Mortal Allies sd-2

by Brian Haig

  I said, “I’ll bet your bosses back in Washington are tickled pink with you two.”

  Buzz grinned from ear to ear. “Let’s just say I’m pretty sure I’ll make it to retirement. And Carol here has been submitted for the Gold Medal.”

  That Gold Medal thing is the secret award they give to spooks when they do real good. Nobody in the public knows about it, which if you think about it, doesn’t make it much of an award. But hey, spooks are a little different from the rest of us.

  Also, although Buzz didn’t mention it, it was a reasonable assumption that if his subordinate was getting a Gold Medal, well then, he probably was, too. He was too much the fifties kind of guy to mention it.

  With gushing insincerity, I said, “Congratulations to you both. You deserve whatever honors a proud nation can bestow upon you.”

  Which was my backhanded way of reminding them they owed me the world. They get the Gold Medal and I get a bullet in the back.

  Carol, the poor girl, was taking my phony praise seriously. She was blushing and looking down at the ground with embarrassment. Not Buzz. Like I’ve already mentioned, he doesn’t miss much.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked, cutting through the bull.

  Well, I always like a man who comes straight to the point. “I’ve got a former client rotting in a Korean prison. He’s innocent, only there’s no way on earth his lawyers are able to prove that.”

  Buzz ran a hand across those little bristles of hair on his head. “Drummond, I already told you, I can’t let any of this out.”

  “Why not? It’s over, isn’t it?”

  “Over? We picked up four more traitors this morning.”

  “Four more?” I asked.

  “That’s right. And of the first eight, we’ve confirmed that six were working for the North Koreans. Christ, we can’t let this out of the bag. Not now. It would be a disaster.”

  “Why? It’ll have to get out eventually. It always does, Buzz. Why not get it out in time to help an innocent man?”

  He was stubbornly shaking his head. “First we’ve got to do a damage assessment. That’ll take weeks, maybe months. This was serious shit here, Drummond. These guys may have given away the whole store. The command needs time to make changes to its war plan, write a new aircraft targeting plan, shift some units around, improve port and airfield security. You don’t tell the bad guys you know how much they know until you’ve made the right preparations. That’s counterespionage 101.”

  I tried to rise up and lean toward him, but I suddenly discovered my overdrugged body was ignoring my central nervous system. Huffing and puffing with frustration, I said, “Look, damn it, can’t we come to a reasonable accommodation here?”

  “I’m willing to listen.”

  “What if we can handle this in a closed, classified hearing?”

  “Can you do that?”

  “It’s up to the judge. Of course I’ll have to tell him what it’s about.”

  He stroked his chin. “Can he be trusted?”

  “Of course.”

  “Would it make a difference?”

  “I hope so. He can make rulings based on what we present. Of course, the prosecutor has to be present as well. It’s unorthodox, I guess, but judges pull lawyers into chambers all the time to make off-line rulings on critical issues. And they’re always privy to evidence the jury never sees.”

  I wasn’t sure how Mercer was going to come down. He wasn’t committing. He wasn’t saying no. He was pondering.

  I said, “So I’ll bet you two end up going to the White House and getting a pat on the back from the man himself. Doesn’t the CIA give monetary awards, too? I’ll bet you get enough that you don’t have to worry about making your rent payments for a few years. You probably have a house in McLean, right, Buzz? I mean, all you Agency guys like to build nests next to the big building, right? I’ll bet it’s killing you having to handle that mortgage while you’re over-”

  “God damn it, Drummond, all right. Enough already. We’ll try it.”

  “One other thing?”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’re going to want to hear what Bales’s wife told you when she broke. A videotaped testimony would be fine. Just make sure you’ve got a chain of evidence on it.”

  He looked at me from under his eyebrows. “Who said she broke?”

  “Buzz, no offense to your professional competence, but how else did you find out there were four more traitors?”

  He rolled his eyes. For a minute I could swear he actually liked me. But probably I was only kidding myself. Spooks don’t have feelings.

