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The time: Twelve hours before Wheels Up to Somalia

Being of sound mind

The attorney steps into the hushed conference room to find a tall, well-built man standing at the window where most clients stood to admire the breathtaking view of the Potomac, winding its way to the bay. This time it appears that the man, even standing only inches from the floor-to-ceiling glass window, sees something other than the District view below.

"Kelly Schaumann." The lawyer crosses the room and offers a hand. "It's nice to meet you. I understand you got my name from Secretary Davenport?"

"Friend of a friend, sort of." The man turns away from the window and smiles with his words, but the smile isn't genuine and the eyes are still seeing things well beyond the room.

"Have a seat – I just want to be sure that we have everything. You've had a chance to look this over?" The crisp bond paper lay on the long mahogany table at the client's left. At his nod, the lawyer continues, "did you find any errors or want to make any changes?"

"Nope. Looks fine."

"Any questions about the document ... or the process? Anything my staff wasn't able to answer for you when you met to draft everything?"

The man shrugs, smiles broader, still without it reaching his eyes, and shakes his head. It does not seem to suit him, this tense silence, and the lawyer is even more moved to press the question.

"May I ask ... was there some reason you needed to have this all done so quickly? You asked that we see you right away, and said this had to be done today..." Again, the reply is a silent shrug. "I do need to know if there was something that made you decide suddenly that it was needed."

"Why?" The single word is crisp and immediate.

"There are several reasons why your intent is critical to the validity of the Will you just made. But more important than that – I can't just let someone I think may be considering suicide to leave here without trying to stop him."

The green eyes again make contact, but for the first time that afternoon the look behind them is crisp, intense – focused. It is obvious that many thoughts course through the man's mind, but after a moment, the eyes blink and the racing thoughts slow, as if questions raised had been answered, and actions, decided. It is not a comforting response.

"Not that kind of suicide," he quips quietly. "But ... thanks for asking."

"The kind that might better off if postponed for a day or two? You know – to see how things look after a break..."

"No," he shakes his head, "not that kind either." He straightens to assure his attorney, "it's just work related stuff – there's always some risk to it. Can't hurt to be prepared."

The attorney recalls a note in the file. "You're a federal law enforcement agent?" There is another answering nod. With a considered sigh, the lawyer taps the Will with a finger and tries, not at all reassured yet, "well, just so you're aware – it's very possible that a suicide could invalidate this. If someone wanted to contest it, they'd say that the suicide was evidence that you weren't thinking clearly, that it was made under the stress and duress of your plans to kill yourself ... and that it wasn't a reasoned decision of how to distribute your property."

At that, the eyebrows go up. "Really? Hm." After a moment's thought, the man shrugs. "As a practical matter, I doubt that anyone is going to contest my will. The trust fund stuff reverts to the other beneficiaries, as you saw. It's not like I have all that much of value – except to a movie buff, maybe." He pauses, lost in thought as he smiles softly to himself in some private joke, then draws a breath. "I suppose anyone contesting it would be just as entitled to whatever they want as anyone I named, so it wouldn't be worth a court fight over anything. Just..." His lip twitchs in a bit of wry, fatalistic irony, "see if you can't get them to work it out among themselves."

The lawyer's eyes narrow in assessment, reflecting the sense that this meeting is an unusual one, even after so many other Wills drafted and Estates planned. "Alright – I'll see what I can do, if it becomes an issue." Another practiced glance through the document brings another question. "You've named a ... a Jimmy Palmer as your Executor?" The silent nod prompts the next question. "Does he know he's been named?"

"No." The head shake and denial are immediate. "Bad karma. I didn't want anyone to know yet. Maybe just superstitious. I'm not the only one out there, on the job, and ... I didn't want them to get the wrong idea about things."

"So you do have something coming up? And so maybe not suicide in the traditional sense ... but... " As the green eyes flicker a confirmation, the lawyer straightens at the threat that now seems so much more close at hand than the previous concern about suicidal thoughts indicated by the rushed appointment. "An assignment that you don't expect to survive."

"That I don't count on surviving. I'd prefer it, though..." The cavalier shrug and smile aren't all that convincing.

"Would you?" The question is out before the lawyer's thoughts engage, but as it seems to surprise the otherwise unflappable client it is an effective one – even if it isn't exactly necessary to this meeting, anything that might make this Will unnecessary for many years to come would be a good thing. "look, I'm no expert, but is this the sort of assignment that might go better or worse, depending on your expectations?"

Once again, the green eyes clear and snap to the attorney's, and there is that slight hesitation as they seek the thoughts behind the words. Then the intensity softens, and the eyes drop just a little. The man straightens and cocks his head before he makes eye contact once again. "I don't mean to be rude, but I have a lot of stuff to do before the end of the day – is there anything else you need from me, or can I go ahead and sign?"

This time it's the attorney's eyes that drop momentarily, conceding defeat, before getting back to business. "I'll have my paralegal come in to finalize these. She and another of the staff will witness your signature." Standing, the lawyer offers a hand, along with some final hopeful words. "Good luck, Mr. DiNozzo, with whatever it is you have ahead of you. I truly do hope we don't need to probate your Will for a very, very long time."

Hands meet; the meeting is over. The lawyer feels oddly unsettled as support staff file into the room, one bearing a notary seal and the other, the crisp new file opened this day for the newly drafted Will. This was certainly not the first Will drafted in case an employment assignment went wrong; in the current political environment and in this city, it was far too common, in fact. But this time ...

The lawyer turns back to take one last look at the form sitting at the table, signing the crisp bond paper then leaning back as the others with him add their names as witnesses. Godspeed, Mr. DiNozzo, the lawyer muses sadly, whatever demons you're chasing...