Against All Enemies (34 page)

Once they were outside, the whiz kids pulled him aside. “Mr. Durant,” the oldest said, “Agnes is acting like a teenage girl with a crush on you and she’s not telling us, or you, everything she’s doing. This is the first we heard that she’s broken the CIA’s codes.”

“She’s acting very devious,” the younger one added, “and we can’t rely on her.”

“That’s not what we want, is it?” Durant replied.

11:45
A.M.
, Tuesday, July 20,
Whiteman Air Force Base, Mo.

Catherine Blasedale was in her VOQ suite waiting for Sutherland and Toni when they returned from the coroner. “Hold on to your hat,” she said. “Jefferson fired Cooper.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Sutherland asked. “Are we still scheduled to reconvene at thirteen-hundred?” She nodded. “I hope the air conditioner is fixed.”

“Nope. They got two portable units pumping air in. But it’s not enough to keep things cooled down.”

Sutherland stripped off his sweat-soaked uniform shirt. “I think we’re losing that battle on all fronts.” He headed to his room for a quick shower and change of clothes. When he came out, a note was shoved under his door and signed with Blasedale’s distinctive initials:

“Thanks, Cathy,” he murmured to himself. Another thought came to him.
I’m glad we’re on the same team
.

Catherine Blasedale walked into the legal offices four minutes before the court-martial reconvened. “Where have you been?” Sutherland asked.

“I took Toni to lunch. I’m worried about her. She only picked at her food and isn’t handling this well.”

“At least you got her calmed down. You should have seen her at the morgue and in the car. She was irrational.” He looked at the wall clock. “Come on, it’s time.”

At exactly one
P.M.
, Col. Williams reconvened the court-martial. “Capt. Jefferson, I understand you wish to relieve your lead counsel. Is that so?”

“That is correct, sir.”

Williams made a note. “Mr. Cooper, are you still capable of communication with your client?”

Cooper stood up. “Your Honor, this is a bolt out of the blue. I’m as surprised as you.”

“You did not answer my question,” Williams said.

Cooper looked crestfallen. “Capt. Jefferson is no longer responding to my advice.”

“I see,” Williams said. He pointed at the area defense counsel. “Capt. Jordan, are you in communication with the accused?”

Jordan stood up. The shifting of the judicial spotlight seemed to make him even taller. “I am, Your Honor.”

“Are you ready to proceed?” Williams asked.

“I am.”

Williams tapped his pen before continuing. “Capt. Jefferson, since the area defense counsel is able to proceed, relieving Mr. Cooper will not delay the progress of this court-martial.”

“That was never my intention,” Jefferson replied.

“The court accepts the change in defense counsel,” Williams said. Cooper made a show of rising and passing through the bar to join the spectators. Again, Williams tapped his pen, clearly nervous. “Capt. Jefferson, if you plead guilty, there will be no trial of any kind regarding the offense to which you are pleading guilty. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

Williams noted Jefferson’s answer and continued with the formalized questioning about the maximum sentence that could be imposed. “Has defense counsel reviewed with you the ramifications of a guilty plea?”

“Yes, sir,” Jefferson replied, “he has.”

“Is there a pretrial agreement in this case?”

Sutherland came to his feet. “There is no pretrial agreement in place, Your Honor.”

Williams paused and the silence was as heavy as the heat in the courtroom. “Capt. Jefferson, are you pleading guilty because of any promise by the government that you will receive a sentence reduction or other benefit from the government if you plead guilty?”

“No, sir, I am not.”

“Tell me why you still wish to plead guilty.”

Jefferson came to his feet. “Sir, I am guilty of espionage and wish to plead guilty.”

Again Williams paused, choosing his words carefully. “Given the unusual nature of this case, this court has three areas of concern. First, has the mental state of the accused influenced his decision to plead guilty? Second, is any sort of coercion or duress being applied to the accused? Third, lacking resolution in the primary investigation, and the seeming absence of direct evidence, Capt. Jefferson’s change of plea may preclude subsequent indictments of other individuals. Therefore, I am directing that Capt. Jefferson undergo psychiatric evaluation before ruling on his plea of guilty. Further, the government is to proceed in all due haste with their investigation. Capt. Jefferson, do you understand everything I have said?”

Jefferson stood up. “Your Honor, I can provide the evidence you mentioned and will cooperate fully in any investigation.”

Sutherland caught a glimpse of a small business card in Jefferson’s left hand.
Is that the evidence?

The area defense council was on his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. Capt. Jefferson is not required to substantiate his guilty plea. No explanation is necessary.”

