Decency (25 page)

“Your honor, we do not believe the order would be necessary. The normal record keeping procedures will require that certain steps be taken with regard to materials relating to a deceased employee. Those procedures should result in preservation where it is appropriate. However, it would be unduly burdensome to simply devote resources to isolating such materials.”

“The motion is granted. Plaintiff will prepare and submit an agreed order. If no agreement is reached, the parties will submit their own proposed orders.

“Anything else, Ms. Hawkins?”

“No your Honor, thank you.”

“Anything, Mrs. Holdredge?”

“Nothing, your Honor, thank you.”

“Very well. The hearing is adjourned.”

“Abe, just wanted to bring you up-to-date.”

“How did the hearing go?”

“Pretty strangely, in fact. Remember, the government hasn’t filed any sort of response yet. Even so, Reichardt granted our motion to file the witness protection motions
in camera
, denied a government motion that we have not even been served with yet to seal the proceedings and the record, granted our motion to sequester the records, which I took the opportunity to make orally, indicated a schedule that puts us in trial in one hundred eighty days, and ordered all parties to consult on schedule, discovery, stipulations and motions.”

“Well, congratulations are in order. Good job.”

“Thanks, but I can’t really take much credit. The judge pretty much did it himself. Plus he didn’t do anything that he can be reversed on, so he’s just forcing the action. It really means we have to get all of our evidence gathering done as fast as we possibly can.”

“Yeah, I can see why.”

“There was one other noteworthy thing. The U.S. Attorney herself represented the government.”

“Well, you’ve gotten their attention. For whatever reason, they don’t want anything slipping through the cracks.”

“I know. I’m headed first thing tomorrow with Bonnie for the consultation meeting with the government. It’s at NSA, which might be interesting.”

“Yes, not a whole lot of people have been there. Good luck.”

Director Jiang raised his eyes. General Zhou had entered without knocking or uttering a sound.

The General passed him a small note.

“Director,

Our American friend increases his demands. He urgently needs 10 of the devices. One for the Nebraska farm, one for the lawyer’s office and eight for the NSA.”

The Director scrutinized the note.

…the American is becoming tiresome…how many does he think there are…

He crossed out the characters for “demands” and wrote, “requests.” He then wrote, “Send four. Two for NSA,” and returned the note to the General.

The General bowed and departed.

…why the American does not simply take what he believes he needs, why he allowed the Nebraska farmers to sue…these shall remain mysteries…perhaps eternally… the American’s usefulness shall not…meantime, we accomplish what we can, while we can…

Captain George Yancey looked up from the latest set of crime scene photos to see Chief Carlson standing in front of his desk.

“It’s not good, George.”

…please, God, no…

“Internal Investigations recommended a full investigation.”

“At least they didn’t say ‘charge him’.”

“That’s the only thing going for you. I couldn’t hold it off any longer.”

“What’s my status?”

“You can stay on in admin. You can collect your check.”

“Thanks. I’m going to need it for a lawyer.”

“Can’t you just deny you signed the damn report?”

“Sure. But I already said ‘I don’t remember.’ I don’t want to make it worse. IID already thinks I forged the evidence receipt because it doesn’t match my signature on the report.”

“Better get that lawyer.”

Carlson turned and walked away with a heavy heart. Yancey picked up the phone with a heavier one.

Their briefcases exited the scanning machine. Kelly and Bonnie walked through the airport style body scanners, picked up their briefcases, and stepped to the visitor control desk.

“Good morning. How can I help you?”

The guard inside the entrance of the NSA headquarters building was polite but disagreeably firm.

“We are here to visit the General Counsel.”

“Who, by name, are you visiting there?”

“Angela Bonafacio is our host.”

“Your names please.”

“Kelly Hawkins and Bonnie Cummings.”

The guard scanned his visitor list with the attention of a cat watching a mouse.

“I have your names. You will please provide some identification.”

“Such as?”

“A drivers license will be fine.”

The guard took the cards, checked the photographs and did not return them.

“Please complete this form.”

The form called for visitors to supply all the information all over again, name, address, affiliation, telephone number, and name and telephone number of the person to be visited, and required a signature. The small print indicated false or misleading information may render the signer liable for criminal prosecution. Just as the sign in front of the scanners did, it once again informed the visitor that search of the person and personal articles may be conducted at any time, that no photographic or recording equipment was allowed, that unescorted entry was prohibited, and that deadly force was authorized.

The visitors completed and signed the forms, knowing they weren’t going any farther without doing so.

“Thank you. It will take a minute to verify the information.”

The guard took the forms and proceeded to enter the information contained on them into a computer. A few minutes that seemed like an hour later, the computer apparently liked what the guard told it.

“Here are your identification documents back and here are your visitors passes. Return them here when you leave. Please wait for your escort in the waiting room.”

“And that is where?”

The guard pointed mechanically to a door to the right.

The visitors waiting room was not quite as comfortable as those in hospitals.

“Gee, that was fun,” Bonnie offered a little too sarcastically. “At least they didn’t demand certified copies of birth certificates.”

Fifteen minutes elapsed.

“Kelly, do you suppose they have forgotten about us?”

“No, but it is time to call them.”

Kelly stepped out to the visitor control desk.

“I would like to call my host to see what is holding them up.”

“Certainly. You can use that phone. Just dial the five digit extension,” indicating a wall phone obviously meant solely for frustrated waiting visitors.

“General Counsel’s office.”

“This is Kelly Hawkins. We are still waiting for our escort to meet with your office.”

“Ms. Hawkins, the escort is on the way. It should just be a few minutes.”

“All right.”

Another ten minutes elapsed.

A bored, uninspired “escort” in the form of a woman about twenty years old in need of some grooming came into the waiting room and called out, “Ms. Hawkins and Ms. Cummings,” although there was no one else to call out to.

“That’s us.”

In a staccato voice the escort recited her spiel. “Please don your visitors pass. Make sure it is visible. Wear it at all times during your visit. Follow closely behind me.”

A long corridor, an elevator ride up seven floors, and another long corridor later, the escort opened a door, stepped in and asked, “Is this the office where..,” she checked a slip of paper in her hand, “Miss Bonnyfasseo is located.” The receptionist said yes and the escort departed in the same glum mood.

“May I have your names, please.”

“Kelly Hawkins and Bonnie Cummings. To see Angela Bonafacio.” There was a decided edge in Kelly’s voice.

Without checking any paperwork, the receptionist recognized the names.

“Oh yes. She will be here in just a moment.”

The last hope of keeping any patience disappeared from Kelly just as the door they entered opened and their names were called in a soft, pleasant, feminine voice.

“Ms. Hawkins, and Ms. Cummings? I’m Angela Bonafacio.”

Kelly turned to find a woman in her thirties wearing a typical lawyer’s grey suit. Her features were those that have graced the streets of Florence for hundreds of years, jet black hair, long face and nose, deep brown, near black eyes.

She extended her hand to them both and gripped theirs firmly. “I’m sorry for the delay. The check-in and escort processes are always frustrating. Come with me please.”

They exited the door again, traversed the hall, entered another door, walked a few paces past the doors of cubicled lawyers and entered another door. It opened into a plain conference room. The furniture was not meant to impress. The “conference” table was the same kind of folding affair found at church picnics and plain metal folding chairs surrounded it.

There was however a concession to hospitality in the form of a canister style coffee brewer, jar of dry creamer, box of pink Sweet-n-Lo packages, paper napkins and styrofoam cups.