FROM WITHIN
LAURENCE STUART WARSHAW

New York Lawyer
December 1, 2008

The sounds and smells of agony hung in the air. He was not alone. Between spasms, the exhausted victim, while lying in a puddle of his own sweat, his eyes mostly shut, summoned strength from within to where he could only half gasp and mutter expletive laden promises that his tormentor would die screaming. However, each threat was met with the tormentor’s knowing laugh that it was not going to happen. Was fate really this unkind? Apparently so, as even the victim knew better than to hope for an intervening cosmic gotcha.

Knowing the end was near, each promise of death was met immediately with the thud of the tormentor’s foot stomping the floor near the head of the victim as if to keep a pace. Maybe it was just to scare him some more. Reputations were at stake. With a last gasp, the victim inhaled, shut his eyes and waited in anticipation as his legs sank quickly and heavily to the floor. As his eyes slowly opened and focused, a large hand was extended to his. Wearily summoning what strength was left, he grasped the hand that was offered and was pulled to his feet. The Tormentor spoke, “ Good job, judge. “ ”Thanks George. “ he said now standing but slightly bent over and fatigued only the way the last of three sets of 20 leg lifts can do. “ I had you scared didn’t I “ he said grinning. “Absolutely” said George. “ I’m gonna have to find a new line of work . Personal training is too damn dangerous for me.” They both laughed. “Watch the carbs and I’ll see you next week. We’ll work the core” George said. With that , Judge James Oliver grunted, shook his hand and began the necessary and welcome walk to the men’s locker room . He had about 40 minutes to shower and get to court.

Oliver began the training sessions a few months after his wife was killed taking a walk on a road way up state near Saratoga. It was as truly tragic as it was avoidable. They went for the fall foliage: something she always wanted to do. He stayed in the B&B while she took a walk with her camera. It was a hit and run by a kid who shouldn’t have been driving that was eventually solved. Yet , he knew he needed to do something to mix up his routine. Moreover, he was out of shape and was forced to accept that there was no longer someone there for him, so he had to be there for himself. He wasn’t trying for washboard abs. They would look out of place on a short and naturally stocky guy who resembled George Costanza anyway. But, he would have been happy with dropping a few pounds and toning up. It was starting to take effect. Hallelujah. Now, if only he could avoid pizza and chocolate.

Oliver was next hustling up the steps to the Court house at 60 Centre St. Just after passing under Washington’s admonition that “The True Administration of Justice Is The Firmest Pillar Of Good Government “ he approached the security post, flashed his id and said good morning to Sgt. Landers. “Expect a big crowd today your honor” Landers offered. “Never know. Probably the same as before.” the judge replied. Landers kind of rolled his eyes it the direction of his deputy who was slightly ahead of Oliver so the gesture could not be seen by the judge. Making his way off of the elevator to his sixth floor chambers, the scene was replayed almost verbatim with the security officer on the floor and finally with his law secretary, Ken Johnson.

Though Judge Oliver was relatively new to the bench, he presided over the high profile murder trial of James Wilson, a scum bag who shot a cop in the back. You can just imagine the coverage in the Post and Daily News. Oliver was reamed in the press for his rulings and apparent impartiality. It’s not easy. He realized that the societal need for speed and immediacy had created an impatience for deliberation so that a mere accusation became tantamount to a guilty verdict. ‘Sentence First, trial second.” The Mad Hatters had prevailed.

Oliver was upset by his daily flogging but tried not to let it show to his staff. Who wouldn’t be? “Open and Shut” cried the headlines. “Rookie Error”, “Crim Law 101" and “ Judge Guilty of Incompetence” were among the most vicious. But, Oliver held fast. Maybe as a judge, he was too green to know or care about the press. The cop killer got a fair trial despite overwhelming evidence and a palpable blood lust from the many officers who attended the trial. A line of duty murder can bring it out in even the finest of the Finest. The truth was that now the expectations for a long sentence were low based upon the dissatisfaction with the pacing of the trial and some of the judge’s rulings and comments. The press was getting ready to reload on Oliver in anticipation of some sort of showing of compassion or mercy for Wilson. But neither Oliver’s many detractors nor he could have imagined the turn of events emanating from his ruling.

