The Wrong Lawyer (9 page)

Mandy was
extremely nervous as she walked down the hallway to the elevators. Although her
hands were shaking, she tried to maintain the look of professional composure as
she pressed the button.

She rode down the
elevator alone until a couple got on at the seventh floor.

Once out on the
street, she contemplated what to do.

Mr. Kennedy had
been very persuasive and she believed what he had told her.

She checked her
BlackBerry and saw that she had no messages or further appointments.

She had caught a
taxi to the hotel because it was a rush job.

Having lived in
the Washington area all of her twenty-two years, Mandy knew that she could get
to the newspaper office using the same Washington Metrorail route that would
take her back to her apartment.

In the unlikely
event that she was still being watched, Mandy entered the subway station and
waited for her train as if she was simply heading home.

She tried to
determine if anyone nearby seemed suspicious but everything appeared normal.

Just before the
train came to a full stop at the station nearest the newspaper office, Mandy
stood up and exited the car.

She climbed up to
the street level and got her bearings.

After a short walk
of less than five minutes, Mandy entered the office of The Capitol Independent.

At the small
reception desk, Mandy asked to see Douglas Grant, the political correspondent
to whom Mr. Kennedy’s letter was addressed.

A tall grey-haired
man dressed in casual clothes appeared a moment later.

“Hello, I’m Doug
Grant. I understand that you want to see me about something.”

“Yes, sir; can I
show you in private why I’m here?”

“Sure, come on
down to my office. What’s your name?”

“Mandy.”

“Have a seat,
Mandy. How can I help you?”

“Before I tell
you, can we start off by making everything I say or show you off the record for
the time being?”

“Certainly, but
our meeting is already being recorded. If you decide that our conversation is
to remain strictly between you and me, then I’ll delete the tape in your
presence, but for liability purposes, we have to tape this meeting.”

“I guess that
would be okay.”

“What is it that
you want to show me?”

Mandy reached up
under her blouse and removed Mr. Kennedy’s letter from its protected position
under her bra.

The reporter was
flabbergasted as he watched the extraction process.

“I’m a part-time
paid escort, free-lance, meaning that I don’t have a pimp or employer. This
morning I received a request to see a client in Room 2223 at the Royal Quinte
Arms downtown. His name is Mr. Tom Kennedy and he said that he was a lawyer
from Canada and had been kidnapped by Homeland Security which was holding him
against his will in that hotel room. He didn’t want sex with me. All he wanted
was for me to deliver this letter to you.”

Mandy handed the
letter over to Mr. Grant who carefully peeled it open and read it.

“Who paid you for
your services?” the reporter asked when he had finished reading the contents.

“A man was waiting
outside the hotel and he paid me $700 in cash when I got out of the taxi.”

“How did he know
it was you?”

“The man on the
telephone who hired me for the escort job had asked me what I was going to be
wearing.”

“What else did he
say to you?”

“He just told me
how I was going to be paid and where to go to meet the client.”

“How did he find
you in the first place?”

“All he said was
that he had been given my name but he didn’t tell me who had recommended me.”

“Isn’t it rather unusual
not to insist on knowing who had given out your name?”

“I’m really new at
this so I was just thankful to get a well-paying client.”

“Tell me exactly
what happened in the hotel.”

Mandy related as
accurately as she could what had taken place from the moment she entered the
hotel room. She left nothing out including their private whisperings under the
covers.

“Have you read the
letter, Mandy?”

“No, it’s been in
my bra ever since I put it there when Mr. Kennedy and I were in the bed.”

Mr. Grant handed
the letter to Mandy and asked her to read it. When she was done, she handed it
back to the reporter.

“This is serious
stuff, Mandy. Can I get your permission to have my editor come in and listen to
the tape and read the letter?”

“I guess so.”

Grant picked up
the receiver and asked the editor to drop everything and come to the office.
Thirty seconds later a much older man opened the door and entered.

“Mandy, this is my
editor, Phillip Peden. What’s your last name, Mandy?”

“It’s Mandy
Franklin, sir.”

“Read this first,
Phil and then I’ll play Mandy’s tape for you.”

After Peden had
heard the tape, he turned to Mandy and said, “This is a very big story, Miss
Franklin. Do we have your permission to cover it however we may see fit?”

“Yes, sir; it’s
really Mr. Kennedy’s story.”

