by Randy Singer
The phone numbers for the lawyers were in the pleadings. On one of his off days, he picked up a burner phone in the city of Najran. Wandering the streets, he called the number for Wyatt Jackson. Just his luck, the man didn’t answer and his voice mail was full.
Before he lost his nerve, he dialed Paige Chambers.
VIRGINIA BEACH, VIRGINIA
She was groggy and confused—another phone call in the middle of the night. The display said Unknown Caller.
“Hello.”
“Is this Paige Chambers, the lawyer who represents Kristen Anderson?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“I can’t say. But I need you to know something that might be helpful to your lawsuit.”
The man sounded young and scared. He was definitely American, but Paige couldn’t place the accent. “I’m listening.”
“The CIA is telling its drone pilots to lie about how long some of their targets have been under surveillance,” the man said. “This whole thing is all screwed up. Civilians are dying and the CIA is covering something up.”
“How do you know this?”
“I can’t say.”
“Are you in the CIA?”
“I can’t say.”
“I’ve got to have some specifics. I can’t just go into court and tell them I got a phone call in the middle of the night.”
There was a long silence as the man on the other end of the line thought it through.
“There was a drone strike on March 11,” the man said, his voice shaky. “Three Houthi leaders were killed. That’s the one you need to focus on.”
Paige was wide awake now. She needed to keep this man on the phone. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because the CIA will lie to cover it up.”
“Cover what up?”
“That’s all I can . . .” The man’s voice trailed off.
“How do I get in touch with you?” Paige asked.
“I’ll call you back when I find out more information.”
“Wait. I need—”
The man hung up. Paige’s mind raced with questions. She quickly went to her computer and searched for information about the drone strike he had referenced. She found some articles about an alleged bombing on March 11 that had been credited to the Yemeni coalition government. It was probably a drone strike, and maybe that was the one this man was talking about. It fit a pattern—the Patriot had said that the assassination of Yazeed Abdul Hamid, which had also been credited to the Yemeni coalition government, was actually the work of U.S. Special Forces.
The drone strike had occurred two weeks prior to Cameron Holloman’s arrest. Maybe Wellington Farnsworth was onto something. Maybe Holloman was working for the CIA. Maybe he had provided the intel that led to the killing of these Houthi leaders. That would mean the Houthis were right all along in accusing Holloman of being a spy. It would also explain why the CIA was lying about how long certain targets had been under surveillance—they didn’t want them linked to Holloman.
Paige stayed up the rest of the night searching for more information. But when the morning sun replaced the dark shadows of her condo with the first rays of sunlight, Paige still had more questions than she did answers. She wondered if the phone call had been made by the Patriot but without the voice disguises. Or maybe it was just some nut with a grudge against the CIA.
She felt like she was wandering around in the dark, playing a high-stakes game where everyone was wearing night vision goggles except her.
38
In the ten days prior to the hearing, Paige and Wellington put together notebooks full of cases for Wyatt to study. Paige thought it would be good for them to practice the argument like a moot court panel in law school, but Wyatt apparently didn’t do those types of things.
“Is he even reading the cases?” she asked Wellington.
“Probably not yet. But he’ll have them all read by the morning of the twenty-fifth.”
Meanwhile, Paige’s fledgling law practice was not exactly off to an explosive start. She had put her name on the court-appointed list and had picked up one client during her second week in business. He was appealing a fifth DUI conviction and had received a ten-year sentence. Paige was supposed to somehow find him a loophole to slide through on appeal. The case would pay $500.
A few friends had hired Paige to draft wills, and another friend had tried to send Paige a medical malpractice case, but Paige didn’t have the foggiest idea where to start. All of this gave her plenty of time to focus on her one big case—The Estate of Troy Anderson v. Philip Kilpatrick and John Marcano.
Three days before the hearing, Paige spent the morning at Kristen’s house, waiting for an important visitor from JSOC. His name was Daniel Reese, and he served as the chief of staff to Admiral Paul Towers, the former commanding officer of JSOC. Reese had been a Navy SEAL himself and had been a training officer in BUD/S when both Patrick and Troy paid their dues. Kristen didn’t know why he was coming, but she assumed it was good news. “They never send the brass when it’s bad.”
Paige arrived fifteen minutes early because she had learned that these Navy guys always started on time. She played with the Anderson boys for a little while and answered Kristen’s questions about the case. Kristen was nervous about meeting Daniel Reese, a man whom both Troy and Patrick had deeply admired.
Commander Reese arrived right on time wearing his dress blues, and Paige was immediately struck by how young he looked. He was tall and handsome with a colorful array of ribbons on his chest. He gave Kristen a polite hug, told her how great it was to see her, and gave Paige a firm handshake. Kristen introduced Paige as Patrick’s girlfriend. Reese expressed his condolences to both women and noticed the boys standing a few paces behind Kristen. He walked over to them and knelt down in front of them. The two little guys seemed like they were in awe.
“This is Commander Reese, a good friend of Daddy’s,” Kristen said.
