The Accused (35 page)

“Yes. But I've got another job for him to do, so he's going to be out of circulation. Besides, if this person is as important as Marlowe believes he is, he may be the link to our entire factual defense before the ICC.”

“Got to go,” Redgrove said. “May God be with you. Be careful, my friend.”

Will rubbed his eyes and then yawned. He pulled a legal pad out of his notebook on which he had begun listing some of the questions that were going to be critical for Rusty Black to answer. He was still uncertain whether the interview would even take place. He had asked Jacki, back at his office, to make the arrangements with the federal police in Mexico City. But he had wondered why Black—who was serving a short sentence for theft—would even give him the time of day. However, when Jacki had contacted the jailers, and they, in turn, had spoken with Black about the interview, he had apparently agreed.

Why an American drug dealer would be interested in talking with someone else's lawyer about issues that were totally unrelated to his own case was something Will couldn't yet understand.

Before continuing with his interview questions for Rusty Black, he dialed one more number—for Tiny Heftland's cell phone. The big private investigator was bench-pressing in the gym when the ringer went off.

“Hey, Will boy,” Tiny said, out of breath, “you caught me pumping iron.”

“In other words,” the lawyer retorted with a chuckle, “you're lifting triple cheeseburgers in each hand?”

“Ow—a blow to the heart. But listen up, law boy, I'm down another ten pounds over the last six weeks.”

“Seriously, I'm proud of you, Tiny,” Will said. “I should talk. It seems like I'm on a permanent diet of airport fast-food, lack of sleep, and too much coffee. This Marlowe case is driving me crazy.”

“Well, the big doctor is here to help. What do you want me to do?”

“Are you still licensed to carry a concealed weapon?”

“That's an intriguing way to start off our discussion. The answer is yes. Now it's my turn to ask a question. What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“I need your help between now and the time of trial for this war crimes case, which is now only about eighteen days away. But it's going to take all your time. Can you prioritize this?”

“Hey, Will—who are you talking to here? Of course I can.”

“Can you get to a land-line phone in the next twenty minutes or so?”

“Yep.”

“Okay. My flight is going to start boarding in about an hour. I'm going to get off my cell phone and call you from a pay phone here. You want me to call you at your apartment?”

“Sure,” Tiny replied. “It's only about ten minutes from here. I was almost through with my routine anyway.”

“Fine. I'll give you all the details of what I want you to do in about fifteen minutes.”

As Will turned off his cell phone, put it in his coat pocket, and stood to stretch at the airplane gate, an observer who was looking over books at a nearby newspaper stand turned and began walking quickly in the opposite direction. He left the terminal and, once outside, quickly punched a number on his cell phone to Bern, Switzerland.

Warren Mullburn was in the middle of a meeting with several of his advisors when a call came in on his private line. He excused himself and turned to take it.

“The lawyer's on his way to an international flight.”

“Where to?” Mullburn asked.

“Mexico City.”

“Fine,” he replied, and then hung up.

He turned to his three consultants and resumed the conversation.

“All right, continue.”

One of the men went back to his notes.

“As I was saying, Mr. Mullburn, OPEC will be announcing their temporary embargo of oil exports to the United States at noon tomorrow. The information they are going to relay to the United States—through diplomatic channels—is that the OPEC nations have grave concerns on three fronts. First, they accuse the United States of breaking its promises regarding postwar Iraq. Secondly, the reports of an attempted, but failed, American-backed effort to topple the current regime in Iran are now hitting the international press. A wire service article is going to break today in
L'Agence Presse Française
. And Iran, backed by Syria and Egypt, is applying tremendous pressure on the OPEC nations—particularly those in the Middle East—to shut down oil exports to the United States as punishment. And thirdly, there is the ongoing concern over American sympathies for Israel, and their failure to condemn some of Israel's recent aggression against Syria, Egypt, and Jordan. So that's the formal diplomatic explanation that's going to be given.”

One of the other consultants raised a finger.

“Mr. Mullburn, we also need to decide, perhaps as early as today, about what we are going to tell OPEC about having the Mexico project join their cartel.”

“Run the clock on that,” Mullburn snapped. “Delay. Keep them at bay. But keep them thinking we're interested in becoming full partners in OPEC.”

The third advisor jumped in.

“Mr. Mullburn, if I may. I do have some concern about our ability to keep this information confidential—I mean about the full scope of the Mexico discovery. The fact that your joint venture is going to be one of the world leaders in oil production.”

“Oh, I'm not worried,” the oil magnate said with a smile. “I understand that the rumors are already surfacing. We've had flyover surveillance of our project. I know that. Let the gossip begin. Let them wonder. Let the speculation take flight and soar.”

The three consultants nodded. And then one spoke up.

“Just let us know when you want to start working on a public relations campaign. The fact that we can soon start pumping eight-and-one-half million barrels per day—exceeding even Saudi Arabia—is going to rock the world. Until then, you can count on us—of course—to keep this information absolutely confidential and secure.”

“Oh, I don't worry about that,” the billionaire said, smiling. “I know that you gentlemen will honor my request for complete secrecy.”

And as he rose to dismiss the three, he added his closing comment.

“Because—if you breach our little understanding—I would have all of your eyes plucked out, and your families tortured.”

The three of them broke into a nervous titter, but the laughter quickly subsided as they noted the lack of expression on Mullburn's face.

