A Young Lawyer's story Page 2

  "Morning, Thaddeus. Let me tell you a little bit about why you're here."

  "Excuse me, but I thought I was meeting with Mr. Stuttermeyer. He said I would be answering to him." Three people had interviewed him: McGrant, Stuttermeyer and the FBI agent, Ranski.

  She shook her head. "You'll be answering to me while you're working here. You were told to come in and ask for Mr. Stuttermeyer today because that's the way it would normally happen. But normal isn't you."

  Thaddeus was perplexed. He had been told he was answering to Stuttermeyer, the Chief of Staff of the U.S. Attorney's office.

  "So I'm working for you?"

  "Long story short: you're working for Mr. Stuttermeyer but you answer to me. We good?"

  "We're good."

  He started to make a note in his notebook but she reached across the narrow table and put her hand on his.

  "Please. Don't write any of this down when you and I meet or talk by phone. No notes--ever."

  "Understand. No notes."

  "Now, let me tell you a little about the office. The United States Attorney's Office for the District of Columbia is unique among U.S. Attorney's Offices in the scope of its work. It serves as both the local and the federal prosecutor for the nation's capital. On the local side, we have prosecutions for everything from misdemeanor drug possession cases to murders. On the federal side, we have everything from child pornography to gangs and financial fraud to terrorism."

  "So where do I fit in?"

  She stood up and went to the door. Opening it just a crack, she peered out and looked up and down the hallway. She closed it again and sat down. "This room was swept just twenty minutes ago. We should be good."

  Thaddeus looked around the tiny room. Swept? For bugs?

  She continued. "Like I said, you will answer to me. But you will assist the U.S. Attorney, Franklin J. Broyles. You will sit outside the door to his office and run his daily calendar. You will observe him and report to me."

  "Report what to you?"

  "Everything. When he gets to work, what time he leaves. Who calls, who comes in. What he had for lunch, what color his tie was. Everything."

  "Why would you want to know those things? I thought I was hired as a lawyer."

  "We need to know those things because some questions have come up about Mr. Broyles."

  "What kind of questions?"

  "Not important. For now, you're my eyes and ears in his office. That's all I can tell you, Mr. Murfee."

  "I thought I was another lawyer here."

  "You'll be functioning as the U.S. Attorney’s administrative aide in almost all respects. But the title is Appointments Secretary."

  "So I'm a secretary and I answer to you. Doesn't that make me a spy?"

  "That is exactly what you are." She leaned across the narrow table, placing her face ten inches away. She whispered, "You will spy on U.S. Attorney Broyles and report back everything about him to me. We have questions about him. That's all I can tell you right now."

  "But I came here to practice law."

  "If you're successful in this assignment you'll be able to name any job in the federal government you like, and we'll put you there with a huge promotion. We can also get you into any private law firm you might like to work for instead. Or we can get you into the FBI or CIA or NSA. We can also help you with a commission in the military as a JAG officer. Your choice, Thaddeus. Your reward for a job well done. Oh, and there's also a bonus."

  "Bonus? For what?"

  "Under the Secrecy Act the government pays a five-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus to any employee who helps convict a traitor."

  Thaddeus was jolted. A traitor? It rattled him. He struggled to think it through. It wasn't anything he even wanted to touch, ratting on someone. Still, five hundred thousand dollars would be a life-changing event. Plus, they could get him on with the biggest law firm in the country.

  "I'm not so sure. I need time to think."

  "Well, it's too late now. You've already accepted the job and I've also given you classified information. You can't just walk away."

  He straightened up in his chair. "Hold on. What if I did? What's to stop me?"

  She scowled at him. "Really? You'd never work as a lawyer, for starters. We'd make sure of that. We would blackball you with every bar association in the U.S. We would warn all employers away from you. We would make your life hell. So don't piss me off. We could also prosecute you."

  "Prosecute me? What the hell for?"

  "Oh, you needn't worry about that. We'd think of something. You're on our team now and there you'll stay until we're done."

