Murder at the Pentagon (8 page)

“Other payments?” asked Potamos. “Other debts?”

Keller laughed, then coughed on smoke from his cigar. “I told you when we entered into this contract that we were asking too little in advance. The vacuum pumps are a good example. Twenty percent as a down payment? Absurd. He hasn’t paid another Ostmark.” Keller was a former East German
who hadn’t needed the Wall to come down to prosper. Germany was all one now; it had always been for him.

“The lathes and milling machines,” said the Brit at the table, Sanford Sheffield. “And the nickel alloy. If I recall correctly, he put up nothing for those items.”

“He made a small payment against those invoices,” Keller said. “Very small.”

Potamos stood. “Gentlemen,” he said, a smile on his small face, “I’m afraid I’m too weary to deal with such high finance. Perhaps tomorrow, if you feel it’s necessary. These are really pennies. I remind you that when Consulnet took on this challenge, it was done with the understanding that shortfalls would be guaranteed.”

“Yes, but …”

“I prefer to wait and see to what extent our client decides to ignore his financial obligations. When that is clear, the guarantees will kick in. I think we’re premature in assuming that we’ll encounter a problem being paid for our work. It’s made him, as we say, the talk of the town.” He looked to Keller again. “When will you be meeting with the client again, Hans?”

“The talk of many towns. The talk of the world. In a few days.”

“A firm date?”

“Nothing is ever firm with him.”

Potamos sighed. “Well, I suggest we wait until you have that meeting. Get together with Walter, establish what is owed, and report back to us after you’ve met with our client. Our next meeting is the end of September, I believe. Where?”

Raoul Cinsere, the Brazilian, answered. “London.”

“Good. The financial report will be first on our agenda. Good sleep to all. Are we gathering for lunch tomorrow?”

Walter Munch said, “At one. At Glacisbeisl. I left directions in your mailboxes.”

“Splendid,” said Potamos.

As he left the private dining room with Keller, he asked, “A redhead this time, Hans?”

Keller blushed and forced a laugh. “Tea. A cousin. Brunette. I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

“How nice seeing family again. Enjoy your reunion.”

Two waiters started to clean the room in which Consulnet had met. “Important men,” one said.

The other grunted. “Yes, important men. Expensive rooms and meals, small gratuities. I did better in the coffeehouses.”

The press conference Tuesday morning in the Pentagon’s main briefing room had been hastily called. Originally, the appointment of Margit as defense counsel to Captain Cobol was to have been announced on Thursday.

But on Monday, two hours after Margit’s 8
A.M
. meeting with Colonel Bellis, the Armed Forces News Division, an office reporting to the assistant secretary of defense for public affairs, received a call from a
Washington Post
Pentagon reporter. The journalist wanted to confirm whether a Major Falk had, in fact, been assigned to defend Captain Robert Cobol, and wanted permission to speak with her. The duty officer promised to get back to him and immediately contacted Bellis.

“How the hell did they get this?” Bellis bellowed at three members of his staff who had the misfortune to be within a hundred yards, which included Margit. His hard stare at her made her wonder whether he was assuming that her conversation with Mac Smith had resulted in the leak. She knew it hadn’t. She hadn’t had to impress upon Smith the need to
keep it under wraps until the official announcement was made, and she had faith in his discretion.

Bellis called the officer who’d reported the press inquiry. “Tell that reporter there’ll be a press conference tomorrow morning at ten. Set up that conference. Get the word out to the rest of the vultures, so we get credit for announcing it.”

He hung up, sat back, and shook his head. “If a leak came out of this office, the person who did it will be a former member of this office.” And of this planet, Margit thought. He dismissed everyone except Margit. When they were alone and his door was closed, he sat on the edge of his desk. “Did you have your discussion with Smith?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“Did you tell him the need for secrecy?”

“Whatever we talked about never left his house. Among other things, he’s a master of discretion.”

Bellis nodded. “I would tend to have that same confidence, although I know Smith only by reputation. Any ideas who leaked it?”

Margit shook her head.

“I meant what I said. If it came out of this office, I’m going to lop off that individual’s head and roll it down the hall like a bowling ball.”

