A Young Lawyer's story

by John Ellsworth

  When court resumed, FBI Agent Naomi Ranski was called to the witness stand and sworn. She then proceeded to describe her role in the Broyles case. As it turned out, she was the lead FBI agent on the investigation of Franklin J. Broyles. It had been ongoing for three years.

  Broyles had been wire-tapped and a highlight recording of his limited telephone discussions with the Chinese was played for the jury. Thaddeus studied the jurors' face as the recording rocked along; he was dismayed to see their expressions go from neutral to troubled to angry, frowning citizens whose government had been compromised. They were clearly unhappy and angry when the recording switched off.

  Next came over two hundred photos of Broyles meeting with the Chinese. At the reservoir, in restaurants, at D.C. tourist locations and National Mall attractions--they were never-ending, Broyles' meetings with the Chinese. Thaddeus' heart fell as he studied the photos, but he told himself over and over that his client was a double agent and of course he would meet with spies.

  Then came the numbered accounts, Hong Kong flavor and Swiss flavor. The IRS had its methods; the banking records were obtained and came into evidence providing damning proof of Broyles' receipt of huge sums of money from unexplained sources. One thing the prosecution made clear: the money Broyles' stashed sure as hell wasn't from his paycheck.

  Finally, the prosecutor asked Ranski why she had let the spying go on so long.

  "We were providing him with disinformation. It took the Chinese three years to figure out what we were feeding them was bogus."

  "Did Broyles know it was bogus?"

  "Broyles never knew what he was passing along," Ranski said. "He only gave a hoot about the money he was getting."

  "Was he receiving cash?"

  "Almost never. They would make deposits into his HSBC account in Hong Kong. Usually within the first twenty-four hours after he had handed them another briefcase stuffed with documents."

  "Has Broyles made any statements to anyone since his arrest?"

  "Not that I know of. My team has been on him twenty-four/seven since this all began three years ago. He is very well-known around our Washington office."

  "That is all."

  The judge peered down at Thaddeus. "Counsel, you may cross-examine."

  Thaddeus stood and moved to the lectern. His heart was pounding so hard he feared the jury might see the pulse in his throat.

  "Ms. Ranski, did you ever recruit me to cooperate with the Chinese?"

  "No. I hardly know who you are."

  "You don't remember coming to the cafeteria in my building and soliciting me to pass information to the Chinese?"

  "Not at all," she scoffed. "I haven't even spoken with you before right now."

  "You don't recall a meeting of you, me, and Melissa McGrant?"

  "Objection, Your Honor," the Assistant U.S. Attorney cried. "This has been asked and answered three times now."

  Judge Barnaby gave Thaddeus an icy look. "Counsel, move it along. We don't want to bore our jury."

  Thaddeus felt a stab of embarrassment. Judge Barnaby's claws had raked him, just like he was known to do. He winced and smiled at the Judge, his hands trembling. "Your Honor, I am positive the truth never grows old with juries."

  "Counsel, that's out of line. Your commentary is inappropriate and if it happens again there will be sanctions, sir."

  "Yes, Your Honor."

  Thaddeus heard Matheson whisper sharply at him. "Thaddeus!"

  He turned and joined the older lawyer at counsel table, lowering his head to listen.

  "Don't cross this bastard, Thaddeus!" Matheson whispered. "He can make your trial a living hell if you do it again."

  Thaddeus nodded and returned to the lectern.

  "Agent Ranski, isn't it true you solicited Mr. Broyles to spy for you?"

  "Not true."

  "You didn't tell him he would be passing along disinformation and that he could keep the money he received in return?"

  "Never."

  "You didn't convince him how helpful he would be to his country if he went undercover?"

  "I--I--"

  "Counsel!" barked Judge Barnaby. "What did I just tell you about asking the same questions multiple times?"

  Thaddeus turned to respond and saw the judge was leaning forward on his elbows, his face red with rage. Thaddeus thought better than to fight back.

