«Limited to what, Aaron?»
Pinkus turned to General MacKenzie Hawkins, his demeanor perilously close to that of a judge pronouncing sentence. «To those documents determined by the government to remain beyond scrutiny for a minimum of a hundred and fifty years.»
«Well, goddamn!» The Hawk whistled softly, slapping his beaded buckskins. «Pay dirt!» he added, looking benevolently at Sam. «Aren’t you proud, son, to have been the ‘spiritual influence,’ as the fine commander here put it, behind this grand project?»
«What fucking project?» choked Devereaux. «And what goddamned spiritual influence?»
«Well, Sam, you know how you always used to talk about the downtrodden people on this earth and how so little was done to help them? Some might have called all that spewing and mewing horseshit left-wing garbage, but I never did. I mean, I really respected your point of view, son, I really did.»
«You never respected anything or anybody that couldn’t blow you away into a grave!»
«Now that’s not true, boy, and you know it,» MacKenzie admonished, shaking his index finger at Devereaux. «Remember all those discussions you had with the girls? Each one of those dear ladies would call me and express her genuine respect and affection for you and your philosophical expressions of compassion. Especially Annie, who—»
«Don’t ever mention that name to me!» roared Sam, clapping his hands over his ears.
«I don’t know why not, son. I talk with her frequently, especially when she gets herself in some of those hairy situations she’s prone to, and let me tell you, Sam, she really cares for you.»
«How could she?» yelled Devereaux, trembling with rage. «She married Jesus, not me!»
«Dear Abraham,» intoned Pinkus. «I’m not a party to this colloquy.»
«That’s a different caliber of weapon, son, if you’ll forgive the comparison… But hear me out, boy. I searched for the downtrodden, a people who got screwed by the system, and put all my efforts in setting things right. Somehow I thought you’d be proud of me—God knows, I tried.» The Hawk lowered his chin down into the open collar of his beaded Wopotami jacket, his gaze forlornly on the carpeted floor of the hotel suite.
«Cut that crap out, Mac! I don’t know what the hell you did or tried to do, I only know I don’t want to know!»
«Maybe you should, Sam.»
«Just … one minute,» Pinkus interrupted, his eyes on the contrite Hawk. «I think it’s time I should reach into my exaggerated bag of legal expertise and pull out a specific, if rarely used, statute. The penalty for unauthorized invasion of sealed government archives carries a sentence of thirty years’ imprisonment.»
«You don’t say?» said the general, his gaze roaming the carpet as if trying to find a pattern on the all-blue covering.
«Yes, I do say, General. And since this information has no discernible effect on you, I must happily presume that your counsel had full authorization to study the documents referred to in this brief.»
«Wrongo!» shouted Sam. «He stole them—it’s the G-Two mess all over again! This lousy excuse for a human being, this unmitigated military mistake, this legend of larceny did it again! I know it because I know him—I know that dirty little boy look, the rotten kid who wets his bed and tells you it was raining under the covers. He’s the one who did it!»
«Judgments made in the white heat of emotional reactions are rarely sound, Samuel,» said Pinkus, shaking his head critically.
«Judgments made in the cold light of objective observation over a long and agonizing period of time are generally irrefutable,» rejoined Devereaux. «If the cookies are made of molasses and the son of a bitch has his hand in the jar with his fingers stuck together, you can be goddamned sure you found the perpetrator! Recidivism is a term the criminal courts have lived with for years.»
«Well, General,» continued Aaron, peering at the Hawk over the rim of his glasses. «The prosecution seems to have raised a valid point, since he relates the current circumstances to a previous act you yourself have confirmed regarding the stolen intelligence files. Behavioral patterns are limited but acceptable evidence.»
«Now, Commander Pinkus,» began MacKenzie, squinting and pursing his lips in bewilderment, «all this legal verbiage has my head spinning. To tell you the truth, I can’t follow half of what you say.»
«Liar!» cried Sam, suddenly breaking into a loud singsong chant, like a child taunting another. «It’s raining under the cov-verrs, it’s raining under the cov-verrs …!»
«Samuel, be quiet,» admonished the elderly lawyer, his voice ringing with authority as he turned back to the Hawk. «I believe we can settle this expeditiously, General. Professional courtesy has restrained me from insisting on the name of your incredibly gifted counsel, but now I’m afraid that I must. As an officer of the court, he can refute my young associate’s allegation and clear up the matter.»
«It’s hardly proper, sir,» said Hawkins, his expression stoic, «for one commanding officer to ask another to betray a confidence. That sort of thing is for the lower echelon, where honor’s not so prevalent and spines are less than steel.»
«Now come, really, General, where is the harm? Surely this brief, as brilliantly persuasive as it appears to be from what I’ve read, still has not been tested. Heaven knows, without attorney attribution and in the absence of government challenge, it certainly hasn’t been submitted to any court.» Aaron paused, laughing softly. «If it had been, we’d all know about it, as our entire judicial system, as well as the Department of Defense, would come to a stop, all the participants screaming in frenzy. So you see, General Hawkins, there’s nothing to be lost or gained…» Pinkus’s genial countenance suddenly froze on his face. Slowly, involuntarily, it faded as his eyes grew wide and his face ashen. «Dear Abraham, please don’t desert me,» he whispered, staring at MacKenzie Hawkins’s totally blank expression. «My God, it was submitted!»
«In a manner of speaking, it found its way to the place where it was intended.»
«It surely couldn’t have been a legitimate court of law.»
«Again, Commander, you might find allies in that assessment.»
«Was it?»
«Some say it is.»
«But there’s been nothing in the media, and, believe me, they’d all be colliding with one another to get such extraordinary news out. It’s catastrophic!»
«There could be a reason for that.»
«What reason?»
«Hyman Goldfarb.»
«Hyman who?»
«Goldfarb.»
«It strikes a bell, but I really haven’t the vaguest—»
«He used to be a football player.»
In the flash of several seconds, Aaron Pinkus’s face lost twenty years. «You mean Hymie the Hurricane? The Hebrew Hercules …? Do you really know him, Mac—I mean … General, of course?»
«Know him? I recruited that yarmulke yo-yo.»