Collision (24 page)

Hamilton wore a dark gray suit and white shirt with a spread collar that flattered his narrow face. Falcone, noticing Hamilton's star-spangled, red-white-and-blue tie, recalled a
Wall Street Journal
profile that said, “Hamilton has a tendency, in both private and business life, to go a bit beyond the necessary.” As the thought flitted through Falcone's mind, Hamilton caught his eye, frowned, and spoke to Sprague. The group stopped while the two conversed for less than a minute.

Sprague speeded his stride, pulling away from Hamilton and the others. When he reached Falcone and Taylor, he ignored Taylor and, face flushed in anger, said to Falcone, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I'm obviously here to represent my client,” Falcone said quietly.

“Are you aware that Robert Wentworth Hamilton is a client of our firm?” Sprague asked, eye-to-eye close to Falcone.

“Of course.”

“And you are aware of the firm's rules about conflict of interests?”

“Yes. But I don't see how it applies here.”

“Don't be foolish, Sean. It is obvious that you must drop Dr. Taylor as a client,” Sprague said, speaking as if Taylor were not standing next to him and Falcone.

Falcone pointed to the
L
é
gion d'honneur
rosette in Sprague's lapel, without quite touching it. “No worse than representing the United States and New Zealand and France at the same time,” Falcone said. “Exceptions are made to every rule.”

Sprague hesitated before replying. He was proud of the decoration from France but rarely explained why he got it.

As a young U.S. Foreign Service officer, he had secretly negotiated, on his own, a settlement between France and New Zealand, ending a crisis for France but leaving New Zealand unhappy. Two French intelligence agents had been sentenced to prison for the 1985 sinking of the Greenpeace ship
Rainbow Warrior
in a New Zealand harbor during a campaign protesting French nuclear-weapon testing in the Pacific. Without the knowledge of his State Department superiors, Sprague had come forth with a settlement that allowed the agents to serve a lesser sentence on French soil. Shortly after producing the audacious settlement, Sprague left the Foreign Service and went into private practice in Washington with several French clients, putting himself on the path that led to Sullivan & Ford.

“My work was classified,” Sprague said. “Your representation of Taylor is highly public. A televised Senate hearing no less. You must resign this client right now. I will not allow you to appear on television as Taylor's lawyer.”

“Ben Taylor
is
my client,” Falcone said, putting a hand on the doorknob. “I will resign from Sullivan and Ford, not from him.”

“Resign?” Sprague asked incredulously. “Resign from the firm?”

“That's right,” Falcone said, turning his head to smile at Sprague's astonished face. “I resign from the firm.” He opened the door and led Taylor into the hearing room.

 

44

Senators Collinsworth and Anderson
settled into their side-by-side seats as on a double throne. They reigned from the center of the stage set where their morality play would be presented, looking down at the long witness table with a cardboard name card,
DR.
BENJAMIN
FRANKLIN
TAYLOR
, in the center.

As Falcone and Taylor took their seat at the table, Falcone quickly scanned the long array of television cameras, cables, wires, and floodlights. The room had been stripped of its rich luster in the glare of the klieg lights. The thick Corinthian columns and classical chandeliers seemed violated by the cables that curled along the marble floors like dark snakes about to strike.

The room had the ambience of a crowded mall. Tourists, photographers, journalist, and staff members were all moving about, walking, talking, whispering, and snickering. Some were wide-eyed. Others wore expressions of deep cynicism.

What struck Falcone as he and Taylor moved to the witness table was how the hearing room had been transformed into a mini-Colosseum, with senators peering disdainfully down upon the two of them. They might have been Roman potentates eager to turn thumbs up or down on the poor Christians who had been dragged before them.

The script instructions put Taylor at the witness chair, with Falcone at his right. Directly behind him, in the first row of witness chairs, sat Darlene Taylor, blue skirt chastely covering her knees, iPad at the ready. Seated next to her, in uniform, was Major Sam Bancroft. One row back, almost directly behind Darlene and Sam, were Sprague and Hamilton, flanked by other Sullivan & Ford lawyers.