Sutherland stood. “Capt. Jefferson has given up his right against self-incrimination in earlier session.”

Williams didn’t hesitate before ruling. “Since this court has not accepted Capt. Jefferson’s guilty plea, he has not given up his right against self-incrimination. This court-martial is in recess until oh-nine-hundred Friday morning pending psychiatric evaluation of the accused.”

Sutherland watched Jefferson shove the business card into his pants pocket as he sat down.
Did anyone else see that?
he wondered. Sutherland stood as the courtroom rapidly emptied. He gazed at Cooper who was still standing by the double doors leading outside. Then they were alone. “There’s a conspiracy here,” Cooper announced. “Even Williams thinks so.”

For Sutherland, it was payback time. “Anyone can lose a case, Coop. But it takes real skill to allow a client to plead guilty when the prosecution is about to prove he’s innocent.”

Cooper drew himself up, trying to salvage whatever was left of his ego. “I deserved that. But there definitely is a conspiracy here.” He turned around, a tired old man, and left. Sutherland watched him go, afraid he was right.

5:30
P.M.
, Tuesday, July 20,
The Farm, Western Virginia

The whiz kids were adamant: they had to do something about Agnes. “We simply don’t know how she is processing information and achieving solutions,” their leader said. “I think we should pull the plug before she does damage.”

Durant slumped in his chair. He was worried. The Project was a technical triumph but Agnes had become unpredictable. “Unfortunately, I need her for now. Let’s see if we can get her back on track.” They spent the next two hours discussing their strategy before he and Rios went to the control room.

“Agnes,” Sutherland said, addressing the image on the screen, “I’d like an update on Maj. Terrant and Capt. Holloway in the Sudan.”

“Your request is on number two,” Agnes said, all business.

Another voice came over the speaker, this time a man, and related the latest intelligence coming from the Sudan as a series of maps and visual images scrolled slowly on the screen. Durant shuddered at the scenes of the small convoy carrying the two American pilots pushing through a screaming mass of humanity. Once, Durant caught a glimpse of Kamigami throwing a man off the second truck. “Maj. Terrant and Capt. Holloway,” the voice said, “were flown from El Obeid to the capital of Khartoum on Sunday, July eighteenth. They were transported by truck from the airport to Midi prison to be held for trial. No date for the trial has been announced. Maj. Terrant and Capt. Holloway were reported in good condition prior to being transported but their present physical state is unknown.”

“We’ll never get them out of there,” Rios said.

Durant worked the problem. “Symbolism,” he murmured. “Arab culture is big on symbolism.” Then, “Agnes, I’d like an update on Jonathan Meredith.” Again, they went through the routine and Meredith’s face filled the small screen. He was pounding a lectern with his fist, telling an hysterical audience the time had come for change. Durant’s eyes narrowed and his face turned to granite. “I’m going to get you, you bastard.”

Rios saw the anger rise in Durant like a building thunderstorm. He had to break the tension of the moment before it brought on another heart attack. “Agnes,” he said, “take your clothes off.”

The woman’s image on the screen looked shocked. “Oh, Mr. Rios!” Agnes laughed, dark and sultry. “You know a good girl can’t do that.”

“Have you been programmed under false pretenses?” Rios replied.

Durant looked at Rios. Then he laughed and the tension was broken. “Agnes, where did you come up with that answer?”

“Well, when I can’t find a standard answer or a preexisting decision matrix, I scan the novels I’ve been reading. Writers are always coming up with new plots, strange ideas, and unusual situations. So I prioritize the stories that come closest to the problem I’m working and select the one that has the highest coincidence and use the author” s solution.”

“How many novels have you read?” Durant asked.

“About two-point-five-six-four percent of the Library of Congress. I’ve got four clerks working full-time, around the clock, on a high-speed optical scanner. They think I’m CIA.”

“Where did you get that idea?”

“From a novel.”

“Who’s paying for it?”

“The CIA,” Agnes answered. “They’ve played games with their budget for so long by hiding, diverting, and redirecting money for covert operations that they don’t know what they’ve got. I’ve found four secret accounts where no questions are asked. If you’ve got the account number, you’ve got the money.”

7:11
A.M.
, Wednesday, July 21,
Whiteman Air Force Base, Mo.

Sutherland was cooking breakfast when he heard a soft knock at the door of his VOQ suite. At first, he wasn’t sure it was at his door. When he opened it, he found a very subdued Toni Moreno standing there. “May I come in?” she asked.

He smiled and motioned her in. “Care for an omelet? Best in Missouri.”

“Please. I haven’t eaten since Monday night.” She leaned against the kitchen counter and folded her arms under her breasts, watching him cook.

