By the night before the Justice Department required an answer, Kiriakou had already been told by his jury consultant that a jury in the Eastern District of Virginia would be drawn from the FBI, the CIA, the Pentagon, intelligence contractors and their families, and that he did not have a prayer.[1]
The all-nighter
He and his wife stayed up all night. The subject was the statute: he was only the second American ever charged with violating the Intelligence Identities Protection Act of 1981, so there was no case law to consult. What there was instead were several law review journals from Harvard Law School, and they went over them.[1][2]
The conclusion he reached was that he simply had not done anything wrong; he had not broken the law.[2]
So at six o’clock in the morning he called his attorneys and told them he had been thinking about it all night and had decided he wanted to go to trial — thinking, as he now puts it, stupidly, that once he got in front of a jury they would see how ridiculous it was, see that it was political, and see that he had done a public service.[2][3]
The house call
One of the lawyers told him to put on a pot of coffee: they were on the way over. They came to his house and told him he could not turn this down. If he was convicted he was seriously looking at twelve to eighteen years. Just take the deal.[3]
He still did not want to take the deal.[3]
The line
Then the attorney he liked and respected the most pulled him aside and said: “listen, this can be a blip in your life, or it can be the defining event in your life. Make it the blip.”[3][4]
And so he took the deal.[4]
Kiriakou has noted the irony that followed. Blowing the whistle on the torture programme had been a story for a few days; it was the prosecution that made him, in his phrase, a martyr for human rights and gave him a soapbox from which to speak to the American people.[4][5] The advice was to keep the case small, and the case did not stay small.