Katherine shifted her weight from her left foot to her right. She began studying her fingernails, as though to say, Couldn’t he just get this over with, because she did have this very urgent appointment for a manicure.

“No, Martin,” she said, “I don’t understand. Exactly what are you saying?”

If I hadn’t just been appointed co-counsel for one of the accused, I would’ve weighed in right then to warn Spears to be painstakingly careful with the next words to come out of his lips. He could not appear to be predisposed or prejudiced on the guilt or innocence of the accused. This was the Army, and if Katherine could prove he’d in any way used his four stars to prejudice or influence the fate of her client, she’d get this case thrown out of court in a New York second. The larger thing, though, was that Katherine Carlson was a thirty-three-year-old woman with an angelic babyface and a pair of wide, seemingly gullible emerald green eyes that made her appear hardly old enough to be out of law school.

What that serene camouflage masked was the most ruthless and vindictive legal mind I’d ever encountered.

He blinked once or twice, and chewed on something in the back of his throat. Sounding strained, he said, “What I’m warning you, Miss Carlson, is to be damned careful. Things are very flammable here. I won’t have anyone running around recklessly playing with matches.”

She looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds, like she was gazing at the stars, except the only stars in the room were the four on this gentleman’s shoulder, which she was making a point of openly ignoring.

I wasn’t, though. I wasn’t at all.

She said, “Are you telling me I can’t represent my client to the fullest extent of my legal resources?”

“I’m not saying any such thing,” he protested, although truth be known, I didn’t detect the slightest hint of conviction in his tone.

“Then what exactly are you saying, Martin?”

“I’m saying I don’t want any attempts to try this case in the media. It’s a crime that involves homosexuality, and we all know what that means. But you better recognize it’s also got damned serious diplomatic consequences. Say the wrong things and you’ll spark riots. People can get badly hurt. Don’t make a circus out of this.”

Katherine bent over and put her hands on the front of the general’s desk. She leaned forward till her face was inches from his.

In frigidly cold language, she said, “Now, I’m going to make myself perfectly clear. My client is accused of murder, necrophilia, rape, and a long list of lesser charges. He faces the death penalty. I will do everything in my legal power to protect him. I’ll be watching you and every other tinpot dictator in uniform like a hawk. Do one thing, just one thing, to impair my ability to defend my client, and I’ll get this case thrown out faster than you can spit. Then you’ll have to explain to the Korean people how my client walked free because you screwed up.”

She straightened back up to her full five feet two inches of height and glared down at him. “Martin, do you understand everything I just said?”

Poor General Spears just got his first whiff of what I had to put up with during three years at Georgetown Law. Only this was just a half dose of what Katherine Carlson had to offer. Maybe a quarter dose. She really was a royal pain in the ass – you have to believe me on this point.

His face got real red, and his fists got tight, because he certainly wasn’t accustomed to being talked to this way. And besides, he was justifiably worried about the safety of the thirty thousand Americans under his command and about maintaining the military alliance, which could possibly get ripped asunder by this case. I sympathized with him terribly.

My lips were just parting to assure him we’d be good and damned careful, and responsible, too, when Katherine suddenly whirled and faced me.

“Keep your mouth shut,” she hissed. “Not a word. You’re my co-counsel, but I’m in charge of this defense. You’ll follow my lead or I’ll file a complaint and have you disbarred for malpractice.”

I felt blood rush to my face and I gulped once or twice. I looked down at General Spears. He was staring back up at me. It was not a pretty look. What his eyes were saying was that I better get control over Katherine Carlson, and I better do it fast, or he’d hang my gonads on his Christmas tree.

I sulked the whole way to my room in the Dragon Hill Lodge. The other three people in the hotel elevator even edged away from me, because my eyes were glowing murderously. I sulk in a very nasty way.

I don’t like being publicly dressed down, especially by a civilian, and even more especially by a civilian woman in the presence of a four-star general. But most especially of all, I don’t like being dressed down by Katherine Carlson. Call me petty, but there it is.

I was well aware of what she’d been up to the past eight years. For one thing, Georgetown University, despite its Catholic heritage, was inexplicably proud of her. Any number of fawning articles had been written about her in the alumni magazines I got in the mail every quarter. For a second thing, her name frequently got mentioned in TIME and Newsweek, not to mention every other prominent magazine or newspaper you could name. This happened almost anytime there was a big military case involving a gay soldier, or a soldier accused of being gay.

See, Katherine Carlson was the legal attack dog of America’s gay culture against the Armed Forces. The “Apostle of Gayness,” she’d been nastily labeled by one right-wing journal that was outraged by her brutal tactics and unswerving persistence. More friendly journals called her “William Kunstler in drag.” She’d handled many dozens of cases, and her trademarks were there for everybody to see. She terrorized the judges and opposing attorneys. She lambasted the military profession. She burned down the courthouses. She didn’t win a lot of cases, because the laws were written against her, so she was a legal Sisyphus, fiercely rolling that big rock up that long hill, again and again. That was okay with her, though. She didn’t really intend to win. She just wanted to make damned sure that every time the military won, it was a bloody, Pyrrhic victory. She was a brilliant theoretician and a canny tactician. She slashed and burned in court, and she tried her cases in the press, and America’s journalistic corps loved her for it.

To Katherine, this was war. She was a single-issue acolyte. She treated the defense of gays like a religious calling, only you have to think once or twice about the issue she glommed on to. I mean, there’re lots of good, worthy liberal causes a lady with her fiercely anarchic bent could pick from. She could’ve been a tree hugger, or a save-the-whaler, or a defender of the homeless, or even an ASPCA freak. Those are all reputable lefty causes, right? But no; she chose gay rights. Now I hate to draw hasty conclusions, but real, meat-eating heterosexuals just don’t get too worked up about gay rights. There’s a certain amount of self-interest in all of us, and she sure as hell wasn’t being paid a fortune to handle those cases. In fact, it was public interest law, so she was making about half what I was. And I wasn’t making much, believe me.

I therefore naturally, inevitably concluded that Katherine Carlson was a lesbian – though don’t think I’m so hasty and narrow-minded that I drew that conclusion merely on the basis of the cause she so ferociously represented. The fact is, I never once saw her with a boyfriend back at Georgetown. Her being angelically beautiful and actually quite sexy in an oddly chaste sort of way, guys talk about those things. Nobody else ever saw her with a boyfriend, either. Think about it. I mean, there’re lots of guys who could care less how grating a girl is – and please believe me, Katherine is grating as hell – as long as she looks great and puts out.