A Young Lawyer's story

by John Ellsworth

  They rode the elevator back up to the parking level, where they climbed back into her car. They surfaced and exited the building.

  "All right," Thaddeus said as they swung back into traffic, "this all seems very random. Am I allowed to know what we're doing here?"

  "You weren't listening for the past hour? You're planting a camera."

  "Yeah, but why?"

  She touched the side of her head. "Need to know, Mr. Murfee. Need to know."

  "You're going to have to do better than that. What do you expect to find out with this camera?"

  "We need to attach faces to voices. The bugs inside his office only give us voice. We need video as well. We're going to bust his ass and we need video for the jury. Does that do it for you?"

  He turned toward his window. A minute later, he turned back.

  "Why aren't you using FBI agents to plant the camera? Why use me?"

  "FBI agents have a security protocol to follow just like everyone else when coming and going from governmental buildings. Their access and egress is logged. We can't risk that, not where the agents didn't actually have a purpose for coming into his offices. He could track them down."

  "So it's my problem."

  "Who else would you suggest we use, Mr. Murfee? You're right outside his door."

  "Speaking of, there's a maintenance man, name of Frank, who's warned me about going into Broyles' office when Broyles isn't there."

  "Frank? We'll move him out. Not to worry."

  Thaddeus stared ahead. "Good enough."

  They rode in silence for another three miles. At last she spoke.

  "Tomorrow's payday. Where's all the money going to go?"

  "Rent. A decent meal out. I've got a friend to take to dinner."

  "Would that be Nikki?"

  "You know about Nikki? Are you people watching every step I take?"

  "Yes we are. Don't get too close to her. It's only going to come out bad."

  "Why? She's not involved in any of this."

  "No, but you are. And when she finds out your role in her father's imprisonment she's going to hate you with every cell in her body. We know her and we know how she'll respond."

  "That isn't right. You never said anything about interfering in my personal life."

  "Mr. Murfee, when you agreed to spy, you didn't agree to just a part of your life being involved. You agreed to a job that might not be to your liking all the time. No job ever is. I'm just asking you to put the brakes on where Broyles' daughter is concerned."

  The young lawyer had no response. This was all new. A real unexpected twist was that he wasn't sure anymore where he stood legally. Was what he was doing even legal? Spying on a U.S. Attorney? He'd started having serious doubts since the sluice gate. Maybe it was time to hire a lawyer of his own. He would have the money to do that tomorrow. He would make some calls today. It was time to stand up for himself. He had to admit he was very young and inexperienced. But he wasn't stupid.

  No one had ever said that about him.

  12

  Friday rolled around--payday at long last. So Thaddeus visited a lawyer.

  John Henry Fitzhugh was a garrulous, fifty-something lawyer who kept offices in the Watergate Office Building on the ground floor--the most expensive real estate in all of Washington. Fitzhugh was lean and lanky, a varsity volleyball player at Cornell, and a member of the Order of the Coif, which was an honorary fraternity at NYU law. His face was finely chiseled with a long, hawkish nose, and a mouth that was always moving, always speaking. Thaddeus liked him immediately upon entering into his office, shaking the man's hand, and taking a seat as instructed.

  "Call me Fitz," he told Thaddeus. "Want a beer? Coffee?"

  "I'm good, thanks."

  Fitzhugh ran a hand back over his close-cropped graying hair. He pushed the steel rim glasses up on his nose and folded his hands on his desk.

  "All right, then. Tell me what brings you here, Mr. Murfee."

  "Thaddeus."

  "All right, Thaddeus. What troubles are you bringing to me?"

  "I'm being used."

  "Aren't we all?" said Fitzhugh with a laugh that burst out like pigeons scattering. "Hell, everyone's using all of us. Why is your case different?"

  "The government gave me a job and didn't tell me up front that I was going to spy for them."

  "Oh, slow down! The U.S. Government got you involved in spying?"

  "That's what I'm saying."

  "Where do you work?"

  "U.S. Attorney's office."

