Decency (23 page)
“How nice to meet you, Mrs. Richardson. I’m glad you came.”
Her handshake was soft, her skin cool.
“Thank you, Ms. Hawkins. I’m not sure I need to be here.”
Her reedy voice betrayed a tone of uncertainty.
“I assure you it can only benefit both you and your husband.”
She was not convinced.
“Mrs. Richardson, I’ve agreed to act as your husband’s lawyer. I have a strong obligation to protect his interests.”
Theresa nearly whispered, “All right.”
“Now, Duncan, I’ve found out some important information since we last met. I can’t reveal what it is. However, it may make it possible for us to take our other case to court. Whether we can depends in part on whether you are willing to testify.”
“Ms. Hawkins, I’ve told you I can’t testify, they will retaliate. That hasn’t changed.”
“I remember. It may be possible to have you testify without revealing who you are. Would that be acceptable to you?”
“How would you accomplish that?”
“In the initial stages we would use a John Doe affidavit. I’m guessing that we may have to use your live testimony at the hearing on a government motion to dismiss. I think we may be able to have the judge listen to you without identifying you to the government by giving your testimony
in camera
which means in chambers or with the judge alone. I have to tell you it is a long shot but not unheard of.”
The Richardsons glanced at each other.
“In other words, the judge would be able to reveal my husband’s identity?”
“The power to do it. There would be no known legal way to compel him to.”
“Ms. Hawkins, my husband and I have a very young child. We have to be sure our family is not going to be put at risk. Can you give me that assurance?”
“There are no absolute assurances in anything. But please, both of you, consider this. Even assuming the agency found out who you are, it would be extremely difficult for them to act against you. It would just be too obvious they were retaliating and could expose them to all sorts of repercussions. If you make a stand you might keep anyone else from dying.”
The Richardsons looked at each other a long moment. Theresa Richardson gently bowed her head.
“Ms. Hawkins, with your assurances, I’ll do my best to tell what I know.”
“Thank you, both of you. You may have just made history.”
Theresa Richardson blushed slightly, proud of her husband’s courage, in spite of herself.
“Duncan, I need to ask you about three NSA people, Carl Foley, James Cochran and Christian Mason. You’ve mentioned Foley. Do the other names mean anything to you?”
Richardson visibly bristled.
“Cochran is the psychologist who evaluated me. Mason seems familiar but I can’t place it with a face. But, yeah I know Cochran. The son of a bitch is a patsy for management. His nickname can’t be used in polite company. It’s derived from his last name.”
Kelly paused and leaned forward for emphasis.
“Duncan, it’s good that you have first hand experience with Cochran. Very good. But I need to caution you. If you appear to be biased against him, the way you just did, you’ll damage your ability to do any good in this case or in your own. Be careful, okay?”
“How do you expect me to do that? The man tried to ruin me and damn near did.”
“The trick is to be very careful to state facts, not your opinion.”
“Okay, the fact is he’s a son of a bitch.”
Kelly smiled. “I understand. But we will need to describe the reasons why and let the judge and jury decide it for themselves. Okay?”
“Sure. Basically in my interviews, his point of view was” - Richardson broke into a perfect nasal Boston accent – “‘Mistah Richudsun, why are you aggressive t’wodd women?’”
Kelly was impressed, shocked almost. The voice was utterly different from how he normally sounded. “Can you do voices, a lot of them, I mean, mimicry?”
“Any linguist has to have a good ear and tongue. But doing Cochran is easy because I heard him a lot. And I hate him. Anyway, he just assumed I was guilty and went looking for a way to explain why. I can’t really put it any other way. His mind was made up. Then he made up a justification too.”
“Do you have any notes or other documents about your case that describe the interviews with Cochran?”
“I have copies of his reports but that’s about it.”
“Those will be helpful if you could fax copies to me.”
“Sure.”
“That’s it for now. It was so good to meet you, Mrs. Richardson. Again, I’ll do my best to take care of your husband.”
The group stood to leave.
“Duncan, for what it’s worth, if I was in your shoes I would think the guy was a son of a bitch, too.”
Richardson chuckled.
