“Would you like to come up to my room?” asked John.
“I don't think so, John. It’s much too soon,” She replied.
“So it’s just a matter of time?” he asked.
“If we went up to your room, we would probably make love, and form some kind of bond, which is not a good idea when we are in a business that is difficult, and oftentimes impersonal, and can be ruthless,” said Sarah.
John said, “Would you like to come up to my room?”
“You don't seem to have heard what I am saying,” said Sarah.
“I heard, and I would love to hear you say 'Yes',” said John.
Sarah leaned over towards the steering wheel with her head touching the top of the steering wheel, looking at the gauges on the dashboard with a distant stare. She paused momentarily, and without changing her eyes she said, “I’ll park the car. You get out and I’ll be up in a minute.”
John said, “My room……”
Sarah interrupted, “I know what it is.”
The next morning John lay in bed. It had been a night he could only describe as beautiful. As he lay in bed, he watched steam coming from under the bathroom door. A moment later, Sarah came out, a towel wrapped around her. She leaned over him and kissed him. “I have to go. Someone will pick you up to take you to the airport. She dressed and walked to the door, opened it, looked back at John and said, “You have my number,” and the door clicked closed as she walked out.
At noon John left his room and walked out to the curb at the Hilton with his bag, packed light, waiting for Bob to give him a ride to the airport. A black SUV came around and stopped in front of him. He opened the passenger door and John saw Sarah. She was dressed in a blue skirt and jacket over a white blouse. He said, “But you’re not Bob.”
Sarah smiled and said, “Feel free to call me Bob. Get in, I don’t have much time, and I didn’t give you my number. It is lunchtime at the government and I don't want to be missed.” When they arrived at the airport, John took her hand and kissed it and told her it had been very nice. Sarah put her hand on his cheek and kissed him lightly on the lips. John reached for his bag and was about to close the door when Sarah said, “There is one more thing, John. Apparently you have been seeing a Psychologist. What was that all about?”
John answered, “The good Doctor thinks I may have a problem with women.”
Sarah: “I don’t think so”.
John closed the door and Sarah pulled away, the tires briefly screeching as she left the curb. A few minutes later, John realized he didn’t have her number.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
AND THEN SHE DIED
“I never knew a corpse that could hold up its end of the conversation.”
--Ken Goldman, and a Coroner's lament before an autopsy.
John called Tom and told him, “I'll be back at work tomorrow.”
“I have already been informed,” said Tom. “Get in early. Your Misdemeanor Vehicular Manslaughter case was continued, and it was supposed to start tomorrow at nine. You can have it back. The file will be on your desk. Witnesses have been notified and will show up in the morning.”
The case was about a nineteen year old guy who was speeding down a quiet residential street returning from a fast food restaurant where he had purchased some sort of breakfast sandwich and French Fries on a Sunday morning. When he looked down and picked French fries off the passenger seat, he collided with a forty-three year old woman who was crossing the street at the corner. She was tossed thirty feet in the air and landed in the middle of the street. And then she died. The trial started and John began with his witnesses. He first brought into testify the neighbor who saw the collision. The neighbor was an elderly friend of the victim, and after the collision, she ran to aid the victim as she bled onto the pavement. The witness cried on the stand. The judge intervened, even without an objection from the defense attorney, and told Trader the emotional testimony might be appropriate for sentencing, but not for the guilt phase which should be fact based. John said, “Thank you, your honor,” and moved on, but the bell had been rung, and there was sympathy for the victim and her elderly friend. John had the Medical Examiner, Doctor Mandel, testify on the injuries and the cause of death. The Medical Examiner, like all Medical Examiners, looked like a coroner. He was older, thin, and crotchety. He was irritated that he had to come to court, and told John he had never testified in a Vehicular Manslaughter case in thirty years. “The DAs from your office and the defense attorney have always stipulated the victim was dead.” But John had insisted that the Medical Examiner show up and testify. He appeared at trial and described in gruesome detail the injuries that no stipulation that the victim was dead could convey. It was manipulation of the emotions of the jury, but John was beginning to understand the process. The trial took three days, and at the end the jury took two hours to come to the guilty verdict.
After the verdict Tom told John, “No one ever wins misdemeanor vehicular manslaughter trials. Juries normally consider them an unfortunate accident and won't convict. It is seldom that a jury convicts. The office knows you have done something fairly unique.”
John’s hair continued to grow. He left his beard untouched. None of the managing D.A.’s mentioned it. A few of his colleagues on the Misdemeanor Trial team told him he was looking more and more like a Public Defender.