  CHAPTER 47

  I felt deeply honored about the way it got set up. On Tuesday morning at eight, the trial kicked off as scheduled. The next two days, Katherine and Eddie fenced back and forth over board members. As voir dire processes go, it was one of the bloodiest skirmishes in military court history.

  See, military law doesn’t have the exact same challenge procedures as federal law, but close enough. As long as Katherine could show that a potential board member had an axe to grind against gays, she could get them disqualified. Eddie’s job was harder, because you can’t disqualify a member just because they don’t have an axe to grind against gays. Eddie had to show they believed gays were a persecuted minority who deserved to be in the Army, whose lifestyle was perfectly normal, even admirable, who were vulnerable victims of military witch hunts and were often framed for crimes they didn’t commit. It wasn’t like a lot of Army people were going admit they felt that way.

  As a result, the mayhem was done by Katherine. She was winnowing out the antigay bigots and seeking ten men or women who were either fair-minded or equivocal about homosexuality. The infantry guys on the board got massacred. She knocked off eight that I could count. Three female officers actually made the final list, which was considerably better than how I thought it would turn out. Females, as Imelda had observed, tend to be less judgmental on sexual issues – well, excepting bigamy or adultery. If you’ve got a client accused of either of those offenses, the last thing you want’s a female jurist.

  Katherine performed superbly.

  How did I know this? Because for once the military opened the trial to the press. There were even TV cameras in the courtroom, and to the best of my knowledge that’s unheard of in military trials. But given the rabid public interest in this case, and that all of Korea was interested in the outcome, a closed court would’ve been a disaster. To preserve the alliance, the Army had to discard its traditional cloaked process.

  On the morning of the third day, Eddie got up and made his opening statement. The TV cameras were rolling and he was positively preening. This was the moment he had waited for all his life. He paced back and forth, spoke completely extemporaneously, and went on for exactly thirty minutes. He really did bear an uncanny resemblance to a youthful Robert Redford. And the camera picked that up.

  I hated to, but I had to give him credit. He was brilliant. He was brief and he was passionate. He resisted the impulse to hog the limelight and I’m sure it killed him. He emphasized again and again the sheer, disgusting ugliness of the crime. He reminded everybody that the accused was a West Point graduate, an experienced officer, a man who had done his duties in every other way, but was a callous, brutal murderer nonetheless.

  This was a sly preemptive strike on his part, since it was evident Katherine was going to emphasize that her client was a highly accomplished officer, with a prestigious professional pedigree, and thus was unlikely to have committed the lowly acts he was accused of.

  Eddie had also somehow learned about Whitehall’s boxing career. He spent a few moments dwelling on that theme as well, noting how the blows inflicted on Lee’s body were described by the pathologist as particularly fierce and forceful, the kind that could be rendered only by a powerful, trained fighter.

  Eddie kept subtly reminding the board of the homosexual nature of the crime, playing to whatever residue of subtle prejudice they possessed. He
was masterful.

  Then he reared up on his hind legs and outdid himself. He told the board and faces behind the TV cameras to put themselves in Lee No Tae’s shoes. Imagine you’re twenty-one years old, highly intelligent, handsome, the child of loving parents, a young man with a brilliant future ahead of you. Imagine you’ve just been invited by an American officer to his private quarters for a party. You feel honored, and you happily accept. You like Americans. You trust Americans and you look up to American officers. So you go. The Americans get drunk and you get the first inklings you’ve made a serious mistake. Then – Eddie paused for theatrical effect – then you’re being held down, you’re fighting and you’re kicking and you’re struggling, and the most horrifying things are being done to your body. Two of them restrain you, while the third exploits you. They’re drunk and they’re using you in the most vile ways to satisfy their unnatural lusts. You scream in pain, but they muffle you. You beg them to stop and they laugh. Then a belt is thrown around your neck, and you feel it tightening, and…