It was 8:30. Oliver made coffee and offered some to Johnson. He had work to do and wanted to pull up the latest draft of his sentencing decision. It was printed out. As Oliver scanned the first page, he began to hear it in his head. As if out of body, he momentarily viewed himself on the bench reading the sentence. Suddenly, he was back. “Judge, you were right about the sentencing guide lines.” Johnson said. Can I see the decision?” He asked. Oliver, said , he had more changed to make and told Johnson he’d have to wait since it was still in draft.

The court room was packed . A sea of blue around the family of the murdered officer and a patch of grey by the family of his killer. At 9:30 sharp Oliver took the bench and called the room to order. Somewhat energized by his work out he banged the gavel rather crisply and said that while some will be pleased and others disappointed with his sentencing, the court room was not a place for any kind of demonstration. With that the officers in the room began shaking their heads in expectation that they would be the ones disappointed. He heard the comments of the prosecution and defense. He asked the defendant if he had anything to say. All he could muster was an apology to the family. No word yet if it was accepted. Then Oliver began to read.

“A judge is limited in his power. He cannot change the past.” He looked up for a second and then his voice seemed to change. ” Having presided over the trial of the murder of officer James White and it being found that the defendant is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt of this heinous crime, it is ironic that the defendant’s rights have been protected by the very rule of law that officer White represented and dedicated his life to preserve. Moreover, he has been provided the very thing that he denied his victim: an opportunity to defend himself. “ He continued, “I have read that the sins of the father should not be visited upon the sons. I would suggest too, that the sins of the son, not be visited upon the father. In this case the defendant’s family. They did not kill officer White and are not responsible for their son’s crime.” The spectators began to sit up. Their looks of doubt transformed expectant.

Thus it was that the judge who was written off as weak and unqualified issued a cutting decision that was stunning in both its scholarship and insights. In a decision that took over 35 minutes to read he said that the death of a police officer on duty is especially grievous. It is an attack not just on the individual, but on society at large. In an unprecedented fashion he provided a moving biography of officer James White so that it would forever be “a matter of record” that his young sons could read when they were older that their father was a good and brave man.

As he read, stifled murmurs and undercurrents of applause were elicited. Two things he said would be widely quoted. The first was that he “ never thought that I would be in a position to actually regret that the laws of this state do not permit the imposition of capitol sanctions.” This would provide a rallying cry for death penalty legislation in the state. Especially now that the proponents had their own Willie Horton in James Wilson. The second was the haunting “ the members of any parole board that could ever hear you name have not even been born yet..”

He nailed the bastard and sentenced him to six consecutive life terms. Oliver then looked at Wilson. Directly behind him, he could see members of Officer White’s family in the first two rows of benches. By now Wilson was flanked by security guards. He then said “ Mr. Wilson, I don’t think that I have the capacity to understand or forgive what you have done. That, will have to come from some higher power; some higher source. If ever. ” Then, in a sincerely visceral manner ordered that Wilson be removed. As the door closed behind him, the sound of the gavel seemingly broke the tension in the court room. They were adjourned. As the judge rose, so did all others in the room. A cheer began to ring out. But Oliver quickly banged the gavel to stop it. He looked at the crowd as if to scold them with a “not here” and left the court room through the paneled door just behind his chair. They applauded after he left.

The press never saw it coming and spent the better part of the next two weeks hailing the judge. The story went national. A few op ed pieces were even critical of the media’s approach and impatience with the process. It was as close to a mea culpa as they could get. Oliver wore his new found celebrity in a decidedly yet typically understated fashion. It was his way. Besides, most of his cases and duties settled into a routine that did not reach the fever pitch of the Wilson trial.

However, the security guards stopped rolling their eyes in disdain behind his back. Everyone wanted to be near his flame. He was going to go places.

