The contrast that morning between Quinn and Fullwood was striking. Fullwood’s straining shirt collar cut into his neck and the cigars had left a permanent mark on his teeth. By contrast Austin Quinn could have stepped out of a TV ad for men’s clothing. Cross wondered if Quinn still ordered eight new suits every year. His shirts and ties alone cost more than most men spent on entire wardrobes. There were new wrinkles in his face but the strain hadn’t changed his style.
“Anything I need to know about the trial?” Cross asked. Neither man had much to offer that Cross didn’t already know, and, as Cross expected, Quinn was subdued. His ex-lover was on trial, along with his credibility. Cross needed assurance the testimony wouldn’t contain any surprises. Enough damage had been done. Each man said it wouldn’t.
Through the U.S. attorney Joe Morgan, Warfield had kept up with the pre-trial proceedings during his recovery from the explosion. The Justice Department spent most of a year collecting and analyzing information about Ana Koronis before deciding to go with it. They wanted to proceed because she was a high-profile Washington insider, a potential feather in the Justice’s cap if she were convicted, but that sword had two edges: There would be a lot of negative press if they blew this one.
The paneled courtroom in the E. Barrett Prettyman Courthouse in Washington, the same from which a federal grand jury investigated former president Bill Clinton in his Monica Lewinsky scandal, was packed. Ana had no living relatives in the United States and her law firm associates and socialite friends kept their distance like cats from water. The only person in the courtroom who might have been in Ana’s corner was a woman who showed up for the trial daily and seemed to nod approval when testimony favored Ana. Warfield found out through Morgan that she was a State Department employee named Tot Templeton. She worked with Ana’s law firm before Ana married Spiro Koronis. Ana’s only other friends there, and in all of the country it seemed, were her attorneys, led by Manny Upson. But these were paid friends.
Warfield knew Ana had two strikes against her before the trial started. Americans hadn’t forgotten the four-hundred-forty-four-day Iranian hostage crisis that began in 1979, and the anti-American demonstrations and rhetoric had rekindled if anything in recent years; Iran continued to be an international pariah to this day. Ana Koronis was a living, breathing, present target for Americans’ anger toward and mistrust of her native country even though her parents had moved from Iran to the U.S. a few months before she was even born. The second strike: She was the sister of the notorious terrorist, Seth, who was hated by the peoples of the earth who respected human life. Judge Millard Leaf and the defense team weeded out prospective jurors who couldn’t hide their prejudice, but an impartial jury of her peers in all probability didn’t exist.
There was no TV in the courtroom but the media hype soared once the trial started: Countless daily updates on all the cable and broadcast networks; endless Ana-bashing on radio and TV talk shows; cover stories in all the national magazines; front page newspaper articles; even editorials. All anti-Ana. Terrorism incarnate on trial, right there in Washington. Conviction of Ana Koronis, it seemed, would mean everything despised in America would be locked away with her in some remote prison cell. A ceremony to mark the end of terrorism and the beginning of world peace and universal love. Just like that. Period.
There was discussion among the prosecutors before the trial about calling Warfield to testify. Joe Morgan had told him they wouldn’t get a conviction — wouldn’t even go to trial — without Warfield testifying that Petrevich smuggled the uranium into Iraq, thus establishing the thread from Ana, whom they charged found the names of Russian security risks in Quinn’s computer; to her brother Seth, the terrorist; and, as the prosecutors hoped to convince the jury, on to the Russian Petrevich. Warfield’s testimony about the Habur crossing incident would go a long way. Neither Warfield nor the president wanted Warfield’s involvement aired, and he told Morgan he would claim amnesia if put on the stand. The government caved on its demand that he testify.
The explosion of Warfield’s car a year earlier resulted in two burst eardrums, a brain concussion, damage to internal organs, and ceaseless ringing in his ears the doctors said might never go away. He was mostly recovered after months of rehabilitation but probably could have gotten away with claiming amnesia to Morgan.
The prosecution’s first witness was Austin Quinn. He spent an hour describing how he and Ana met, what their relationship was like and the absolute trust he’d had in her. Then federal prosecutor L.A. Harriman warmed up.
“Director Quinn, if you weren’t a responsible man,” L.A. said, “you wouldn’t be in the high-level position you’re in. Now it puzzles me that a man like yourself, entrusted with so much responsibility for the security of this country, would be caught off guard. Anything like that ever happen before at the CIA? I mean any security breaches on your part?”
Quinn smiled faintly. “No it did not.”
“When you were in the United States Senate? State politics?”
“Certainly not.”
“Would you say it’s your nature to be pretty careful with sensitive information?”
“I would say very careful, yes.”
“So while you are careful with sensitive matters, it’s still possible Ana Koronis used the CIA computer terminal in your home. Is that right?”
Regret showed on Quinn’s face. “Well, I can’t say absolutely that it’s not possible.”
“Even though Ms. Koronis had a laptop computer of her own that she used when she was in your home. Right?”
“That’s right.”
“But aren’t there codes and passwords required to get into the CIA files?”
“Of course.”
“Then how could she have accessed any CIA files?”
Quinn paused for a moment. “The passwords, I—”
“You wrote them down on a piece of paper there by the Langley computer terminal you have at home, because you knew you wouldn’t remember those passwords. Is that right, Director Quinn?”
Quinn nodded. “Yes.”
“Now would you say the reason for your carelessness boils down to your trust in Ana Koronis?”
Quinn wasn’t on trial in the matter — at least not yet, though he could be — but if the prosecutor was trying to give him cover for all the criticism he’d received, he couldn’t have done a better job. If Quinn had made a mistake, at least it was one that every American citizen and every newspaper reporter could identify with: Who among them hadn’t misplaced their trust in someone along the way? Or been careless with a password?
“Yes, I suppose it does,” Quinn said.
“Well, then, Director Quinn, would you say the defendant, Ms. Koronis, went out of her way, perhaps used her ample charm, to build your trust in her so she could steal CIA secrets and give them to her brother, the known terrorist Seth?”
The defense attorney jumped to his feet. “Speculation!” Judge Leaf sustained his objection, had the question stricken from the record and instructed the jury to disregard it, for whatever value that had.
L.A. continued. “Director Quinn, given your testimony that Ms. Koronis was an experienced computer user and that she had access to the CIA terminal in your home and all the passwords she needed, would it have been possible for her to access CIA records and databases?”