  "Broyles? You work for Frank Broyles and he got you into spying?"

  "I work for him but I was hired by a woman named Melissa McGrant."

  "Go ahead and tell me all of it."

  Thaddeus went into every detail, start to finish, from the initial job interview to yesterday, when he had been taken to the FBI devices lab and taught how to install a video camera. While he went on and on, his new attorney listened attentively, lips pursed, taking it in. By the time he was finished, Fitzhugh had interrupted with questions a half-dozen times and Thaddeus had wound up telling him everything he could think of.

  "Let me see if I understand, Thaddeus. The government evidently believes that Frank Broyles is selling state secrets. Or at least some kind of secrets. Do you know why they believe this? Has anyone ever told you?"

  Thaddeus' expression changed. Searching back over his meetings with McGrant, he honestly couldn't think of any instance where she had told him why his government thought Frank Broyles was a traitor. It just hadn't come up in that context. And he hadn't told her about the Broyles reservoir meeting and didn't plan to. At least not yet. But he did tell Mr. Fitzhugh, who looked troubled.

  "That was a huge risk you took in going to the reservoir. You're not trained for anything like that."

  "I know. I had no business doing that."

  "They're just using you, Thaddeus. In the worst possible way, without a thought for your own safety."

  “I’m their dupe.”

  Fitzhugh ignored that. “So here's the first thing I want you to do. I want you to confront Ms. McGrant. Find out from her exactly what they have on Broyles. It seems to me you're entitled to know that."

  "She'll say I'm not. She keeps reminding me I'm 'need to know’.”

  "Then threaten to go to the papers. Threaten to turn them all over if they don't let you in on what's going on. As your lawyer, I don't want you participating in something like this, one. But two, if you have been tricked into it, I want to know why they’re doing it at all. Just saying he's up to no good isn't enough. We need facts to support your actions. Real facts, not just some 'need to know' kind of bullshit. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  “The third thing is, if this stuff is on the up-and-up, you could be at risk. At serious risk of who knows what? Spies have been known to get whacked. I'm not saying that's what you're up against here, but it has been known to happen. So I'm going to suggest you demand FBI protection while you're working for her. There's no reason you shouldn't have it."

  "I don't like the idea of being followed by the FBI but I like even less the idea that I'm going to be followed by the Chinese or whoever. That scares the hell out of me."

  "As it should."

  "What else?"

  "Hazardous duty pay. They're not paying you enough. I want you to demand a raise. What they’re paying, for someone doing what you're doing, is about half of what you should be getting. Let's have you demand three-hundred and see what happens. Fair enough?"

  "I'll do it. So let me see if I have this straight. First thing, find out what they know about Broyles. Second thing, FBI protection. Third thing, more money. Speaking of which, how much will I be paying you?"

  Fitzhugh sat back in his chair and leveled his gaze at Thaddeus. "Fact is, Thaddeus," he began slowly, "you can't afford to pay me anything. At least not yet. I'll keep my hours and we can settle up when you're earning what you should be earning. Until then, let's not worry about it. I'll invoice you every
month so you know where we are, but I won't expect payment until we both agree it's time. Does this work for you?"

  Waves of relief washed over him. He knew coming in that he couldn't afford a lawyer who had an office on the ground floor of the Watergate. He knew he needed this, an older man to bounce ideas off. He'd never had it before and he felt good about John Henry Fitzhugh. Of course, the price would be sky high, but his advisor at Georgetown Law had told him to see Fitzhugh. He had steered Thaddeus the right way, evidently, because the man was tough and he was willing to work with him on fees. Thaddeus' spirit lifted. For the first time in weeks he felt a little hope.

  "One last thing," Thaddeus said. "What do I do about the camera? McGrant expects me to install it on Broyles' picture of the president. It's hanging right inside his office, right beside his desk. I've already scoped it out and I know I could do it. I'd probably be in and out in less than five minutes. Do I go ahead with it?"

  Fitzhugh frowned. "Why did they say they needed a camera on him?"