  The frustration shot through him like a bolt. He could always find a different job. Or could he?

  "I want out."

  "Too late. You accepted the position."

  "Prove it."

  She frowned and laughed without smiling. "What, you don't think we were recording you at your interview last week? I think your exact words were 'I accept? Hell yes!'"

  "I remember saying that. You didn't tell me you were recording me."

  "So sue us. Are you ready to get to work now?"

  The color had drained from his face. His hands looked translucent and weak in the pale room light.

  He had been had.

  "Do I have any choice?"

  "Your choices all went away the day you graduated third in your class."

  "I worked hard for that."

  "You should be proud. Tell you what."

  She pulled open her shoulder bag and produced a twenty-dollar bill.

  "Here's twenty bucks. Buy your friends the first round. On me."

  "I don't need your damn money."

  "Yes, you do. After buying all of your clothes this weekend you're almost broke. Take the twenty, buy a round, and tell them what a bitch I am. Only don't tell them my name. That is something you could be prosecuted for."

  Thaddeus drew a deep breath and reached to the table.

  The twenty-dollar bill was inside his pocket when she showed him to Stuttermeyer's office to be sworn in and introduced around to everyone.

  When he turned at the door to tell her goodbye, she was gone.

  "Thaddeus!" Stuttermeyer called to him. Still reeling, Thaddeus blinked and stepped inside. The man's desk featured two banker's lamps and a moribund plant.

  "Mr. Stuttermeyer," Thaddeus said. They shook hands ferociously.

  "Ready to hit the ground running?"

  For just a moment he couldn't come up with a reply. Words escaped him.

  Then he managed, "Yes."

  Stuttermeyer waved him over to his desk. Thaddeus knew a little about him from his hiring interview. The man was a lifer on the U.S. Attorney's staff, someone more suited for administrative matters than the trial of criminal cases before juries.

  "So. You met with Ms. McGrant?"

  "Just now."

  "What did she have to say?”

  "She told me to keep my mouth shut."

  "Attaboy. She's big on keeping secrets."

  Which was when Thaddeus surrendered. They had him. He had read spy novels about this kind of thing. There was only one thing to do.

  He drew a deep breath, blinked hard, and leaned up to the desk.

  "Where's my office, Mr. Stuttermeyer? I want to get the hell to work."

  3

  Stuttermeyer led him to Franklin J. Broyles' office, where he would be working. It took up the front corner of the building; the FBI building was just across the street. The waiting area, where Thaddeus' desk was located, was overrun by blue leather and solid mahogany.

  "They sweep every half hour. You'll get used to it and won't even notice."

  I won't notice anyway, thought Thaddeus. I'll be too busy watching Mr. Broyles and reporting on his shoe style and necktie pattern.

  "You'll sit at this desk and greet the visitors when they come in. You'll take their names and let the U.S. Attorney know they're here. You'll offer them something to drink and then go back to whatever. Don't question
them. Most people coming to your office will be undercover cops or FBI who really won't want to self-reveal. So leave them to themselves."

  "That won't be hard," Thaddeus said. "But it sounds like I'm a waiter. No beef with waiters, but I went to college for seven years to serve coffee?"

  "Don't be upset about that. It's really a chance for you to interact with the law enforcement you'll be dealing with when you get your own caseload. It's a good thing for your career. Several of our key trial lawyers have begun their careers right where you'll be sitting."

  Thaddeus frowned. He knew he was stuck. But he couldn't resist: "Serving drinks is good for my career? Sounds like HR is staffed by chimpanzees."

  Stuttermeyer ignored him, having already moved on to getting Thaddeus set up. He was seated at Thaddeus' desk, entering passwords on the computer and checking the young lawyer's network access.

  "Okay, look over my shoulder. This folder here is your access to all files being prosecuted by this office. These files are top secret. Now you know why the FBI did a background check and you've been given a provisional security clearance. This button over here brings up the security camera views inside and outside the office. This link here is for legal research."

  "I'll be doing some research? Maybe working on some cases?"