“Before we call the first witness to appear before this joint committee,” Collinsworth began in his sonorous voice, “I feel it my duty to state that I am gravely concerned about the use of fear and panic as a way to present a case—whether it be global warming, climate change, or the quest for resources, whether on Earth or in distant space. All too often, prophets of the God's honest truth are not heard because of the constant drone of fearmongering.”

Collinsworth paused and slightly moved his head to look directly at Falcone.

“Mr. Taylor, before you proceed with your testimony, I note the presence of President Oakley's
former
national security advisor with you at the witness table. According to my records, he is not scheduled to testify before our joint committee hearing. Mr. Falcone, may I ask why you are here?”

“Since I served in this great body for twelve years, I think you can address me as Senator,” Falcone said. At the corner of his right eye he saw the blinking red light of a television camera and realized that C-SPAN was in Ping-Pong mode, switching from one protagonist to the other.

“Ah, well,
Senator
Falcone. My oversight. No slight intended. But can you answer the question? Why are you here?”

“I represent Dr. Taylor.”

“Indeed? But this is congressional inquiry, not a criminal proceeding. I've not been advised that Mr. Taylor intends to invoke his Fifth Amendment right not to incriminate himself.”

“I don't anticipate that he will feel compelled to do so,” Falcone countered. “But I would like the record to show that he reserves the right to do so, depending on the nature of the questions he's asked to respond to.”

“You're not suggesting that there are other investigations pending, involving Mr. Taylor that might be compromised or complicated by his testimony today, are you?”

Sly bastard
, Falcone thought. Everyone was aware of the Three Black Musketeers article that had appeared in the
Grudge Report
. It had gone viral on the net less than an hour after it first appeared. Falcone realized that Collinsworth was trying to trap Falcone into citing the FBI's murder investigation that was under way and thereby undermine Ben even before he began to testify.

“I'm suggesting that Dr. Taylor has been quite willing to appear before this committee … these committees … without the need for a subpoena and that he intends to be responsive to the members' questions while preserving his constitutionally guaranteed rights.”

“Very well, Mr.… Senator Falcone. Perhaps under the circumstances, I should just address you as ‘counselor'?”

“As you wish, Mr. Cochairman. Oh, is that the proper title?”

“Yes, counselor, it is. Now, I will call as a witness Benjamin Franklin Taylor. Will you please take an oath?”

Taylor stood and raised his hand.

Before leading him in the oath, Collinsworth said, “Do you have any objections to taking an oath? Are you aware that if a witness is sworn in and lies to a congressional committee, he may be prosecuted for perjury? Any hesitation about waiving your Fifth Amendment rights by refusing to testify before this committee?”

“No, Senator. In fact, I welcome the—”

“I'm sure you welcome the chance to have this forum as a way to spread your personal views, Mr. Taylor.”

After taking the oath and sitting down, Taylor nodded. Although Taylor had appeared before congressional committees numerous times, he had never before faced a hostile inquisitor. NASA scientists called before Congress usually were treated gently, catchers of soft questions thrown by sympathetic inquisitors, many of whom had NASA facilities or contractors in their states.

Taylor glanced over to Falcone with a grim look that said
this is about to go south sooner than we thought.
Then Taylor turned back to Collinsworth.

“The question I have,” Collinsworth said, “is this: Do you believe in God, Mr. Taylor?”

 

45

Taylor was stunned by
the question and not eager to get into an explanation of his shaky religious beliefs, which zigzagged from Baptist to Methodist to Unitarian to … what?
How do I describe spiritual ideas outside any religion?
In his softest voice, he said, “Can I ask what concern my personal beliefs are and how they're relevant to this hearing?”

“So,” Collinsworth retorted, arching an eyebrow at Taylor's challenge, “you are answering my question with a question? It's very simple, Mr. Taylor. Moments ago you took an oath and swore to tell the truth, ‘So help me, God.' I think the committee needs to know whether you believe in God so we may properly judge the credibility of your testimony.”