  Thaddeus spread his hands. "They want to catch him committing a crime. Selling secrets or something. They need faces, not just voices, because they’re going to take it to a jury."

  "Take it to a jury? Sounds like they're getting ready to indict him. Take it in front of the grand jury. I can't be certain from what you're saying. This is a tough one, Thaddeus, and I'm not positive I know the answer. I mean, if you get caught at it, and if the FBI and McGrant should disavow knowledge of what you were up to, you would be in very serious trouble. You could be facing federal charges that would wind you up in prison for twenty years."

  "I won't do it, then."

  "Hold on. Hold on. Let's think it through. First, you have McGrant who told you this was all approved. The DOJ is implicated, too. What I'm going to suggest is that we get McGrant on record. Maybe a video cam or at least audio of her telling you to do this thing. You need to have that in your pocket in case this all blows up. Knowing these folks like I do, and knowing how political it all is, you would be the first casualty if they got a tit in a wringer. They'd hang you out to dry in a second. So let's get her recorded."

  "How do I do that?"

  "Let's talk about it."

  Twenty minutes later, they had their plan of protection. Thaddeus wasn't sure it would work, and he wasn't sure it was enough, but he was beginning to trust John Henry Fitzhugh literally with his life. He had to: he didn't have anywhere else to turn.

  When he left, he knew what he needed.

  He rode his scooter to a nearby sandwich shop and went inside. He ordered a turkey on rye, sea salt chips and a diet Coke. Food in hand, he grabbed a small table off by himself. Then he took out his phone and began browsing online. Within minutes he found the ad he had known would be out there:

  PROFESSIONAL STEALTH HIDDEN CAMERA EXECUTIVE PEN - PLUG & PLAY into any PC/Mac. Simply record your footage, plug the spy pen into your computer with the included USB cable, and review your footage. That's all it takes! User friendly and a complete no-brainer to use. Spy This, 9-9 today. Metro D.C.

  That's me, he thought. A complete no-brainer for ever getting myself into this.

  He fired up his Vespa and rode across town to the store named Spy This. He plunked down $59.95 plus tax and left with a camera pen capable of recording ninety minutes of video with audio. Which was all good. But there it stopped. It stopped because that left him with five dollars and change. Every last cent he had in the world.

  But on the bright side, it was Friday. He would be paid that afternoon and he was so ready.

  So ready.

  13

  $3209.22 the paycheck said. And it was drawn on the U.S. Treasury, so he knew it was good.

  After work, Thaddeus climbed on his scooter and visited the Bank of America on Pennsylvania Avenue. The inside of a bank had never looked so good to him before. Thaddeus queued up and ten minutes later was standing at the teller window. A deposit slip was ready. He received $500 cash back. That was meant to last him two weeks for personal use, according to his new budget. He carefully folded the five bills and put them inside his left front trouser pocket. He patted the pocket, felt the outline of the bills, and folded his receipt and put that inside his shirt pocket. All is well with Thaddeus Murfee's financial picture, he thought as he walked outside to his Vespa. Now to go meet McGrant after hours.

  The Petri Dish bar and grill was located just two blocks north of where Thaddeus parked his scooter every day, so he used the employees' parking lot at the U.S. Attorney's building and walked on up. In his breast pocket was the brand new spy pen, switched on, its blue light glowing on the user's side. The light wouldn't be seen from the subject's side. McGrant had agreed to meet him at six sharp.

  He arrived at the bar and grill, went inside and found a booth, and filled a basket with peanuts. Munching happily, he rehearsed how he would try to get an admission out of McGrant that she had hired him to spy.

  At 6:10 she still hadn't arrived and Thaddeus was just a little concerned. She wanted the FBI camera hidden in Broyles' office by Monday closing, so he was left with little time to get her on video before he went along with her plan. For his part, Thaddeus still wasn't entirely sure why the FBI couldn't hide its own damn camera, but apparently that was not open to discussion. The job was his and she meant for him to do it without further delay.

