A Northern Thunder

by Andy Harp

  A man entered the room. “Admiral, I’m Isa Feldman.” Little gray hairs accented the sides of Feldman’s face, which was dominated by a bold nose. A sweater and an old herringbone blazer covered his white shirt and tie. A tobacco shop smell permeated his clothes.

  “Mr. Feldman, this is my aide, Commander Sawyer,” said Krowl as Sawyer entered.

  “Hey, Commander. Never spent time in the military, but I appreciate all you guys,” Feldman said in a thick New York accent. He had a broad smile of yellow-stained teeth. With Harvard Law School training, a Columbia undergraduate degree, and a razor-sharp wit, Feldman was regarded at Justice as one of the toughest and brightest litigators in the civil division.

  “What brings you to this side of the river, Mr. Feldman?” Krowl rocked back in his chair as he directed Feldman to take a seat.

  “Well, it’s just bizarre, Admiral.”

  “Yes?”

  “You see, we got this claim against the government filed down in Georgia,” said Feldman. “It’s in the U.S. Court of Claims under the RFJ program.”

  Krowl continued to rock in his chair, showing little more than casual interest in the conversation. Sawyer had brought his notepad, foreseeing some data-gathering task one of the young lieutenants could handle.

  “Shouldn’t this go through DOD’s legal office?” said Krowl.

  “Oh, Admiral, normally it would. And I’ve already talked to Jim Size-more about this. That’s not the problem.”

  “Okay.” Krowl kept rocking.

  “It’s that the allegation by this Matthews guy—he’s the attorney for the plaintiff—mentions you by name.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, sir, some nut, I’m guessing.”

  “Go on, Mr. Feldman,” said Krowl.

  “Well, the allegation is that you acted as an agent for the old U.S. of A. in making a contract with a man,” said Feldman. “He says you told him a guy was on the RFJ list, and that if he photographed this guy, he would qualify for the reward.”

  “That’s not likely.”

  “Oh, I thought not.”

  Krowl continued to rock, but now at a somewhat faster speed.

  “Anyway,” said Feldman, “we’ve prepared a Motion for Summary Judgment, and the old judge down there set it in for a hearing next week.”

  “Great. Anything else? I do have a busy schedule.” Krowl’s tone clearly changed.

  “Well, yes, sir. I think we might need you at that hearing, and Jim Size-more agrees.”

  “Is that really necessary? The Joint Chief of Staff ’s office doesn’t have a lot of time.”

  “Well, normally we could do this by affidavit, but the attorney on the other side has already requested that you be there,” said Feldman. “I’m thinking we can nip this all in the bud by going down there this once, proving there’s nothing to it, and shutting the whole thing down right away.”

  “Still, a member of the staff of the Joint Chiefs in court?” said Krowl. “Well, Admiral, here’s the thing. You see, if you don’t appear voluntarily, they have a subpoena for you.” Krowl stopped rocking and leaned forward. “What a waste of time.”

  “Admiral, we agree. In fact, we’re going to ask this judge to sanction the plaintiff and his attorney for bringing this frivolous action.”

  “What’s that mean?” “The plaintiff and his lawyer will have to pay money out of their own pockets.”

  “Good,” said Krowl. “But I do need you and the other witness in Albany, Georgia, next Wednesday.”

  “The other witness?” “Yes, sir, someone with the Central Intelligence Agency named James Scott,” said Feldman. “Scott?” “Yes, sir. Had to bring him back from overseas. Apparently, he was recently reassigned out of the U.S.” Krowl paused. “I know Mr. Scott. What’s this whole thing about?” “The plaintiff is a W. N. Parker.”

  Chapter 49

  “All rise.”

  The deputy of the United States Court of Claims looked sternly over the courtroom as Judge Richard O’Mara took his seat.

  “We have a motion in the case of W. N. Parker versus the United States of America. Madam Clerk, please call the case for motion.”

  “Yes, sir, W. N. Parker versus the United States of America, a case for breach of contract,” said the clerk. “Mr. Matthews for the plaintiff and Mr. Feldman for Justice.”

  “I’m Gary Matthews, Your Honor,” said Matthews.

  “And I’m Isa Feldman.”

  “It’s my understanding,” said the judge, “that Justice has a Motion for Summary Judgment.”

  “And,” added Feldman, “an assessment of costs and fees for this baseless and frivolous claim. I also have with me Admiral Julius Krowl of the staff of the JCS and Mr. James Scott of the CIA.”