A few months down the road, Oliver was in his chambers when the phone rang. His secretary got it and quickly announced, “Judge, you’re not going to believe this, but they say it’s the Vice President.” “The Vice President of what” was his reply.” “Of America “ came the answer. His first thought as he reached for the phone was that one of his friends was up to something. “Hello” he said. “Judge this is Dick Cheney. The President wanted me to call you . I realize this is sudden, but there is a new position with Homeland Security that we’d like you to consider. We think you are the right man for it.” Oliver stammered for a second. “What is it about Mr. Vice President.” “It’s the Homeland Secretary’s national security coordinator.” Cheney replied. “That’s great but, I have no background with it . There’s been a mistake” Oliver replied. Cheney said “It’s no mistake, the position requires discretion and a legal analysis of sensitive data independent of DOJ . Why don’t you come down here and learn more about it .” Cheney was serious and sounded as if he expected him soon. I’ll put you in touch with my chief of staff.” “ Sounds interesting” Oliver said. “It is and you’ll never regret it” Cheney said. The call soon ended.

Oliver adjourned his calendar and was on the plane to DC the next day. It was no mistake. He was a bit mystified but met with Chertoff and Cheney in Cheney’s office: The one he saw in the news once with the rug that has the seal of the vice president. The position was “sensitive,” and Oliver learned that in Washington speak, “sensitive” meant that Oliver would deal exclusively with classified information. His main job would be to help design and approve domestic intel surveillance plans that met statutory requirements. Oliver was doubtful he was the right man for it. But they assured him he was. His hand repeatedly made its way into a bowl of mostly GOP red M & Ms that was on the table in front of him. The chocolate didn’t exactly seal the deal, but it didn’t hurt either. Oliver agreed. He would resign from the bench in New York and move to DC. It was a chance to serve his country and witness history. He was there.

The NY press made much of the move. The Post ran Oliver’s face superimposed with a picture of the capitol and the headline “HERE COMES THE JUDGE.” Bloomberg was even asked a question about it in a press conference. He said that the move was “bad for the NY bench but good for the country.” It was clearly a PR coup for the feds. They needed someone the public trusted who would also find a way to be tough on security needs. Oliver had that credibility because coverage of the Wilson trial went national. They were sure he’d be able to find a way to get the job done. It was a win win of sorts in the face of critics who seemed to insist that all you could do with our enemies was to give them a time out and take away their ice cream.

Oliver had no clue about what lay ahead. But, into the breach he went. He rented out his coop and moved to a one bedroom rental in Georgetown. He soon settled into a routine and learned his way around town. He even found a bar he could call his own. The Roundtree Inn. It served food late and he worked late 24/7.Had to. He was even given a very impressive title. “HADI” Homeland Assistant Director Intelligence. A fast learner, it was just a few weeks before he began to get the hang of it. He had “eyes only” security clearance and together with Steven Glass, another executive with Homeland Security, he met with Cheney weekly. Oliver even had a few meetings with Bush. The first one made his knees knock. He was in.

One night, around 11:00pm at the Roundtree, Oliver was going through the motions of enjoying his special burger when he got up to take a call on his government issued Blackberry. You can’t say too much on them as they are not secured, but he left the table for a moment to stand where there was a better signal. Something was up. Then again, something always was. On the rebound to his table, he first saw her. Elegant, tall, and sexy. Due to the lighting, he couldn’t see the eye color, but he didn’t have to. She was the stuff that fantasies are made of. The kind of woman most men can only look at from across a room. Unfortunately for him, Oliver was just that kind of man. He felt like most of us that his looks were ordinary and realized immediately that hers were not. Because of the move to DC he hadn’t been to a gym in a while. He felt it. But, she must have caught his glance because when he walked past the bar where she was sitting, she spoke to him.

“I am sorry, but didn’t I meet you at the National Gallery.” He took the bait. “I am sure I’d remember.” He said. “Well my name is Paula.” Nice to meet you again, I think.” She laughed. He laughed. “I’m Jim” he said. They chatted for about ten minutes. She had a slight accent he could not quite place. But it didn’t really matter. It was one of those points of interest he could ask about later on , if there was a later on. She worked in marketing for an electronics company. He never told anyone what he did. Just that he worked for the government in Homeland Security. It was the newest and fastest growing department in the system and he presented himself as just a very small cog in a very big wheel. Turns out she lived in the same hood and came by the Roundtree on occasion. Paula said it was getting late and she had to go. But before going she gave him her card. “Hope to see you again” Oliver said. “Me to “ she as she shook his hand with a hand shake that was polite but firm and got up to leave. Oliver returned to his table and sort of watched her walk out. He looked at the card. Paula Stric, Vice President. CALDER ELECTRIC and put it in his shirt pocket.

