The first-class petty officer deep in the bowels of RSOC stared at the signals in front of him. He was missing something. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew he was missing something. He replayed the digitized signal for the thousandth time, listening for key indicators of the encryption system. Suddenly he sat forward at the console and hit the freeze button. He stared at the signal. “That’s it. Chief!”
The chief cryptologist walked over behind him. “What you got?”
“Look at this,” the petty officer said, pointing to a square ridge in the front of the signal. “Remember that?”
“No. What is it?”
“It’s that new Motorola encryption from the RP-5000. The random generator is based on an old but almost impossible logarithm—”
“Can you break it?”
“I think so.”
“Make it happen. Give us a clean tape.”
The pounding on the door woke Dillon from a deep sleep. He had visions of the small Oriental woman evicting him from the apartment. His check must have bounced. Passing the balcony, he peered sleepily at the ocean and could barely see the horizon. The sun hadn’t yet made it to Hawaii from California. “Hold on, hold on,” he said as he staggered through the living room to the front door. Clad only in his sleeping shorts, he stopped when he got to the entrance to the apartment. “Who is it?”
There was no answer. Just a rapping on the door. “Who is it?” he asked again, impatient. Still no answer. A gentle tapping on the door. Dillon rolled his eyes and threw open the door. Molly smiled at him and handed him a cup of steaming coffee. “Morning. I brought you some coffee. Indonesian coffee.”
Dillon stood there, his mouth open.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“I can’t believe you’re here! What are you doing?” He stepped back out of the doorway and motioned for her to come in.
He put his coffee down on a nearby plant stand and held out his arms. She put her arms around him and they held each other, awkwardly at first, then with genuine relief. He rested his face on top of her head. He stroked her hair and kissed her. Then he moved away and reached down for the coffee.
“You sounded lonely the other night. I thought you could use some company.”
“Well, I guess so, but geez, I sure never expected to see you when I opened that door. I thought it was going to be my landlady telling me she was going to evict me.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know, I couldn’t imagine why she would.”
The sky was beginning to turn light blue from the pending sunrise. Through the sliding door, Molly could see the lights of awakening Honolulu and Waikiki and the luminous foam of the waves on the beach. “This is beautiful,” she said. “And you have a balcony!” She crossed quickly to the glass door and slid it open. She went out onto the balcony overlooking the beach and Diamond Head. “Jim, this is unbelievable. This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.”
“Have you ever been to Hawaii before?”
“Nope, never west of California.”
“It’s just so peaceful, I don’t know how to describe it. Even in a city as big as Honolulu with all the noise and activity, it still feels peaceful.”
He looked at her. “Didn’t you bring anything?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, like … clothes?”
“Sure.”
“Where are they?”
“In my suitcase.”
His eyes searched the inside of the apartment.
“Where is it?”
“Out in the hall,” she said, rolling her eyes. She opened the door and dragged in a huge suitcase on wheels.
“Good grief. Where did you get that? Is there another person in it?”
“I’ve had it for years. What do you think?”
“Well, if the plane had gone down, you probably could have put eighteen to twenty people on it. How long you plan on staying?”
“I’m not sure,” she said.
He noticed what she was wearing for the first time. She had that clean, Eastern, almost preppie look of expensive loose-fitting blue jeans with flat shoes, a white cotton shirt, and a black silk blazer.
“You look great,” he said.
“You don’t,” she said. “Why aren’t you up? It’s already six o’clock.”
“Touché. I’m getting slack.... So how long are you going to stay?” he asked again.
“I don’t know. As long as I can.”
Dillon tried to read her eyes. “What determines that?”
“You do.”
“How?” he asked.
“It’s the only thing that would limit me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I couldn’t do it anymore. The more I worked at the White House, the less comfortable I was. With everything going on, with myself. I just didn’t want to do it anymore. I submitted my resignation.”
Dillon’s eyes opened in shock. “You did what?”
“It felt like one of those times where you have to choose what direction you’re going. I wanted to give us a chance. I thought it might be the last one we had.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I thought I could help you. Carry your bags. Help with research. Whatever you want.”
“I’m speechless,” Dillon said, trying to understand the implications. “Now I know how everybody felt when I told them I was quitting my job.” He sat down in a chair. “This is unbelievable.” He smiled at her. “I sure hope you’ve got money in your wallet.”
“I’ve got some. You don’t have any money?” she asked, concerned.
“No. As soon as I got out here, I decided that the one thing I was going to do was rent an apartment on the beach. Well, here I am. Over my head. Plus, I still have my apartment in Georgetown. I have zero money. I told Billings I wouldn’t take any money, and I meant it. If I have to fast for the next two months, that’s what I’m going to do.”
“I can probably buy some franks with my money, so we can eat beans and franks together.”
“Where are you going to stay?”
“I don’t know.”
He thought of the office he had set up. “Hey, I have a spare bedroom here, if you want to sleep in the office.”
