Every February for nearly two decades, Tampa attorney Greg Kehoe and a group of buddies have gone on a “guy” ski trip.

Creatures of habit that they are, they always go to the same place, rent the same condo, and do all the other same stuff.

Every trip is interesting in and of itself, of course, but when the condominium’s phone rang in February 2004, it changed the course of Kehoe’s career. One of his buddies answered, listened curiously and handed the phone to Kehoe.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Kehoe?” the voice asked. “John Ashcroft wants to speak to you.”

“Yeah, right,” Kehoe said, looking at his buds like he was being punk’d by Ashton Kutcher on MTV. Then he realized he wasn’t. “Excuse me?”

“This is the Department of Justice, Mr. Kehoe. Attorney General Ashcroft would like to speak to you. Do you have time to speak to him?”

“Yeah, I think I could squeeze it in,” Kehoe said, still skeptical.

He straightened considerably when the familiar, deep voice came on the line. Ashcroft said he had a job that needed doing, and would Kehoe be interested in talking about it? Could he come to Washington?

“Yes, sir,” Kehoe said. “I would love to come over and talk to you about it. Of course, I have a couple more days of my ski trip; do you mind if I come the beginning of next week?”

When Kehoe hung up, perhaps looking a little undone by the call, one of the guys said, “Who was that?”

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