A few nights later, on a Thursday, he saw her again at the Roundtree. This time, he said hello first and asked if she wanted to join him. She did. They sat at the table near a copy of Washington Crossing the Delaware. She told him that she moved to the U.S. from the Czech Republic about 10 years earlier. Her parents and younger sister living just outside of Prague in a town called Czechne Kremlov. A picturesque town whose main industry revolved around tourism and the restored castle that dominated the country skyline. Her family lived on Dubchec Avenue. Named after Alexander Dubchec , the prime minster who presided over the Czech Spring in 1968 before the Soviets ran the tanks to quell any notions of democracy. Paula went to visit at least once a year and always seemed to come back with famous Czech crystal to add to her collection. Her favorite store was a few blocks from their home and was called ‘Town Crystal.’ It was her passion.

The evening went well. Oliver told her he used to be a judge in New York and then came to DC to work in Homeland Security. That was as far as he would go. After a while it began to turn surreal. Paula asked Oliver if he was available and interested in going out sometime. She liked smart guys and gave him an obligatory line about his being handsome. He said “absolutely.” A date was made for Sunday brunch. Secretly, he could hardly wait for the day to arrive, but he played it cool. It was absurd on the face of it. It was like the time George dreamt he dated Marissa Tomei on Seinfeld. Besides, he had met the president. Paula was just a stone cold goddess. No big deal. Then he thought NOT! and shook his head.

Friday morning he had his daily briefing with Glass. When it was over he went to Glass’ office. Oliver shut the door behind him and began to recount his meeting and dinner with Paula. He was not exactly boasting and not exactly shy about it either. But Glass was married for about 20 years and professed to live vicariously through the dating achievements of others. The hotter the babe, the greater the depths of Glass’s despair. “It’s unreal” Glass said. “So it’s unreal. I guess I’ll have to adjust” Oliver said laughing. “Enjoy the brunch. Now get your ass out of my office. I hate you “Glass replied. “I know. But at least it’s for a good reason. Maybe one night we can double” Oliver said as he got up. Glass gave him the finger.

For the next several weeks, Paula and Oliver certainly hit it off. The sex was great. The best he’d ever had. Her voice even took on a leathery quality at just the right time. Oliver’s perpetual out of body experience with her eventually subsided to where he could accept that it was really happening. She said she really liked the intellectual type. Must have been true. About two months into the relationship, Oliver was invited to a White House Dinner “with guest.” He took her. That was a no brainer. It was a special night on several levels. First, the President knew who he was. It is a rush when the President shakes your hand and says “Good to see you Jim.” Major points. He also knew that once every pair of eyes wandered off of the president, they focused on Paula in her black Armani first and him second. “What other surprises do you have for me?” she whispered as they made their way to their table. He smiled and said nothing.

Eventually, they were practically living together at each other’s apartments. Paula decorated hers to feature her collection of crystal. He had lithographs but was so busy that he never fully unpacked. He kept his brief case in the closet near the door. His coded MacBook was set up on a desk in his bed room. Top always down unless in use. Due to the nature of his work, he was limited to what he could bring home. The dinner at the White House made Paula realize he was no small cog in a big wheel. Turns out after about 6 months Oliver had become central and indispensable to the department. He knew about every undercover domestic operation designed to infiltrate what were suspected Al Queda and related cells. She began to get curious and hinted around that she wanted to know more about his work. After that dinner, he realized he would have to say something. But, he remained discrete. She really wasn’t so out of line and it was not like Michael Corleone telling Kaye never to ask about his business. Besides, every once in a while they were using the ‘L’ word to one another.

One day Paula called and told him her boss was coming in from Europe and had a town house in Bethesda. They were invited for dinner and it was important that she be there. Her boss was an Englishman, John Marymount. He lived in London after eight years on the continent handling sales. Oliver left early: around 7:30 and picked Paula up at her place. He carried his brief case with him. He could never leave it in a car since he frequently had some papers with him to read at home. There were a few cars in front of their destination at 26 Naval Court. But curiously, when he entered, Oliver didn’t see any other people. Only Marymount was there as he came to greet them. He kissed Paula on both cheeks and firmly shook Oliver’s hand after the introductions were made. “Nice to meet you” Oliver said. Marymount replied “ The pleasure is mine. I’ve heard a bit about you from

Paula. Dinner at the White House was it?” he said in typical nasal British understatement. “Please come in. Let me take your brief case. I’d like to talk to you ” he continued. “I have to keep it with me.” Oliver replied. “”As you wish” said Marymount.