  Eddie paused there. He gazed into the faces of the board. He affected a bottomless, soulful sadness. He stared down at the floor and shook his head, as though he couldn’t go on, as though the necrophilia was too sickening, as though the revulsion and horror of it was simply too much. Then he bravely gulped and looked back up at the ten faces in the jury box. He placed his hands on the railing, worked up a courageously stern expression, leaned toward the board, and very quietly said, “You are American officers. You will know before this trial ends the terrible damage Thomas Whitehall has done to our profession, to our reputations, to our ashamed nation. Show the world… Show Lee No Tae’s family… Show the people of South Korea that ours is a profession of honor. Wipe away the terrible stain that has occurred. Show that we know how to deal with the man seated at the defense table. Show the world… Well, you know what to show them. You know your duty.”

  Then he spun around and returned to the prosecution table, an angry, pouncing eagerness to his walk, as though he could not wait to expunge this blot from the reputation of his profession.

  Frankly, to my eyes it was a bit overdone, and it was more of a closing argument than an opener, but that only showed how supremely confident Eddie was. He’d hit all the right notes. He’d never once mentioned Whitehall’s rank, as though Tommy no longer deserved the honored appellation. He’d stressed how deeply Whitehall had shamed the profession of arms, because military officers are the most institutional creatures there are, and Eddie was stoking their furnaces, exhorting them to remember the disgrace Tommy had brought on them. Plus, the defense counsel was a civilian. He was trying to distance her from the board.

  But if Eddie was good in front of a camera, Katherine was simply spectacular. You knew the instant you watched her approach the jury box that you were seeing the difference between a hometown player and a Broadway star. He just didn’t have her experience or her instinctive gift for theatrics. Besides, Eddie was too proud of his own good looks. He moved like a peacock. Katherine moved like a graceful, gorgeous swan who’d never owned a mirror because she didn’t need one. She stood perfectly still for a long, telling moment to allow the camera to focus just on her. And what the world saw was a petite, unadorned, plainly dressed woman with the face of an angel. My eyes were fixed on her face, and it suddenly struck me: She looked just like those statues of the Virgin Mary you see in churches. There was such a simple, essential purity to her that it actually made my heart ache.

  Looking at her, the question you were forced to ask was, How could a woman such as this ever defend a murderer, a rapist, a defiler of corpses?

  Then she began. And I could see immediately why OGMM employed her as their heavy hitter. She emitted a fierce energy in the court. She glowed with conviction. She wasn’t shrill or wordy or choppy. Her words flowed, a human volcano emitting a stream of white-hot lava that gracefully curled down its slopes.

  She spoke for two minutes, then she ordered the board to look at her client. Ten heads immediately turned. Even the cameras shifted to focus on Tommy Whitehall, sitting stiffly erect in his Army greens. And that’s when I literally lost my breath. Why I hadn’t figured it out before, I don’t know, but as they say, the camera doesn’t lie. As I looked at Tommy’s face on that TV screen it hit me like a fist. I suddenly knew. I finally understood.

  I wanted to scream. If I could have, I would have leaped out of that hospital bed and run straight over to the courtroom. I would’ve rushed up and pulled Katherine Carlson into my arms. I would’ve kissed her and comforted her, and begged her forgiveness.

  Then the cameras and my own attention returned to Katherine. Perhaps it was my newfound knowledge, but she looked sadder than any human being I’d ever seen. She was admitting to the board that Eddie Golden was going to present one of the most compelling prosecution cases the world had ever heard. Every piece of evidence, every witness, every word out of Eddie’s lips was going to make it impossible to believe that Captain Whitehall didn’t commit the crimes of which he was accused.

  There was a reason for this, she announced. Captain Whitehall was framed. She might not be able to prove this. She admitted this very forthrightly, because she had no intention of lying or misleading the board. The people who’d framed her client had made no mistakes. They’d left no implicating evidence. They’d thought it through and acted deliberately and skillfully. They’d done an astonishingly clever job of pinning it on her client. Nor was it difficult to do. Just a few simple steps was all it took.

