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The Breach

By Diane and David Munson

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Chapter 1

“Guilty! Darin Hilton is guilty!” Judge Reginald Ginsburg pronounced the verdict in such a loud voice, his words bounced around the crowded courtroom like a boomerang.
“The defendant is guilty on all counts!” the judge bellowed again.
“I think Ginsburg likes saying the word guilty,” FBI Special Agent Griffin Topping whispered to the federal prosecutor sitting beside him. “But not nearly as much as I enjoy hearing it.”
An eerie silence filled the federal courtroom. Finally, the truth seemed to sink in, with the bevy of court watchers coming alive and gasping, “Arghh!” all at once.
A shrill female voice shouted from behind Griff, “Darin, no!”
“Quiet in the courtroom!” Judge Ginsburg commanded. “Or you will be cleared.”
Griff had been the case agent during the swift two-day trial, and was seated at the prosecutor’s table on the other side of the courtroom from Hilton and his defense lawyer. Reporters dashed out to file reports before the noon news. Griff suppressed a smile in the midst of the swirling chaos.
He glanced at Patrick O’Rourke, the Assistant U.S. Attorney (AUSA), who’d just chalked up another conviction.
“Ginsburg gave me fits that he might find Hilton not guilty,” Griff confided to Patrick. “I kept track of how many times he ruled for the defense during the trial.”
The way Patrick stared straight ahead without flinching, Griff decided the AUSA expected the guilty verdict all along. Then Patrick surprised him by saying, “Me too.”
Patrick clenched his hands on the table, his knuckles white, which told Griff the guilty verdict also caught the seasoned AUSA off guard. Griff had even shared with his wife over a hurried cup of coffee this morning that he was concerned the judge might let Hilton off. Dawn shone with her usual beacon of encouragement.
Her words, as she’d filled his coffee mug, floated through his mind: Take heart, darling! I’m praying the judge will discern the truth of the evidence and find justice.
Griff’s wife often prayed for him to be safe while doing his dangerous job, and she lived out her faith in the trenches, too. As a federal probation officer, she worked for Judge Ginsburg and other judges in the courthouse to ensure convicted defendants adhered to judicial orders of incarceration and supervision. Dawn would be thrilled to know her prayers were answered.
His mind was so preoccupied he nearly missed Judge Ginsburg saying in a steely voice, “Defendant Hilton is remanded to the U.S. Marshal. Sentencing is in thirty days provided the pre-sentence memorandum is complete.”
“Your Honor.” The defense attorney rose to her feet. “My client runs a company. People rely on him for their livelihood. We ask he remain free on bond until sentencing.”
This got the courtroom buzzing, and the judge banged his gavel. Silence instantly blanketed the room.
“Ms. Stone, your client won’t remain free on bond,” Ginsburg intoned. “He’s a danger. Too bad he failed to consider those depending upon him before he threatened Senator Cambridge Easton. The senator couldn’t be here this morning due to an important vote on a new trade bill. The defendant’s also a flight risk, given his past travel overseas to meet technology customers.”
Attorney Madison Stone launched a fresh argument. “Your Honor, Mr. Hilton already surrendered his passport to the court.”
The judge dropped the gavel even louder, saying, “Court stands adjourned.”
Murmurs flooded the courtroom. Griff looked around. Something was missing. Oh yeah. The jury box was empty, meaning Ginsburg had no men and women to thank for their service. The judge swiveled his high-back leather chair, preparing to leave the courtroom.
Darin Hilton jumped to his feet, yelling, “I’m not guilty!”
Blood vessels in his forehead bulged. He pounded the table with giant fists and hollered, “You presided over a farce! I’m innocent and you know it!”
Griff leapt to the floor, ready for action. Ginsburg banged his gavel several times, signaling he wasn’t taking any guff from the convicted man. Madison Stone tugged her client’s suit jacket and pulled him down to his seat with a loud thud. Griff saw a despairing look sweep over the face of the normally cool and calm lawyer.
“Madison is beside herself,” Griff quipped to AUSA O’Rourke. “I doubt she picked a bench trial. Hilton strikes me as a guy who wouldn’t trust a jury deciding his fate.”
O’Rourke drew his litigation bag onto his lap. “I’m glad Hilton put his life in this judge’s hands. The entire legal community knows Ginsburg is erratic.”