Oliver and Paula were shown into a room that was paneled and very well appointed with Miro and Calder lithographs. Marymount offered them a drink and a seat. Oliver sat in a black leather arm chair and placed his brief case on the floor next to his left foot. Paula causally sat on the right arm of the chair. Her left arm was extended and resting along the top of the chair and almost touching Oliver’s back. Marymount sat across a coffee table. A desk just behind him neatly had a 22 inch lcd monitor on top of it. He began to speak “Judge” he said. Oliver thought it odd since no one had called him Judge since he left New York. “ It’s inevitable that a time arrives when a relationship between a woman like Paula and a man like yourself quickly expands to include other people. Don’t you think? Marymount said. “I don’t get what you’re saying John.” Oliver said while realizing there was no point to his commenting on being called judge. “Listen to what he has to say.” Paula said.

Marymount continued, “Well, I am in the information business and deal with lots of money. A person can be made or broken based on the data I can get. Know what I mean?” “Not yet” Oliver said. Marymount said “Let’s suppose that a person who becomes HADI, could have a very lucrative present and future . On the other hand, if certain videos of him having sex were distributed: or suppose he was accused of violating his security clearance by bringing his work home in that very same briefcase that is by your foot where it could be read by others. His present and future would disappear. And maybe he would disappear as well. See what I mean”

As this scene unfolded, Paula stood up from the arm of the chair and went to pour herself another drink. She moved around the room as if she had been there before. She looked back at Oliver but never flinched. He had stopped sipping his drink when Marymount started talking about expanding relationships. His mouth went dry when Marymount mentioned HADI. Oliver never spoke about it . This was some show he thought. He couldn’t wait for the encore. “What are you after” Oliver asked. “Lots of things, but for now, Operation Four Seasons” was the reply. As he said it , Marymount reached behind him and opened a desk drawer. He took out an 8 x 13 envelope and tossed it onto the table in front of Oliver. Some pages flew out. He recognized them as papers he had taken home in his brief case at various times. Preliminary drafts for the most part. They were his. Oliver stared ahead and sat silent. By now, Paula moved to a couch closer to Marymount. She looked directly at Oliver hardly ever blinking. She said nothing.

Four Seasons was a secret program being developed to infiltrate the terrorists. Oliver helped to conceive it and brought many flow charts and memos home to study. It was immediately obvious that while he slept or showered, Paula would get to the brief case when she stayed over and make digital photos of its contents.

“Oh don’t get all wobbly Judge” Marymount said. Oliver looked at him. Marymount added “ She’ll stay with you if you want . Or I can buy you a new one. But I am curious, did you really think that a man like you could attract a woman like her?“ He continued almost laughing. “Who are you working for” Oliver asked. “The highest bidder” was the answer. But, Oliver knew it was either Iran or Russia. There was a lot of chatter in the intel world about their counter intelligence efforts. The Iranians funded Al Queda and spoke openly of a new caliphate. They were as crazy as they were dangerous. The Russians supported anything that kept oil and gas prices high including Al Queda. They were as ruthless as they were duplistic. Bush should’ve looked deeper into Putin’s eyes.

“What makes you think, I’d do that for you “ Oliver asked. Marymount answered, “So, let’s say, you’ll do it because you have to. Besides, we’re not asking you to do it for free. You’ll get used to being rich and having a beautiful woman like Paula to nudge in the morning. It’s really not that bad a life. Besides, you must realize that the alternative is really too unpleasant to consider. Know what I mean Judge?” Marymount then added “Can I freshen that drink for you? with that god damned accent. No reply was elicited as the answer was obvious. “You have a lot to think about and talk over. I didn’t think you ‘d still be hungry after our chat so please forgive my poor hospitality. Paula, why don’t you drive your boy friend home and whip him up something to eat. You’ll hear from us soon. ” Marymount said. As he got up to show them out he handed Oliver his brief case. “We want it all . Never disappoint us ” Marymount was finished. Paula and Oliver left and got into the car.