  Katherine warned them: As you listen to the prosecutor’s case, as you hear his witnesses, as you view his evidence, remember that you’re looking at the fabric of a murder committed by somebody else and blamed on Captain Whitehall. Put yourself in Captain Whitehall’s shoes. Don’t put yourself in Eddie Golden’s shoes, because he’s the biggest fool in this courtroom. He’s been gulled, cuckolded, misled. He’s the real murderer’s best ally. Remember that with every word that spews from his mouth: He’s already been fooled.

  Considering the circumstances, Katherine’s opener was about as good as they come. Fast Eddie, though, was seated at his table, unsuccessfully fighting a smug smile. Katherine had given the signal that all experienced attorneys know how to interpret. She’d admitted in her opening statement she couldn’t defeat the state’s case. So she’d done the only other reasonable thing you could do. She’d tried to get the board to imagine a conspiracy – not to ignore the witnesses or the evidence, but to see them as proof of the framer’s skill. She couldn’t undermine the evidence, so she was attacking the credibility of the presenter.

  A nice touch, but I knew Eddie. He was going to cut her to shreds.

  Katherine went back to her table, then the judge asked both attorneys to approach the bench. At this point the station cut to a commercial, but I knew what was happening.

  When the broadcast resumed, the court was breaking up and the correspondent announced that Judge Carruthers had declared a recess for the rest of the day. Eddie and Katherine were collecting their papers from their respective tables. Katherine was smiling as she walked from the bench, which I found curious. But I guess she was just relieved to have another day to try to figure some new approach, to discover some breakthrough or create some new surprise for Eddie.

  I flipped off the TV and tried to nap. I was going to need some sleep to pull this off.

  About three hours later, they began arriving. First came a pair of MPs who peeked inside my room, then backed out and posted themselves outside my door.

  Then Buzz and Carol showed up. Then two technicians lugged in a TV set and a VCR and a big camcorder on a tripod. Then the court bailiff entered. Then Eddie arrived looking miffed and sulky. Then came Captain Kip Goins, Katherine’s substitute military co-counsel, who was representing his lead counsel because classified materials were going to be discussed. Finally, when everything was ready, Colonel Carruthers arrived in full dress greens. It was the first time I’d seen him with all his ribbons an
d regalia, and the first time I realized he was a former infantryman himself. I knew this because there was a Combat Infantryman’s Badge on his breast, and a Ranger tab, and two Purple Hearts, and a Silver Star. No wonder he was such a hardass. With all due respect, of course.

  A small metal desk had been set up on the far side of the room, and frankly Carruthers looked comical as he struggled to cram his huge frame behind that tiny thing. It’s worth noting, though, that nobody giggled or showed the slightest sign of amusement.

  While everybody was facing the judge, the door opened again and an elderly Korean man slipped in the back and took a seat by the door. It was Minister of Defense Lee. I’d made sure he was invited, although until this moment I wasn’t sure he was going to come.

  Carruthers opened with a fierce glower and explanation that this was a highly unusual procedure that was essential for the pursuit of justice. He pointed at the camcorder and informed us that the proceedings would be taped and preserved in the event of a subsequent appeal. The proceeding would be treated as though we were in the courtroom. He informed us we’d be hearing classified testimony, and if a single word uttered in this room leaked out, there’d be another court-martial, and he’d personally chair it, and it wouldn’t be pretty.

  Such was the judge’s manner that even Buzz Mercer gulped.

  Then Carruthers pulled a wooden mallet out of a pocket and slammed his little desk two or three times.

  Mercer was asked to move to a chair in front of the judge’s desk, where he was sworn in by the bailiff. The judge asked him a few introductory questions, like who was he, and what was his job, and what was his involvement with this case.

  Eddie was seated in the corner of the room, and I kept my eyes on him, while his own kept wandering warily over to me. I could see he was curious, even nervous, about my role. I wasn’t here as an attorney, since I’d already recused myself. Nor was I a witness. I was here as a specially appointed military assistant to Judge Barry Carruthers.