“Your Honor.” Hilton’s lawyer again scrambled to her feet. “Excuse my client’s outburst. It’s a grueling time for him and his family.”
The judge stood erect in his black robe and gathered his dignity along with a thick file. He stopped to study the defendant. Griff imagined the judge’s look telegraphed something to Hilton like, Buddy, get ready to serve the maximum time in prison.
Judge Ginsburg relinquished his laser-like stare at Hilton and stepped down from his bench.
Hilton began spouting, “You’ll be sorr—”
Madison Stone clamped a hand over her client’s mouth.
Had the judge heard his threat? Griff wondered. The deputy U.S. Marshal apparently did. Looking like a beefy football linebacker stuffed in a business suit, he reached the defense table and, in one giant motion, yanked Hilton from the chair. He wrestled his hands behind his back and handcuffed him.
The judge, along with his black robe, disappeared through a door behind his bench. Unfortunately, Griff was familiar with that infamous door leading to Ginsburg’s chambers. He’d recently been on the receiving end of a severe tongue-lashing back there by the fickle judge.
Griff leaned over to Patrick. “Do you think Ginsburg heard Hilton threaten him?”
“Nah, Stone shut him up just in time,” Patrick replied.
Madison’s cheeks reddened to a purple hue. She wiped her forehead with her hand. Not until the deputy marshal hauled her client from the courtroom did she approach Griff and Patrick.
Sweat beaded on her upper lip. Her eyes revealed a haunted look. “I’d hoped this judge would better understand computer technology than a jury.”
“Apparently, he did.” AUSA O’Rourke wore a lopsided grin on his lean face. “After all, Judge Ginsburg’s appointment to the bench was confirmed years ago by a majority of U.S. senators led by, you guessed it, Senator Easton. Jurors, some of whom may not approve of Congress, likely would have found your client not guilty.”
“Your instincts are spot-on,” Griff told Madison, one of the few defense attorneys he respected. “On my last fraud case, the jury got hopelessly deadlocked because they couldn’t comprehend the financial angle.”
She sighed, clinging to the handle of her litigation bag. While Griff was thrilled for the conviction, he felt sorry for her.
“I told Mr. Hilton a jury might acquit him,” Madison said. “He insisted on Ginsburg. He’ll appeal, claiming I gave ineffective assistance of counsel.”
Patrick turned in his wheelchair, and gathering files from the prosecutor’s table, he stuffed them in the lit-bag on his lap. Madison left the courtroom.
“Well done, Griff.” Patrick shook his hand with vigor. “You make my job easy. Thank the other agents, analysts, and crime lab techs for me.”
Griff nodded. “I will. And Madison said it herself. They would’ve had more success with a jury of non-legal experts. It makes no sense.”
“Get ready for his appeal,” the AUSA said, rolling his wheelchair from the courtroom.
Griff held open the waist-high gate to let him scoot through. This weird case was finally at an end. Relief washed over Griff like a cleansing rain after a grueling hike.
Senator Easton’s chief of staff, Li Chen, had called Griff daily since Hilton’s arrest demanding updates. As the trial drew near, Chen called twice a day. Griff detested the pressure.
Madison stood by the elevator. When the door swished opened, the trio rode down in silence. It wouldn’t be right for Griff to blurt out, “Sorry your client gambled and lost.”
Rubbing salt into a gaping wound wasn’t his style. Instead, Griff began mentally to write a report documenting Hilton’s conviction. He’d have to wait until the sentencing to find out if Ginsburg actually heard Hilton’s threat. In either case, Griff believed Hilton deserved a longer sentence.
He waved good-bye to Patrick and Madison before hopping into the government vehicle, ready to sink his teeth into something more meaningful and less politically charged. All his current investigations for the FBI’s Joint Terrorism Task Force (JTTF) seemed mundane. He despised down time and thrived on action.
Was Griff losing his passion for doing justice?
No way. He started the car, forcing political cobwebs from his mind. A new thought burned.
What about his recent meeting with Special Agent Eva Montanna, his JTTF partner from Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) Agent Brett Calloway? They were all concerned about China flooding the U.S. with explosives and illegal drugs. Griff intended to find a case worthy of their combined fifty years of investigative experience.
With renewed purpose, Griff sped to the office weaving in and out of traffic, completely unaware of the peculiar phone message waiting there for him.