Margit couldn’t help but smile, and Bellis seemed pleased that she’d found humor in it. He sat behind the desk. “Plans for lunch, Major?”

“No. I assume any eating today will be done at my desk.”

“Wrong, Major. Any eating you do today will be done at
my
desk. We have a lot to go over before tomorrow morning. I suggest you go back to your office and take care of whatever matters are pressing. When you’re free, call Helen and tell her you’re ready to meet with me. I have appointments this afternoon that I’ll cancel, at least those that don’t bear upon this case.” Margit stood. “Ready for a long, tough haul, Major?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“None whatsoever. See you in a couple of hours.”

Margit canceled appointments for that afternoon. Her final
call was to Foxboro at Senator Wishengrad’s office. They’d made a tentative date for a drink and early dinner. “Jeff, I’m not sure what time I’m going to be out of here tonight. Something broke that could tie me up for a while.”

“Like what?” he asked, sounding distracted.

“I really can’t discuss it on the phone. In fact, I can’t discuss it at all until tomorrow morning after it’s been announced at a press conference.”

Now, his attention seemed more focused. “Don’t tease, Margit. It’s annoying. What’s up?”

She was sorry she’d called, or at least she should have begged off the evening without hinting that something extraordinary was taking place. She said, “I know, it isn’t fair, but my hands are tied. Please understand. If I see that I’ll be able to leave at a decent hour, I’ll call, and we’ll meet as planned.”

“Call either way,” he said. He sounded angry.

“If I get a chance.” She hung up and felt unsettled. There had been these minor tugs and strains lately. She chalked them up to the pressure of their jobs, and had recently considered taking a few days’ leave, suggesting to Jeff that he take time off, too, and maybe they’d get away together for an extended weekend. But this was no time to be thinking about leave. She called Helen Matthei, Colonel Bellis’s administrative assistant, and said she was ready to meet. Helen buzzed him, then came back on the line and told Margit to be there in a half hour. It was twelve-thirty. She was suddenly hungry. Would he order in some lunch for them? She hoped so, because she didn’t have time. They may say that no two offices are more than seven minutes apart in the Pentagon, but you couldn’t prove it by her. Going downstairs to the nearest snack bar would take at least fifteen minutes. More if she took a wrong turn.

“I have two hours before I have to meet with SecDef,” Bellis said to Margit. “That means we have two hours to choreograph the press conference.” Margit wasn’t sure she liked his choice of words.

Bellis continued. “Aside from making sure that the military justice system is followed to the letter, we have two other things to accomplish. First, the public must be assured that Captain Cobol will be prosecuted to the fullest extent. He’s not only been accused of murder, the victim was a well-known expert in the field of military weapons research. It also happened on military property.” His laugh was sardonic. “The Pentagon, peacekeeping HQ, no less. Second, the public has to be assured that the accused receives the fullest and fairest defense available.” He sighed. “In other words, Major, this had better be a textbook trial on both sides.”

Margit had formulated a list of questions. Before asking them, however, she said, “In my defense, Colonel, is there any chance of getting something to eat?”

“I’ve always admired pragmatic lawyers. I’ll have Helen order something up. What’s your pleasure?”

“Chicken salad on whole wheat,” she said. “And coffee.”

They got back to the topic at hand. “Does Captain Cobol know I’ve been assigned to his defense?” Margit asked.

“Yes.”

“Does he accept me as his counsel?”

“Evidently.”

“Considering the seriousness of the charge, I would think he might invoke his right to civilian counsel.”

“As far as I know, he hasn’t asked for that. Sure, he’s entitled. We’ll make sure he understands that it’s one of his rights. How would you feel about being co-counsel?”

“Fine with me,” Margit said. She’d been hoping it would end up that way. She’d feel considerably more comfortable defending an accused murderer with a savvy civilian criminal attorney at her side.

She asked where Cobol was being detained.

“McNair.”

