Decency

by Rex Fuller

  “Any other points of view?”

  Without waiting for any, Abe continued.

  “It seems we should probably take a vote. Just to let you know, I will be voting for the upgrades. I can tell you from my practice in the telecom arena, we are very susceptible to all kinds of invasions. For instance, I am informed that anyone with about twenty minutes of instruction can get the necessary devices over the internet and be in the eavesdropping business tomorrow, not to mention hacking computers which high school kids do for fun. In other words, anyone interested in our client’s confidential information can get it without much trouble.”

  After a pause Abe called for the vote.

  Nine of the fourteen partners voted in favor.

  Somewhat unnecessarily, Abe announced the tally as he always did. He believed they remembered that even if they remembered nothing of the discussion.

  “Kelly, you’re free to get started with a total budget for the effort of ninety thousand. I know you won’t spend anything you don’t have to.”

  After the meeting adjourned, Abe nodded to Kelly, “It was closer than I thought it would be.”

  “I actually hope we are practically wasting the money. It would be nice if we did not need to do this at all.”

  “In a perfect world…”

  Thompson/Richardson sat at the same table in the Ramada Inn restaurant. But he was not alone. A small woman nearly his age was with him. Her black hair had barely begun to streak with gray. Her stylish eyeglasses sat on a very straight nose. Her face was open and her skin was bright. Whether contrived or natural, she gave the appearance of being happy to be there.

  “Hello, Mr. Richardson, thank you for meeting me.”

  “Ms. Hawkins, this is my wife, Theresa. She does not work for the agency. I brought her so she can get an idea what might be involved here.”

  “How nice to meet you, Mrs. Richardson. I’m glad you came.”

  Her handshake was soft, her skin cool.

  “Thank you, Ms. Hawkins. I’m not sure I need to be here.”

  Her reedy voice betrayed a tone of uncertainty.

  “I assure you it can only benefit both you and your husband.”

  She was not convinced.

  “Mrs. Richardson, I’ve agreed to act as your husband’s lawyer. I have a strong obligation to protect his interests.”

  Theresa nearly whispered, “All right.”

  “Now, Duncan, I’ve found out some important information since we last met. I can’t reveal what it is. However, it may make it possible for us to take our other case to court. Whether we can depends in part on whether you are willing to testify.”

  “Ms. Hawkins, I’ve told you I can’t testify, they will retaliate. That hasn’t changed.”

  “I remember. It may be possible to have you testify without revealing who you are. Would that be acceptable to you?”

  “How would you accomplish that?”

  “In the initial stages we would use a John Doe affidavit. I’m guessing that we may have to use your live testimony at the hearing on a government motion to dismiss. I think we may be able to have the judge listen to you without identifying you to the government by giving your testimony in camera which means in chambers or with the judge alone. I have to tell you it is a long shot but not unheard of.”

  The Richardsons glanced at each other.

  “In other words, the judge would be able to reveal my husband’s identity?”

  “The power to do it. There would be no known legal way to compel him to.”

  “Ms. Hawkins, my husband and I have a very young child. We have to be sure our family is not going to be put at risk. Can you give me that assurance?”

  “There are no absolute assurances in anything. But please, both of you, consider this. Even assuming the agency found out who you are, it would be extremely difficult for them to act against you. It would just be too obvious they were retaliating and could expose them to all sorts of repercussions. If you make a stand you might keep anyone else from dying.”

  The Richardsons looked at each other a long moment. Theresa Richardson gently bowed her head.

  “Ms. Hawkins, with your assurances, I’ll do my best to tell what I know.”

  “Thank you, both of you. You may have just made history.”

  Theresa Richardson blushed slightly, proud of her husband’s courage, in spite of herself.

  “Duncan, I need to ask you about three NSA people, Carl Foley, James Cochran and Christian Mason. You’ve mentioned Foley. Do the other names mean anything to you?”

  Richardson visibly bristled.