  "Not at first. You'll be running errands for the U.S. Attorney and keeping his calendar along with the visitors and drink orders."

  "What kind of errands?"

  "You know, pick up dry cleaning, grab a kid from kindergarten and run them home, shop for the wife's anniversary present. The usual stuff new lawyers do in the office."

  "Ehhh!" Thaddeus made the sound of a buzzer eliminating a game show contestant. "New lawyers don't haul kids around and serve coffee to visitors. New lawyers litigate."

  "Why worry? The pay's the same whether you're litigating or chasing down dry cleaning. Plus, there’s the status of telling Georgetown fillies that you work for the U.S. Attorney. Not many lawyers have that honor in this town though thousands of them wish they did."

  Thaddeus sighed. Stuttermeyer was right about the pay. It was very attractive when you were broke and the sheriff was coming to put your bed out on the sidewalk.

  "All right, let me try the desk, please."

  An hour later, while Thaddeus was randomly clicking Facebook links, the U.S. Attorney, Franklin J. Broyles, came quietly into the office. He was carrying two bulging briefcases and was surrounded by serious men wearing frowns. As they approached, Thaddeus could clearly make out the holsters concealed under their coats. Broyles didn't even so much as look at him as they passed by and disappeared into Broyles' office. The door closed behind them. It wasn't a full minute later before the door re-opened and Broyles came back out, alone this time. He closed the door behind him.

  "You're Thaddeus. My new assistant." He was smiling and immediately stuck out his hand. He was warm and welcoming as they passed introductions back and forth.

  "I'm an easy guy to work for, Thaddeus. I've already read your résumé and know a little about you and I'm impressed. We'll get along very well. Now, Jeannette and I would like to have you over for dinner Saturday and get to know everyone better. Can you make it? Bring a date?"

  Thaddeus smiled. The man was engaging and was inviting him to his home. The young lawyer was having second thoughts about spying on the guy.

  "Sure, I'd like to come. I don't have a date."

  "That's fine. Nikki is home for the weekend. She's a student at Harvard. We'll let you two get to know each other and you won't be lonely for someone your own age to shoot the breeze with. Plus I imagine there's lots you can tell her about law school. Number three in your class? I'm very impressed. I was about halfway down my own class roster. I have this job today not because I'm a top student but because I'm a political animal. Always remember, Thad, it isn't what you know, it's who you know. Anyway, I'll tell Nikki you're coming. She's pre-law and will get a kick out of picking your brain. We'll be casual, no ties or coats, so be prepared to have a great dinner, a little wine, and some good talk. We'll firm up later this week."

  "I--I--"

  "Good. Then put it on my calendar," Broyles said with a laugh. He tossed off a salute and passed back into his own office. "Catch you later," he said.

  Thaddeus was at once relieved and impressed. This was already shaping up as not so bad. And there was a daughter? Three years younger and Harvard? He should be so lucky.

  For the next few hours he investigated the computer network, found where he had access and where he didn't, and was wondering whether they were tracking him. That's random, he thought; of course they are. Then Broyles suddenly buzzed him on the intercom.

  "Let's grab lunch. I've got some agents with me I'd like you to meet. We good?"

  "Good," Thaddeus said. He hung up. Dinner Saturday? Lunch today? What wasn't to like?

  He clicked on the appointments calendar. It was time to make two entries.

  Each one would have his name on it.

  Major score. Wait until he told Winnie and Bud back home. This thing might just really work out. The first day couldn't be going any better. The last thing he felt like was a spy.

  Broyles impressed Thaddeus again before lunch. He handed Thaddeus a check for five thousand dollars. It was drawn on the U.S. Attorney's general account.

  "Buy a couple of new suits," Broyles told him. "Lose the Men's Warehouse look. You're in the big leagues now, Thaddeus, and I need you to look the part."

  "I'll pay you back on payday."

  "No need. Your government pays for everything we do. Speaking of, let's get lunch. Do you like French?"

  For lunch they gathered at Le B Bistro, a small French place on, of course, B Street.

