“ Fort Leavenworth.”

“ Fort Leavenworth? What are you doing there, counseling inmates?”

“I am an inmate.”

I could tell she wasn’t joking.

Bo rolled over. “What’s going on?” he said.

“It’s Karen,” I whispered, covering the phone. “I think she’s been arrested.”

I uncovered the phone. “You’re a chaplain, Karen,” I said. “What could you have possibly done?”

“I can’t talk about that right now,” she said.

“Ok. Can you tell me what they’re charging you with?”

“Assault, destruction of government property and…”

“And what?”

“Treason.”

“Treason? Are you serious?” Bo’s eyes widened.

“Yes.”

“I’m coming, and I’m bringing Bill Gwynne with me.”

“No, just you,” she said.

“Treason is a big deal, Karen; I don’t want to scare you, but it carries the death penalty. I’m bringing Bill with me-and maybe twenty other lawyers. Let me call the airlines. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Just you, Brek, okay?” she said, desperately, on the verge of breaking down. “Please?”

“Okay,” I said. “For now. We can talk about it when I get there.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Don’t rush, take care of Sarah first. I’ll be fine. I’m really sorry about this. How’s she doing?”

“She’s fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“I’m really sorry-”

“Don’t worry about it. Let me pack a bag. Do you need anything?”

“Just you,” she said. She was crying and I could hear voices in the background. “They’re saying I’ve got to hang up now,” she sniffled.

“Everything will be all right,” I said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Stay strong. And no matter what you do, don’t answer any questions, okay? Tell them you’re invoking your right to remain silent until you’ve spoken with your attorney.”

“Okay. Thanks, Brek. I’ve got to go. Bye.”

I hung up the phone.

Bo was fully awake and sitting up now. “They’re charging an Air Force chaplain with treason?” he said. “We did some research into treason cases for an espionage story we were doing a few years ago; there have been fewer than like fifty treason prosecutions in the entire history of the United States. This is going to be front page national news.”

“I know,” I said bleakly. “But you know you can’t be the one to break the story, right? Karen called me as her lawyer; my conversation with her was a confidential attorney-client communication.”

“But-”

“Promise me, Bo,” I said. “This is serious. I know you want to be the first on a story like this, but there’s no way you can report it or tip anybody else about it. I can’t be Karen’s lawyer if I have to worry that everything I say in my own home might wind up on the wires the next day.”

“Ok,” he said glumly, “but get ready: you’re going to be facing a lot of other reporters-guys who won’t be as nice as me. You’ll be on television every day-maybe even more than me.”

“Great, I’ll replace the weather girl.”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

“Can you take care of Sarah while I’m gone?”

“We’ll manage. I’ll call in a few favors.”

“Thanks. I’m going to need your help to get through this.”

“You’ve got it, whatever you need.” He kissed me on the forehead. “Go kick some prosecutor’s butt and make me proud.”

I hugged him and headed for the shower.

14

The next morning, I flew to Kansas City, rented a car, and drove to Leavenworth. Two female guards escorted Karen, wearing handcuffs and dressed in orange prison coveralls, into the small room with a table and two chairs reserved for attorney visits. Karen looked terrible-pale and gaunt with dark circles under her puffy, red eyes as though she hadn’t slept or eaten in days. She took the chair across from me and flashed me a weak smile. The guards left the room and closed and locked the door behind them so our conversation would be confidential, but they continued monitoring us through a window.

“Oh, sweetie,” I said, reaching out to touch her hand. One of the guards rapped on the window and gestured toward a sign in the room saying, “No Physical Contact Permitted.” Karen scowled at the guard, but I obeyed, putting my hand in my lap. We looked at each other silently.

“I’m really sorry I dragged you all the way here,” she said. “How was your flight?”

“Fine,” I said, “no problems. How are you holding up? Are they treating you okay?”

She looked down and tugged on her coveralls. “They took my clerical collar.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, “we’ll get it back. I’m meeting with the U.S. Attorney later this afternoon to see if I can get this cleared up, or at least negotiate a low bail; you’re a priest with no criminal history and you’re not much of a flight risk.” I glanced at my watch. “We only have forty-five minutes. Tell me what happened.”

Karen yawned and rubbed her eyes. “They’ve been questioning me for two days. I haven’t gotten any sleep.”

“Questioning you for two days?” I said, alarmed. “Didn’t they tell you that you had the right to a lawyer?”

“Yes,” she said, “but I told them I didn’t think I needed one.”

“What?” I said, indignantly, more than a little cranky myself from having been awoken in the middle of the night to travel from Pennsylvania to Kansas. “They’re charging you with treason and you didn’t think you needed a lawyer? Why did you bother calling me then?”

“Please don’t yell at me,” Karen said.

I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that it makes it so much harder to defend you if you’ve been talking to them for two days already. Did you confess to anything?”

“Of course not…at least not that I’m aware of.”

“That’s exactly my point,” I said. “Two days with no sleep, who knows what they had you saying. No more talking, okay?”

“Okay, no more talking.”

“Good, now tell me what happened.”

She looked at me and then, fidgeting with her fingers, looked away. She was broken and ashamed. I had never seen her this way before.

“I can’t help you unless you talk to me, Karen.”

“I know.”

I sat quietly, waiting, but she wouldn’t speak. “Okay,” I said, finally, “I’ll tell you what. Let me tell you something I’ve never told anybody before, something I did wrong.”

“You’ve never done anything wrong,” Karen said.

“Yes, I have,” I said. I tugged on the empty right sleeve of my suit-the same black silk suit I was wearing when I arrived in Shemaya; I wore it that day because I knew I would need all the confidence I could get to meet the U.S. Attorney. “Do you see this?” I said, showing her the empty sleeve; then I proceeded to tell her everything about how I had lost my arm, including my perjured testimony during the trial. When I finished, she smiled gratefully and compassionately-like a priest.

“You were only a child,” she said, softly. “And you’ve already been forgiven. Do you know that?”

“Yes,” I said, “I know. And you’ve already been forgiven for whatever you’ve done too. Do you know that?”

She smiled again and wiped her eyes. “Yes, I guess I do.”

“Then tell me what happened.”

“Okay,” she said. She summoned her strength. “Well, since you’re my lawyer, I guess I can tell you…I’m a chaplain to the missileers.”

“The who?”

“The missileers-the airmen who man the nuclear missile silos; you know, the ones who will launch the ICBMs to end the world when given the command?”

“Wow,” I said, impressed, “I guess I thought you were just an ordinary base chaplain somewhere ministering to fighter pilots and their families or something.”

“I wasn’t allowed to tell anybody what I really do,” she said. “I actually requested this duty after I passed Officer Training School. They stationed me at Minot Air Force Base in North Dakota, one of the few remaining bases that still has Minuteman nuclear missiles on alert.”

“Interesting,” I said. “Okay, so what happened?”