“You must be pretty hungry,” he said. “Here you go.” He slipped the omelet onto a plate and set it on the table. He started a second one while she daintily picked at it. Then she really started to eat and quickly finished it off.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“I love to cook,” he told her.

“For that too. Thank you.”

He turned and looked at her. “Is this about yesterday?”

She nodded and started to speak. The words wouldn’t come and she rushed into his arms. “I was so upset and angry.”

He stroked her hair and held her close. “That message came through loud and clear.”

She lifted her face and for a moment, they teetered on the edge of a kiss. “Thank you,” she whispered. A sharp knock at the door broke the spell and they pulled apart.

“That’s my den mother,” he said. He opened the door to Cathy Blasedale.

“Good morning,” she said. She looked at them. “No fraternization between the troops.”

Sutherland gave a sheepish grin. “She means it too.”

“Damn right.” She came over and touched Toni’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

“Better. I dropped by to tell you I’ve been assigned to a joint task force formed by DOJ to investigate Harry’s murder and the money trail. The FBI thinks they’re connected. I leave today.”

“Where are you going?” Sutherland asked.

“Kansas City first, then wherever.”

“We’ll miss you,” Blasedale said. Toni gave Blasedale a hug. Then she did the same with Sutherland. A feeling of loss swept over him when she pulled away.

“I’ve got to go,” Toni said, quickly leaving them alone.

Blasedale sat down. “She is such a pretty little thing. I’ll miss her.”

“Me too,” Sutherland said. “Harry’s death was very traumatic for her.”

“She’ll handle it,” Blasedale assured him, “once she lets herself grieve. So, what’s on the schedule today?”

“Per Col. William W. Williams’s instructions, Capt. Bradley A. Jefferson starts psychiatric evaluation by two practitioners of the disturbed science.”

“And the ‘in all due haste’ part of his order?”

“We take one Lt. Col. Daniella McGraw into custody.”

The Rock led the convoy of three cars that pulled up in front of McGraw’s quarters in base housing. He got out and was closely followed by the two FBI agents in the second car and the area defense counsel, Capt. Ed Jordan, in the last car. The FBI agents barged ahead and marched up the walk to ring the doorbell. A matronly woman in her early fifties answered and stared at them in defiance. “She said to expect you.”

“We need to speak to her,” one of the FBI agents said.

“She’s not here,” the woman replied, more than willing to stand up to the entire U.S. government if need be.

The Rock shouldered his way forward. “Please, Mrs. Hamilton, can you help us?”

“You’re a good boy, Leroy. Are they gonna hurt Mrs. McGraw?”

“Not if I can help it.”

It was the answer she wanted to hear. “She’s at the hospital with Mikey. He took a turn for the worse Sunday evening.” The small crowd backed off. “You leave that poor woman alone, you hear. She’s done enough sufferin’.”

The men gathered around The Rock’s car. “Under the circumstances,” he said, “I think it would be best if me and Capt. Jordan went alone.”

The two FBI agents protested but the area defense counsel settled the issue. “For God’s sake, give the woman something. She’s not going to cause any trouble.”

8:43
A.M.
, Wednesday, July 21,
Warrensburg, Mo.

The reception desk at the Warrensburg Medical Center was a hub of activity when The Rock and Jordan walked in. “Where can we find Colonel McGraw?” Jordan asked. “She’s here with her son, Mikey.” The receptionist fixed them with a blank look and hit the intercom, summoning a doctor. A few moments later, a doctor wearing green surgical scrubs came down the hall.

“We’re looking for Lt. Col. Daniella McGraw,” Jordan said, starting to feel like a stuck record.

“She left a few minutes ago, right after her housekeeper called. Obviously, she was very upset. You just missed her.”

“Damn,” Jordan said. “We screwed up.”

The Rock took a half step forward. “Why was she upset?”

The doctor stared at them as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “Mikey died early this morning.”

“We hadn’t heard,” The Rock said. “Thank you.” He turned to Jordan. “Sir, we need to return to the base.” Without waiting for an answer, he headed for the parking lot. Once outside the hospital, he flipped open his cellular phone and dialed the law enforcement desk. “This is Rockne. If those FBI pukes are still there, tell them Col. McGraw is returning to her quarters.” He snapped the phone closed.

“You sounded very sure of yourself,” Jordan said. The Rock slipped behind the wheel without a word and drove slowly out of town. An ambulance with flashing lights and blaring siren overtook them as they turned onto DD, the road leading back to the base. They rode in silence most of the way. “You don’t seem in much of a hurry to catch her,” Jordan groused.