“Stay with you?” she asked, surprised.
“If you want to. I’m not saying you have to.”
She thought about it.
“I wouldn’t get any ideas,” he said to reassure her.
“Promise?”
He smiled. “Of course.”
“Maybe I could pay you some rent so you could buy two cans of beans.” Dillon stood up and crossed over to her.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I’m sick of Washington.”
“Me too,” he said. He leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. “Did you have any breakfast?”
“No,” she said.
“We can run over to McDonald’s.”
“Yuck,” she said in disgust. “I’ll go find a grocery store and make some omelets. I’m starved.”
Chapter Fourteen
This is Molly Vaughan, Admiral,” Dillon said nervously.
Billings tried to hide his surprise and confusion.
“Good morning, Ms. Vaughan,” he said politely.
“Good morning, Admiral. Please call me Molly.”
“To what do I owe the honor?” Billings said, meeting her eyes in a way that made her feel childish.
“I came here to help Jim,” she said.
“Help him do what?”
“Help him defend you. I’m another volunteer.”
“Why?”
“First I have to tell you I’m afraid I’ve mostly been on the other side.”
“The other side of what?”
“Of you.”
“Well,” Billings said. “Maybe we should sit down. This sounds like a good one.”
They sat around the
table in the sterile conference room. “So,” Billings said, “go ahead.”
Molly glanced at Dillon, then began. “Until yesterday I worked as Deputy White House Counsel. Counsel to the President.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever the President wanted me to do.”
“Did you have anything to do with this Letter of Reprisal business?”
“Yes, a little. I was involved in the lawsuit the President filed against the Speaker.”
Billings regarded Dillon with concern. “And you two get along?”
“Yes, sir. We dated a little in law school, and started thinking about it again about a month or so ago.”
“How do you know you can trust her?” Billings asked bluntly.
Molly flushed with embarrassment.
“Don’t go paranoid on me, Admiral,” Dillon said, squinting at Billings.
Billings’s face was like stone. “You think this is some kind of game? You think because you quit your job to chase away your guilty conscience everything will be fine? You think the government, in particular the President, isn’t above a little chicanery?”
“No, Admiral, I don’t think the government is above chicanery. I’ve seen plenty of it. But I know Molly. If you’re concerned that she’s working for the President, ask her yourself.”
Billings studied her. His scrutiny made her feel more awkward still. “When did you quit?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to do politics anymore, Admiral. And I don’t think you deserve what you’re getting.”
“You believe that?” the admiral said.
“Yes, sir, I do believe that.”
The admiral, still not sure, was willing to give her a chance. “Dillon, I got a letter from your boss.”
“What boss is that?”
“The Speaker of the House.” The admiral handed him the letter. “Why don’t you read it?”
Dillon opened the letter. “He faxed this to you?”
“Yup. Right to the brig fax. I’ll bet you didn’t think the brig had a fax. This is a modern brig. It has a fax machine and running water, not in the cells, mind you, but there is running water somewhere in the building, I’m told.”
Dillon read the letter out loud:
“Dear Admiral Billings,
I’m sure by now Mr. James Dillon, formerly of my office, has made contact with you. I wanted you to know that he did pass on the request that you made through your wife, Carolyn, that the U.S. government or I personally assist in your defense. While I’m very sympathetic to your cause, and do hope for and expect a good result, I regret that I’m unable to assist in that way at this time. I’m afraid it would be politically impossible for the government to provide you with a defense other than the one that you are already being provided through the JAG Corps. I’m sure his counsel will be adequate. To the extent that it is not, it is my understanding that you have retained the best criminal defense attorney in Honolulu, and now you will be enjoying the voluntary services of Mr. James Dillon. You are in good hands. I’m confident that the court will come to the right results and then your illustrious career will continue to the great heights for which it is undoubtedly destined. I am sorry that you have to defend yourself in a court-martial. If I had been President, of course, none of this would have happened. I regret the loss of life on both sides, especially the loss of American lives, which came as quite a surprise. I think in the end it will be determined to have been worth the effort. I also regret that I’m not able to speak with you in person and look forward to meeting you one day. Keep your chin up. Good luck.
Sincerely, John Stanbridge
Speaker of the House of Representatives”
Dillon was confused by Stanbridge’s letter and saw that Molly was equally perplexed.
“Isn’t that something?” the admiral said, grinning. “Speaker sends me a Letter of Reprisal. Go to war against a bunch of terrorists. The predictable thing happens, people are killed on both sides. Now he sends me a letter of regret—regretting that there were American casualties, which ‘surprised’ him.” The admiral seemed to be amused. “Don’t you get it?”
“No,” Dillon said, “I don’t. I’ve written a lot of his letters, but never one like this. I think he wrote this himself. Maybe he’s trying to give you some left-handed encouragement.”
