"Done," she said and, without another word, began sliding away. She stood up. "Don't leave here. I'll be back."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he said. "You're saving me."
She shook her head. "That's a nice thought, but I'm actually here to save my dad, Thaddeus."
"I know. Go!"
She was gone without his even having to say it.
He asked the waitress for a menu and started looking. There had been no food all day and he was famished.
Forty-five minutes later, Nikki returned. She pulled a long white envelope from beneath her sweatshirt and passed it across the table to Thaddeus. He slit it open with his dinner knife.
"Look," he said, and shook a flash drive out of the envelope. "This is all there was?"
She nodded. "All there was."
They made a dash for Thaddeus' office and his laptop.
At last--he was hoping. At last he might have a chance.
By telling the marshals up front that she was his paralegal and he needed her along, Thaddeus was able to take Nikki inside the jail with him and meet with her father.
Frank Broyles was looking haggard and gaunt. Too many nights in jail without sleep and too many days without sunlight were taking their toll. Nikki cried out when she saw her father; tears rolled down her cheeks as she leaned into him and they hugged in the privacy of the attorney conference room. He patted her on the back and finally pulled away. "I stink," he told her.
Thaddeus flipped open his laptop, inserted the flash drive, and spun the machine around so Broyles had the keyboard.
"All right," Thaddeus told him. "I've looked it over. It appears we've been given your private folder from the U.S. Attorney's server."
"Oh my God!" Broyles exclaimed. "How did you--"
"Don't worry about it. The point is, you've been given a chance. Now tell me what we have here."
Broyles busied himself at the keyboard, clicking and scrolling, reading and grimacing, reading and smiling, for a good five minutes. Finally, he looked up and spun the computer back around to Thaddeus.
"Make paper copies of everything. You're about to walk me out a free man."
"What is it, Dad?" Nikki asked.
He turned to her at his elbow. "It's my ticket out of here, Nik. It's all there."
30
Twelve hours later, Franklin J. Broyles was called at trial by Thaddeus. He stepped up to the witness stand, where the clerk administered the oath.
"Mr. Broyles," Thaddeus began, "tell the jury about your work history."
"Five years as U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia. Six years prior I was a partner at Dunphy McKesson."
"What is Dunphy McKesson?"
"A D.C. law firm specializing in white collar crime."
"That was your area of expertise?"
"It was."
"And before that?"
"Before that I was a staff attorney at the Attorney General's office. I worked RICO cases that I'm not at liberty to discuss."
"Enough said. How long were you an Assistant U.S. Attorney?"
"Eleven years. That's been the majority of my career."
"So you've basically worked for the government your entire career."
"Except for the Dunphy years, that's right."
"And your practice area has been criminal law?"
"Yes. There was some civil law early on, some RICO seizure work, but that was too long ago for me to remember much."
"Mr. Broyles, when I gave my opening statement to the jury, I promised I would prove to them the true nature of your work in the U.S. Attorney's office. Do you remember me making that promise?"
"I do."
"I'm going to ask you now to help me keep that promise. First off, have you ever worked for the government in any other capacity than as a lawyer?"
"Yes, I have."
"Please describe that."
Broyles sat back in the witness chair and tugged at his tie. Then he turned and faced the jury head-on.
"I worked for the government as a double agent."
"What does that mean?"
"I sold false information for the government to the Chinese."
"Why would you do that?"
"Because my government asked for my help and I agreed to help."
"But now you're here being prosecuted by that same government. How could that happen?"
“By a turn of fortune, I came into foreign banking records that proved some Washington lights were hiding money offshore.”
“What’s that mean, ‘hiding money?’”
“Avoiding income taxes. What they do is get paid for this or that, usually by lobbyists. Except the payments go into a Hong Kong bank. The IRS doesn’t get its cut.”
“So you were prosecuted because of this?”
“Well, I would’t turn over the records to my handlers.”
“Why not?”
“Just in case the government ever came after me. I would have something to trade.”
“Do you still have the records?”
“I do.”
“What do you plan to do with them?”
“Take them to the Washington Post once this is all over.”
“So your theory is you’re being prosecuted in anticipation of turning them over. They’re smearing you.”
“That, and plausible deniability.”
“Tell us what you mean by that.”
"Plausible deniability. Uncle Sam never acknowledges the spy who gets caught. Or the spy whose usefulness has expired. Which is what happened to me. The Chinese decided they would no longer deal with me. The government kicked me to the curb because I had records I wouldn’t turn over. I was indicted for treason and espionage so it looked like I was operating on my own. It happens."
"It happens? The government discards those who've helped spy for it?"
Broyles smiled sadly. "Yes. That's what happened to me."
"Used up and discarded."
"Used up and discarded."
"Let's talk about proof of what you say. Can you prove that you were acting at the government's request?"
"Yes, I can. It's all right there in the papers you printed out last night."
Thaddeus raised his hand off the two-inch pile of paper he had taken with him to the lectern. Early that morning they had each one been marked as an exhibit in the clerk's office. Now they were ready to be admitted into evidence. For next three hours, then, Thaddeus and Broyles went through the pile exhibit-by-exhibit, admitting each and all of them into the defendant's case.