  "Sorry, Judge. I'm still pretty green at trials. I'm not doing it to ignore what you said."

  "Very well. Move it along, then," the Judge said with no small disgust. It was very clear how he felt toward the young lawyer and, by extension, his client.

  "Ms. Ranski," Thaddeus continued, "let's talk about the true nature of Frank Broyles' work with you. Isn't it a fact that he was actually a double agent?"

  She dodged. "What does that mean, 'double agent?'"

  Thaddeus smiled. "An agent who is actually working for the government but makes it look like he's selling government secrets. Wasn't that the true nature of what the FBI and Mr. Broyles were doing?"

  "No, it was not."

  "What if he says it was?"

  "He'd be lying. It simply wasn't true."

  "Isn't it true that while he was working for you he came into possession of foreign bank records that had the potential to send many politicians and elected officials to jail?"

  "No, that's not true."

  "Are you familiar with HSBC bank out of Hong Kong?"

  "Yes, I've heard of them."

  "Did Frank Broyles ever come into possession of HSBC account records that you knew of?"

  "Not that I knew of."

  Thaddeus looked through his notes. The judge sighed impatiently as he did so. Then again.

  Finally, Judge Barnaby said, "Counsel were you finished with your cross-examination?"

  "No, Your Honor. I'm just checking my notes."

  "Well let's move it along. The jury is impatient and I am too."

  It was just the wrong thing to say to Thaddeus right then because he was frustrated, with, first of all, the agent's lies, and, second of all, his notes were almost indecipherable and he knew his examination of the witness was incomplete but couldn't find the other notes to guide him. So he reacted.

  "Judge Barnaby, I don't believe the jury feels impatient. I believe they know I'm new at this and they're giving me the chance to do this right."

  Judge Barnaby reacted solemnly. "The bailiff will take the jury to the jury room."

  The bailiff did as he was told. Then, when the courtroom was clear of jurors, Judge Barnaby exploded.

  "Mr. Murfee! Those comments just cost you a night in jail."

  Thaddeus turned to face the man.

  "I don't get it, Your Honor. I thought this proceeding was a search for the truth. You have turned it into a search for the fastest way to move things along even though it might hurt my client. This is wrong, wrong, wrong!"

  Judge Barnaby didn't reply. He checked his watch. It was just before noon. Soon the jury would head out to lunch and they wouldn't take up again until 1:30. So he made his decision.

  "The marshals will take Mr. Murfee and place him in the U.S. Marshall's holding cell. When the court recesses for the day the marshals will return him to jail until nine o'clock tomorrow morning when we take up again. You, sir," he was pointing down at Thaddeus now, his white finger waggling, "you are in contempt. You will serve a night in jail for it. Do it again and you'll serve twenty-four hours in jail. A third time and you're buying yourself a week. Do you understand all this?"

  "Of course I do, judge. I didn't just fall off the turnip wagon."

  "Two nights and counting. Anything else, Mr. Murfee?"

  At just that moment, Homer Matheson approached Thaddeus from behind, whispered in his ear, and took him by the elbow and returned him to counsel table.

  "Your Honor," said Matheson. "Mr. Murfee accepts the court's correction and makes his apology."

  "Marshal Studea, please remove Mr. Murfee now. Return him to the courtroom at one-thirty
. We're in recess."

  He pounded his gavel and Thaddeus was immediately being guided from the courtroom in the strong grip of Marshal Studea.

  "I’ll be right over, Thaddeus," Matheson called to him. "Let me finish up with Mr. Broyles here and we'll talk."

  "That's fine, Homer," said Thaddeus as he was being steered through the doors. "I enjoy being alone. This will be a rest cure for me."

  23

  He'd never been in jail before.

  But he wasn't scared.

  Matheson arrived just after Thaddeus was booked. He met with the young lawyer for about an hour. Did Thaddeus have proof of his claim that Broyles was a double agent? Thaddeus said Broyles had proof but he was locked up and had no access. Matheson wanted to know the location of the proof. Thaddeus said Broyles had told him it was on the U.S. Attorney's network servers. Both men thought about this for several minutes.