GRIFF LISTENED TO THE VOICEMAIL a second time, suspicion growing over what he’d just heard. Where was Eva? He wanted her take on the troubling message. Griff trusted her instincts more than any other agent he’d worked with.
Her office cubicle was stone-cold quiet. The lights were off. So was her computer. Her desk sat empty, except for the photo of Eva and her family. Griff sensed something was wrong and went to the breakroom.
“Where’s Eva?” he asked Sosa Garcia, their boss.
“You aren’t up to speed.” Sosa poured his coffee. “She’s up on the Hill.”
Griff frowned. “Why? She didn’t tell me of any meeting with Congress.”
The group supervisor slowly dumped sugar into his cup as if he had no cares in the world. “Nah, nothing like that. She’s up there with Scott.”
“Right. She’s having lunch with her husband.” Griff’s mind tumbled to his last conversation with Eva. “That’s what happens when you get wrapped up in a trial. Your life’s on hold. Ginsburg found Hilton guilty on all counts.”
“Speaking of Darin, he must be short a few brain cells to want that wacko judge deciding his fate,” his boss said, stirring the coffee with a tiny red stick.
Griff considered asking him to hear the voicemail, then changed his mind. He helped himself to the last of the coffee and returned to his desk where he replayed the message. Every detail seared into his mind. Not recognizing the man’s voice, he played it again:
“Agent Topping, it’s Alan on Senator Easton’s staff. The senator thanks you for your professionalism. He’s sending a commendation to the FBI Director. You’ll also receive an invitation to his annual charity ball.”
Click.
Commendation letter? Charity ball invitation?
Griff was tired of getting annoying calls from Easton’s office. So what if he’d been instrumental in solving the case against the man who threatened Senator Easton? It wasn’t about a senator’s importance. Griff handled the case as he would for any other victim. He bristled at the idea of a commendation. This wasn’t even a major case.
He didn’t want his superiors thinking he’d personally helped the senator or solicited praise. Easton had no business inviting him to a charity ball like some kind of payoff.
Griff smoothed his open palm over his moustache, his mind demanding he act. But do what?
Maybe Senator Easton played fast and loose with Hilton, failing to help him on an important matter. Or perhaps a grudge propelled Hilton to make violent threats against the senator. Those details hadn’t surfaced at trial. Still, Griff couldn’t help making the leap all the same.
Easton seemed like many of the one hundred senators on the Hill. Each one believed they were the most important person from their state, when in reality, they mostly wrote letters praising and schmoozing constituents. Griff would let Easton know he didn’t need or want his praise.
His blood boiling, he picked up his cell phone to call Eva to see if she was heading back to the office. Spotting an unread text, he opened Dawn’s message sent two minutes ago:
Sweetheart, are you free for dinner?
Thoughts of his wife brought immediate calmness to his mind. She answered his call right away.
“You are quick,” she said chuckling. “Darling Griff, is it a date?”
The way she said his name, Griff pictured her smile beaming from across the four miles from his office to hers. He exhaled every misgiving.
“Dinner sounds great,” he said. “I’ve got good news about my case.”
He heard his wife catch her breath in his ear before saying softly, “We’ll celebrate, and keep an open mind. I have a surprise for you.”
“What surprise?” he demanded.
Dawn laughed lightly. “If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise, will it? You’ve been so busy at your trial, I haven’t said lately how much I love you.”
The words I love you too stayed stuck in Griff’s throat as Sosa sauntered by his cubicle. Griff cleared his throat, telling Dawn in his most professional-sounding voice, “I’ll get back to you.”
“Super! I’ve gotta run,” she chirped. “My one o’clock is here. Let’s have Italian.”
She hung up, leaving Griff to fume. He’d had enough surprises for one day. He shrugged off irritation and called Anthony’s to make reservations. He waited on hold, his mind combing every important date to find a clue for Dawn’s surprise.
Eva Montanna entered her cubicle waving at Griff.
He held a hand over the phone receiver. “I’m making dinner reservations. Dawn says we celebrating her surprise for me.”
“Oh?” Eva dropped her purse onto the desk. “Any idea what it is?”
“No. Are you involved somehow?”
Eva shook her head. “Don’t look to me for help. I passed two accidents on the way to the office. Texting is involved, I’m sure.”
“It’s not my birthday or hers,” Griff said. “It’s not our anniversary.”
He set the reservation for seven, then asked Eva, “How’s Scott?”
“I had my own surprise.” Eva blinked. “He wants a new job. Political wrangling as press secretary for the Speaker of the House has gotten to him. Sec Def is lobbying for him to return to the Defense Department.”
Griff whistled. “What do you think about the change?”
“I’m not sure. He agreed to decide after we return from the fundraiser I’m organizing at the Biltmore.”
“Give yourself time,” Griff suggested, powering up his computer.
Eva walked over. “Is the jury still out?”
“It was a bench trial and Ginsburg found him guilty. Hilton’s going to prison for a long time.”
“Way to go, partner,” she said.
They traded high fives, and Griff asked her, “Do you think China is trying to create havoc inside the U.S.?”
“You read my mind,” Eva replied. “Mark your calendar We’re set to meet Brett next Tuesday at noon. He’s briefing us on how China is disguising shipments of illegal explosives and drugs coming over the border.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Griff said, ready to tackle a new challenge. “Listen to this voicemail I got from Easton’s office after the verdict.”
He hit play and watched Eva’s eyes narrow. Then she shrugged. “After what Scott shared about highly political nutjobs on the Hill, I advise you to forget it and do what you do best. Pursue the bad guys.”
“I was pretty steamed, Eva,” Griff admitted. “Your advice is good as usual.”

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