  “Cochran is the psychologist who evaluated me. Mason seems familiar but I can’t place it with a face. But, yeah I know Cochran. The son of a bitch is a patsy for management. His nickname can’t be used in polite company. It’s derived from his last name.”

  Kelly paused and leaned forward for emphasis.

  “Duncan, it’s good that you have first hand experience with Cochran. Very good. But I need to caution you. If you appear to be biased against him, the way you just did, you’ll damage your ability to do any good in this case or in your own. Be careful, okay?”

  “How do you expect me to do that? The man tried to ruin me and damn near did.”

  “The trick is to be very careful to state facts, not your opinion.”

  “Okay, the fact is he’s a son of a bitch.”

  Kelly smiled. “I understand. But we will need to describe the reasons why and let the judge and jury decide it for themselves. Okay?”

  “Sure. Basically in my interviews, his point of view was” - Richardson broke into a perfect nasal Boston accent – “‘Mistah Richudsun, why are you aggressive t’wodd women?’”

  Kelly was impressed, shocked almost. The voice was utterly different from how he normally sounded. “Can you do voices, a lot of them, I mean, mimicry?”

  “Any linguist has to have a good ear and tongue. But doing Cochran is easy because I heard him a lot. And I hate him. Anyway, he just assumed I was guilty and went looking for a way to explain why. I can’t really put it any other way. His mind was made up. Then he made up a justification too.”

  “Do you have any notes or other documents about your case that describe the interviews with Cochran?”

  “I have copies of his reports but that’s about it.”

  “Those will be helpful if you could fax copies to me.”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s it for now. It was so good to meet you, Mrs. Richardson. Again, I’ll do my best to take care of your husband.”

  The group stood to leave.

  “Duncan, for what it’s worth, if I was in your shoes I would think the guy was a son of a bitch, too.”

  Richardson chuckled.

  …somehow we are going to have to get in touch with Christian Mason, if necessary going one by one through the yellow pages…

  In the office the next day, Kelly intercomed Bonnie.

  “Any luck with the diskettes?”

  “Sort of. The code is easy enough to recognize, it’s C++. The problem is it doesn’t respond to any common operating system. They tried it on DOS and Apple systems, of course, and UNIX, and Linux, and several I had never heard of. Nothing could read it. What they said was, ‘Bring us the operating system or tell us where we can find it and then we can run the programs.’”

  “Can they just translate the lines of code and read it to us in English?”

  “To some extent. I asked them to do that and they said it would take two or three programmers several weeks at $65.00 an hour per programmer. That’s going to run twenty five or thirty thousand and the material may be nothing more than a college course programming exercise…”

  “Bonnie, it’s too much time anyway. The statute runs out in, what, three days?”

  “That’s kind of what I thought.”

  “Okay. How close are you to finishing the complaint?”

  “I e-mailed it to you…and the other papers.”

 
“Oh, sorry. Caught me again. I’ll read them tonight. Assume they’re good to go. So, be ready to file them electronically tomorrow, take the necessary hard copies to the court, get the summonses, and when the clerk stamps them, go directly to the process server.”

  “Got it. I’m really looking forward to this.”

  …Tom, this is it…we have to jump now…tell me it’s not just a leap of faith…

  PART III

  THE CASE

  15

  The following morning after the complaint was filed, James Cochran emerged from his back door in Columbia, Maryland, intending to walk to his car in the garage and drive to work as usual. As soon as the door shut behind him, a figure stepped around the corner of the house and greeted him in a far too cheerful voice.

  “Good morning, Dr. Cochran!”

  Startled, Cochran jerked his head in the direction of the visitor.

  “What are you doing here…this is private property…?”

  With a nauseatingly bright and cheerful voice the man affected a professional demeanor.

  “I beg your pardon, Dr. Cochran, I certainly did not mean to startle you.”

  “Well, you did.”

  That was all he wanted to hear. However, from nasty experience he stayed with cheerfulness and handed a thick envelope to the psychologist.

  “These papers are for you, Dr. Cochran.”