“This is a CYA. He’s trying to make it sound like he had no idea that anybody could get hurt.... Well, Mr. Dillon, you were there. Remember when I told him over the telephone he should expect casualties?”
“Yes, sir, I sure do.”
The admiral sat back. “He’s afraid I’m going to lose, the President’s going to dodge the impeachment, and he’s going to have to answer before some kind of an inquiry. He’s covering his ass.” Billings’s face reddened. “He can kiss mine. I’ll win this thing without him.”
Harry D. Babb stood in front of Karen Easley in her office. She was the U.S. Attorney for Hawaii, appointed by President Manchester to be the head federal prosecutor in Honolulu. A prestigious job, but a political appointment nonetheless. When the other party won the presidency, all good U.S. Attorneys dutifully resigned to allow the new President to put his cronies in their place. Easley had been in office for a year, and had done nothing notable, but hadn’t embarrassed herself either. She had higher political ambitions, which she tried, unsuccessfully, to hide.
As for Babb, he wanted a conviction more than anything. The idea of a group of pirates murdering Americans in cold blood, then sinking their ship, was so abhorrent to him that he actually lost sleep over this pending trial, something he hadn’t done in years. But he was stuck. He didn’t have any evidence.
Easley was apologetic. “I’m sorry. I’ve read Marsh’s letter. I’m afraid it’s well taken. Captain Bonham couldn’t identify one of them.”
“What’s Marsh’s point?”
“Pretty simple. You’ve read his motion to exclude the confession taken on the USS Constitution because they weren’t Mirandized. He says if the confession goes, we have to dismiss the case because there isn’t any evidence they’re the ones who did it. We can’t prove that even one of these guys was involved in the attack on the Pacific Flyer.” She folded her arms and looked directly at him. It was the highest profile case either of them had ever had. And it was going down the toilet. “We’ve got the right people. We just can’t prove it. Nobody else was there and without an ID by Bonham there’s no case.”
“Are you actually thinking about dismissing? We’re going to look like idiots!”
“It’s not like we can put them on trial for resisting the Marines who started shooting them! The only way the attack was even justified is if they were the ones from the Pacific Flyer. You’ve told me yourself we can’t prove they were! We just found some boats and followed them. Then we charge onto the island like John Wayne. How do we know it was even them on that island? We don’t!” She sighed unhappily, but then her face brightened. “What about kidnapping?” she asked excitedly. “They’re the ones who took the missionary family and flew them to this island. Right?”
Babb was listening carefully.
“So they kidnapped an American family and killed the husband,” she continued.
“They’re not the ones who killed him, we did.”
“Well, they kidnapped them.”
“We don’t have jurisdiction for a kidnapping from one part of Indonesia to another part. Unless it’s a terrorist act it doesn’t qualify.” He hated having to educate her. She had been appointed to her position as the lead federal prosecutor without ever having tried a criminal case. The Assistant U.S. Attorneys in the office held that against her. It meant she was a politician. Or an amateur.
“What’s your plan? You’d better come up with something,” she said, transferring the monkey to his back.
“We don’t just need something,” Babb said, lowering his voice. “We’ve got plenty of defendants, and plenty of theories to try them on. B
ut what we don’t have is evidence.”
Easley moved over to her window and stared at the street below. She was trying to decide whether to tell Babb the latest wrinkle. She began slowly, still facing the window. “I got a call from Washington this morning. From the ‘highest levels.’ They said that with things being as they are—a nice vague term—dismissing wouldn’t be the end of the world.”
Babb was stunned. “They want us to dismiss?”
Easley swung around. “I never said that.”
Babb couldn’t hold his tongue. “The President’s dumber than I thought if he thinks the way to appease these people is to cave in to their pressure. That’s what got him into this fix in the first place!”
“I think he would say the Speaker got him into this situation. If it had been left to the President these defendants would have been prosecuted in the Indonesian system, which I’m sure would have been able to convict them regardless of how little evidence they had.”
“That’s comforting.”
“Anyway, I expect you to draft a response to this letter. And I’d like to see it before it gets sent.”
That was a first. “Why’s that?” he asked.
“To see if I can help.”
Sure. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll get it to you. Do you have any particular ‘instructions’?”
“No, just do your best,” she answered, dismissing him.
Big-shot prosecutor from Washington to show how it’s supposed to be done. And now the case is falling apart and the government wants to throw it. “I’d rather put a stick in my eye than dismiss these cases,” Babb said angrily.
“I’m sure you would,” she replied coolly. “Get me the letter as soon as possible.”
“Write it yourself.”
Dillon sat at the kitchen table with Molly and ate breakfast. After finishing his omelet, Dillon scooped hungrily from a bowl of cereal while Molly chewed her muffin. They both read the newspaper and watched C-SPAN at the same time. “Nice of Mr. Deadsurfer to get the complete cable package to include C-SPAN one and two,” Dillon said.
The Price Of Power Page 16
