The Accused (27 page)

“Whoa—stop,” Will broke in. “First, let the record reflect that Purdy set up that meeting with his niece. He was trying to tool me around. I think he was playing some kind of mind game with me. He knew my background with Audra. And I will believe to my dying day that he was planning on using his niece to manipulate me because I
was about to expose his financial misdealings down there in Georgia. I caught on to his little game, and I called his bluff.”

“Will, just listen to you,” Fiona replied. “You make it sound like this was just some high-stakes game of wits. When you told me about that meeting you had with her, I was really wounded.”

“Fiona, darling, that was just a one-time encounter with that girl. Orchestrated by Purdy. I've never seen her since. Besides, it was before we were even engaged.”

“So you were playing the field?”

“Of course not,” Will responded. “Purdy was trying to play me.”

Then he took her slender hand in his, squeezed it, and looked into her eyes.

“You know how much I love you? Don't ever forget how much I love you.”

Fiona's expression started to change. She looked down and then looked up again. Her eyes were tearing up. She managed to smile at him, then she grabbed both of his hands and squeezed them.

“Can we go home now?”

Will nodded. He popped one of the Swedish meatballs into his mouth, gave his plate to one of the waiters, and took his beautiful bride arm in arm out to the vestibule, where they hailed a cab.

Fiona was holding on to his arm tightly, but she was pensive, deep in thought. Struggling to achieve some objectivity—and mask her hurt—she asked him about Purdy.

“Isn't he the senator who issued the subpoena for you? The one who's having you testify before a subcommittee—that Senator Purdy?”

Will nodded.

“So you have a real history with this man…and yet he wants to bring you up before his subcommittee—before the whole world—and have you testify. That's seems odd, doesn't it?”

As the two stood by the cabstand, Will considered her comment. Just one more example of how she could, at the most unexpected times, display her unique perception.

“You're right on the money,” he replied. “That's exactly what I've been wondering. Of course, we've got an agreement in writing, narrowly limiting the scope of my testimony. So maybe Purdy and his staff feel they can keep me pigeon-holed so I can't bring out any of the dirt that I know about him. Besides, all that stuff back in Georgia—his
information-launderers and spin doctors did an excellent job of explaining all that away before he was selected to fill the term of the senator who died. But you're absolutely right. Our prior relationship does put this in a curious light. And then there's also something else—something else that's been weighing on my mind.”

Will thrust his hand out and a cab pulled over.

As he opened the door for his wife he added, “I also wonder how much Purdy knows about the International Criminal Court charges against Marlowe. I'm sure he must.”

He closed the door, walked to the other side of the cab, and scooted into the backseat next to Fiona.

“So, what do you think?” she said, pursuing the issue. “How is the international case going to affect what you say in your testimony?”

“Good question,” he replied. “Let's just say that the subcommittee hearing is going to take me back to my college days.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I'm going to feel like I'm back in a boxing ring again. The only difference is that up in Congress they allow kidney punches.”

43

T
HE
S
ENATE HEARING ROOM WAS
already jammed, even though it was still thirty minutes before the select subcommittee was scheduled to convene. Leather-covered chairs behind a high bench would seat the members of the subcommittee. Jason Bell Purdy's chair, in the middle, was empty. In a row behind the leather chairs, against the wall, were the smaller chairs, where the assistant legal counsel and legislative aides would sit. A few had already taken their positions and were exchanging comments.

Some of the crowd in the room consisted of the usual political devotees and curious members of the public. There were numerous representatives of interest groups with a stake in the hearings: a variety of conservative, pro-defense, and pro-military associations. A handful of liberal groups opposing human rights violations and concerned about what they perceived as the never-ending expansion of war on terrorism. Some representatives from the Pentagon, from the Antidefamation League for Mexico, and from the League for Civil Rights for the Americas. And a bevy of reporters.

A battery of news cameras had already been set up on tripods in the far corner of the hearing room. Along one wall there were two long tables filled with background papers and prepared comments from some of the witnesses.

On the level below the committee dais, there was a long table for the witnesses. It was covered with a green felt tablecloth, with several microphones on top. The seats at the witness table were empty—for now. One of them would soon be occupied by Will Chambers.

A handful of reporters were in the front of the room, kibitzing. One of them—Jack Hornby—was a newspaper institution in Washington, DC. He was now bureau chief for one of the large wire services.

“So what's the focus here? Purdy's going to do a rain dance about the incident involving the Marines down in Chacmool, Mexico, right?” one of the reporters queried.

“Yeah. Purdy's got a short Senate term to fill—and the need for a long reputation,” another reporter quipped to the amusement of his colleagues.

“Gentlemen,” Jack Hornby commented, “you are about to see—I truly believe—a performance of epic proportions.”

“Yeah, but what kind of performance?” another reporter chimed in. “Is this going to be tragedy or comedy?”

“Well,” Hornby continued, “I'm not quite sure. I'm a little confused about Senator Purdy's timing.”

“Timing? What do you mean?” One reporter was making the mistake of taking Hornby's comment too seriously.

“Well,” the bureau chief brought out his punch line, “Purdy's late—the circus already left town some time ago.”

“Look, we need to get serious about what the tag line's going to be on this,” another man broke in after the chuckles subsided. “He's looking at this shoot-'em-up down in Mexico. You got some marines. You got war on terrorism. You got bad relations between the U.S. and Mexico. And I hear there's an economic development bonanza going on down there.”