Falcone reached in front of Taylor and brought the microphone close to his lips. “With all due respect, Senator Collinsworth, Dr. Taylor's personal beliefs are just that—personal. I don't have to remind you that they're protected under the Constitution.”

“And I shouldn't have to remind you, counselor, that you are out of order. I'm not trying to suppress Mr. Taylor's free exercise of religion. I am trying to determine if he has one.… Mr. Taylor?”

“I do not believe in a personal or anthropomorphic God, if that's what you mean by your question.”

“So,” Collinsworth said, pursing his lips and nodding as a professor might to a recalcitrant student, “you're in the company of the atheists Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins, and—now the thankfully departed—Christopher Hitchens.”

“No, Senator. More in the company of Albert Einstein, who believed that there's a harmony in natural law that reveals an intelligence that is so superior that it's beyond man's comprehension.”

“You're comparing yourself to Einstein? That's rather large of you.”

“Not at all. Just that I share his sentiments.”

“I see,” Collinsworth said, making it clear by his tone that he did not see at all.

During this quick exchange, Falcone noticed one of Collinsworth's eager staffers tapping away on an iPad. Not having the time to print out whatever he was searching for, he simply handed the iPad to Collinsworth, who seemed annoyed to be so openly dependent upon staff assistance for his questions.

“But didn't Einstein…” Collinsworth said, and paused to put on his black-rimmed reading glasses. “Didn't he also write that, quote, ‘the word God is for me nothing more than the expression and product of human weaknesses, the Bible a collection of honorable but still primitive legends which are nevertheless pretty childish,' unquote? So those of us who believe that the Bible is the Word of God, are primitive and childish? Is that your testimony, Mr. Taylor?”

“He may have written that,” Taylor responded. “But I believe if you have your very competent staff check, you'll also find that Einstein held no tolerance for atheists and criticized their absolutist views for lacking any sense of humility in the face of the unknowable. Einstein himself was not an atheist. But, if anything, he was a pantheist who saw the hand of a superior intelligence in every facet of life on this planet and beyond. He famously noted that, quote, ‘God does not play dice with the universe,' unquote, a statement that reflects his acknowledgment of a higher force or being.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Chairman,” Senator Lawrence said, raising her hand to seek recognition. Lawrence was sitting at the very end of the dais's front row, signifying her junior status at this hearing. “I came to learn more about asteroids, and I want to see how SpaceMine deals with the space treaty,” she said. “I'm not here to listen to some irrelevant discussion about Einstein.”

Collinsworth tapped his gavel to silence muffled laughter that had spread through the room. “I would remind my esteemed colleague from Maine that, while she does not serve on either of the two committees meeting here today, she will, as I promised, be afforded an opportunity to question the witness at an appropriate time.”

Before any congressional theologians could join in the dialogue, Anderson upstaged Collinsworth and declared a five-minute recess.

In the silence of the interval, Falcone leaned toward Taylor, squeezed his arm, and said, “Hang in there, Ben. This can't get any worse.”

When Anderson called the end of the recess, Collinsworth took a sip of water, and said in a soothing tone, “Now, Mr. Taylor, if you will bear with me for another question, could you explain to me your economic philosophy?

“In what sense?”

“Another question for a question?” Collinsworth said with feigned exasperation. “I'm interested in knowing whether you subscribe to free-market capitalism where people are rewarded for their labor. Where people who take risks with their capital and, indeed, in many cases, their lives, should be forced to share the rewards they reap with others who have risked or contributed nothing?”

Taylor turned toward Falcone, who looked ready to launch another objection or quite possibly storm the dais and slug Collinsworth.

“I like to think that I'm a product of the free-market system, Senator. I've been allowed to pursue and achieve a measure of professional success well beyond my dreams, and surely those of my parents. But I had a helping hand along the way with great teachers, scholarships, grants, and loans. In other words, like the frog sitting on a lamppost, I didn't get there all on my own.”