  "How do we get to it?" Matheson asked.

  "Steal it," Thaddeus replied. It was blunt and it was direct and it was the truth. The way Broyles had explained it to him, he no longer had access. The double agent proof was out of their reach.

  "Let me think about this," Matheson finally said as he was leaving. "There must be some way."

  After court got underway at 1:30, the Assistant U.S. Attorney spent the afternoon going back over Agent Ranski's testimony. Ollie Anderson wanted to be certain there was nothing left unanswered. Thaddeus was given a chance for re-cross examination, which he kept going until they recessed at five o'clock.

  The marshals transported him to jail and left without a word. No one wanted to say anything that might somehow get back to the judge, not even the usually friendly marshals.

  Which left Thaddeus alone with his cellmates. He took a look around at the faces.

  Everyone there looked lost and alone. They found out he was a lawyer and one by one pleaded their case to him. Everyone was innocent, of course. Criminal lawyers know that a guilty man has never gone to jail and a guilty man has never been locked away in prison. There is only unproven innocence.

  Thaddeus listened but there was nothing he could offer. He was in jail just like them and besides, even if he weren’t, he still had a trial underway. He couldn't offer help to any of them. Just a patient ear.

  Which was enough to get him through the night without incident.

  He awoke the next morning after spending the night shivering on a thin mattress.

  It was a different feeling in his gut than the day before. He was angry. He was angry and he was determined he wouldn't back down from some bully in a black robe.

  He might spend a week in jail, maybe more, but he was going to defend Frank Broyles for all he was worth.

  He owed it to Frank.

  24

  The second morning of trial, Thaddeus renewed Broyles' motion for bail. It infuriated Judge Barnaby: the very idea that Thaddeus would ask for a second hearing on a motion once denied.

  They were sitting in the judge's chambers and Thaddeus was explaining why he wanted the conference.

  "Your Honor--are we on the record?"

  "Yes," said the judge.

  "It is making it very difficult to defend my client adequately with him locked away in a jail cell. There are certain preparations we must make for his adequate defense that require his personal assistance. I'm not at liberty to say what these things are, but I avow to the court that they are real and pressing."

  "Counsel, your avowal means nothing to the court. I don't know you and I don't know whether you're telling the truth or not and frankly don't give a damn. Mr. Broyles stays in jail because he still threatens the United States if he is allowed out."

  "What threat would that be again?" Thaddeus asked.

  The judge turned red. "We've been over this Mr. Murfee. But for the record, it is the court's concern that if he is admitted to bail he will pass additional secrets to a foreign power. He's already done that and he might do it again. I'm unwilling to take that risk."

  "Your Honor," Thaddeus persisted, "I move that you continue the trial for two weeks so that I can file an emergency appeal. I don't think your reasoning is sound and I believe the appellate court will overturn your refusal for bail. Can I be any clearer? We need this continuance, Your Honor. No one is prejudiced by a two week stay. If anyone would be it would be the defendant and the defendant waives any such prejudice. Please, Judge, let me help my client."

  Judge Barnaby's white eyebrows shot up. "Help your client? I doubt that's going to happen at all in this trial, Mr. Murfee. Not from what I've seen out of you thus far. It was a mistake allowing you to defend Mr. Broyles. A mistake I already regret. But we're underway now and my hands are tied. I can't prevent you from continuing although Mr. Broyles--" speaking now to Broyles himself, "--certainly should. Mr. Broyles you might want to seriously reconsider your decision to have Mr. Murfee defend you. It's not going well."

  "Thank you, Judge," said Broyles. "I don't want anyone else. Mr. Murfee has plans to walk me out of here a free man and I trust that."

  Judge Barnaby broke into laughter. "A free man, you say? Very doubtful, Frank. Very doubtful."