“So—we've got to
gate
this story,” another responded. “You know—Watergate. Iran-gate.”

“So, how about this—Murder-gate—what do you think?”

“I like Mexi-gate,” one of them chimed in.

“Well,” Hornby said, weighing in sarcastically, “by the end of these hearings, I think we're all going to agree on the new hook for this—for Purdy's congressional investigation.”

“What's that?” one of the others asked.

“
Regurgi-gate
,” Hornby quipped, igniting an explosion of cackles from his news cronies.

That was when Will Chambers, briefcase in hand, opened the tall, thick wooden doors to the hearing room. He was immediately hit with a welter of noise from the mingling crowd and the packed rows of seats in the chamber.

He turned and gestured to Fiona, who had come along with him, to stick close.

They shouldered their way through the crowd toward the front row, just behind the witness table. Jack Hornby caught sight of Will, and he pushed his way through.

“Well, if it isn't Will Chambers—the inimitable—the indefatigable—the lawyer's lawyer in a profession where it's hard to find an honest man. Will, how have you been?” Hornby said, giving Will a smile and a firm handshake.

“Fine, Jack. It's been a while—I think the last time you and I chatted was the Reichstad versus MacCameron case. In fact, the ‘MacCameron' was Fiona's dad, whom I represented.” With that Will turned to his wife. “Jack, this is my wife, Fiona Chambers.”

“Yes, I guessed that it was you—the gracious and beautiful Mrs. Chambers. I think you're the singer. Right? The voice of the heavenly choir, I hear.”

“You're very kind,” Fiona said with a cautious smile.

“Mrs. Chambers, you're about to see a classic sword fight—between a superb trial lawyer and a senator who's got the worst case of Potomac fever I've ever seen,” Hornby said with a wry smile.

“Sword fight?” Fiona responded. “Then I think that means, as the reporter, you're the one who'll actually come out on top.”

Hornby studied her for a second, arched his eyebrows, and then asked, “And why would you say that?”

“Because I always heard that the pen was mightier than the sword.”

Hornby laughed out loud and then turned to Will.

“Not only a wonderful singer, but smart. I wonder…possibly smarter than you, Will. Because you always seem to get yourself in the middle of these legal and political cyclones. And let me tell you, I know you've got a background with this Jason Bell Purdy—I've done my research.”

“You always do,” Will commented. “What do you think?”

“I think that Senator Jason Bell Purdy is the biggest glutton for political power since Huey Long.”

“Interesting. Wasn't Long assassinated?”

“Exactly!” Hornby snapped out, and then added a guttural chuckle.

One of the legislative aides interrupted their conversation and introduced himself to Will. He had the attorney sign in on the witness roster and then led him to the front row of chairs next to the witness table.

After he was seated in the front row, Will turned around and saw Fiona making her way to a seat in the back of the room. She caught his attention, and then she mouthed the words,
I love you—I'm praying for you
.

A few minutes later, several of the aides and the committee legal counsel scurried in and filled the rest of the seats on the back wall behind the dais.

Then the door to the anteroom swung open and the members of the senate select subcommittee entered—smiling, casual, confident, and ever mindful of the cameras that poised at the rear corner of the room.

The last to enter was Jason Bell Purdy. He was walking in with long strides, carrying a small, thin notebook under his arm. He greeted several members of the subcommittee with handshakes, a few words, and an effervescent smile. Then, as he took the chairman's seat at the middle of the dais, his smile faded into a serious, almost stern, expression. His gaze stretched out over the crowd, the reporters, the interest groups, and finally the witnesses, including Will. The noise in the room settled down quickly.

Purdy grasped the gavel with his right his hand and banged it triumphantly on its wooden square.

Silence swept through the room, except for the quiet beeping tones and whirring of cameras and the shuffling of a few papers in the audience.

Senator Jason Bell Purdy was about to begin his opening statements. This would be his finest hour.

44

T
HE FRONT ROW OF WITNESSES
, including Will, were up on their feet, facing the panel of senators, with their right hands raised. As a group they were sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help them God. To the right of Will were the Assistant White House Legal Counsel and the Assistant Secretary of Defense for Special Projects. Those two witnesses were slated to testify first, with Will then finishing up the morning session.

To Will's left were the two witnesses for the afternoon session—the National Director for the Hispanic League for Civil Rights, and Fernando Fuego, the brother of Carlos Fuego, the CIA agent shot to death at Chacmool.

The first two witnesses took their seats at the witness table and adjusted the microphones.

Jason Bell Purdy cocked an eyebrow, and with all the solemnity that his short senatorial experience could muster, he reminded all of those present of the profound importance of the subcommittee's task—to investigate the manner in which the United States government had responded to the
perceived
threat of terrorism from within Mexico—and to investigate the murder of innocent Mexican nationals at Chacmool, Mexico, including an agent of the Central Intelligence Agency. Purdy described the “slaughter” that had taken place there as one of the “most troubling aspects of America's war on terrorism.”

“The incident at Chacmool,” Purdy continued, “should give us all pause about the scope, breadth, and unrestricted nature of the military action that the United States government has brought to bear abroad, even against nations that have been our friends.”

As the senator concluded his opening statement, Will was listening intently. It was becoming clear where Purdy was heading—and why he had subpoenaed attorney Will Chambers.