Reese nodded. “Your daddy was a great man,” he said, looking from one boy to the other. “One of the bravest men I have ever known. I’m sure glad he was my friend.”
Kristen said, “Say thank you to Commander Reese, and then I need you guys to go back to the bedroom. I’ve got to talk to Commander Reese for a few minutes.”
The boys said thanks, and Caleb reached out to touch the shiny brass buttons and medals on Reese’s chest. Tiny got in on the action, and Reese gave him some love while the dog licked at his face. The man had hardly said more than two words to her, yet Paige already felt comfortable around him.
Once they had settled at the dining room table, Commander Reese got down to business. “Because Troy and the others were working for both the CIA and JSOC at the time of their death, we made an appeal to the pension board that the families receive additional death benefits typically paid to CIA families. Earlier this week we received notification that the payments were approved, and I wanted to deliver them personally.”
He slid an envelope across the table to Kristen. “Kristen, I know money can’t begin to replace Troy or even bring you much comfort, but I wanted to come so I could express how much we miss these men and how much of a hero your husband was.”
Kristen dabbed at an eye with the back of her hand and blinked several times. “He would have never made it in the SEALs without you,” she said.
“That’s not true. Troy wouldn’t have quit no matter who his instructor was. I don’t think he ever quit anything his entire life.”
“Thank you,” Kristen said. She picked up the envelope. “To be honest, it feels wrong to take money like this. I feel like it’s some kind of payoff for Troy’s death.”
Commander Reese assured her that it wasn’t. Instead, it was just a small token of appreciation from a grateful nation.
Reese told Paige that Patrick’s grandfather would be receiving similar benefits for Patrick. Paige said nobody deserved it more. She had known from Wellington’s research early in the case that it was likely the benefits were coming. Still, it
was kind of Commander Reese to deliver the funds himself.
“I appreciate what you’re doing for Kristen in the lawsuit as well,” Reese said to Paige. “You’ve got an excellent reputation as a lawyer, and I know that if Q was dating you, you’ve got to be in the top point-one percent of women in the world. Q was known to be the pickiest SEAL on the entire team.”
Paige flushed a little and was surprised that Commander Reese knew about her role on the legal team. “Thanks. I guess.”
“I meant it entirely as a compliment. Q was one of the best.”
After a few minutes of conversation, Kristen offered Reese a drink, and to Paige’s surprise, he accepted. The three of them nursed iced teas while they talked, and the topic turned to law school.
“I always wanted to go to law school,” Reese said. “But I wasn’t smart enough to get into the good schools, and it turned out that all I needed to be a SEAL was to be stubborn as a mule. So I end up in Special Forces, and now I’m the chief of staff for Admiral Towers, formerly commanding officer of JSOC but presently one heckuva pencil pusher at the Pentagon.”
Paige knew about the demotion of Admiral Towers. It had only made him more of a hero with the rank-and-file men.
“Your boss is a good man,” Kristen said. “Every SEAL family I know thinks he got a raw deal.”
Eventually they finished their iced teas, and Daniel thanked Kristen again. “Can I tell you something in confidence?” he asked.
“Sure,” Kristen said.
“I hope the court lets your case go forward. There are a lot of us who want to know what really happened that night. If I can do anything to help, short of sharing classified information, just let me know.”
They all exchanged phone numbers, and Kristen told him again how grateful she was for everything he had done for Troy.
“You both have my greatest condolences,” he said. Before he left, he went back into the bedroom and said good-bye to the boys.
WASHINGTON, D.C.
This time there was no park-bench meeting. Marcano had requested a private conference room in the West Wing of the White House. For Kilpatrick, it meant the CIA director would not be secretly recording this meeting—that he was more interested in total deniability for what he was going to say. They had already signed a joint defense agreement, meaning that their conversations could be kept confidential even if the litigation blew up.
Kilpatrick started off with some news of his own. “The president has signed off on a state secrets defense,” he said. “But only if your lawyer carries the water. She wants you to file an affidavit at the hearing on Friday. She wants Pierce to argue only the Feres Doctrine. Your guy can argue the state secrets issue.”
“Very courageous of her,” Marcano deadpanned. “‘I’ll fight to the last drop of your blood.’”
“She’s got to run for reelection in two and a half years. And you’d better hope she wins so the public can have four more years to forget about this mess. You don’t need votes, John. She does. She can’t look like she’s hiding behind state secrets.”
“Okay,” Marcano said. “But assuming we get this case dismissed, I’ll need your help to tie up a few loose ends.”
“I’m not a big fan of loose ends. What is it?”
“Saleet Zafar needs to go on the list.”
Kilpatrick knew that Marcano was talking about the president’s kill list. And this one would be a tough sell. The president didn’t like adding Muslim clerics to the list if they weren’t tied into the operations side of ISIS.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
39
VIRGINIA BEACH, VIRGINIA
This time the phone call came late in the morning. It was the metallic voice that Paige immediately recognized as the Patriot.
“Are you ready for the hearing tomorrow?” the Patriot asked.
“Yes. We’ve been prepping Wyatt Jackson for the last two weeks.”