“You’re now a big
part of it, Mandy,” Grant interjected. “I’d like to feature you prominently in
the piece if you’ll let me. Your picture and occupation attached to this story
will make for a potent combination. It appears that our government has paid for
the services of a professional woman escort in addition to kidnapping Mr.
Kennedy and framing Mr. Haddad. You might indeed become famous because of your
key role in exposing these apparent abuses.”

“I guess that
would be okay,” Mandy replied. “I don’t pretend to understand what’s going on
here but for some reason I really trusted Mr. Kennedy.”

The chief editor
thought for a moment and then spoke.

“Time is
definitely of the essence here, Doug. Can you think of a better way to confirm
the kidnapping than to head over to the hotel with both the police and Miss
Franklin accompanying us?”

“Let’s do it. I’ll
have our photographer come along as well. Mandy, while Mr. Peden makes
arrangements with the police, we need to get some photos taken of you.”

…

It was just after
one o’clock when I heard a commotion outside the hotel room door.

I decided that
there was no time to eavesdrop. I flung the door open and saw Mandy standing in
the hallway with two police officers, two men dressed in civilian clothes and
another fellow carrying a large camera.

“I’m Thomas
Kennedy, a lawyer from Canada, and these men along with Homeland Security have
kidnapped me and are holding me in this room against my will.”

One of the guards
mumbled, “We’re just doing our jobs. I’ll have our boss speak with you.”

I jumped in again
and said, “Special Agent Matthews is one of the men who abducted me, and I
expect that he is also holding Mr. Haddad somewhere against his will.”

A moment later the
guard had reached his boss and was clearly taking instructions. Then he handed
the cell phone to one of the police officers.

A brief argument
ensued and finally the cop handed the cell phone back to the guard and
announced, “Special Agent Matthews is on his way here now. We are all to wait
inside the hotel room until he arrives. I have to call my commander right away
and get his instructions.”

They all entered
my room and found seats in various spots. The cameraman began taking copious
pictures.

Mandy sat on the
sofa next to me.

“Thank you so much
for delivering the letter, Mandy. You’ve done the right thing.”

The reporter and
his editor approached me and began asking questions.

After confirming
the contents of my letter, Douglas Grant whispered, “I started banging out the
story while we were in the van. If this Special Agent Matthews is really from
Homeland Security, he may seize the letter along with my computer and Billy’s
camera once he gets here. If he does that then we’ll have nothing concrete on
which to base the piece. What should we do, Phil?”

“Can you complete
the initial story and transmit it before Matthews gets here? If you’re quick,
we can just squeeze it in under the deadline for tomorrow morning’s edition. I
can sign off on it electronically from here.”

“I’ll do my best,
Phil.”

Grant went to a
table in the far corner of the room and began tapping away feverishly on his laptop.

Ten minutes later
he motioned for Peden and Billy to join him.

Grant had Billy
transfer the photos he had taken to the laptop while Peden read the first draft
of the news story.

Peden suggested a
few changes in wording and then Grant selected which pictures to include with
the article.

When both Grant
and his editor were satisfied, they both signed off on the story and sent it to
the main office to be included in the edition just about to be sent to the
printer.

“To be on the safe
side,” Peden instructed, “delete that last transmission from your computer as
well as the confirmation that the article with photos was received from the
main computer. Just in case Homeland Security gets aggressive, they won’t
realize that the story is already in the process of being published until it’s
too late for them to do anything about it.”

Grant complied.

The room had
fallen into complete silence. The two cops had received instructions from high
up to wait for Special Agent Matthews before continuing their investigation,
and they had ordered Thomas Kennedy to stand beside them and not converse with
anyone. Fortunately the police officers had received no orders relating to the
reporters so the cops ignored whatever was going on with the press in the far
corner of the room.

The first person
to show up was the captain of the police precinct who was let inside the room
by the two government guards who had remained outside.

The captain spoke
softly with his officers and paused twice to receive calls on his cell phone.

After an
additional ten minutes the door opened yet again and Special Agent Matthews
stormed in accompanied by the two guards who had been waiting outside the room.

Matthews took
immediate charge of the hotel room.

He waved a
document in the air, identified himself and barked, “This is an order fresh
from the Federal Court prohibiting anyone in this room from disseminating any
information relating to Thomas Kennedy or Bander Haddad. I require every person
present to state your name and explain why you are here today.

The two cops went
first, followed by the police chief, the two guards and then Mandy.

“My name is Mandy
Franklin and I was hired to have sex with Mr. Kennedy, the man who was
occupying this room. He gave me a letter to deliver to a newspaper reporter.”

“WHAT?” Matthews
yelled incredulously. Apparently his state of the art surveillance system
wasn’t omniscient.