A few months after his vehicular manslaughter trial, Tom called John and asked him to come to his cubicle. “Interesting hair, John,” said Tom when John arrived. John had gotten to know Tom a lot better since he arrived at the D.A.’s office. Tom was smart and probably could have made a lot of money on the outside, but Tom was having too much fun as a Prosecutor. “I think there may be an opening in felony trials. I had a few minutes and I want to give you bit of background on who you are dealing with when you do go to felonies. We are the white hats. The people we see as hard case felony defendants have a lifestyle that is just different than misdemeanor violators. Felon’s lives include crime. Guys like you and me buy season tickets to the University basketball team. We visit our mothers occasionally. If we get a parking ticket, we pay it. We don’t take or break other people’s stuff. That’s part of the philosopher John Locke’s social contract. Guys like you and me, unlike the bad guys who live on the other side of the spectrum, don’t know how to commit a felony. I don’t even think I could do a misdemeanor. There is something in me, and in most people, who just can’t do it. The felons can. The felons commit a crime and get caught. They lose their jobs and then their families have no money. Because they have to spend time with their parole officers, and in prison, they become unemployable, broke, with no prospects. They only see the future, at most, two weeks out. They steal stuff without considering what will happen to them, and don’t consider at all what it will do to the victim. Most of the time, not much happens when they commit a crime. Killers continue to kill, thieves continue to steal, child molesters continue to molest. Felons commit ten crimes between felonies before they are caught. When they do get caught they go back to prison. They don’t like prison, but they are not afraid of it like you would be. Sometimes they see their friends when they go back. When they get out, it is the same story all over again. They don't seem to have a grip on the fact that they are the epitome of a waste of life, and time, when they do spend time in prison. I have learned and I think you will too, that felons don't laugh much, and prostitutes have no sense of humor. It's a common trait. Sometimes I feel like grabbing their collar, shaking them and saying, ‘Why do you do this?’ I have the hope that the misdemeanor team tries to catch the virgin crook before they sink into the criminal justice system. We try to give the misdemeanor criminals a chance to clean up before they lose everything. Most of the time it works. We get their attention early on. The experienced felons who commit misdemeanors know the drill if they are charged with a misdemeanor. They plead guilty and move on. Sometimes the misdemeanor means a parole violation and a short return to prison. They can do it standing on their heads
. For them it's a piece of cake. That’s why I like running the misdemeanor trial team. I think we do some good.”
A few months later Tom called him back to his cubicle. Today, Tom was all business. “There may be room on the Felony team in the next month or two. You’ve been successful in misdemeanor trials. I have recommended you to be next in line for the move. Get your misdemeanor trial cases current. If you are moved to Felonies, it will be a ten minute transition, especially if you get a Felony hand-off of a case going out to trial that day. When the time comes, we’ll move your cubicle to the seventh floor where the felony trial team is located. I will assign all your current misdemeanor cases to others on the team. Good Luck, John. Felonies are different. You’ll be putting the bad guys away.”
John returned to his cubicle and began to review his files for possible hand-offs, in the event he were suddenly transferred to the felony trial team. He grabbed some papers he needed to copy. He walked to the copy machines down the hall from his cubicle. He looked up from the copy machine, and saw Cody coming down the aisle. John felt the beckoning smile of Cody, who he knew when they were briefly doing misdemeanors. But now she was an experienced felony trial lawyer. She was not sexy, and did not have obvious sex appeal, but she had magnetism, an unseen emotional aroma not unlike perfume. It was a discomforting animal appeal that pulled on him. Whenever he saw her, a warm feeling tingled the nerves in his skin and he wanted to get close to it. So far he had successfully stayed away from Cody. He told himself he didn’t have the time. He was putting in too much effort during the week and weekends trying to figure out how to be a trial lawyer. Also, she was in the office, and that always spelled trouble. But she had a feminine attraction that was compelling. Whenever he saw her he was drawn to her in a real basic visceral way.
Cody stopped at the copy machine. “Hi, John. I heard you may be coming to the felony team soon. It is very different than misdemeanors.”
“News travels fast,” replied John.
“Let's go out after work and celebrate, unless you think you need to avoid me,” said Cody.
John felt every bit of resistance dissolve. He replied, “No, I haven't been avoiding you. When you were transferred up to seventh floor doing felonies, you became a big time high powered lawyer, and I was stuck here doing misdemeanors. You just weren’t around.”
Cody smiled. “Okay, that works for me,” she said as she continued down the aisle. “So I’ll see you at O’Dell’s at 5:30. I look forward to it.”
John’s heart fluttered a bit and once again he felt a warm blush. He wondered if it were visible. He saw that his will power was gone, but the better side of that was he would have some time with Cody. A smile crossed his lips and he knew he was doomed.
He heard his name paged by reception. When he got back to his cubicle he dialed reception. Jill, the receptionist, said, “There was someone here on the first floor to see you.”
John asked, “Who is it?”
Jill said, “He did not say, but he did say that you were expecting him.” John didn't expect anyone, but he took the elevator to floor one, and there was only one person in the reception area, a man, dressed in a government blue suit, and John had a sense of foreboding. John walked over to him.
“Hi, I’m John Trader. I hear you were looking for me.”
He did not introduce himself. “I am here at the direction of Agent Davis. You need to be on a flight tonight at 7:30. Here is your packet with the boarding pass, and how to make contact once you arrive in Stuttgart. I was told to tell you to travel light, things are moving quickly.”
“Anything else?” asked John.
“No. I was told you were briefed,” replied the man.
John left and returned to his cubicle and dialed Tom. Before John could say anything, he heard Tom say, “You’re covered. Have a nice trip.” John then emailed Cody.
