“Mr. Matthews,” said O’Mara.
“Judge, Admiral Krowl sought out my client, then represented to him that a reward existed to locate this certain person of interest,” said Matthews. “My client agreed. An offer was made and accepted, consideration exchanged, and terms performed—that’s the precise definition of a contract.”
“Very well. Mr. Feldman, who would you like to call?”
“Only one witness at this time—Admiral Julius Krowl.”
Krowl stood up straight and swaggered to the witness stand. The courtroom was empty, except for those in front of the bar—Matthews at one table, and Scott and Feldman at the other. A court reporter sat below the witness stand and a U.S. marshal sat across from her on the other side of the judge, who peered down from his mahogany bench. The gold seal of the United States of America hung directly above the judge, and above the seal, in large gold letters, were the Latin words Lex et Justitia—Law and Justice.
“Admiral, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” said the marshal.
“Yes,” said Krowl.
“Please tell the court your name,” said Feldman.
“Julius Krowl.”
“Your occupation, for the record.”
“I’m a rear admiral in the U.S. Navy and I serve on the staff of the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff as the J-3A.” Krowl had leaned into the microphone and his voice thundered through the courtroom.
“Admiral, you can lean back a little,” said O’Mara. “Go on, Mr. Feldman.”
“Admiral,” said Feldman, “do you know a W.N. Parker?”
“Very casually,” said Krowl.
“Did you meet with him last year?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We believed he had a friend from the past currently involved with a belligerent government.” Krowl smiled as he spoke those words, liking the way they sounded. It made Will Parker appear sinister.
“Did you enter into a contract with Mr. Parker to do anything?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Offer him a ‘proposal,’ as is alleged in this complaint?”
“Never.”
Scott stared at Krowl’s mouth as he spoke each word. Krowl, avoiding Scott’s eyes, looked instead at the judge, then Feldman, then Matthews.
“Did you offer him any monies?” said Feldman.
“No.”
“Did you commit the United States government to pay him some twenty-five million dollars?”
“Never,” said Krowl.
“You’ve read the complaint. Is there a word of truth in any of its allegations?”
“No.”
“Thank you. He’s your witness.”
Matthews rose from his seat. “Admiral, I’m Gary Matthews.”
“I know who you are.”
“You are the J-3A of the Joint Chiefs of Staff?”
“Yes.”
“In that position,” said Matthews, “surely you have the authority to commit the Department of Defense and the United States government.”
“Yes, I do,” said Krowl.
“Judge,” said Feldman, incensed by the cross-examination, “we will stipulate that the admiral had authority to act as an agent, but that’s moot because there was no contract.”
O’Mara leaned forward on the bench. “Admiral, the plaintiff’s complaint refers to a mission in the DPRK. This would be North Korea?”
“Yes, Judge, and we’ll be asking the FBI to investigate this further,” said Krowl. “We know Parker did indeed travel to North Korea, but not on our orders. Of course, such travel would be illegal.”
“Anything else from this witness?” said O’Mara.
“No, Judge,” said Matthews.
“Anything else, Mr. Feldman?”
“No, Your Honor, except possibly the cross of Mr. Parker, should he appear.”
“Mr. Matthews, this sounds convincing,” said O’Mara. “Do you have any testimony?”
Gary Matthews glanced down at his folder, apparently preoccupied. Krowl came down from the witness stand, his lips curved in a grin.
“Mr. Matthews?” said O’Mara.
“Yes, sir.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, yes, I do have a witness,” said Matthews. “A Miss Clark Ashby.”
Scott and Krowl looked at one other, equally perplexed. Feldman bent over to the admiral. “Who is she?” Feldman asked.
“No idea,” the admiral said.
A shapely redhead entered the courtroom, dressed in a black business suit with a high-collared white blouse.
“Please state your name,” said the marshal.
“Clark Ashby.” She sat down in the witness chair, placing a leather briefcase to the side.
“Ms. Ashby, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” said the marshal.
“I do.”
Scott, covering his mouth, leaned over to Krowl. “Who is this woman?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Krowl didn’t appear shaken. “But she can’t know anything.”
“Please state your occupation,” said Matthews.
“Court reporter as certified by the State of Georgia and the United States government.”
“Did you have occasion to be in the Vienna courthouse in the early part of last summer when Admiral Krowl and Mr. Scott visited?” said Matthews.
“Yes, but I didn’t know their names then,” said Clark.
“These two men here?”
“Yes, those are the two.”
“Did you see them leave the courtroom with Mr. William Parker?”
“Oh yes, they left with him at the break in a trial we had.”
“Did you stay in that courtroom?”
“Yes.” As she spoke, Clark absentmindedly opened her briefcase. She pulled from it a small, square black object.
“Oh, God,” said Scott, collapsing back into his chair.
“Scott, cool it.” Krowl grabbed him by the arm.
“Feldman, stop this now,” said Scott.
“What?” Isa Feldman looked bewildered.
“This is a matter of national security. Stop it now!”
“Your Honor, may we have a short break?” Feldman said, standing up, flummoxed by Scott’s outburst.
“Why now, Mr. Feldman?” the judge asked.
Feldman, confused, replied, “I’m told this may be a matter of national security.”
“Okay, ten minutes.” The judge, the court reporter, and the marshal left the courtroom, leaving only Clark, Matthews, and the defense.
“It’s all over,” Scott told Krowl.
“Oh, control yourself.”
“Do you remember the trial down there?”
“Yes.”
“And our meeting in his office?” Scott, standing now, leaned directly into the admiral’s face. “He bloody well recorded it.”
The courtroom fell silent as Krowl let the thought sink in. He recalled the recording device that Parker had used so dramatically in the drug trial. It made sense that, during their meeting with Parker, he’d had the recorder on.
