddeus later that morning picked up a copy on his way back from reading pleadings in the courthouse. There, on the front page, was a file photo of none other than Thad himself, as well as an article about him taking over the A Team on the U.S. Attorney's Cybercrime Task Force. He read it as he walked back to his office. It was thrilling to see his name there; he wondered how many classmates would read the same article. He hoped many would. Most all of them had good feelings for Thaddeus and when he reached his office he was greeted by two new emails from classmates congratulating him. One wondered if there were any openings on his team. He wrote back, stating that team strength was always a secret outside the office, that he couldn't respond. But he suggested she file a resume to the attention of Franklin J. Broyles.
His new secretary arrived from orientation at ten-thirty. She was average height, plump and pretty, with a sailor's vocabulary, he soon found. He had invited her into his office and was discussing his aims for the team and how she could help when she suddenly said, "Let's nail those fucking Chinese. Hate those assholes."
Thaddeus was startled and blinked twice as he composed himself, wondering if he'd heard right.
"Where'd you learn to talk like that," he said. "Were you in the Navy?"
Her name was LaDonna Smits. She smiled broadly.
"I was in the Navy. JAG Corps, paralegal. Came straight out of there to this job. This is my first civilian job since college, Mr. Murfee."
"Please call me Thaddeus when we're alone like this."
"Okay, Thaddeus."
"Now, what we need to do is find some way of prioritizing the cases we've been assigned. It comes to mind that we'll of course want the earlier trial cases arranged by trial dates, but I'm thinking there's another consideration too. We should be thinking in terms of who the defendants are. If there are foreign nations, let's say they get a priority A rating. If they're foreign citizens let's give them a B. If they're U.S., let's call them C's. You see where I'm going with this? We need to prioritize according to threat level, the Chinese threat being an A because they're everywhere we look. They try tens of thousands of incursions into our private and government networks every day. We catch one, we indict them immediately and nail their ass in court."
"I like that, nail their ass in court. You sure you weren't in the Navy?"
He grinned. "Not yet, at least."
"Well, it's great to serve. I encourage any one who's even thinking about it. All my brothers have been in the military. Now we're working on the girls."
"So we will also prioritize by target. If the defendant attacked our government networks, they get a one. If they attacked a private industry network, they get a two. If it was against a citizen, they
get a three."
LaDonna turned thoughtful. "Where I was working in financial crimes we also had a category for political referrals. If it was senator or a congressman, the file got marked with a different color. Those matters were controlled more by the group heads because the politicians always had to be stroked."
"Sad but true."
"Fuckers."
"All right. Well, why don't you get settled out there, take the rest of the day, and we'll start reviewing files with our trial team in the morning. Fair enough?"
"Done, boss."
"And please get Donald Zang, Freda Jefferson, Evelyn Sunderburg, and Carlos Estancia in here. We need to have an attorney meeting. Then I'll leave you alone.”
Just then, the phone chirped. LaDonna answered and indicated the call was for Thaddeus. He picked up.
“Thaddeus? Melissa McGrant here. Listen, a heads-up. There have been grumblings among the people on your team.”
“Don’t tell me. They don’t like the lateral hire of someone who’s never set foot in court.”
“How did you know?”
“Right. So how do we handle it?”
“I have explained to them that you’re taking over the team and that it’s more about your knowledge of computer network technology and system management than about trial expertise. I’ve asked them to work with you on that.”
“But I plan to try the cases at first myself.”
“That’s fine. They can help with that. I’d just make it clear that you’re relying on them to give you the tools you need.”
“Fair enough. Will do.”
“Call me with any problems.”
“Roger that.”
Twenty minutes later, he had his trial group gathered around, and they were all offering tips and ideas from prior jobs on how to make the A Team a big success in the U.S. Attorney's Office. Coffee was slugged down, donuts were imported from elsewhere the in U.S. Attorney's office, OJ was purchased from the MiniMart in the lobby--this was going to take awhile.
"Let's meet again at eight in the morning, Thaddeus finally said. We can begin opening files and making team assignments for prosecution."
"How will work be divvied up?" Freda Jefferson wanted to know.
Thaddeus nodded. "Good question. Initially, I will be first chair on all cases set for trial. If the case is assigned to you, you will be second chair. Once you’ve helped me through a few cases, you’ll start getting first chairs. It’s just that I need the experience and I can’t think of a better way of getting it. I know Randle Monetti wants more first chairs on the team as fast as we can ramp up."
Monetti was the group leader. Thaddeus would answer directly to him. And he would also report to Melissa McGrant--that hadn't changed, but that was all on the down-low. No one was to know about this private chain of command.
"Mr. Monetti explained to the Team Leads yesterday that our group is going to be the largest group in the U.S. Attorney's office inside of twenty-four months. It's burgeoning, as he put it."
"Who's our biggest customer?" asked Donald Zang, a confident young lawyer from Yale who had been with the office two years. Prior experience included tax prosecutions and organized crime.
"Our biggest customer?"
"Who we have the most files against," Zang smiled.
"The Chinese. Then the Romanians. Then the Russians. Now here's the deal. If the offender has any local presence in the U.S., then we can pick them up and throw them in jail. That's for openers. But if there's no local presence, it's a non-starter."
"We can't prosecute where we don't have jurisdiction over someone."
"Well, we have to look at the statute."