  Krowl was decked out in full military honors, with a chest full of medals and gold leaf on the sleeves of his Navy blue jacket. With his gold-rimmed glasses and cocky air, Krowl contrasted sharply with the unassuming Feldman, and also with James Scott, dressed in a dark, conservative pin-striped suit and striped burgundy tie. Scott had a pad and pencil, and doodled nervously on the pad’s edges. Although he had been in many wars and many tight spots, he felt far more uncomfortable here.

  “Aren’t they potential witnesses?” the judge said of Krowl and Scott.

  “Yes, sir, they are,” said Feldman.

  “Mr. Matthews, do you want to invoke sequestration?”

  “No, Your Honor.” Sequestration required witnesses to wait outside the courtroom so as not to hear another witness’s testimony and potentially change theirs. It was highly unusual for Gary Matthews not to take advantage of the rule. “I think it may be to everyone’s benefit for them to hear the testimony.”

  “And where is the plaintiff, Mr. Parker?” asked Feldman.

  “If need be, I’m sure he’ll be here,” said Matthews.

  “Are you sure you have a plaintiff?” Feldman sneered.

  “Why would you believe otherwise?” Matthews said.

  “Your Honor, we believe this to be an action filed by an unstable man, previously in the military, but who, according to Admiral Krowl, was last known to be outside the United States and probably dead.” Feldman was barely taller than the mahogany podium that separated the plaintiff ’s table from the defense table.

  Gary Matthews sat alone with a single blue manila folder before him. With his gray-vested suit, salt and pepper hair, dark blue tie, and starched white shirt, he radiated confidence and professionalism. “Judge,” he said, “this is a summary judgment motion in which the defense is requesting that the Court dismiss this claim. They have the burden to prove it’s baseless and you’re required to believe every word of our allegations.”

  Matthews was correct and O’Mara knew it. The judge also knew Matthews’s reputation—he did not bring frivolous lawsuits. “I’ll hear the motion, but the plaintiff will need to be available for any further matters on the lawsuit,” said O’Mara.

  Isa Feldman didn’t expect any more from the judge at this point. He was simply establishing the groundwork.

  “Mr. Feldman, it’s your motion,” said O’Mara.

  “Yes, Your Honor. In brief, the United States Government never entered into a contract with Mr. Parker to do anything. Admiral Krowl, one of our military’s most distinguished leaders, did meet with Mr. Parker, very briefly, in Vienna, Georgia last summer to ask him some questions regarding a matter of national security. Mr. Scott attended that meeting. No promises were made,” said Feldman. “Now Mr. Parker has brought this preposterous claim that he was assigned to locate a man on the RFJ list. He wasn’t, and the list did not even include the man in question. Admiral Krowl will testify under oath that a matter of national security was discussed, but no more, and Mr. Scott will corroborate that testimony. And without Parker, their testimony will go unchallenged. Even with Parker’s testimony, theirs will be more credible.”

  “Mr. Matthews,” said O’Mara.

  “Judge, Admiral Krowl sought out my client, th
en represented to him that a reward existed to locate this certain person of interest,” said Mat-thews. “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.

  “Yes, Judge.”

  “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 he’s 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.” Krowl had seen the judge study him intently during his testimony. He had seen the young court reporter smile at him. Jig Krowl was carrying the day. Even if Parker had somehow survived North Korea, then successfully escaped, it would be his word against the admiral’s. Scott would only chime in. Parker would be destroyed, and the nation’s interests secured.

  “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.”

  Scott bent his head down, trying to hide his disgust. Krowl wasn’t just trying to end this case in the government’s favor, but suggesting that Parker was guilty of something amounting to treason.

  “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 upward 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. “Admiral, what the hell’s going on? Who is this woman?” Scott said.

  “I don’t know.” Krowl didn’t appear shaken. “But she can’t be a problem.”

  “Please state your occupation,” said Matthews.

  “Court reporter as certified by the State of Georgia and the United States government.”

  “She can’t know anything,” Krowl whispered to Scott.

  “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, rectangular 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.

  “Admiral, it’s all over,” said Scott.

  “Scott, control yourself,” said Krowl.

  “Admiral, you remember the trial down there?”

  “Yes.”

  “And our meeting in his office?”

  Scott, standing now, leaned directly into his face. “It was bloody well recorded.”

  The courtroom fell silent as Krowl let the thought sink in. During the summertime trial, Parker still had the recording device he had used in the drug trial. When he met with Krowl and Scott, the recorder was on.

  “Oh my 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 table 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 red brick 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?” said Feldman.

  “Parker’s complaint is all true,” said Scott, still standing. “I’m calling the Agency, and the director will have all the money wired to Parker now.”

  As Scott spoke these last few words, Matthews swung the door open, and was followed into the room 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-5.” A reduction to below the Navy rank of captain or colonel 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 meekly.

  “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.