  At 6:15 she came straggling in lugging a stuffed briefcase, wind-blow hair across her face in wisps, and blowing a stream of air out of her mouth to move the hair away from her eyes. She spied Thaddeus' raised hand and promptly came over to the booth he had commandeered.

  "Thaddeus," she said, and held out her hand.

  They shook hands. The place was rocking out its newly installed sound system and the music was deafening. He knew they would have to shout but was concerned it would all be lost on his spy pen. The instructions, however, said the digital works of the pen included a background noise filter so he was hopeful it was industrial strength enough to record her.

  The cocktail waitress took their orders. Both were sticking with non-alcoholic, her with Perrier and him with Diet Coke. Never one to beat around the bush, McGrant opened first.

  "So, Thaddeus, why is it that you just had to see me today?" She folded her hands on the table and sat motionless, fully at ease, waiting.

  "We got paid today."

  "I'll bet that's a relief."

  "It is--was. But it also raised a bit of an alarm for me."

  "Which is?"

  "I need a raise. I need more take-home pay if I'm ever going to whittle down my student loans."

  "How much are they after you for?"

  "Two-fifty and change."

  "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in law school loans? Holy shit!"

  "Not all is law school. About fifty is undergrad."

  "So how much are your payments going to be now that you've graduated?"

  "About four grand a month," he lied. It was all prepared, what he was telling her. He had pushed the numbers around on his calculator and come up with a pretty decent tale of woe.

  "Four grand? And how much do you take home?"

  "About thirty-two-hundred every other Friday. Which means one full check plus part of the second will be going to pay student loans. I can't live on what's left."

  "You can, Thaddeus, you just don't want to." She abruptly raised a hand when he started to object. "Let me finish, please. I was going to say I don't blame you. You're working way too many hours for what you're actually going to be seeing as disposable income. I get it."

  "I'm glad you do. I was hoping to stay on with the U.S. Attorney but I was beginning to worry I might have to resign and go with a firm that pays more."

  "Third in your class, that shouldn't be that hard to do. But let's do this. Let me tentatively say we'll bump you up to two hundred a year. I know I can get that done; it's in our budget. Does that work?"

  Thaddeus stole a look down at the blue light on the back of the spy pen. He prayed it was getti
ng all this.

  "That works. That’s very generous and will make all the difference in how I can afford to live. This city is so damn expensive I didn't know what else to do but come to you. I can't even get an apartment from what I have left even an hour out of town. So it's huge. Besides, I'll bet you can't hire many spies for what you're paying me. Am I right?"

  Just then the drink order arrived. Thaddeus laid a hundred-dollar bill on the table.

  "Right back with change," said the young cocktail waitress.

  McGrant seemed not to have heard his question, so he plunged ahead.

  "I was saying, I'll bet it's hard to get someone to spy--"

  "I heard that, Thaddeus. Heard that. I don't know what you want me to say. What's done is done. Let's change the subject."

  Damn, he thought. She must be onto me. They lapsed into small talk, then, going over the presidential race that was dragging into its second year and making the entire country crazy with the campaign commercials and the vile things the candidates were claiming about each other. Yes, they were tired of that. Everyone was. Then Thaddeus tried again.

  "Incidentally, I scoped out Broyles' office where you want me to hide the camera. I think I can do it in five minutes or less."

  "Five minutes? Great! I'm sure you're pleased with yourself."

  "You are still wanting me to go ahead with it, aren't you?"

  "Thaddeus, are you recording me?"

  "Not at all! I just want to make sure I know what I'm doing!"

  "Good. Let's change the subject, shall we? In fact, we've got your take-home pay dilemma resolved so I think I'll just be on my way."

  She stood to leave.

  "Thanks for the drink. We'll do it again sometime, Thaddeus."

  "You're welcome. Thanks for coming, Ms. McGrant."

  "So long."

  He sat there for ten long minutes, just staring. She had sniffed him out. She had uncovered his plot and blown him away.

  Then he thought of Nikki. It would be good to hang with someone his own age, someone who was on his team--as far as he knew. So he called her up.