Paul Simpson, a recently hired misdemeanor trial attorney, arrived in John's cubicle. “John, show me where you keep your files. I’m covering for you while you’re gone.” John pointed to his files, grabbed his coat, and left.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
THE MAKEOVER
"The most beautiful makeup of a woman is passion. But cosmetics are easier to buy."
— Yves Saint-Laurent
The flight to Stuttgart was sixteen hours long and uncomfortable in United coach. He mulled why he could not be left alone by the government, or why they did not at least get him business class. He had served his time for the country, and now wanted to be a lawyer, go to trial, and put the bad guys away. He wanted to have a beer on occasion and investigate the bubbly body of Cody Jones.
The landing was smooth and John reached for his carry-on and walked to arrivals. He was approached by a man dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. “Mr. Trader, welcome to Germany. I’m here to transport you. My name is William.”
Too exhausted to be polite, John followed William to a military green SUV waiting at the curb. He was transported to Stuttgart Army Airfield, and taken to a small conference room where William and two other men, dressed in Army fatigues greeted him. The ranking officer said, “Welcome to Germany, Mr. Trader. You are probably wondering why you are here and what is happening. We don’t know either, but we have instructions to deliver you to the covert facility immediately. Apparently there is some urgency in what you’re doing. In a moment William will take you to the barracks and give you some Army fatigues, which you need to change into immediately. I know you're Navy, but these fatigues will make it easier for you to get around the base for the next few days. When covert operations spooks are through with you today, William will pick you up, bring you back to the barracks, and you’ll have a chance to adjust and maybe get some sleep. Good luck with the spooks, John.”
Dressed in fatigues, John was driven to a building that had no signs, which, to any remotely informed person, meant it was populated by super-secret people. John thought they should just put Maintenance Building 9, or something that didn’t jump out as a spook building. But then again, if they did, some army private first class would drive to the building and try to get an oil change. William stopped in front of the door where a casually dressed man stood. William told John he would return when they were finished. The man told John to follow him. Inside the building John followed him down a colorless hallway where the man directed John through a door. He entered a windowless room with a large tub and a rather matronly looking woman in a white frock who told him to strip down to nothing. She told him her name was Tanya. “We’re going to submerge you in that large tub of circulating liquid. It will be like a warm bath but in a couple of days you will have a wonderful Middle Eastern tan. Would you like Yemeni brown or Algerian chocolate?”
“How about Honolulu surfer?” he asked.
“Negative,” she replied. “We have to follow the rules. With your complexion and coloring you are going to be a difficult project. We do a fairly good job of dressing you up to look like a local. It may be difficult to hide broccoli in a glass of milk, but we do our best.”
She looked at his face. “You will have to wear these eye protectors while submerged, and you will have a breathing tube for the ten minutes under.” She paused as she looked at his face. “I will have to get some dark brown contacts to cover those piercing blue eyes. You must be a real hit with girls,” which she said in a way that made him think she might not be a girl or just liked other girls a bit too much. After a few minutes in the swirling warm liquid, John almost fell asleep. He was rudely awakened by Tanya who handed him some paper hospital shorts and told him to sit in a chair, dripping wet. He was not cold in the warm air of the room. She put some liquid around his eyes, and brushed something into his hair and beard. “You’ll have to wait here a couple of hours, and then we’ll let you go.” John sat in the chair and fell asleep. He was awakened by Tanya’s gentle nudge and told he could dress, but that he could not take a shower until the next day. William was waiting at the door. John told him he would like to get something t
o eat and return to the barracks where he wanted to sleep for several days.
“Fine,” said William. “The food is good, but you have a nine o’clock wakeup in the morning. I’ll be there to make sure you're ready.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
SPOOKS
“Let's remember the National Security Agencies job is to go out and create wars.”
--Jesse Ventura
John woke the next morning and looked at himself in the mirror. He had a fair tan, definitely of a light Middle Eastern quality, and his hair and beard were black. It was probably a good idea that he wore fatigues, or he could be identified as a terrorist who had infiltrated the base.
After a full pot of coffee at chow, he walked over with William to the Headquarters building. There he was not surprised to see Agent Davis, this time dressed in a blue blazer, open collared shirt and gray slacks. “Good morning, John,” Davis said in a much more friendly way than in Washington. “I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is you look quite good in a tan. The bad news is you’re going to a place where no one will notice.” Davis continued. “We have some reliable information that Darby Rhodes, or whoever he is, left Canada a few days ago, stopped in London, and then traveled to Turkey, where we lost the trail. We believe he boarded a plane to Tehran under a name he may have used before. Tuesday you will leave for Algeria. You will have an Algerian passport for Chandler Berkant. From there you will travel on Turkish Airways to Tehran. A vehicle has been rented at the Tehran airport, but you probably won’t pick it up. You have reservations at the Firouzeh Hotel. Berkant has traveled from Algeria to the Imam Khomeini Airport every year for the last several years, and your passport will reflect that. Once picked up at the airport, you will be told what we need you to do. It should not be dangerous at all. We just need you to identify Darby.”
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