When it was my
turn, I said, “My name is Thomas Kennedy; I’m a retired lawyer from Canada.
Special Agent Matthews had me kidnapped from Washington Dulles Airport on
Tuesday afternoon and has been holding me in this hotel room against my will
ever since.”

When Douglas
Grant, Phillip Peden and Billy Miller stated their identities, Matthews went
ballistic.

“Agent Bronson,
seize that camera and laptop immediately.”

“On what legal
basis can you authorize this?” Peden demanded.

“You have no right
to that information,” Matthews responded belligerently. “It’s a matter of
national security.”

“I SMELL HORSESHIT,”
I blurted out.

Matthews ignored
me.

“Have you shared
the information on this computer or in this camera with anyone?” he demanded of
the media team.

Peden cleverly
avoided answering the question directly by asking his own question, the sign of
a veteran newsman.

“The final news
story isn’t ready yet, but will you confirm or deny Mr. Kennedy’s allegation
that you kidnapped him and Bander Haddad when their flight from Syracuse landed
at Dulles yesterday?”

“This whole matter
is one of national security,” Matthews answered.

“Where is Mr.
Haddad now?” Peden persisted.

Matthews completely
ignored the editor.

Douglas Grant
chimed in.

“Did you secure
and pay for the services of a prostitute for Mr. Kennedy with government
funds?”

That question
appeared to unnerve Matthews.

While the special
agent was flustered, Grant hit him with another embarrassing question.

“Is your agency
monitoring private conversations of both Americans and foreigners now even when
those conversations are taking place in person and not by telephone or e-mail?
Mr. Kennedy alleges that you possess tapes of his private conversations with
another attorney which took place in Canada in the lawyer’s home living-room.”

“What part of
‘NATIONAL SECURITY’ don’t you comprehend?” Matthews almost screamed. “That’s
it; I’m seizing everyone’s cellphones, computers, cameras and hand-held
devices. They will be returned to you once we have determined that no sensitive
information is contained on them. Any such data found will be deleted before
the items are given back to you.”

That directive
prompted a heated argument between the police chief and Matthews. Eventually
Matthews relented and permitted the three police officers to retain their equipment.

“Mr. Haddad’s life
may be in danger,” I shouted. “The American government has purposely
disseminated false statements to the media purportedly made by Mr. Haddad and
myself, which statements show both of us to be terrorists. Special Agent Matthews
can’t be trusted. It’s up to the police to ensure that Mr. Haddad is safe. I
want to lay a charge against Matthews for kidnapping.”

The turf war was
on. Both Matthews and the police chief got on their cellphones to obtain
further instructions.

We all waited in
the room for almost an hour before the verdict was received.

The Washington
Police Commissioner himself had spoken with the Deputy Director of Homeland
Security and they had hashed out a compromise.

No charges were to
be laid against anyone at this time, but I was to be taken in the presence of
the police chief and one of his officers to see Bander Haddad in order to confirm
that he was my seat-mate on the flight and to ensure that he was safe.

Any further action
by the Washington police would depend on the results of that meeting.
Apparently Mr. Haddad was currently being held in the city of Washington even
though the actual abduction had taken place in Virginia. The issue of police
jurisdiction was a bit murky.

I wasn’t allowed
to bring any of my belongings with me. Still, I was very pleased to be out of
that hotel room.

I sat in the back
seat of an unmarked police car with the police chief while another officer
drove.

During the short
drive, he asked me to summarize exactly what had happened to me.

The chief listened
intently but made no comments when I had finished.

We stopped at an
unremarkable government office building with a security gate and were passed
through immediately.

A woman met us at
the door and led us down a hall where we entered one end elevator in a bank of
four. At that point the lady used a security key and the elevator went downward
even though the elevator buttons had indicated that the cab only went upward
from the main floor.

A gentleman in
uniform met us and the woman went back up in the elevator cab.

He led us to the
end of a hallway where he opened a door bearing the number 0021.

Inside waiting for
us was the fellow I had nicknamed the General who had accompanied Matthews when
I first was brought into the hotel room. He didn’t seem one bit pleased to see
me.

“I’m General
Piorkowski,” he announced, “currently serving my country under the umbrella of
the Department of Homeland Security.”

“My name is Harvey
McGill, and I’m the Chief of Police at the downtown precinct in Washington.”

“You already know
who I am, General,” I stated. “It’s beginning to look as if you picked the
wrong lawyer to screw with.”

“That remains to
be seen,” he replied brusquely. “Please follow me.”