  Inexperienced with being served, Cochran did not ignore the envelope and involuntarily took it.

  “Good day, sir.”

  The server wheeled toward the curb and walked away, knowing he could make an accurate affidavit of having delivered the complaint, summons, motion for leave to file motions in camera, subpoena for all recordings and documents in personal possession, and a set of thirty interrogatories.

  Cochran opened the envelope. He saw the top document was a summons, then glanced through the Complaint. He did not bother reading the rest. He rolled his eyes and tossed the envelope onto the passenger side car seat.

  Arriving at the NSA headquarters building, Cochran did not go to his own office as usual. Instead, he presented himself to the receptionist in the General Counsel’s office.

  “I’m a psychologist here. I’ve been sued and I want to give the papers to your office.”

  With that, he deposited the envelope on the reception desk, turned away, and departed for his own office.

  When he arrived a phone message was waiting for him from Angela Bonafacio, Assistant General Counsel, suggesting he may wish to request representation by the United States. The word “request” was underlined.

  Cochran picked up the phone and dialed the extension.

  “This is Angela Bonafacio.”

  “Miss Bonafacio, this is Doctor Cochran.” His voice bore the tone of a sneer. “You may not be very experienced. Of course I want to request representation. What do you think I left the papers at your office for?”

  Angela Bonafacio grew up in Queens. Confronting and belittling ignorance was second nature to her. She also knew how to hold it in reserve for leverage. She responded in her best friendly counselor’s voice.

  “You were right to call back so quickly, Dr. Cochran, because time is somewhat short. The best way to proceed at this point is to set up a formal interview with you. Two things will occur there. First, you will be advised of your Kalkines rights, which I’m sure you’re aware are substantially equivalent to Miranda rights, but advising that you could suffer adverse employment actions if you exercise your rights. Second, you will be advised of your right to request legal representation by the United States. The facts you provide to support your request will be important in the Attorney General’s decision whether to grant the request but may also be used in any investigation of your conduct. So, you may wish to bring counsel of your choosing and at your own expense to the interview.”

  Cochran was only too aware the words “rights,” “investigation,” and “counsel” were intended to get his attention. They succeeded.

  “Ye-ss, Ms. Bonafacio, I may very well want to do that. When should we have this interview?”

  “I suggest tomorrow morning at 9:00. By then, I will have had the chance to coordinate with the U.S. Attorney’s office, the IG, and other offices here. For the foreseeable future, I will be the point of contact for this case. If you or your own counsel, if you obtain one, have questions about it, please contact me.”

  “All right…uh…thanks, I guess.”

  “You’re quite welcome. I’ll see you in the morning, Dr. Cochran.”

  “Kelly, Judge Reichardt’s chambers. On the line.”

  “That’s surprising. Okay, thanks, Jannie.”

  “This is Kelly Hawkins.”

  “Ms. Hawkins, this is Carly Bennett, Judge Reichardt’s secretary. I’m calling in regard to your case, Pierce versus Cochran.”

  “This soon? Nothing’s been filed by the opposition yet, has there?”

  “I don’t know that, Ms. Hawkins. Judge Reichardt has asked me to arrange a conference for tomorrow or as soon as all counsel are available. Normally, he would do it by phone but he’s asked me schedule it for chambers. Can you come tomorrow, either at 8:00 a.m. before he goes into trial or at 4:00 in the afternoon?”

  “Either time is fine tomorrow. You say ‘normally.’ Does the judge always have a conference right after the complaint is filed?”

  “Lately, he has been. He likes to get things scheduled as soon as possible. I understand that many of the judges are starting to do that.”

  “All right.”

  “Ms. Hawkins, I’ll put you on for 8:00 a.m.. I’ll confirm with your secretary.”

  “That’s fine, Ms. Bennett. Thanks.”

  Kelly punched the intercom, “Bonnie, you there?”

  “Yes, Ms. Hawkins.”