In the car ride back to Georgetown, neither Oliver nor Paula said anything. She could almost hear him internalize a sense of panic and dread. Coming up on the Arlington Bridge, Oliver’s Blackberry rang. He answered it, heard the message and said “that’s a shame ” to his caller and hung up. They reached his place a few minutes later and he said, “ I think we need to talk.” He could be a master of understatement at times. Paula got out and went into the apartment. Once the lights were turned on, Oliver told her to have a seat and went to make a drink. She thought he was broken. “Don’t get emotional on me Jim” she said. “This is just business. I know who I am and I know who you are.”

Oliver sort of smirked and brought over his brief case and a vodka tonic for her. She said she didn’t want a drink but he told her she should have one handy. He placed it in front of her. “Maybe you don’t know who I am after all. Not from within anyway.” He said. As he spoke he placed the brief case on an end table next to the chair she was in. But before he opened it, he said. “You know, John may have been on to something. But he forgot that relationships that expand quickly can also contract just as quickly.” “What are you talking about?” Paula asked. “Well” he said, “That call in the car.” “What about it “ she asked. “Your friend John Marymount was home alone this evening and had a heart attack. I assure you he is very dead. I wouldn’t call over there if I were you. The lines are all tapped by now.“ Oliver said. Paula went pale. She started to stare blankly ahead at the brief case. As he spoke , Oliver opened it up and pulled out a bag.

“Take it. This is for you“ he said to Paula. It was a small bag with a crystal box wrapped in tissue paper inside of it. “Open it now” came the command.

Paula froze. She recognized the bag being from Town Crystal. The store that was a few blocks from her parent’s home in the Czech Republic. “Open the box” Oliver ordered. She did so gingerly and began to stare into it as if an abyss.

The box contained three pieces of jewelry she recognized immediately. Her sister’s bracelet. Her mother’s broach and her father’s St. Christopher medal. All past presents from her. Her eyes watered. She looked at Oliver as if he were a stranger. He began to speak again. “Don’t you get emotional on me .” he said. He emphasized “this is business.” As he spoke he appeared transformed: almost unrecognizable.

“ Understand” he said, ” if anything happens to me. They will die badly. And if you hesitate to do as you are instructed when told, the consequences will be the same. “What do you want from me ” she asked. “You will get us into the network here and in Europe. As the late Mr. Marymount said, ‘ you will do it because you have to.’ N’est pas?” he replied.

“When did you figure it out” she muttered. “The night we met.” He said. “John was right. A man like me never expects to get a woman like you. Knowing your limitations is a strength as well as a weakness.” He said. As he spoke, her hands clutched her sister’s bracelet.

Paula sunk in her chair a bit. “Remember when I told you about my conversation with Glass the day after our dinner?” He asked, not really expecting an answer. “Well I didn’t tell you everything.” “I told him I was approached and gave him your card for security to check you out. I was sure in my gut , it wasn’t real. We agreed that if it was a set up, I would go along until I learned what the game was about. We finally got your controller over here . Now he’s dead and you have become more valuable.”

He continued, “By the way, Four Seasons doesn’t really exist. It was bait and the papers in my brief case were planted. I have you on camera going through my papers in the brief case and trying to hack into my computer. I also have you on camera using that fabulous body of yours. I don’t mind telling you it was the most enjoyable part of the surveillance.”

Paula looked across the room into the shadows of a corner as he was talking. “What do you want from me.” She listlessly repeated. “Don’t go. What was it John said to me, ‘wobbly?’ Paula. You know what you have to do. We want it all. ” He continued, “your schedule has been cleared and you have a meeting tomorrow with Colonel Russell here at 10:00. He’ll wear civilian clothes and bring a few others.” It was all sinking in. While still looking across the room at nothing in particular, all she could summon was to say “You were right. I don’t really know who you are from within.” Her voice trailed off as she could not speak any further. After a few moments, Oliver broke the silence and brought her back. “Oh,” he continued, “there is a dinner Saturday. Wear the Armani.” She slowly turned to look at him, her eyes heavy, she subtly nodded her head in silence.

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