At several times, special note was taken of the documents. It happened early on the first time.
"I'm going to hand you what's been marked Defendant's Exhibit fifty-five. Can you tell us what that is?"
"That's an email I received from Melissa McGrant."
"That would be the same Melissa McGrant who testified here during the government's case against you?"
"Yes."
"Please read the email to the jury."
"'TO: FJB. FROM: MM.'"
"Now who are FJB and MM?"
"Franklin J. Broyles and Melissa McGrant."
"Please proceed."
"'Your first package will be found in locker 239E. Your meeting is tonight at eight. Georgetown Reservoir, sluice gate. The man you are meeting is Chinese. Do not speak to him. Turn over the documents. He will pay you fifty-thousand dollars. The minute he gives it to you, turn and walk away. Then drive back downtown, take the money to your office and put it inside your top right-hand desk drawer. Then go home. That is all. DE.'"
"What is DE?"
"Destroy Email. Everything was signed like that."
"Why would the government use email, which could be saved and traced?"
"It expedited things. If you checked closely you'd learn that the email is sent from servers that cannot be traced to the government. The government has thousands of people like me passing out phony documents. It's a huge operation and it's run by email and cell phones. I was just a cog
among thousands of other cogs in a great big machine. I was basically a nobody to them. As you'll see."
The testimony then moved on from there.
"Mr. Broyles, have you heard the term 'handler' before?'
"I have."
"What's a handler?"
"That's the person who manages the field agent."
"Who was your handler?"
"I had two. Melissa McGrant and Naomi Ranski."
"We know Melissa McGrant, she testified. The Naomi Ranski you are referring to--she also testified here against you?"
"Yes, the same."
"So the government turned on you by using the two people who were closest to you?"
"Yes."
"How did that make you feel?"
"Scared witless. I had no one to stand up for me and tell the truth. Fortunately, I had saved all of this evidence you obtained for me."
"Even though you were told to destroy it?"
"Even though. I've been a lawyer a long time, Mr. Murfee, and I've seen how our government can behave when it gets caught with its pants down. I wasn't going to be part of that without some protection of my own. So I saved everything I could."
"Next up we have six photographs. Please explain."
"These were taken at a Georgetown restaurant. They show me having dinner with Melissa McGrant and Naomi Ranski."
"Who took these and why?"
Broyles smiled and nodded.
"Yes, I had these taken by a man I hired. I was documenting my meetings with my handlers. Just because I knew it could potentially reach the point where they denied ever meeting with me or handling me with the Chinese."
"But this is only a photograph with the two of them. What does it actually prove?"
"If you look here at the briefcase on the floor, it has my initials just below the handle, FJB."
"All right. So what?"
"In photograph--" he paused to scan the exhibit list and find what he was looking for--"two-oh-two, you will see me handing over this same bag to Mr. Hoa, who you called as a witness and who denied knowledge of me. He is receiving the same briefcase from me, complete with the same initials as the first photograph. Here it is, Defendant's Exhibit two-oh-two."
"Same guy taking the pictures?"
"Same guy."
"So these two photographs show you with your government handlers plus the briefcase that you next are seen handing over to Mr. Hoa. Same initials. Plus it contradicts Hoa's story that he doesn't know you, never met with you, and so on."
"Yes. Mr. Murfee, I've been around espionage cases as well as undercover surveillance for many years now. I knew the only way I could do this was to document my role and protect myself.”
Thaddeus looked off to his right at the jury. Notes were being furiously scribbled even as he watched. Plus the documents were being passed to them by Homer Matheson. Many jurors were shaking their heads and making notes about exhibits passing in front of them. Thaddeus slowed his presentation in order to accommodate their multitasking.
They continued admitting exhibits into evidence and producing commentary that described and explained why the exhibits were relevant. Thaddeus noted--with no small gratitude--that during the entire day of testimony Ollie Anderson made no objections. He was content to sit back and allow Broyles to defend himself. Thaddeus would come to learn that it was Broyles who had hired Anderson in the first place, many years ago. He gave Ollie a chance to redeem himself after being let go from a D.C. criminal law firm that decided Ollie wasn't carrying his weight. Ollie would tell Broyles that his billings had fallen off by half after a jury trial of a white collar price-fixing case that had gone on for six months and resulted in an unexpected finding of guilt. The entire thing had all but trashed the prosecutor's career but Frank Broyles had stepped up and taken him on. Broyles was compelled to: he had personally prosecuted the case Ollie lost. He had found Ollie to be an honorable and tremendously talented trial lawyer and he wasn't about to turn him away when Ollie came knocking. He hired him on the spot. Ollie had never forgotten.
Toward the end of Broyles' testimony, Thaddeus asked him, "Mr. Broyles, how far up the food chain does your case go? We know that Melissa McGrant was your handler. Did it go above her? If you know?"
Broyles took his time. He looked over at the jury, considering. Then he said, "Judge, what I have to say next is secret government information. Could you clear the courtroom?"
