“The question,” she replied tartly, “is not when did trial counsel get it. The question is when did the United States government get it. This is covered by our discovery request, and trial counsel had a duty to cover the government and find out if any part of the U.S. government possessed any relevant information. I planned my case based on what the government disclosed — and now here we are, halfway through this case, and suddenly we have some seriously prejudicial evidence we haven’t had an opportunity to test! This is outrageous!”

“Sir,” said Waldron, “as defense counsel well knows, these things do happen. Evidence turns up at the eleventh hour — just as happened with this memorandum for the record.”

“Well, it’s true, Madame Defense Counsel, you can’t exactly complain, given you just pulled the same thing.”

“What we ‘pulled,’ Your Honor, was a rectification of prosecutorial misconduct. We were fortunate to have turned up, through our sources, a document that the prosecution should have given us quite some time ago. Now they’re trying the same trick again. ‘Suddenly’ they ‘happen’ to find a key piece of evidence, and now they’re attempting to introduce it into the court so late that they hope we won’t have a chance to have our experts examine it. If the Defense Intelligence Agency made this recording thirteen years ago, why has it taken so long to see the light?”

“Sir,” Waldron said, “it’s not impossible that this court-martial has provoked persons within the government to comb old files for things they might have otherwise assumed were lost.”

Tom said aloud, indignantly: “I don’t believe they’re trying this!” Then he raised his voice: “You check the tape, Claire! That’s not me!”

“Sergeant,” Farrell said, “you will refrain from talking. Counsel, you are advised that you are to keep your client under control. No further outbursts will be permitted. Now, counsel, I assume you want a continuance.”

“Absolutely, sir. We request one month in order to conduct a full and thorough examination.”

“This is a goddamned frame-up!” Tom shouted, rising.

“Sergeant,” Farrell thundered, “I told you to keep quiet. Now, you were advised that you have a right to attend this court-martial. However, if you’re going to disrupt this court-martial, we will arrange for you to watch the proceedings by closed-circuit television, do you hear me? You will not sit in my courtroom and disrupt it further, you understand?”

“That’s not me!” he shouted. “It’s not true. That’s not my voice!”

“MPs, take this man away!” Farrell bellowed. The brig guards immediately surrounded Tom and wrestled him to the ground as they clamped the handcuffs on him.

“This is a goddamned frame-up!” Tom shouted.

“I want him out of here now!”

The guards yanked at Tom’s elbow and led him away.

“All right,” Farrell said to Claire, when the courtroom was finally quiet. “You’ve got forty-eight hours.”

48

Late at night, Claire and Jackie sat at the kitchen table, drinking and smoking. The tape had already been flown out to one of the world’s foremost forensic voice-and-tape analysts, in Boulder, Colorado. Claire had chosen the expert carefully: the woman had done extensive voice-identification work for the military, and had even done cases with Waldron. She was virtually a Pentagon insider, and her word would be unquestioned.

“Of course he denies it,” Jackie said carefully. “He’s denied everything about this case, Claire. I mean, he denies it’s his gun, right?”

“Yeah, well, it’s probably not his gun!” Claire said, furious. “Or else they switched the barrel!”

“Of course they could have. These guys can do whatever the fuck they want to. But don’t you believe — deep down — that it’s his gun? That he fired it? That maybe Colonel Marks gave the order over the radio, maybe he didn’t, but Tom did it?” She poured more Famous Grouse into both of their glasses.

“No, I don’t.”

Jackie took a long sip of straight scotch, and shuddered. “Claire, if a man can lie to you about his entire life, why can’t he lie to you about the one horrible incident he’s spent his life evading?”

Claire shook her head. The exhaustion had defeated her. Tears flooded her eyes, and one of them splashed on the table. “I need to talk to him.”

The phone rang.

“It’s only midnight,” Jackie said. “A bit early for the breather.”

Claire picked it up, expecting Grimes or Embry.

“Professor Heller?” said a deep female voice. “This is Leonore Eitel, in Boulder.”

“Yes?”

“I hope I’m not calling too late — you asked me to call as soon as I had the first results—”

“That’s fine.” Her heart beat so loud she could barely hear the woman’s voice.

“Well, I’m afraid — I’m afraid it may not be what you want to hear.”

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Claire said thickly.