“Oh, God,” said Krowl, turning an ashen white.
“She heard everything,” said Scott. It sounded like a statement, but in fact, Scott was looking for confirmation or denial from Matthews and Clark.
“Everything,” said Matthews in a quiet, assured voice, “and it was all recorded as well.”
“Mr. Matthews, we need to talk to Parker,” said Scott.
“Why?”
“To stop this.”
“Let’s go into the jury room.”
Scott led the way into a side room with a long government-style metal tab
le surrounded by gray steel chairs. A few old, torn magazines were piled up at one end. At the other, out several windows, the roof of a redbrick building, where pigeons roosted on the ledges, was visible. Krowl and Feldman, but not Matthews, followed him in.
Krowl sat down, his glasses in one hand, his other hand covering his face. He was an ugly man, only much uglier now, broken by his own ruthlessness.
Feldman took the seat across from Krowl. “What’s going on?”
“Parker’s complaint is all true,” said Scott, still standing. “I’m calling the Agency and the director will have the money wired to Parker now.”
As Scott spoke, Matthews stepped through the door, followed by Will Parker.
“Colonel.” Scott had the look of a guilty man who’d witnessed too much and let things go too far. “Tell us what you want.”
Will took a seat directly across from Julius Krowl.
“I want Krowl retired today.”
“Done.” Scott now dominated his side’s conversation.
“As an O-4.” A reduction stripped Krowl of all honors of flag rank. It was the lowest officer rank for eligible retirement. For an Academy man known as a fast-moving flag officer, it would mean utter humiliation.
“No,” Krowl protested.
“If not,” Scott said to Krowl, “you’re probably looking at charges of attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder, misuse of government equipment, fraud, and perjury—probably good for several life sentences served in Leavenworth.” Then Scott turned back to Will. “What else do you want?” asked Scott.
“That’s it.”
“Okay,” said Scott, moving away from Krowl. “Here are my terms. We’ll wire you the money within the next hour. This claim is dismissed with prejudice, then sealed forever. And you give me every copy of that tape.”
“Done,” said Will. Matthews nodded.
As Krowl remained slumped in the chair, his hands covering his face, Scott followed Will out of the courtroom, catching up to him on the stairs. “Colonel?” he said.
Will looked at Scott from the landing just below. “I thought I told you not to call me that.”
“Why did you really do it? Take the mission?”
“Did you do your research, Mr. Scott?”
“I don’t know. What do you mean?”
“Did you know the flight that William and Debra Parker were on?”
Scott recognized the names of Parker’s parents. “One coming back from Europe.”
“Yeah,” said Will. “Pan Am flight 103.”
Scott’s eyes widened. Will Parker had been one of America’s first victims of terrorism.
“This war has been going on for a long time, Mr. Scott. For me, it’s been personal.”
Scott nodded. “And many believe North Korea provided the bomb that took down that jet.”
As Will Parker walked away, Scott called out again, “Mr. Parker?” Will turned. “How did you know to record it?”
Will smiled tightly, turned away, and walked down the stairs to the waiting Clark Ashby.
Epilogue
The Central Intelligence Agency reported a firing of a multistage Taepodong-3X or Unha-3 missile from the newly discovered complex near the DMZ. The launch occurred shortly after the reported death of one of North Korea’s leading scientists, Dr. Peter Nampo. The missile failed to reach a geosynchronous orbit of the earth, likely, according to the world’s scientists, because the payload’s weight unduly affected the rocket’s trajectory. The rocket disappeared from radar and was presumed destroyed upon reentry.
In the weeks following the failed launch, Chinese sources reported an upheaval in the government of Pyongyang. Besides the death of Jang, a vice prime minister, several generals were absent from prominent activities, including the annual parade in honor of Kim Jong-un. Deeper intelligence sources revealed the homes of these leaders in the secret inner city of Pyongyang had been vacated and their children missing from school. No other intelligence reports reflected the military leaders’ whereabouts.
Meanwhile, Kim Jong-un made efforts to engage in talks with the United States, China, and Japan. Famine still had a grip on the country and more than one-fourth of its children suffered from severe malnutrition. Despite these concerns, North Korea had not complied with requests to acknowledge the existence of secret underground research facilities near Kosan and in three other locations. North Korea remained committed to the development of a multistage intercontinental missile, despite Western overtures aimed at prompting a dialogue.
In the country of Somalia, a U.S. Delta Force attacked a suspected terrorist camp, finding a mobile rocket launcher equipped with an intercontinental missile. It bore no markings. The payload was missing, as were many of the terrorists believed to be connected with the remote desert site. The nature and extent of the planned operation remains a secret.
On December 21 at 0805, the United States launched its third series GPS IIR-10 satellite, number SUN47. The satellite became the latest of twenty-nine making up a worldwide GPS system, on which both the military and corporate America increasingly rely.
About the Author
Anderson Harp has served the United States Marine Corps in many capacities, from artillery to teaching mountain warfare and arctic survival, to serving in the Crisis Action Team for Marine Forces. His military work has taken him from the Arctic Circle and Fort Greely, Alaska (where a typical day reaches 44 below zero), to the Persian Gulf, Central America, Europe, South Korea, and the Pentagon. As an officer in the Marine Corps Reserve, he was mobilized for Operation Enduring Freedom.
Anderson also created and was a member of the “first ever” USO Tour of ITW thriller authors to the Persian Gulf and participated in the 2012 Tour. His insights from the USO Tour appear on CNN’s Larry King Live, the Huffington Post, NewsMax, and The Big Thrill among others.
Learn more at andersonharp.net
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