…somehow we are going to have to get in touch with Christian Mason, if necessary going one by one through the yellow pages…
In the office the next day, Kelly intercomed Bonnie.
“Any luck with the diskettes?”
“Sort of. The code is easy enough to recognize, it’s C++. The problem is it doesn’t respond to any common operating system. They tried it on DOS and Apple systems, of course, and UNIX, and Linux, and several I had never heard of. Nothing could read it. What they said was, ‘Bring us the operating system or tell us where we can find it and then we can run the programs.’”
“Can they just translate the lines of code and read it to us in English?”
“To some extent. I asked them to do that and they said it would take two or three programmers several weeks at $65.00 an hour per programmer. That’s going to run twenty five or thirty thousand and the material may be nothing more than a college course programming exercise…”
“Bonnie, it’s too much time anyway. The statute runs out in, what, three days?”
“That’s kind of what I thought.”
“Okay. How close are you to finishing the complaint?”
“I e-mailed it to you…and the other papers.”
“Oh, sorry. Caught me again. I’ll read them tonight. Assume they’re good to go. So, be ready to file them electronically tomorrow, take the necessary hard copies to the court, get the summonses, and when the clerk stamps them, go directly to the process server.”
“Got it. I’m really looking forward to this.”
…Tom, this is it…we have to jump now…tell me it’s not just a leap of faith…
The following morning after the complaint was filed, James Cochran emerged from his back door in Columbia, Maryland, intending to walk to his car in the garage and drive to work as usual. As soon as the door shut behind him, a figure stepped around the corner of the house and greeted him in a far too cheerful voice.
“Good morning, Dr. Cochran!”
Startled, Cochran jerked his head in the direction of the visitor.
“What are you doing here…this is private property…?”
With a nauseatingly bright and cheerful voice the man affected a professional demeanor.
“I beg your pardon, Dr. Cochran, I certainly did not mean to startle you.”
“Well, you did.”
That was all he wanted to hear. However, from nasty experience he stayed with cheerfulness and handed a thick envelope to the psychologist.
“These papers are for you, Dr. Cochran.”
Inexperienced with being served, Cochran did not ignore the envelope and involuntarily took it.
“Good day, sir.”
The server wheeled toward the curb and walked away, knowing he could make an accurate affidavit of having delivered the complaint, summons, motion for leave to file motions
in camera
, subpoena for all recordings and documents in personal possession, and a set of thirty interrogatories.
Cochran opened the envelope. He saw the top document was a summons, then glanced through the Complaint. He did not bother reading the rest. He rolled his eyes and tossed the envelope onto the passenger side car seat.
Arriving at the NSA headquarters building, Cochran did not go to his own office as usual. Instead, he presented himself to the receptionist in the General Counsel’s office.
“I’m a psychologist here. I’ve been sued and I want to give the papers to your office.”
With that, he deposited the envelope on the reception desk, turned away, and departed for his own office.
When he arrived a phone message was waiting for him from Angela Bonafacio, Assistant General Counsel, suggesting he may wish to request representation by the United States. The word “request” was underlined.
Cochran picked up the phone and dialed the extension.
“This is Angela Bonafacio.”
“Miss Bonafacio, this is Doctor Cochran.” His voice bore the tone of a sneer. “You may not be very experienced. Of
course
I want to
request
representation. What do you think I left the papers at your office for?”
Angela Bonafacio grew up in Queens. Confronting and belittling ignorance was second nature to her. She also knew how to hold it in reserve for leverage. She responded in her best friendly counselor’s voice.
“You were right to call back so quickly, Dr. Cochran, because time is somewhat short. The best way to proceed at this point is to set up a formal interview with you. Two things will occur there. First, you will be advised of your
Kalkines
rights, which I’m sure you’re aware are substantially equivalent to
Miranda
rights, but advising that you could suffer adverse employment actions if you exercise your rights. Second, you will be advised of your right to request legal representation by the United States. The facts you provide to support your request will be important in the Attorney General’s decision whether to grant the request but may also be used in any investigation of your conduct. So, you may wish to bring counsel of your choosing and at your own expense to the interview.”
Cochran was only too aware the words “rights,” “investigation,” and “counsel” were intended to get his attention. They succeeded.