“They’re going to try to sandbag you,” the voice said. “Make sure you’re ready on the state secrets defense. That’s why I didn’t want Jackson filing this case to begin with. You are almost certain to lose on that point.”
Paige was tired of playing games. They were one day away from the most important hearing of her life, and she needed more than dire predictions of gloom. “Who is this? And why should we trust you?”
“Have I been wrong yet?”
Before Paige could answer, he was off the phone.
She immediately called Wellington and briefed him about the phone call. Wellington decided they should patch in Wyatt, and before long Paige was describing her conversation with the Patriot again. She could picture Wyatt, pacing around the RV, chewing on a cigar, taking it all in.
“So let me get this straight,” he said. “We get an anonymous phone call from a guy who may or may not have inside information about the legal strategy for the defense lawyers, and we’re supposed to drop everything and focus on an area of the law that those defense lawyers have spent about two pages on?”
“We don’t have to drop everything,” Paige said. “I just want to make sure you’ve read those cases we’ve been sending you on state secrets privilege and that you’re ready to argue the point.”
“I’ve been in court on another matter the last three days, and the Feres Doctrine has kept me plenty busy. Why don’t you prepare for the state secrets defense?”
Wyatt said it as if he were ordering a cup of coffee, but Paige felt her heart jump into her throat. “Me?”
“It’s either you or Wellington. And no offense, Wellington, but that’s an easy choice.”
“I don’t know,” Paige said. “The hearing’s tomorrow.”
“Right. You’ve got almost twenty-four hours. We’re going to make you a star.”
I don’t want to be a star, Paige wanted to say. She hated the way Wyatt had waited until the last minute and then dumped this on her. But at the same time, she was a litigator, and this was why she’d gone to law school. Besides, it wouldn’t do any good to argue with the man. Knowing him, he would tell the judge that Paige was going to address the state secrets doctrine tomorrow even if she refused to accept the assignment today.
“Wellington, can you come over and help me get ready?” Paige asked.
“Sure.”
“I still don’t think they’re going to actually make the argument,” Wyatt said. “It looks bad for the president to hide behind state secrets under these circumstances. But if they do, you can address the case law and I’ll handle the Feres Doctrine and any rebuttal.”
“You sure you don’t have time to read these cases?” Paige asked.
“Positive.”
Paige spent the next sixteen hours in a state of mild panic that eventually gave way to full-blown exhaustion. She spent the first thirty minutes after Wellington arrived railing on Wyatt Jackson. “Why didn’t he read these cases?” “What good is it if we provide all this research and he never reads it?” “Why wouldn’t he already be prepared for the biggest hearing of his career?”
Wellington tried to calm her down by explaining that this was just Wyatt’s unorthodox way of mentoring young associates. “He knew that if he gave you something to do a month ahead of the hearing, you would work yourself into a frenzy. He’s confident that you’ve mastered the cases already.”
Paige didn’t want to hear it. “Some of us don’t fly by the seat of our pants. Some of us like to actually be prepared.”
“He tried the same thing on me when I first joined his firm,” Wellington confided. His pale cheeks blushed as he told the story. “He threw something at me for a hearing at the last minute. But I’m like you—I need lots of time to prepare.”
“How did it go?”
Wellington hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Let’s just say that afterward he decided I should stick to writing briefs and he should do the oral arguments.”
“At least you didn’t have the whole world watching.”
Though Paige h
ad already read the cases once, reviewing them now made her realize how few cases actually supported her argument. It seemed that every time the executive branch claimed that a case involved state secrets, the judge threw it out.
“Maybe he just wanted to take the best argument and give me the loser,” Paige complained.
She was hoping Wellington would take exception. She was hoping he would argue that the state secrets issue was not necessarily a loser. She wanted him to show off that famed legal mind. Instead, he just said, “That wouldn’t surprise me.”
By two o’clock in the morning, when Wellington finally left, Paige had an outline of an argument. It took her another hour to settle down enough to try to get some sleep. She set the alarm for 6:00 a.m. and noticed the small box with her engagement ring where she had left it on the nightstand. She thought about Patrick and did something he would have been proud of—she said a heartfelt prayer.
The state secrets doctrine was complicated, but one thing was crystal clear: If they were going to win tomorrow, it would take a minor miracle.
40
On Friday morning, Paige picked up Kristen at her house, and they rode to court together. Kristen was talkative and relaxed. She apparently had no idea how difficult it would be to win this motion.
Kristen had decided that she, Paige, Wyatt, and Wellington should call themselves SEAL Team Nine. Even though there was actually a SEAL Team Eight and a SEAL Team Ten, the Navy had for some reason skipped nine. There were lots of legends about the missing SEAL team, and now Kristen decided they would create their own lore.
“ST-9, that’s us.”
Paige smiled nervously and thought this must have been what it felt like for Patrick to go into battle with Troy. Patrick’s wingman was always joking, taking life as it came, not fretting about the consequences. Kristen was doing the same thing now, keeping Paige somewhat loose.