They knew him well enough to know that no comment of his was ever idle. And no threat should ever be dismissed.

55

T
HERE WAS AN UNCOMFORTABLE PAUSE
in the three-way telephone conversation between Chief White House Legal Counsel Birnbaum, the Deputy Solicitor General, and the Chief Counsel for the Secretary of State.

“I know this is a sensitive issue—very touchy and very volatile—but I think we have to bring it up. What's the president's approach going to be on implementing the American Serviceman's Protection Act?” the State Department counsel asked.

There was another pregnant pause, and Birnbaum cleared his throat. Then he started in.

“Okay. Let's address the ASPA. I think…” he cleared his throat again. “I think the president is of the mind
not
to use the full authority he has under the ASPA. At least not yet.”

“In other words, what you're telling us is, the president is not going to send troops into The Hague to shoot up the prison and effect the rescue of Colonel Marlowe?” the Deputy Solicitor General said sardonically.

“Let me assure both of you,” Birnbaum continued, “that the president believes that he has the authority to do exactly that under the specific provisions of the American Serviceman's Protection Act. The language is very clear in the supplemental appropriations bill that was signed into law in August 2002. And we believe that it provides the president with all the authority he needs to, and I quote from the language of the act, ‘free any citizen of the U.S.…being held' by the ICC in The Hague. The language is clear. Direct. And unambiguous.”

“But of course, there are national political and geopolitical problems he has to deal with in using that authority,” the State Department legal counsel said.

“Exactly,” Birnbaum replied.

“How about the president's authority under the ASPA for a less drastic remedy? The Act also provides that the United States may withdraw military assistance from Mexico because of their participation in the ICC.”

“Well, let me just tell you State's position on that,” the legal counsel from the State Department said. “There's been a political sea change down there. First, there's the protest Mexico made back in 2003 over our executing three Mexican citizens convicted of murder. But then there's the fact that the Independent Revolutionary Party may well beat the sitting president in the next election. And they are vehemently anti-American. They don't care about military assistance from the United States. As a matter of fact, they want to kick all our DEA agents out.”

“Not only that,” Birnbaum added, “but there's also the whole oil bonanza issue down there.”

“Oil bonanza?” the Deputy Solicitor General asked.

“Well, let me put it to you this way,” the White House counsel continued. “Our intelligence has substantiated a massive deep-water oil discovery off the shore of Mexico. Our neighbor to the south is about to become the second Saudi Arabia. And I'm sure each of you received the briefing memo yesterday, indicating how this case might be impacted by the OPEC oil embargo. The American public is going to freak. And here we have a potential oil partner in Mexico, one who could rescue us, in terms of oil supply, over the next few years. So, just exactly how hostile are we going to get against Mexico over one United States Marine Corps colonel?”

“Well, that's more than a rhetorical question,” the Deputy Solicitor General noted. “Do we want to sacrifice our potential oil-trading relationship with Mexico over one American colonel who is on trial for war crimes because he was hunting down terrorists—terrorists, I might add, that tried to kidnap our Secretary of Commerce? I didn't hear anybody venture an answer on how that equation is going to play out.”

There was another pause in the conference call. Finally, Birnbaum broke the silence.

“My friends, I just give legal advice to the president. That is both the limitation, and the consolation, of my job. Ultimately, this may be a matter for the president—and the president alone—to decide.”

The three government lawyers had all heard the same thing, though it was never said in so many words. As the diplomats, the lawyers, and the bureaucrats scrambled to make the best of a difficult situation, the granite-hard reality of politics—with its inexorable gravitational force—would ultimately take over.

And when that happened, despite all the head-shaking, regretting, and lamenting, the irresistible temptation would be to find the ultimate political antidote.

A sacrificial lamb. Perhaps even one that used to wear a uniform.

56

W
ILL ARRIVED AT THE
M
EXICO
C
ITY
airport on time. He was still confused as to exactly what his mission in interviewing Rusty Black was supposed to be. Of course he knew what Marlowe had told him—that he was to interrogate Black to find out the identity of the Mexican official who had helped orchestrate the AAJ trap that had been set for Marlowe and his unit at Chacmool. But what could his client have possibly meant by his reference to the “bogeyman”?

The attorney was traveling light, and had only one small piece of carry-on luggage in addition to his briefcase. As he scurried through the airport, a man with dark glasses, a Panama hat, and a white short-sleeved shirt strode up to him quickly—so quickly that Will was taken aback, and eyed him cautiously as he approached.

“Mr. Chambers,” the man in the hat and sunglasses began, “I'm a friend. I've got a car waiting for you. We've cleared the way for your interview at the federal correction center.”

“Who are you?” Will asked, taking a step back.

“I'm here to help you and Colonel Marlowe.”

“Actually, I appreciate your help, but I don't think I need it. I've already made arrangements for the interview…”

“Sure you did,” the man said, stone-faced. “And the Mexican jailers were prepared to make sure that you never connected with Rusty Black. And they were also prepared to make sure you had a nasty accident. Now, you can trust me—or you can not trust me. But if I were you, I'd be looking for a friendly face down here in the midst of unfriendly territory.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Will took a step toward the man and peering into his sunglasses.

The man took off his sunglasses, beads of sweat collected under his eyes in the Mexican heat. The din of the airport, of passengers retrieving their baggage, of announcements overhead, all faded into the background when Will heard what he had to say next.