The army base, Fort Lesley J. McNair, sat on a strip of land south of the U.S. Capitol in the District of Columbia, just across the Anacostia River from the Anacostia Naval
Station and Bolling Air Force Base. Its history as a detention center was long and colorful. The oldest active military post in America, it was where, on July 7, 1865, four men were hanged for their conspiracy in the assassination of President Lincoln, and where the body of John Wilkes Booth was secretly buried until removed two years later. These days, its stately grounds housed the National War College, the armed forces’ most prestigious training center for senior military officers.

“Will I have a chance to talk to Captain Cobol before tomorrow’s press conference?” Margit asked.

“That was part of the plan when the announcement was to be made—on Thursday. I don’t want to rush you out there. If you’re asked whether you’ve conferred with the accused, say that you will be doing that within the next forty-eight hours.”

Margit said, “I’ll have to take a close look at what evidence against Cobol Command has accumulated. By the way, who is Command in this case?” She was referring to the concept under the Uniform Code of Military Justice in which the commander in whose jurisdiction a crime has been committed assumes ultimate responsibility for the prosecution and defense of an accused.

Bellis said, “The chairman himself.”

“If the chairman of the Joint Chiefs is the commander under which this court-martial takes place, that creates a conflict of interest for me.” She waited for a response. When Bellis said nothing, she added, “Doesn’t it?”

“How so?”

“Well, the UCMJ spells it out pretty clearly that defense counsel is not to be drawn from the command in which the crime took place.”

“Right, Major, but you aren’t assigned to the Joint Chiefs. You’re assigned to SecDef.”

“I suppose you’re technically correct, Colonel, but it does seem to be splitting hairs.”

He shook his head. “No, I’ve run this past the Chiefs’
staff judge advocate. He’s overseeing this for the chairman and sees no conflict.”

“I just thought I’d raise it,” Margit said.

“That’s why we’re sitting here. Raise anything and everything you want. Let’s just make sure we’re not cutting each other’s legs off at the conference.”

Margit asked, “To what extent am I to participate in tomorrow’s conference?”

“As little as possible. I’ve prepared a statement that includes you in it, your military background, legal training, qualifications to undertake the defense of Cobol, all the things the assembled will want to hear.”

She hesitated before saying, “Including the fact that I am a relatively new military attorney and have never tried a murder case before?”

“I don’t intend to make a point of that. No need to. You have defended in military courts. Period. If the question comes up, answer it truthfully, but keep in mind that while you’re the attorney-of-record, you’ll have the support of my entire staff. If you need more than that, we’ll arrange for you to go out and get it.”

They spent the next hour forecasting and examining every detail that might arise at the conference. Bellis handed Margit a folder containing Cobol’s military records. “Familiarize yourself with what’s in there before tomorrow,” he said.

That meant some heavy reading that night. She’d already packed into her briefcase as much legal background as she could find to help prepare a credible defense for an accused murderer in the military system of justice. What she really wanted to do was to bolt from Bellis’s office, from the building itself, and run to Mackensie Smith, sit at his feet, and soak in his wisdom as she’d done so many times as a student. But she knew she couldn’t do that. He’d been generous with his time on Saturday, listening mostly, asking questions, probing her feelings, assuring her that she had what it took to face the challenge of defending an accused murderer. When she was leaving, he encouraged her to talk things out
with him at any time. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—take advantage.

It was quarter to three. Fifteen more minutes with Bellis, then back to her office. She should go directly to her quarters and read, but decided to call Foxboro just to see if she could resurrect their dinner plans. She needed the break, felt she would be better equipped to digest what she was reading after a few hours’ respite.

“Jeff, Margit.”

“Congratulations,” he said.

“For what?”

“I just heard on the radio that you’re defending Cobol.”

“You heard it on the
radio
? We’re having the press conference tomorrow at ten.”

“An academic exercise, I suppose. Jesus, how did you get roped into that?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question. Feel like that drink and dinner? Maybe you could help me come up with an answer.”

“You should have turned it down.”

“I tried. No luck.”

“Margit, you don’t have much of a legal background.”

She stiffened at the comment; it seemed unnecessarily broad. He sensed it, adding, “I mean, you have a good background, but have you ever defended anybody charged with a crime of this magnitude?”