David Rosenfelt - One Dog Night

No mention is made of any dangerous cargo, and more ominously, no mention is made of any possible connection to the Galloway case.

I have spent the three hours since I found out that Sam and Marcus were okay and Bauer was dead thinking about how I can make this impact Noah’s situation. My only possible way to do that is through Mulcahy, to have him again go to De Luca, this time armed with the weight of the night’s events.

I try him a bunch of times, but he doesn’t answer the call, probably because he knows it’s me. He finally calls me back at one-thirty in the morning, though he doesn’t wake me. He could call at any hour tonight and not wake me.

“I’ve been trying to reach you,” I say. “I want to know what happened.”

“You already know what happened,” he says.

“What was the cargo?”

“That’s pretty much the only thing I’ll tell you, because you were right. But I need your word you won’t repeat it.”

“You’ve got it,” I say. “Uranium?”

“Uranium. But not the normal kind. Not the kind seen anywhere before.”

“What kind is it?”

“More than ninety-nine percent of uranium taken out of the ground is called uranium 238. It has within it a tiny amount, less than half of one percent, of uranium 235, and that’s the part that’s needed to make a nuclear weapon, at least a basic kind. If you have enough 235, the enrichment process is easy.”

“And this uranium contained a high level of 235?”

“The current estimate is twenty-two percent. It’s never been seen before, and I hope it’s never seen again. Whoever got their hands on this would in effect be getting their hands on the bomb.”

“Who was trying to get it?”

“That’s on a need-to-know, and you are not close to having that need. But I do want to thank you. You were right about an awful lot, and you saved a lot of lives today.”

“Great,” I say, “now all you need to save is one. Noah Galloway’s.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to talk to De Luca.”

“I’ve seen that movie,” he says.

“Then see it again. Or have someone above you see it. But get De Luca to order a directed verdict of acquittal before the jury convicts him tomorrow morning.”

“Everything about this incident is classified, Andy. There is nothing I can do.”

“I’ll talk to the media.”

“And people might or might not believe you. Or they might think you’re a lawyer trying to protect a client with information that already didn’t work at trial.”

“He’s going to go to jail for the rest of his life.”

“You’re worried about him, and I’m worried about everyone else. I can’t help you.”

I can see the strain on Noah’s face as he is led into the courtroom.

It’s the look on every defendant’s face as they prepare to hear the verdict that will decide their fate. The problem for me in this case is that I put that strain there.

If not for me, there would have been no trial. Noah would have taken his punishment well, even willingly, and would never have hoped or expected freedom. I raised his hopes, and now the jury is going to wipe them away.

Becky sits directly behind him, wearing a similar expression. When I nod to her she mouths, “Thank you.” I don’t know if Noah’s likely conviction will make her feel the guilt that I feel, because without her I never would have had the chance to take Noah down this path.

Noah sits down next to me. He smiles and says, softly, “The day of reckoning.”

Across the way, Dylan and his team are assembled. They do not seem under any particular stress; either way they are going home tonight. If I had to guess, it’s more important for Dylan to beat me than to convict Noah. Unfortunately, doing one means doing the other.

Mulcahy is also in the gallery. I would rather he were with the judge, but I saw him come in through the rear door and take his seat. He nods to me, but I don’t nod back. That’ll teach him.

De Luca is fifteen minutes late, which is not terribly unusual. For some reason I find that judges are often late on verdict day. I consider it a form of cruel and unusual punishment, at least for the defendant and his lawyer.

De Luca finally comes in, and gives a brief speech about how important it is for the courtroom to remain calm and quiet after the verdict. It’s a packed house, and De Luca, realizing that, emphasizes the importance of postverdict silence even more than usual.

I see Laurie and Hike enter the courtroom through the back door, having come straight here from the airport. Coming down to the defense table would be disruptive, so they stand in the back and watch.

De Luca calls in the jury, and they come in looking properly solemn. I have no ability to read faces, so I don’t try. If they convict Noah, I’ll want to track them down and rip off those faces, so rather than read them, I should try to remember them.

De Luca asks the foreman if they have reached a verdict, and the woman says that they have. “Please give the form to the clerk,” he instructs, and she does so. He then asks Noah to stand, and I join him in doing so.

I put my hand on Noah’s shoulder, as a gesture of support but really because in the past I’ve put my hands on other defendants’ shoulders, and they’ve been acquitted. My verdict superstitions continue until the verdict is read.

The bailiff then brings the form to De Luca. He opens it and takes what seems like a month to read it. He then hands it to the clerk, and asks him to read it aloud.

“In the matter of New Jersey v. Noah Galloway, as relating to count one, we the jury find the defendant, Noah Galloway, guilty of murder in the first degree.”

I keep my hand on Noah’s shoulder as the clerk reads the guilty verdicts for the other three counts as well. The hand-on-the-shoulder thing obviously does not work.

Becky moves forward and hugs Noah, and the bailiffs respectfully allow her a few seconds to do so. I lean in to both of them and say, “This will not stand,” but I doubt they believe me.

The gallery is fairly loud, and De Luca slams his gavel repeatedly to achieve quiet. It takes a minute or so, but he finally gets it.

“First of all, I would like to thank the members of the jury for your service. You have worked hard, heard the evidence, and made your decision. Based on the facts presented to you, it is the correct decision.

“But I have just been given additional facts, some classified, that you did not have and therefore were not able to consider in your deliberations. It is for that reason that I am exercising my right to set aside your verdict and order a directed verdict of acquittal.”

The gallery is quiet for a few moments, as if trying to digest what they have heard. I’m having a bit of a digestion problem myself. Then they explode in noise, and I barely hear De Luca tell Noah that he is no longer subject to the jurisdiction of this court.

“I’m free?” Noah asks me, understandably bewildered.

“You’re not just free. You’re innocent.”

“I’ll talk to lead counsel in chambers,” De Luca says.

As I stand to obey the order, I spot Mulcahy out of the corner of my eye. He’s smiling.

“I spent the past twenty minutes on the phone with the White House chief of staff and the attorney general. They told me in no uncertain terms that Noah Galloway was innocent of this crime, and that the events in Texas last night confirmed it beyond any doubt.”

Dylan has looked stunned since the verdict was announced, but the shock seems to be slowly giving way to anger. “What specific information did they give you?”

“Not much, and what they did provide was classified. They relied on my security clearance from my days in Army Intelligence.”