PrivateSector

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

On my desk the next morning was a message from Barry informing me of a ten o’clock meeting in his office. Also a long manila envelope, containing an aerial photo of a few tiny specks in the middle of a big, blue ocean. A sidebar note said, “Johnston Island Atoll, look it up on the Internet: Behave. Clapper.”

Has that guy got a sense of humor or what? Actually he doesn’t, so I looked it up on the Internet. Average population around 100, all but a tiny handful being civilian contractors who rotate through on two- or three-day stints. The atoll contained a facility for the destruction of chemical weapons, a process with so many safeguards and catch-alls that the Army guaranteed it to be, like 99.999 percent accident-proof. That other. 001 was, I presumed, why it wasn’t next to New York City. After the last chemical weapon was destroyed, the article continued, the atoll was slated to become a bird sanctuary for whatever kind of idiot bird wanted a perch on the highly prestigious endangered species list.

Clapper can be very annoying.

However, that reminded me, and I called his office and asked his executive assistant to run down Lisa’s previous assignments and task her former offices to conduct a file search for all sex cases she had handled or been involved with. I implied I was doing this at the behest of the Army’s Criminal Investigation Division.

What was interesting was that the executive assistant did not say he had already received such a request-ten demerits for Spinelli.

As it was, I was fairly certain the whole drill was a complete waste of time. But in murder investigations the most unlikely routes sometimes turn out to be the path to a killer.

Speaking of a waste of time, the Pentagon naturally has a manual that details its procurement and protest procedures, and I spent the three hours before Barry’s meeting reading it cover-to-cover. I was a little tired of Mr. Bosworth rubbing my nose in shit, and if you want to beat the home team on their own turf, you have to work at it a little.

I entered Barry’s office at ten on the dot, and he looked up and said, “Well, well… look who’s finally shown up.”

What the…? Four people were already seated around his conference table, jackets on the backs of chairs, empty coffee cups and water bottles strewn about.

Of all the lousy, crappy stunts-the little prick had purposely given me the wrong time. I don’t mind looking like an idiot, but I prefer to do it on my own terms.

I smiled and said to the group, “Okay, this guy walks into a bar and takes a stool next to a beautiful woman. He orders a drink, and pretty soon the woman leans over and whispers into his ear, ‘Hey, you big stud, I’ll screw you anywhere, anytime, any way you wish. ’ He ponders her offer, then turns to her and replies, ‘I’m sorry, what law firm did you say you were from?’”

Barry and Sally nearly vomited. The other two laughed so hard they nearly cried. Boy, I’m good at this game. I’d already identified the other two-clients.

The large woman at the end of the table said, “I’m Jessica Moner from Morris Networks legal. You’ve gotta be Drummond.”

“I’ve gotta be.” Regarding Miss Jessica Moner: mid-fortyish, platinum hair with brown roots, and fleshy, not really attractive features, made less attractive by a few gallons of rouge and this really tacky, orangey lipstick. Also, she was stuffed into a blue business suit that was either three sizes too small or she was a blowfish imitating a human. Given Morris’s fetish for the babes, I was a little mystified about where Miss Moner sat in his harem. But perhaps she was hired for her competence. What a novel concept.

Anyway, she pointed at the guy beside her and said, “Marshall Wyatt, from corporate accounting.” Marshall was skinny to the point of cadaverous, balding, wore a cheap gray pinstripe suit, an unpressed white shirt, and, as you might expect, peeking out of his pocket was a pencil holder. Really, not in a million years would I have guessed he was an accountant.

Anyway, I sat and informed them, “Sorry I’m late, but Barry begged me to come a little after the meeting started so he can look like the smartest guy in the room for at least a few minutes.”

Even Sally chuckled. Barry, however, chose to turn slightly pink and reply, “Since you’ve already missed an hour’s worth of discussion, Drummond, we’re not going to rehash it for you.”

Boy, Barry really knew how to punish a guy. Better yet, as time literally was our client’s money, they did not object, so he picked up where he had apparently left off, saying to them, “The point is, Cy will work the military appropriations committees on the Hill. Believe me, Jessica, you couldn’t find better. He used to sit on that committee and-”

“We know what Cy can accomplish, Bosworth,” Jessica informed him. “We came to your firm for his grease. That’s just not where we see the goddamn problem.”

“Where do you see the problem?” I asked.

“Your guys.” She was looking at me, I think.

“My guys?”

“Yeah.” She explained, “When it comes to Congress, it’s about who hires the biggest guns. Had Cy kept his dick in his pants, he’d still be running the place. A hundred guys up there still rush in to kiss his ass every time he shows up. Don’t take this personally, Drummond, it’s your fucking Pentagon giving us gas.”

I actually like women who don’t play games and lay it on the line. Also she obviously disliked Barry, so I was half in love already. I said to her, “Explain that.”

“Clearly, we won the contract on merit. But protests change the rules.”

“How?”

“Now it’s a matter of who can reach under the table and squeeze the hardest.”

“It’s crooked?”

“Not crooked. Bendable. Susceptible.”

“How?”

“Because this charge about Danny Nash can cause a shitstorm. The Pentagon doesn’t want the appearance of a problem. Pretty soon, Congress starts talking about investigations and everybody’s screwed.”