We continued into
an inner office where two armed guards were stationed.

With a nod from
the General, one of the men unlocked a solid metal door and we followed
Piorkowski inside.

This was no plush
hotel room but it was no prison cell either.

Bander Haddad was
seated in a comfortable armchair reading.

He seemed startled
when he recognized me but then smiled sadly.

“I’m surprised to
see that you’re part of this most messy affair. I had assumed that you were
merely an innocent bystander like me.”

“In fact that’s
exactly what I am. My temporary prison was a luxury hotel room in downtown
Washington. Apparently I was going to be released on Saturday morning and
permitted to fly back to Syracuse. Have you been permitted to listen to any
news?”

“No.”

“The Department of
Homeland Security recorded our conversations from the flight and the Syracuse
airport and doctored them up a bit to make it appear that we were both
terrorists. I managed to contact the media secretly from my lavish cell and
they called the police. I was really concerned for your safety. We’re here now
to ensure that you’re alive and to have you confirm whether you were kidnapped
like I was.”

“Yes, I was
kidnapped against my will and I have been imprisoned here ever since and have
been given no opportunity to contact my country’s embassy or an attorney.”

“That seems to
clarify whether a crime has been committed,” Chief McGill interrupted. “Has Mr.
Haddad been charged with any crime, General?”

“No.”

“In that case will
Mr. Haddad be released into my custody at this time?”

“I’m afraid not,
Chief. We have the legal authority to retain Mr. Haddad for an additional seven
days on top of the period he has already been in detention. He has been duly
certified as a terrorist threat.”

“That’s
preposterous,” Haddad blurted out. “I’m in America on legitimate commercial
business unrelated to my normal official position with my government. I have no
connections whatsoever with any terrorist group or individual and I suspect
that the American government already knows that.”

“I more than
suspect that Special Agent Matthews used the doctored tapes of our flight
conversation to obtain the terrorist certification order,” I added. “How
legitimate is it to leak false evidence in order to obtain a terrorist
certification? Who is really being the terrorist here?”

The General spoke
again.

“For your
assurance and information, Chief McGill, I can confirm that Mr. Haddad is being
well looked after and that he will also be permitted to return to Saudi Arabia
on Saturday.”

The Chief looked
over at me.

“I’m satisfied
with the General’s statements, and it appears that there is nothing that the
Washington Police Department can do to effect Mr. Haddad’s release any earlier.
Do you have any further questions for him?”

“Mr. Haddad, do
you have any idea why your incarceration until Saturday would be so crucial to
the American government that they would release false information in order to
arrest you?”

“I’m sorry, but I
cannot fathom any such reason.”

“At least I’m
relieved that you’re alive. It really angers me that the government would use
our innocent conversations to arrest us and then keep us hidden away.”

“How did you
manage to get your message out to the media? I’ve had no opportunity whatsoever
to contact anyone.”

“I outsmarted
them, that was all. They were no match for an experienced and resourceful
lawyer.”

I glared at the
General.

“Matthews is a
pompous idiot. Your bosses made a huge mistake in trusting him to handle the
kidnappings. Now that I’m free, you’re all going to have a devil of a time
explaining your illegal actions to the public.”

“All we’re doing
is our jobs,” the General answered angrily. “By the way, Mr. Kennedy, you are
in fact still in our legal custody, and you will be returned to the hotel room
and kept there until the full forty-eight hours has expired. Please follow me
back to the elevator.”

That wiped the
smile off my face. Chief McGill explained that the matter was out of his hands
and the General sent an escort vehicle behind the police car to ensure that I
was returned to the Royal Quinte Arms.

The two guards
were back on duty outside the room but no one was inside.

I was alone again
to serve out the remainder of my forty-eight hour sentence.

Frustrated and
angry, I ordered the most expensive meal on the room service menu to spite
them, and I polished off the steak and lobster dinner with three liqueurs from
the bar fridge.

I was still upset
and disgusted with Homeland Security by the time I fell asleep. The evening
news had carried no mention whatsoever of Bander Haddad or me.

Thursday morning
was most rewarding.

When I began
perusing the morning newspapers, there on Page 3 of The Capitol Independent was
the full story as written by Douglas Grant together with large pictures of
Mandy and me.

Special Agent
Matthews was deliciously ridiculed as having permitted the clandestine message
to be ferreted out under Mandy’s bra.

Matthews had
failed again in his desperate attempt to prevent the story from hitting the
media.

It was a failed
burial and I felt vindicated.