The Accused (25 page)

Fiona smiled. Her eyes brightened.

“Will, sweetheart, it's so good to hear you talking about this. So much of the time I feel as if you've got an iron door with a lock. And you keep me closed out of parts of your life. I love it when we can talk like this.”

Will stretched his hands out on the kitchen table and happened to catch, in a glance, the time on his watch. He took a second look, then looked up at his wife.

Fiona eyed him. He didn't have to say a thing. He was already shutting down the communication…his mind was now halfway to his office.

“I'm a mind reader,” she said with a sigh. “You know what Will Chambers' mind is now saying? It's saying,
Okay, where are my keys? Don't forget to take your briefcase. I wonder how many pink slips are waiting for me at the office. Let's see—what do I need to do on that case today?
Am I right? Tell me I'm not right.”

“That's what I get for marrying a woman who's smarter than I am,” he said with a smirk.

“That kind of flattery won't get you anywhere,” Fiona said, but she was not smiling back. Then she added, “Will, maybe you ought to talk to somebody about what you're going through.”

Her husband stood up from the kitchen table but then stopped and bent over, looking her in the eye. His expression was stern.

“Like who? A psychiatrist? A psychologist? You think I need that?”

“No—not you. Not the invincible
Will Chambers
. You're made out of steel and concrete,” she bulleted out angrily, with hurt in her face.

Will struggled to respond. But there was nothing to say…or at least, nothing that fit. He had always been good at articulating facts that were able to fit into logical, analytical categories. But this was something different…this smothering, suffocating feeling about Audra's murder. He had thought it was over, but now he knew that it wasn't. But he also knew he had to let his wife know where his heart was.

He walked over to Fiona and wrapped his arms around her. Then he kissed her fully on the lips. She pulled back slightly and eyed her husband.

“When was the last time you met with Len Redgrove?” she asked, trying to open up the way to a suggestion. She knew that her husband's spiritual and professional mentor might be able to unlock something she couldn't.

“Last couple months our schedules have both been bad. Maybe I'll give him a call. We'll catch up for a cup of coffee or something,” he said, glancing at his watch.

Fiona's eyes narrowed, and she said sarcastically, “So—session's over for the day? Everything's all fixed—and Will Chambers is off and running again.”

Will gave her a befuddled look. She added, “Go ahead, dear. Get to your office. Topic to be continued…”

After the attorney had grabbed his briefcase and was heading to the front door he remembered something. Whirling around, he called out to his wife.

“Say, Fiona—what about that fund-raising gala in DC? Did we both agree that we can make it—and are we going?”

Fiona poked her head out of the bathroom where she was brushing her hair.

“You mean the one for the monument…to honor the veterans from the Iraq wars and the Afghanistan war?”

Will nodded, and then he continued. “I thought we both said we could make it—right?”

“Yes. In fact—I think I have the invitation in the kitchen. Don't worry about it,” she added. “I'll RSVP for us.”

As he reached the door Fiona called out after him—with a reluctant smile on her face.

“Romans eight thirty-eight and thirty-nine. Remember?” And then she blew him a quick kiss.

Will smiled back and nodded. The passage was a favorite of Angus, Fiona's father. It expressed the profound, nearly incomprehensible reality for those who were “in” Jesus Christ—that nothing, for them, could separate them from the love of God. Nothing.

As Will climbed into his Corvette and started it up, he had a fleeting thought. That passage in Romans had been penned by the apostle Paul—former persecutor and torturer of Christians, later turned into a death-defying missionary after his encounter with the risen Christ on the Damascus road.

As he cruised down the long tree-lined driveway from Generals' Hill to the road below, he was struck with a further thought.

Maybe the most formidable enemy was not pain, or the threat of death, or devils, or catastrophes—perhaps, really, it was nothing out there in the world that forged the most sinister lie that God's grace was insufficient. Perhaps it was something else altogether.

As Will wheeled his convertible onto the county trunk road and accelerated quickly, the idea grew.

What if—among all of those enemies—what if the most dangerous one of all is really
me?

40

W
ILL WAS STILL IMMERSED DEEPLY
in thought when he parked his car in his space at the law office. He took a moment to survey the grime on the chrome trim and the dirty whitewalls. He could always tell when life was getting out of control—for that was when his beloved Corvette was neglected.

When he walked in, Hilda was at the reception desk with an excited expression.

“You just missed him!” she cried out.

“Who?”

“Colonel Marlowe. He just called. Collect.”

“What did he want?”

“I'm not sure. He didn't say. But he needed to talk to you right away.”

“Well, where was he calling from?”

“Oh! Yes. That's right. He was calling from Mexico City. It sounded like he was at a pay phone or something. A lot of noise in the background. Something about the people in charge not letting him make another phone call—but he would try again in a few minutes, hoping to catch you.”

Will's mind starting racing.
Mexico City. What was Marlowe doing down there?
The attorney had speculated that his client's “unfinished business” had something to do with tracking down and wiping out the perpetrators of the Chacmool catastrophe. His own private vendetta. Now it seemed like exactly what Will had feared was happening.

“Hilda, if he calls again, I don't care what I'm doing—interrupt me and put him through.”

Hilda nodded dutifully as Will walked into his office and tossed his briefcase on the black leather couch. He had just started reviewing his
schedule for the day when Hilda buzzed him and let him know that Colonel Marlowe was on the line again.