  “Come on up. We have a scheduling conference with Judge Reichardt tomorrow morning.”

  “Wow. That’s fast. Be right there.”

  Waiting for Bonnie, Kelly scanned the biography of Paul Karl Reichardt, Chief Judge, United States District Court for the District of Maryland, retired.

  “…b. May 15, 1937, Jena, Germany. Immigrated United States, 1941, at Baltimore, Maryland. Citizen 1955. Graduated cum laude Johns Hopkins University, 1958. Graduated magna cum laude Harvard University Law School, 1961. Clerk, Justice William O. Douglas, United States Supreme Court, 1962. Assistant Solicitor General, 1962-1964. Deputy General Counsel, AFL-CIO, 1965, General Counsel, 1966-1967. Member, Piper & Marbury, 1968-1976. United States Attorney, District of Maryland, 1976-1979. United States District Judge, District of Maryland, 1980-1996. Chief Judge, United States District Court, District of Maryland, 1997-2007. Retired status, 2007 to present.”

  With a quick knock, Bonnie came in.

  “Bonnie, let me fill you in on what I think. First, although I only appeared before Reichardt once some years ago, and I doubt he remembers, he has built quite a reputation. Carter appointed him because the unions would not support him for a Senate candidacy. He was not perceived as an unquestioning union supporter - a must for Maryland Democrats. He’s an old style liberal, believes in the worker’s rights against both employer and union. But I would not expect that to help us much.

  “Second. He’s been around long enough to maybe have had an NSA case before. We want to check that out. Lastly, this is a scheduling conference only. But I’m still going to use it to get any edges we can, even though Reichardt won’t let counsel get ahead of him. Just don’t get your hopes up. If you have any suggestions for what to try for just jot them down before the day is out. Don’t make it formal or elaborate.”

  “I’ll be sure to have them to you before the day is over so you can take them directly to chambers with you in the morning - and on legal paper, not e-mail.”

  “Great, you’ve got me pegged.”

  Carly Bennett spoke into her intercom phone. “Judge Reichardt, counsel for all parties are ready.” She listened, then put down the phone. “The judge is ready. Please go on in.”
She closed the door behind the group as they went in.

  Inside the judge’s chambers was like entering the library of an English country estate. Thick grey carpet cushioned the floor, the furniture was heavy and upholstered in burgundy leather. Judge Reichardt wore a finely crafted worsted suit, crimson tie, and a highly starched blue shirt. He sat bolt upright in a huge matching leather armchair behind a monstrous desk. His face seemed all Prussian cheekbones and chin.

  As soon as the door clicked behind them, Judge Reichardt did not hesitate.

  “We will go on the record.”

  A court reporter’s hands promptly began levering five hushed keys on the stenographic machine.

  “Counsel will state their representation for the record.”

  Kelly quickly said, “May it please the Court. Good morning, your Honor, I am Kelly Hawkins of Kramer Hawkins in Washington, D.C., for the plaintiff.”

  “Good morning, Ms. Hawkins, it is nice to see you again. Counsel for defendants?”

  “If it please the Court, good morning, Judge Reichardt, I am Katherine Holdredge, United States Attorney for the District of Maryland for the defendant United States of America. Accompanying me is Ms. Angela Bonafacio, Assistant General Counsel, National Security Agency. I should state for the record that defendant James Cochran has requested the United States to provide legal counsel to represent him. The United States Attorney General has not yet approved that request. I understand that Ms. Bonafacio informed Mr. Cochran of this hearing and his right to be represented. Mr. Cochran did not indicate to Ms. Bonafacio whether he would attend or be represented by private counsel.”

  “Good morning Mrs. Holdredge. You are always welcome here. Ms. Bonafacio, you are certainly welcome as well.”

  “Thank you, your Honor.”

  Judge Reichardt clearly appreciated the close observance of the ancient forms of etiquette.

  “Mrs. Holdredge, may I assume that you requested permission of the Attorney General to provide representation of Mr. Cochran for purposes of this hearing.”