51

VIRGINIA BEACH, VIRGINIA

For over thirty days, armies of lawyers hired by the defendants did their best to stop the scheduled depositions of their clients. They had already requested that Judge Solberg stay her ruling so that they could appeal to the Fourth Circuit before the depositions commenced. She had refused. Now they had petitioned the Fourth Circuit for an emergency stay postponing the depositions until the case could be fully briefed and considered by the appellate court.

Wellington and Paige responded to each filing with briefs of their own, arguing that the case should be allowed to proceed on the limited basis that Judge Solberg had outlined. Every time the defense firms filed a brief, there was a string of about six lawyers for each firm in the signature line. But when briefs were filed on behalf of Kristen Anderson, they had the same three lawyers every time. And one of them—Wyatt Jackson—hadn’t actually written a word. By the beginning of July, Paige and Wellington were sleep-deprived and jumpy.

As it stood, the first deposition was scheduled for Friday, July 13, when Director Marcano would be deposed by Paige. As predicted, Wyatt had not obtained security clearance and could not even be in the courtroom when Paige questioned the director. Wyatt wanted to file a motion claiming that the government improperly denied him security clearance, but when Paige saw his long list of contempt citations and ethics complaints, she talked him out of it. No sense picking a fight they couldn’t win.

Two days prior to the deposition, the Fourth Circuit issued a one-paragraph order denying the emergency stay. The order said that the procedure proposed by Judge Solberg was fair and would adequately protect state secrets while she made the determination of whether the case should proceed.

The very next day, the defendants filed a thirty-five-page petition with the U.S. Supreme Court, requesting that the justices halt all discovery until such time as they could hear a full appeal and consider whether the case should proceed on its merits. The petition claimed that if the Court didn’t stop discovery in the interim, state secrets might be exposed, causing irreparable harm.

Under the Supreme Court’s procedural guidelines, the emergency petition would first be considered by the one justice who had jurisdiction in the Virginia area—Chief Justice Cyrus Leonard. In theory, he could issue a temporary stay without even consulting the others, though such actions were exceedingly rare, especially when the Court was in summer recess.

“He might grant some type of expedited review,” Wellington told Paige. “But he’s not going to act in the twenty-four hours before we start our depositions.”

Wellington sounded sure of himself, but Paige had a question. “How many cases have you and Wyatt had at the Supreme Court?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

“This would be our first.”

The call came at 11:05 p.m. on the night before Marcano’s deposition. Paige had finished reviewing her outline of questions and had just crawled into bed. As soon as she recognized the voice, she started the recording software Wellington had loaded onto her phone.

“Deposing Daniel Reese is a bad idea,” the Patriot said, his voice the same metallic blend as before.

“Why?”

“There are things I can’t say over the phone. We will need to meet in person.”

“When can we do that?” Paige asked, her heart racing. This was the first time he had mentioned an in-person meeting.

“I’ve got to figure a few things out first. I’ll give you the details soon.”

“Do you have anything else on Director Marcano?” Paige asked.

“You received my package of materials?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ve got it covered.”

“That’s debatable,” Paige said.

“I’ll be in touch. But stay away from Reese.”

As always, the Patriot hung up without saying good-bye. But this time Paige had it recorded.

She dressed and called Wellington. “I’m on my way over,” he said.

When he arrived, Wellington set up his computer at the kitchen table and transferred the recording to his hard drive. For the first hour, Paige watched and listened as he tried to reverse the voice scrambler that disguised the Patriot’s natural tone. But it was now past midnight, and tomorrow would be a very long day.

“I’m going to bed,” she told Wellington. “Good luck.”

“Okay,” he said without looking up.

When she arose the next morning, there was a handwritten note on the kitchen table.

No success yet. Still working on it.