I said, “So the issue is how to shape our response so it does not appear there was any dirty dealing?”

“You think that’s easy? The press, the public, everybody believes the game is rigged anyway. This just feeds a preconception. Sprint and AT amp;T knew what they were doing.”

Barry nodded as though he shared that thought, and then he asked, “Does anybody have any ideas how to handle that?”

“I do,” I replied. In response to their astonished looks, I said, “Ignore it.”

Now everybody looked like I just farted. Everybody but Marshall that is, who had whipped out a pocket calculator and was vigorously punching in numbers, trying to ignore us.

Barry commented, “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

Sally added, “That won’t work.”

Jessica said, “I’ll assume you’re not a fucking moron and ask you to explain that.”

So I asked them, “Did AT amp;T or Sprint mention Nash in their protests? Specifically, him? ”

Barry replied, “Perhaps it was too subtle for you, Drummond, but it was very strongly implied.”

“To who?”

“You mean whom,” Sally said, contributing hugely to the issue.

“Oh…” Jessica muttered.

I explained, “John Q. Public hasn’t got the slightest idea Nash is on the board. We should not define their charge of impropriety and eliminate their risks.”

Sally asked, “What risks?”

Obviously the quick study of the group, Jessica replied, “You’re right, Drummond. They could step into a big pile of legal shit.”

Sally, appearing even more confused, asked, “What pile?”

I said, “Ask yourself why they didn’t specify Nash’s name.”

Jessica explained to Barry and Sally, “They’re worried about slander, leading to libel.”

I added, “Further implying a lack of substantiation. They’re praying we’ll respond with a specific defense. If we raise Nash’s name, we make him the topic of discussion, which frees them to publicly trash him.”

Barry, nodding his head also, commented, “Exactly what I was thinking.”

Jessica ignored the idiot and said to me, “But in one way or another it’s bound to come up.”

“Probably. Force them to do it. If they overstep, slap an injunction on their asses for slander. That’ll force them to disclose how little or how much they know.”

Jessica pondered this advice for a moment, then said, “Drummond, you’re good.”

Barry said, “That’s why you come to this firm, Jessica. We know how to tackle the hard ones.”

I think this meant I was becoming part of the team. I actually thought about reaching over and exchanging high fives with Barry. I felt really bad about wanting to strangle him.

Barry then said to Jessica, “Last issue-the resubmission of your financials. We’ll just send the old one and the problem’s settled.”

Unfortunately, the word “financial” prompted Marshall to glance up from his calculator and mutter, “Nope.”

“What?” Barry replied.

“Won’t work. The original was based on an in-house audit.”

“So what?”

“Before the Pentagon awards a multiyear contract like this, it’s required to ensure that the winner possesses the financial fundamentals to stay in business long enough to perform the work. Now that it’s been challenged, we have to produce a much more indepth audit and cash flow analysis…” and so forth, and so on.

I was stretching and yawning, and in fact, my forehead was slamming off the table as Marshall began discussing EBIDTA and amortization and a host of other appalling issues. Well, this went on awhile, and all four lawyers began dozing off.

Suddenly, Marshall was loudly asking, “Excuse me… excuse me. .. once again… are there any questions?”

Well, there were a few nervous coughs and we all four exchanged wary glances. This could be fatal.

I finally said, “In shorthand, Marshall, this means, what?”

“Well, based on-”

“In English.”

He studied our three faces and, I think, grasped the risks. Another word of that financial mumbo-jumbo and we’d rip his lips off. He said, “Uh… well, an external audit.”

“Please explain that.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. An outside accounting firm needs to confirm that we’re profitable and likely to remain that way for the foreseeable future.”

Barry asked him, “And how long will that take?”

“Well, you know, we were expecting this, and therefore have everything organized for a speedy audit. Assuming we get-”

“How long?” I asked menacingly.

“Uh… perhaps two weeks.”

Barry said, “Next week at the latest.”

“Oh my. I… well, I don’t think that will be…” He fingered his calculator, then suggested, “Maybe, if we double the number of auditors and work twenty-four/seven. Then… maybe… I don’t know, maybe ten days.”

Barry said, “Drummond, you’re in charge of the audit. You get seven days.”

“What?”

He said, “Sally and I will handle this matter about Nash.”

“No. For one thing, I am legally incompetent to handle an audit. Second, I’m going to remain that way.”

Sally said, “Neither you, nor we, have a choice. It’s the only thing you can work on that’s not a conflict of interest.”

Jessica, smiling, said, “Don’t be such a pussy, Drummond. The real work’s done by the green eyeshades. If a legal issue arises that’s beyond your competence, refer it to Barry.”

Boy, it sure looked like I missed a major agreement being late.

Barry gave me a nice screw-you smile and said, “Sink or swim around here, Drummond. This is the big leagues. But if you’re scared, I’ll find another junior associate to handle it.”

No smart lawyer accepts a task that exceeds his legal competence. Nor did I have the slightest doubt why Barry wanted to stuff this audit down my throat. But the proper response was both obvious and irrefutable. Ignore his infantile goading, and tell him to stuff this job.

So I got up, grabbed my legal pad, looked them all dead in the eye and said, “Sure, no problem.”