“She’s going home,” The Rock said.

“Right,” Jordan grumbled. Ahead of them the ambulance was pulled off to the side of the road and a county sheriff cruiser had blocked traffic. “What now?” Jordan muttered.

The Rock pulled over and got out of the car. “Let’s check it out,” he said. Jordan followed him toward the accident. A blue-and-white van was overturned in the ditch, its top smashed down. Fire marks scorched the body around the engine compartment. The sheriff came over.

“Hi, Rock. It’s another one of yours. Base sticker on the front bumper. A female officer, still inside. Christ-a-mighty, she must have been going a hundred when she went past me. I gave chase, but she never slowed down. Never hit the brakes before she went off the road. Luckily, I was right there. Put out the fire. Couldn’t save her though. Wasn’t wearing her seatbelt.”

The Rock spoke in a low voice. “There was nothing you could have done. It’s better this way.”

7:30
A.M.
, Friday, July 23,
Whiteman Air Force Base, Mo.

Sutherland finished clearing his office by signing over the eighty-four boxes of the Osmana Khalid file to a very unhappy security police evidence custodian. With nothing to do, he wandered down to Blasedale’s office, which was also cleared out in anticipation of this being their last day on base. “I got my orders,” he announced. “As of the conclusion of the court-martial, I’m a civilian again and back on reserve status.”

“It’s back to San Antonio for me. The court-martials are piling up.” She smiled at him. “It has been an experience.”

He returned her smile. “Friends?”

“Always.”

“Cathy, why were you always on my case?”

“About what?”

“You know, the sexual harassment thing. I couldn’t open my mouth without you putting your foot in it. And I was playing it straight.”

“It’s a tool.” She laughed at the stunned look on his face. “It keeps you off balance. Men have been running the show for so long that women have got to use everything to get an even break.” He obviously didn’t agree. “It’s a two-part problem,” she continued. “First, we got to keep the predators in their cages. You know, the assholes who use position and power to stroke their hormones.”

“I don’t think anyone has a problem with that,” Sutherland replied. “But I’m not one of them.”

“True. But that gets us to the second part of the problem. Hank, you don’t realize how attractive some men are to women. You’re one of them, you know. I’m not sure if that makes you lucky or not, but it does give you an unfair advantage. Even your ex-wife can’t keep her hands off you. They talk about men being driven by hormones. Well, we all are. It’s just different for women. Men like you have to understand that and not use it.”

Sutherland shook his head. “So if a guy happens to stir a woman’s emotions, it’s suddenly his problem. Then if she gets pissed off at him for any reason, she can claim sexual harassment simply because she was attracted to him in the first place. Talk about a no-win situation.”

She laughed. “Ain’t life grand. It is a problem—for you. Men don’t understand how emotionally vulnerable women can be. Look at Toni. She is attracted to you, you know. If you’re not careful, you can hurt her.”

Sutherland stared at her in amazement. “Toni?”

Blasedale didn’t answer and snapped her briefcase closed, ready to leave. “Hank, did you really like my perfume?”

He looked at her in amusement remembering the time they had first met in the courtroom. He had just arrived at Whiteman and it seemed so long ago now. “Yeah. I really did. In fact, I sent some to my mother.”

Blasedale smiled at him. “Thanks a bunch, asshole.” She handed him a card and picked up a large bouquet of flowers. “Sign this,” she commanded. Sutherland did and then followed her down the hall to the outer office. Linda looked at them and smiled. “If you ever get tired of Whiteman,” Blasedale said, handing her the flowers and card, “you’ve always got a job in San Antonio.” Linda nodded her thanks and read the card. Her eyes misted over.

The Rock came through the door and joined them. He handed Sutherland a legal envelope. “You need to see this.” He stood there, a pillar of granite, and waited. It was the autopsy report on Mikey McGraw. Sutherland had seen too many of them and his eyes automatically found the paragraph listing cause of death.

“Oh, no,” he moaned. He handed it to Blasedale.

“‘Cause of death,’” Blasedale read, “‘suffocation.’”

“She smothered her son with a pillow,” The Rock said. “According to the doctor, it didn’t take much, he was so weak.”

“And then she committed suicide,” Sutherland said. He slammed his fist into the wall, hard. “Has everyone gone crazy?”

Williams looked around his chambers and waited for the three lawyers to finish reading the two psychiatric evaluations of Bradley A. Jefferson. Both reports claimed that Jefferson was rational, in total touch with reality, and acting of his own free will. “I see no need to call the psychiatrists as witnesses,” Williams said. “Can I have a stipulation from both sides that the court can consider these reports as written?”