Brian Haig - The Kingmaker

“Thanks, nothing,” I said, and Katrina waved her off also. We ended up around a big glass table. He smiled at Katrina and said to her, “Please don’t take offense, but you don’t look like a conventional attorney.”

“Who’d want to?”

“Good point.” He chuckled and asked, “So what can I do for you?” He was still smiling, although truthfully, it was damned hard to tell because his nose nearly hid his lips.

I tried to stop staring. “We know you’re busy, so we won’t take up much of your time. We only have a few questions.”

“Questions? I’m afraid I’m confused. The investigators have spent hours with me… I told them everything I knew.”

That shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. Anyway, I said, “Right, but they’re from the other team. They don’t share that knowledge with us.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “Ask anything you wish. Whatever I can do to help.”

Katrina said, “Could you start by telling us what you told the investigators?”

“In abbreviated fashion, I told them Bill worked for me a few years, that he was a capable officer, diligent, hardworking, moderately intelligent. I had a generally favorable impression of him.”

I gave him a curious look. “Didn’t he travel with you, handle your correspondence, represent your views in the interagency arena?”

His head was shaking long before I finished. “That’s a terrible exaggeration. True, he was my special assistant, but only after he implored me. He said the Army wouldn’t release him to work for me unless he had an important-sounding title. I was new to Washington and easily hoodwinked.” He scratched his cheek and added, “Well, what’s in a title anyway, right?”

This from a guy whose own former title nowhere near conveyed the havoc he could wreak with one simple phone call. However, it did fit with my impression of Morrison, shamming and finagling for every ounce of prestige.

“So Morrison didn’t do all those things?” Katrina asked.

He half-chuckled. “I hate this term, but Bill was a bag carrier.”

I asked, “Were you personally close?”

His expression became mildly abashed. “I hope this doesn’t sound boastful, but I received weekly invitations to the White House, from heads of state, from every ambassador in Washington. I count among my closest friends the most powerful people in our capital. Bill was one of many people who worked for me. I was friendly toward him, but professionally friendly… not personally friendly, if you understand the distinction.”

Put that way, yes, I did understand. Martin moved in a rarefied world, and, really, why would he befriend a guy like Morrison? Indeed, in any world, why would anyone… but, I digress.

Katrina said to him, “Didn’t you help Morrison get a job on the NSC staff?”

“Yes, that’s true. When the investigators came by, they even showed me copies of the letters I sent to the National Security Advisor recommending him. But Bill worked under me for four years, and frankly, I tend to be loyal to people who work for me. It can be a fault, but there it is. And truthfully, I was, well… relieved to see him go.”

I asked, “And why’s that?”

“He was becoming, um, what’s the right way to couch this? He was telling people around town how important he was to me. The word kept filtering back. He was exaggerating our relationship and his importance in our government. From your questions, it sounds like he’s still doing it.”

Indeed, it did. I asked, “Did you trust him?”

“Yes, actually. His exaggerations bothered me, but it’s an unfortunate trait of many people in Washington. I never suspected him of something like this.” He paused and gave me a rueful grimace. “I probably should have, shouldn’t I? I feel so stupid now. I was a fool.”

“One more question.” I tried to look endearing, friendly, whatever, and asked, “Would you agree to testify to his character?”

“I, uh… well, I don’t think I can do that.”

“I don’t mean to be difficult, but when he stopped working for you, you sent letters of recommendation to the National Security Advisor. You thought highly enough of him to believe he should work in the White House. Assume he’s innocent of these charges. Assume it’s all some big foul-up. Would you still refuse to testify?”

He looked confused. “I, I don’t think I can. I’ve already agreed to testify for the prosecution. I don’t think I can testify for both sides.”

I traded quick glances with Katrina, who was obviously thinking the same thing I was. I said, “I see.”

He held up both hands in helpless acknowledgment. “They approached me weeks ago. I told them I don’t have any knowledge of Bill’s treachery. They said that’s fine. They want me to testify on his tendency to exaggerate.”

Katrina asked, “And when was that?”

He looked at the ceiling. “Two weeks ago. A Wednesday, I believe. If it’s important I can have Nancy pinpoint it exactly.”

There was no need. We knew enough. Eddie hadn’t missed a beat. Aware that once they arrested Morrison he’d get a lawyer, and that that lawyer would root around for friendly character witnesses, they’d swept up as many as they could before the defense ever had a chance, before the arrest even happened.

I suppose I looked deflated. Martin peered at me and said, “Look, if there’s anything else I can do to help you, please let me know. My position in this whole affair is embarrassing. If Bill is vindicated, I’ll be elated. He worked for me… I helped him get his job in the White House. You understand?”

“I understand.”

He was shaking his head. “I still find it hard to believe Bill did this. He certainly never struck me as the type.”

On our way out, a flock of guys in turbans and robes were waiting by Nancy’s desk. She was busy saying, “… to have caught him in. He’s really a very busy man…” And so on.

As soon as we climbed into a cab for the ride to La Guardia, Katrina said, “Nice guy. That nose, though. If he could carry a musical note, he’d be rich.”

I chuckled. “He is rich. A smart guy, too. You never read any of his books?”

She shook her head.

“I never did, either. He wrote a few best-sellers that caused a big stir in conservative circles.”

“And would you happen to know what the stir was about?”

“If I recall, one revealed a bunch of dirty CIA operations in Vietnam, and another poked holes at our cold war strategy. Anyway, he speaks Russian, has lots of prestigious degrees, and was held in very high esteem in Russia. They say he could twist their arms to do things even the President couldn’t deliver.”

“He impressed me.” Katrina then said, “But was he telling the truth, or just trying to get his distance from Morrison? Which one speaks with forked tongue?”

I reminded myself to quit underestimating her. Without prompting she’d figured out the purpose of the interview.

I replied, “You heard what he said. Morrison’s at the very least an exaggerator.”

“But who wouldn’t want to crawl as many miles from him as they possibly could?”

“There’s that. He must feel like the elephant that got raped by the butterfly.”

So what was the truth? Was Morrison his indispensable right hand or a distant groom with an inflated title? Truthfully, the exaggerations fit with my view of Morrison. However, I didn’t want to be swayed by my prejudices and I knew how to find out.

The moment we landed back at Ronald Reagan Airport, we rushed back to the office. I called Mary, but of course, Homer answered, and I said, “I need to talk with your daughter, the girl I tell everybody in Washington I used to sleep with.”

I heard the gagging sound in his throat as he threw the receiver down and fled. I couldn’t believe I was getting paid for this.