"The Patriot Act," said Zang.
"Exactly," Thaddeus agreed.
Freda Jefferson raised her hand and Thaddeus nodded at her. "The Patriot Act says that if the crime is committed within the jurisdiction of the United States, we can go after them. Then the Act amended section 1030(e)(2)(b) to specifically include a computer that is used in interstate or foreign commerce, including a computer located outside the U.S. that is used in a manner that affects interstate or foreign commerce or communication of the United States."
"Excellent," Thaddeus said.
"That's broad," Zang added.
"Broad enough we can go after just about anyone on earth," said Ms. Jefferson, a black woman with a headful of braids which she wore short. Thaddeus liked her already, and even more now, with the explication she had just given them.
Another hand went up.
"Carlos?"
"What about domestic crimes? I'm thinking corporate hacking, industrial espionage, that sort of thing?"
"Well, those would be C priority cases, like I've explained. Which doesn't mean they get any less attention, it just means they don't get the first look every day when we come in and switch on our machines."
"FBI liaison?" said Evelyn Sunderburg. "Who has that?"
"Mr. Monetti's arranging all that. It happens upstairs from us."
"So we’re just handling prosecutions, none of the sweet talk stuff?"
Thaddeus nodded. "That's what I've been told. We are strictly professional staff, no administrative and no politics, definitely."
"Wonderful," said Sunderburg. "Politics drove us crazy in civil enforcement. I was there for five years. I'm so glad I'm out."
"Well, welcome to the criminal side of the street. We'll work hard and make a name for ourselves and get promotions and great retirement. But not all this first year," Thaddeus laughed.
Just then he was paged by LaDonna.
He stood and walked out into her office.
"Call from a woman who won't give her name."
Thaddeus went into his private office and closed the door.
"Yes?"
"Thaddeus, McGrant. We've just indicted Mr. Broyles. The shit's about to hit the fan. And the FBI intercepted a message from the Chinese mainland. It seems the Chinese have caught onto the article about you in today's legal news. You're the new head of Cybercrime A Team and they want to meet with you."
"How in the hell do you know that?"
There was a pause. "Are you seriously asking me how the CIA staffs and supports these things?"
"No, no, no, I'm not asking that. I'm just impressed. So what do I do?"
"We'd like you to go alone to lunch the rest of this week. See if a contact is made while you're out and about. We're sure you're being followed."
"How do we know that?"
"Eyes, Mr. Murfee. Eyes. Don't ask anymore than that, please."
He sighed. "All right. I'll do lunch today on my own. I'll start with the Can-Am Restaurant downstairs."
"Well, ta-ta. Get back to me when they've made contact. We'll make our plans then."
"Got it."
They said their goodbyes and Thaddeus got back to his group in his conference room.
"One more question came up." It was Freda Jefferson. "What's our division?'
"We're Computer Crime and Intellectual Property Section Criminal Division," Thaddeus replied. "Is that all for now?"
"And my last, last question," Freda said, "What do we do about ten-thirty? That requires the counterespionage peeps to sign off on prosecutions."
"You're referring to section 1030 of the Act?"
"Yes. 1030(a)(1) makes it a felony to access a computer without authorization and obtain certain national security information and then make a willful communication of the information. It's used infrequently, I know, but it's a first priority."
"Well," said Thaddeus, "any steps in investigating or indicting a case under section 1030(a)(1) require the prior approval of the National Security Division of the Department of Justice, through the Counterespionage Section. Please contact them at the two-oh-two number on your handout. We'll have to comply. That's all we can do."
"All right. That answered it."
"Then let's get back to our offices and get busy."
Staff stood and began gathering up papers and laptops. The
n they all wandered back to their offices up and down the hallway.
He sat at his desk and checked messages on his computer screen. Nikki called. He thought he might already know what that was about, if news of her father's indictment had hit the streets. He would return that call later.
At 11:40 a.m., he headed downstairs to the Can-Am. He had been there once before, and he had ordered take-out several times. The sandwiches were great; the salads even greater. But this wasn't a time for takeout. He went inside and waited until the hostess showed him to a table. It was a two-seater, against the far wall of the restaurant. It looked out on the sidewalk and a building next door. He thanked her and she plopped a menu down. Thaddeus turned around and sat himself so he was facing the door of the restaurant. He was thinking he might as well make it easy for them just in case they had forgotten what he looked like.
It was Tuesday when this business began. It wasn't until Friday that a contact was made.
He was munching a pastrami sandwich when a bus boy--he thought it was a bus boy, at first--pushing a cart stopped beside him. He was Asian and looked very young.
"Can I sit?" he asked. "Your table is next to do so I'll wait."
While that would ordinarily have been the strangest request of the year, on that particular day it hit Thaddeus like the roof falling in. This was it.
"Sure, have a seat. I'll just be a few more minutes then I've gotta run."
The bus boy looked into his eyes.
"I saw you in the legal newspaper a couple of days ago. Am I right?"
"You did."
"You're Thaddeus Murfee."
"I am. Can I ask your name?"
"My name is David. I don't actually work here."
"You're dressed like you do."
"I represent a client who would like to meet with you."
"And who would that be?"
"A Pacific Rim corporation that wishes to do business in the U.S. In fact, it wishes to do business directly with you, Mr. Murfee."
A Young Lawyer's story Page 8