Jay Reinhart squeezed the cell phone between his left ear and shoulder as he waited for Assistant Attorney General Alex McLaughlin to return to the line. He picked up the house phone meanwhile and pressed it to his right ear.
“Still there?”
Sherry Lincoln’s voice was a welcome sound. “Right here, Mr. Reinhart.”
“Still working. Hang on,” he told her, setting the receiver down again by the yellow legal pad, the first two pages of which were already filled with notes.
“Mr. Reinhart?” McLaughlin said from his Washington office.
“Yes. Right here.” He readjusted the phone and almost dropped it, catching it with his left hand in time. “Go ahead.”
“Well, we’re all going to have to move very fast on this. I’m glad President Harris was able to retain you so rapidly.”
“This is rather a shock,” Jay replied, massaging his forehead.
“State assures me the arrest will be respectful, and there will be a first-class hotel waiting, but the problem comes tomorrow morning Rome time. Peru’s counsel already has an extradition hearing scheduled for eight A.M. Now, we have no one in Rome from Justice, and even if we did, our role becomes essentially amicus curiae, friend of the court. All we need is the equivalent of a motion for continuance in civil law terms, but, as I say, Justice can only support your argument, we can’t make the motion. Does your firm have someone in Rome who can enter an appearance and do the initial argument for delay?”
“I… don’t have a firm, Mr. McLaughlin.”
There was stunned silence from the Beltway. “You don’t have a… you’re not part of a firm?”
“No.”
“You’re a sole practitioner?” McLaughlin asked in amazement.
“Actually, right now I’m not even practicing. I teach at the University of Wyoming.”
“I see. The law school?”
“No. The main university.”
More silence, and the sounds of a man completely off balance clearing his throat. “Ah, I hate to ask this, Mr. Reinhart, but you are a lawyer, I hope?”
“Yes. I’m licensed in Texas.”
“May I… may I ask your area of legal expertise?”
“Calm down, Mr. McLaughlin. I’m an international legal scholar, and a former practitioner. I am current, even though I’ve technically been on the sidelines for a while.”
“I see.”
“I do understand this, and I do know as much about what to do as anyone else would at this point.”
“Mr. Reinhart, forgive me, but this isn’t going to work. President Harris needs the immediate services of a substantial firm with offices all over Europe, where someone can get to him within the hour. I doubt very much even the U.S. Air Force could get you personally from Laramie to Rome in time.”
“The motion for continuance is very simple under Italian law, Mr. McLaughlin,” Jay replied evenly. “I can hire local counsel in Rome from here in half an hour.”
“Well… that may be true, but what’s needed is a network of long-time polished legal contacts and the ability to work with us from experience, and clerical, secretarial, and paralegal support.”
“I know all that.”
“Mr. Reinhart, I do not want to demean your expertise, sir, but this is not a job for a sole practitioner.”
“The President hired me, Mr. McLaughlin. You are speaking to his lead counsel. Let’s get to the substance of this matter so I can make the necessary calls.”
“Are you familiar with our embassy staff in Rome?”
“No.”
“You don’t know the American ambassador?”
“No.”
“Do you know our liaison to the World Court at The Hague, or the U.S. ambassador to the United Nations and his staff?”
“No.”
“Then how in hell, Mr. Reinhart,” McLaughlin said, his voice hardening and his volume increasing, “can you possibly hope to defend not only President Harris’s right to remain a free man, but also the broader interests of the United States of America in a very critical and immediate matter from the MIDDLE OF FRIGGIN’ WYOMING?”
“By phone, by fax, by logic, by training, and by virtue of the fact that I am his lawyer! How much time are we going to waste on this debate? The man’s hovering over Rome as we speak, he’s at the mercy of two commercial pilots, and I’ll bet you your limousine privileges there’s a Peruvian jet of some sort sitting at the next gate to their’s at Da Vinci Airport as part of a quiet little plot to whisk him away on arrival while the local police look the other way. I seriously doubt that John Harris would ever make it to the hotel in Rome, let alone that hearing tomorrow. He’ll be over the Atlantic on the way to a show trial in Lima.”
“How did you know about that plane? Our intelligence sources just told me.”
“Logic, Mr. Assistant Attorney General. That’s how I’d do it if I were Sir William Stuart Campbell.”
“You know him?”
“Yes. Do you?” Jay asked, permitting a little sarcasm into his tone.
“No. Only by reputation.”
“Well, sir, I know him all too well. I’m handicapped by distance, but not by experience.”
“Are you aware of some plot to, as you say, whisk President Harris away?”
“I’m telling you what they may try. I could be wrong, but I wouldn’t count on it.”
“That would be a form of kidnapping, not extradition. Italy would never permit that, and Peru could be held accountable!”
“You want to go argue that with Presidente Miraflores while President Harris is rotting in a Lima prison cell? I’d rather keep him out of their hands.”
“Well, of course, so would we. Excuse me a second…”
Jay could hear the sound of voices in the background as McLaughlin conferred with someone. He heard the sound of paper being sorted or pages being turned, and a barely disguised grunt of amazement. When the Assistant Attorney General returned to the line, his voice had taken on a coldness Jay recognized immediately.
“Mr. Reinhart, you say you’re from Texas?”
“That’s right. And yes, I was, at one time, District Judge Jay Reinhart of Dallas County, and I’ll make this easy for you. The suspension was up last month. Now, for God’s sake, let’s talk about substance and what we’re going to do while I’ve still got an open line to the aircraft, because there’s one major thing you don’t know.”
“And that would be?”
“He’s not going to land in Rome, and we’re going to have as much of a diplomatic fight ahead of us as a legal one.”
“If not Rome, where, in fact, is he going to land? And how do you know?” McLaughlin asked, his tone sarcastic and exasperated.
“I can’t tell you until he’s safely on the ground. Attorney client privilege.”
“I see.”
“And, I’m talking to you on a nonsecure analog cell phone anyone could listen to.”
“Oh,” McLaughlin replied. “Well, at least that makes sense.”
“I’m guessing he will land in about forty-five minutes. In the meantime, I need you to be ready to tell me exactly what, if anything, the U.S. military can do for President Harris. I’ll call you back.”
When Alex McLaughlin had agreed and disconnected, Jay folded the cell phone and sat down on his only kitchen stool, his hands shaking and his mouth cotton-dry.
God Almighty! I just beat up an Assistant Attorney General of the United States!
He sat for a few seconds, trying to think through the next moves, and the people he would need to talk with, if not command: the State Department, the White House, perhaps the Chief of Staff and the sitting President, the government of Italy, maybe officials of other nations as well, not to mention the entire infrastructure of the international and European legal community.
And here he sat in the middle of “friggin’ ” Wyoming, as McLaughlin had said, with a single line, a cell phone, and no staff.
Jay realized his stomach felt queasy. McLaughlin was right. There’s no way I can pull this off!
He picked up the receiver to the house phone, wondering if the connection to the 737 was still good. “Ah, Ms. Lincoln? Are you still there?”
“This is John Harris, Jay. Where are we?”
“John, I’m sorry. I’m ethically bound to step aside. I can’t do this.”