Judge Barnaby didn't like it, but he complied. Grumbling and out and out complaints to the judge followed, but in the end it was just the litigants, their representatives, the judge and jury.
Thaddeus then asked again, "Did someone sign off on all this who was above Melissa McGrant?"
"The president himself signs off on counter-espionage. It is run by the FBI, which is an arm of the Department of Justice, which is administered at the highest level by the president himself. But all counter-espionage efforts are vetted by the president."
"Are you saying he signed off each time you passed along documents?"
"Not at all. I'm saying he signed off on my doing this in the beginning."
"So we could call the president as a witness and, if he were to testify at all, he would acknowledge that you were acting at the government's request."
"Don't even think it, Mr. Murfee!" Judge Barnaby suddenly boomed from on high. "You will not be subpoenaing the president to testify in my courtroom!"
Thaddeus looked over at the judge.
"My," the young lawyer said warmly, "we are getting to know each other here, aren't we?"
"Enough, Mr. Murfee. Please wrap it up."
"Judge, the defense calls the president of the United States as its next witness."
"Mr. Murfee!" the judge erupted, "that is not going to happen! Now move on."
"I'm done with this witness, but I'm putting the court on notice that I am calling the president. Mr. Matheson, please prepare the president's subpoena."
"Mr. Murfee, is that all?" asked Judge Barnaby, ignoring for the moment the rest of it.
"Yes."
"The bailiff will re-admit the spectators and press."
Thaddeus then said he was finished with the witness.
"Counsel," the judge said to Ollie Anderson, "you may cross-examine."
"Mr. Broyles," said Anderson, "have you told the whole truth here today?"
"I have."
"And if you were called into a criminal case based on what we've heard here today, would you be willing to testify against Melissa McGrant and Naomi Ranski and any other government agents involved in bringing this prosecution against you?"
"I would."
"Then in that case the government is going to dismiss this case against you. With prejudice. Your Honor, the government moves to dismiss. With prejudice."
Judge Barnaby was stunned, as were Thaddeus, Broyles, and Matheson. The jurors sat with mouths open, expressions of relief on the faces of some, expressions of dismay on the faces of those who came to render a verdict.
"Very well," the judge said at last, "this case is dismissed with prejudice, meaning these charges can never be brought again. Ladies and Gentlemen, the court thanks you for your service. You are discharged. Mr. Murfee, you are remanded to the custody of the U.S. Marshal’s service. You will now begin serving-out your thirty days’ contempt sentence. We are in recess."
The two marshals in the courtroom descended upon him, fighting through the handshakes and hugs from Frank and Jeannette Broyles, from Nikki, from Homer Matheson, and attempts by the TV cameras to catch the participants on video. Thaddeus appeared briefly on camera as the marshals stood patiently off to the side, allowing him his few moments of glory. Then they unceremoniously escorted him from the courtroom with Nikki bobbing along at his side, telling him what she had planned for the two of them once he was released.
Broyles himself caught up with Thaddeus in the building lobby before the trio left for jail.
"Thank you, Thaddeus," said the ex-U.S. Attorney. "You've given me
back my life. I'll be filing a motion myself in your case before the day is over, asking the court to reconsider its contempt citation against you. My guess is you'll be out of jail before noon tomorrow. Just enough time for Judge Barnaby to cool down."
Thaddeus laughed. "You do that and I'll give you your fee back. I've got a new girlfriend to take to dinner!"
"We'll see you tomorrow. Your first dinner with your new girlfriend is on me, incidentally. I couldn't be happier than to see you two having a glorious night out."
"Thank you, Mr. Broyles," Thaddeus said, extending his hand.
Broyles took it up and they shook hands.
The promise had been kept.
Franklin J. Broyles had been proven not guilty, just as the young lawyer had promised the jury in the beginning.
31
Ollie Anderson paid a visit to Thaddeus that night, just after the jail served a dinner of fish sticks and rice. The prosecutor had changed from his customary pinstripes to khakis and a blue broadcloth shirt open at the neck. The shoes were cross-trainers and the Senators baseball cap looked well-worn. They met in a visitors’ meeting area though there were no other inmates or visitors there. Evidently the new U.S. Attorney had some drag around the jail, it occurred to Thaddeus as he was led there.
"Thaddeus," Anderson began, "let me congratulate you if I haven't already. It was a match well-played."
"Thank you. But it wouldn't have happened without you turning over Frank's file to us."
"It had to be done."
"But why? Most prosecutors I've heard about would never do that."
"Most of those prosecutors have forgotten the most important part of their job is not to win. It's to see that justice is served. The man needed his file to prove his case. I wasn't about to prevent him. It was only fair, Thaddeus."
"Well, I'm in your debt."
"No, you're not. But that's not why I'm here. I want to offer you your old job back in the U.S. Attorney's office. You would be ramrodding Team A in Cybercrimes."
"Seriously? You'd take someone who just beat--and probably embarrassed--the U.S. Attorney's office? That's more than I ever even dreamed of."
"Will you come back?"
A Young Lawyer's story Page 15