“Caleb, what are you doing down in Mexico City?”

“Listen, Will, I've got a problem down here. I need to give you the short order on it because I'm not quite sure how long they'll let me talk. I'm in custody. The facility is called the Special Confinement Center of the Federal Police.”

“What were you arrested for?”

“It's complicated. But the papers I was given were not issued by the federal police down here in Mexico. These are charges for war crimes, Will.”

“Who issued the paperwork?” Will asked, grabbing a yellow notepad and a pen and scribbling notes down furiously.

“The International Criminal Tribunal.”

“Say again?”

“The ICC—the International Criminal Court in The Hague, Netherlands. You know, the new criminal court the UN created a few years ago.”

Will tapped his pen on the notepad and thought for a second.

“Right. I remember reading about it in some of the law journals. It began hearing cases back in 2002.”

“Will, I need your help on this thing. And I mean now. I think you better start brushing up on your international law.”

“I've already got some ideas. I'm going to bring someone in on this with me. Say—the charges you received, and the paperwork. Do any of them show there's going to be a move for extradition?”

“I read them pretty quick, but I don't think so.”

“Well,” Will said, trying to make use of the precious minutes on the phone with his client, “I have a feeling that will be their next move. They're not going to let you sit down there in Mexico. They're going to try to ship you over to The Hague. And that's going to make my immediate work much more difficult.”

The attorney heard some noise at the other end—someone yelling in Spanish, in the background. Marlowe apparently turned away from the phone, but Will still overheard his client speak what seemed to be some remarkably fluent Spanish. Then he got back to the phone.

“That's my zookeeper. He said that's it. Listen, step up to the plate on this one. This could be pretty important. For me. And for a lot of other people.”

“Caleb, I'll do my best. But I've got a question for you.”

“Hey, I've got to go.”

More Spanish yelling in the background.

“Just tell me one thing—what were you doing down in Mexico City?”

“Can't talk. Long story. Don't forget me down here.”

A few more words shouted in Spanish, and then the connection was broken.

Will leaned back in his chair, trying to process what he just heard. Then he punched the button on his intercom and connected with his junior associate.

“Todd, I've got a research project. This has to be top priority. The International Criminal Court was created back in 2002. There was an enabling statute…”

He thought for a moment before he continued.

“I think it was called the ‘Rome Statute.' Pull that. And pull the full text of the code of procedure for the court, as well as all the substantive offenses. Three-hole punch it and put it in a notebook for me. I need that right away. Then get the Office of Legal Counsel for the State Department on the line. In fact, get the guy I've been dealing with on our Sudan case, Randy Walford.”

Then Will sprang out of his chair and stepped quickly into the lobby.

“Hilda, please get Len Redgrove on the line.”

She nodded, punched the number up in her database, and clicked to make the connection.

Will had taken several classes from Len Redgrove during law school. In the years after that, however, Redgrove had become a close personal friend, and a spiritual mentor of sorts. Not only did he possess several advanced law degrees, he also had an MDiv and PhD in theology, and he occasionally wrote and taught on the interrelationship between religion and law at colleges and seminaries around the country. The University of Virginia law professor would be an invaluable co-counsel to Will on this case. But where was he now?

Will and his mentor had been meeting on a regular basis for years. But for the last few months the professor had been out of circulation. Thinking back, he thought he remembered Redgrove indicating he would be doing a lot of traveling while on sabbatical for a semester.

While waiting for Hilda to track down the professor, Will went back to his desk and quickly phoned Major Hanover, who had not yet returned his call about the subpoena Will had received from Jason Bell Purdy's subcommittee.

On the third ring, the major answered the phone.

The Marine Corps lawyer apologized for not getting back to Will sooner, but he had been involved in a multiday court-martial case. To answer the prior question, he said he had heard nothing about Purdy's subcommittee. The whole thing was as much of a surprise to him as it had been to Will.

But when the civilian lawyer opened up the issue of the ICC war-crimes charges, Hanover was quiet and somber, but apparently not surprised.

“There's been a lot of talk,” he finally replied, “among the top brass, and the rest of us, that this was going to happen some day. It was just a matter of time. There's been concern about the scope of ICC authority—how far it'll reach—and what it's going to mean to the American military out there in a variety of combat situations. So here we are. Now, thinking back, I'm also wondering if there's something else that now fits in.”

“What's that?” Will asked.

“When Colonel Marlowe was first apprehended down in Mexico, you will recall that Lieutenant General Cal Tucker went down personally. Well, afterwards, when the case first started cranking up for the court-martial—and after you and I had met for the first time—I ran into him here at Quantico. He asked a little about the case and said he was glad to see that I was on the case as detailed military defense counsel—but he also said he was equally happy that Marlowe had hired you and had good civilian defense counsel as well. And then he said…I can't remember exactly…but something like this was the kind of case that could mushroom far beyond just military jurisdiction. Or words to that effect.”

Concluding the call, Will promised to keep the major posted on the progress of the ICC case.

There was a knock at his door, and Hilda poked her head in.

“Dr. Redgrove has been traveling during his sabbatical. But he is going to be back in town tonight. He is flying in to give a lecture over at the University of Richmond. You may want to try to reach him there.”

Just seconds after Hilda had disappeared from the doorway, Will's intercom buzzed. Todd had State Department legal counsel Randy Walford on the line.