59

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Fortune favors the bold, Philip Kilpatrick thought. And sometimes the cunning. And often those who have spent a lifetime nurturing relationships, never knowing when you might need someone to cover your back.

That was the case now, and for nearly a month Kilpatrick had thought it through like a grand master of chess, anticipating moves and countermoves and a decision tree of endless possibilities. It wasn’t hard with Wyatt Jackson and Paige Chambers—they were amateurs, street players against Bobby Fischer. But John Marcano was another matter. He was unpredictable and canny, an expert at using deception, and one of the most powerful men in Washington, D.C.

But he wouldn’t be ready for this. How could he be? Kilpatrick had played the scenario out many times, anticipating every reaction, and always came to the same conclusion. Checkmate. This was a way Kilpatrick could avoid testifying, put the Anderson case behind him, and get back to saving the country.

Four days before Labor Day weekend, Kilpatrick called Harry Coburn, a reporter for the New York Tribune, a man he trusted more than anyone else in the Fourth Estate. He couldn’t even count how many confidential tips he had given this guy over the past few years. In the process, Kilpatrick had been building up the favor chips one by one, and now it was time for a big withdrawal.

He got Coburn on the phone and told him the stipulations. You must be willing to go to jail before burning your source. If necessary to reduce the heat, you can make it look like the information came from the plaintiff’s lawyers. You must release the story on my timetable.

Coburn made every guarantee with the eagerness of a young child promising to keep his room clean in exchange for a trip to Disney World. Kilpatrick could almost hear it over the phone—the dreams of a Pulitzer Prize now within reach.

Kilpatrick said he wouldn’t send the document electronically. He didn’t want to leave a digital trail that would point back to him. If Coburn wanted the story, he would have to come and get a hard copy.

Coburn said he would arrive via Amtrak the same day. “How long is it?” he asked.

Kilpatrick had a hard copy of the document sitting on his desk. He checked the last page. “Four hundred eighty-two pages.”

“Wow! Are you sure no one else has access to it?”

Kilpatrick was sure. The court orders were very specific, the recipients were all classified, and the number of people who had access to this document could be counted on two hands. “I think you should shoot for the weekend edition,” he said.

He hung up the phone and smiled, then tucked the bound document into his briefcase and headed out the door to a local OfficeMax. He would handle the copying of this one himself, using gloves, so there would be no fingerprints on what he handed to Coburn.

The deposition of John Marcano, protected by court order under pain of fine and imprisonment, was about to hit the press.