  Thaddeus admired the restaurant, taking it all in before they sat. It was Broyles, Thaddeus, and the same two severe looking FBI agents. Coffee was ordered all around. Someone mentioned the NFL. For the next five minutes, talk revolved around the Redskins, then the Wizards, and then drifted off into a general rehash of cases filed by the office. The agents served as part of the FBI's counter-terrorism task force. Thaddeus was elated. What could only be described as confidential information was openly discussed in front of him. Voices were kept low but the diners around them seemed totally disinterested anyway. He reminded himself to take mental notes of the discussions so he could report back to Ms. McGrant. But then he told himself no, he liked Mr. Broyles too much to spy on him. He decided on a compromise: he would tell her about the Redskins and the Wizards but wouldn't tell her about the investigations they discussed. That should keep her happy.

  After lunch, Broyles dropped Thaddeus at the office and then left for a meeting that appeared nowhere on his calendar. The U.S. Attorney was very close-mouthed. He said nothing about where he was going and Thaddeus didn't ask. Thaddeus took the elevator upstairs and returned to his desk.

  Fifteen minutes later, Melissa McGrant walked in.

  "Thaddeus," she said grimly, "we need to talk. Let's take a walk."

  They went downstairs and stepped out onto 4th Street, where they headed north to F Street and strolled down to the National Building Museum. They entered and took a bench in the midst of the various porticoes, where they could talk.

  "You're in place, and that's good," said McGrant. "You had lunch with Broyles and two agents. You enjoyed your Alfredo with linguini. That's good. So here's what I'm looking for. I need you to go into Mr. Broyles' office while he's not there and try to access his briefcase."

  She held up a tiny silver item that resembled a hearing aid battery.

  "This is a mike. It can hear through briefcases and even drywall. I want you to hide this inside his briefcase. Use your noodle, number three in your class. It's a microphone. It's self-adhering, just peel off this stuff on the back. See here?

  Thaddeus looked. He shook his head.

  "No," he said.

  "No?"

  "You want me to violate Mr. Broyles' trust? I have no problem keeping you updated o
n his calendar, but don't you people have spooks for stuff like this?"

  He was put off. He was still feeling defensive about his new friend.

  "Yes, we have spooks. And you're one of them. So climb down off your high horse and do the fuck what I'm telling you or we're going to have trouble." Her face turned violet and her voice rose up through clenched teeth. "Mr. Broyles might get his feelings hurt on down the road and that's sad. But you cross me and I'll fucking bury you! Now take the damn mike!"

  He gasped in shock. No one had ever spoken to him like that--at least not since leaving foster care. He succumbed, meekly holding out his hand. She dropped the bug onto his palm.

  "If anyone catches you just tell them you need your boss's receipts for his expense account. Understand?"

  "Yes. But please, don't ask me to do something like this again."

  "Why not? You're a spy now."

  He began to respond. It was a moment of cognitive dissonance. On the one hand, they said he was a spy. On the other hand, Broyles made him feel like a family friend. The internal standoff felt like mental handcuffs and he worried that his thinking wasn’t reliable just then. He decided he would let Bud in on the secret and get his feedback. Bud would have the right ideas.

  She leaned back on the museum bench and smiled the Assistant U.S. Attorney smile she had greeted him with at the interview.

  "You'll do just fine. And next time, don't argue with me. You're working for me. Never forget that. And here's something else. The U.S. Attorney is not your friend. He's a personable man and can be very charming. But he's also selling state secrets, so buck up. You're a key figure in U.S. counterintelligence now. We're all counting on you."

  His eyes rolled up and he blurted, "This isn't what I expected at all!"

  "Just get this mike hidden, Thaddeus. Don't worry about notifying me. We'll know once it's placed."

  Thaddeus looked away. Fighting with his supervisor was nonproductive, especially if what she said about Broyles was true. As he had twice before that day, he let it go. Then he stood up and he heard himself talking.

  "Mr. Broyles is gone from the office. Let's go plant a bug."