  "Two weeks, Judge, that's all I'm asking," Thaddeus said again. "But you're not going to allow it because you've already found my client guilty of passing secrets to the Chinese. Am I wrong, here, Judge?"

  "Mr. Murfee, if I have to gag you to put an end to your ranting and raving at me, sir, I will do just that. While I can't keep you in jail all day just now, I sure as hell can and will when this trial is over. For the record, no finding of guilt on any issue in this case has been made by the court. My mind is completely unbiased right now."

  Thaddeus pushed. "Then how can you keep Mr. Broyles in jail? You're assuming he's a risk. And assumptions are based on beliefs. You must believe he's a threat in order to assume he's a risk. So you see, Judge Barnaby, you have made a finding of guilt regardless of what you say."

  At this point, Homer Matheson seized Thaddeus' upper arm. He bodily lifted him out of his chair and removed him from Judge Barnaby's chambers. He slammed the door behind them, virtually ending the court session that wasn't yet officially ended.

  "Goddamn it, Murfee! Shut the hell up, man! Get hold of yourself. That man is going to put you in prison if you keep after him like that!"

  Thaddeus didn't answer. He pushed on down the hallway toward the elevators. He immediately caught a descending elevator car and jumped inside. The doors closed behind him and he rode with two other people down to the lobby, clenching his eyes shut the entire way.

  Meanwhile, Matheson crept back into the judge's chambers and bowed and scraped until he had managed to convince the judge to end the session without leveling contempt sanctions and more jail time against Thaddeus. Judge Barnaby was implacable in his resolve, however, to punish Thaddeus. He told Matheson that Thaddeus could very possibly spend the rest of the year in jail after the trial ended. Matheson started to argue, but they were off the record and he feared the judge would even bring charges against him, Matheson. So Matheson simply thanked the judge and rushed from the office. He inhaled a huge breath when he was outside the judge's door. What the hell was wrong with Murfee? he asked himself. The kid was totally out of control. How could he make him understand that lawyers didn't act that way with judges?

  Outside on the sidewalk, Thaddeus walked up to the nearest streetlight and back to the courthouse three times. He was sucking in oxygen and fighting to calm himself. You're going to have to learn how to keep that anger down, he told himself. Judges have all power and they believe they are all-seeing. They can put you in jail and there's nothing anyone can do about it because judges have the final say-so. Get angry, get mad, drink yourself silly if you need to, but don't ever, ever expose your soul to a judge like that again. Never.

  He swore to himself, right then and there, that he would take his own advice. In fact, it was beginning to dawn on him that he was going at it all wrong. He didn't need to outshout judges and rail against them. No
, he needed to outsmart them. That's why he had graduated third in his class, because he had outworked and outsmarted ninety-seven other very bright people who had managed to get themselves admitted to law school three years ago. That was saying something. He turned and went back inside the building, feeling more confident by the moment that he was onto something. He was going to outsmart the folks in the black robes. If he didn't, he would languish in jail and that helped exactly no one. Least of all clients like Frank Broyles.

  Now, he would start the day over. The United States was going to call to the stand its second FBI agent. He needed to be clear-headed for that.

  Punching the UP button just once and resisting the compulsion that would have him push it over and over obsessively, he waited calmly for the car to arrive.

  Then he was back upstairs and just taking his seat as Judge Barnaby ascended to his place on high.

  He didn't go there; he didn't call it a throne.

  Even though Barnaby sat it like one.

  25

  Woodrow T. Chin just made the FBI cutoff height at the lower end of the scale for Special Agents. As such he was what some might call "short," but he was powerfully built--even ape-like--a world class Karate black belt with a glass case full of gold cups and blue ribbons. The Chinese agent was without any sun color and he wore his black hair in a crewcut, lending him the look of a math geek straight out of UCLA. Which he was, hailing from Orange County, hence his conservative mindset and instant willingness to sign on with the FBI straight out of law school in order to help protect the Constitution and the American way of life.