Huston, James W. -2003- Secret Justice (com v4.0)(html) (14 page)

They picked up their chain saws and hooks, and headed off to the trees they had found at the end of the day yesterday. Their feet were already cold as they shuffled through the beaten-down snow on the path left by them the night before. Thankfully there had been no new snow; it would be easy to find yesterday’s trees by their footprints.

Giorgi, the biggest woodsman and the one clearly in charge of the group, began his usual grumbling as they left the camp. He, like the other two, had been born and raised in Georgia, and knew nothing other than working in the woods. Giorgi had brought an insulated coffee cup with him. He drank from it slowly as they walked, being careful not to burn his lip. “I say we start with the biggest tree that we marked yesterday. The one in the middle of that clearing. We can get the others to drag it out as we take on the other smaller trees around.”

The two behind him, Shota and Tamar, nodded. They knew that to disagree with him was pointless; he simply talked to himself. They would do exactly what he said, whether he explained things to them on the way or just pointed and said, “Do this,” or “Do that.”

They had four kilometers to walk before they reached their destination. Giorgi finished his coffee and slipped the handle through a loop on his belt. “Let’s walk faster. I’m freezing my balls off.”

They picked up the pace along the path. As they walked they looked around for any other indication of life, or animals, or danger. They rarely saw anything that threatened them, but they kept their eyes open.

“Giorgi,” Tamar called, pointing. “What is that?”

The others stopped and looked. The virgin snow, uniform and smooth, was two feet deep everywhere they looked, except where Tamar was pointing. It was as if the snow had a hole not even a hundred yards off their path. It was an odd spot, a place where the snow had melted, or just vanished. Dead grass and dirt were clearly visible.

Giorgi looked at the other two. “What is it?”

Shota shivered against the cold. “No idea. Something warm. Maybe a dead animal.”

“I don’t see a dead animal. And there’s no blood.” Giorgi looked around, looked at the sky to see how late it was getting. “Let’s take a look.”

They walked carefully toward the melted opening. They crouched as they neared it, as if they were sneaking up on something that they didn’t know enough about. Giorgi’s cup clanked against his knife. They slowed as they approached the clearing. They got to within ten feet before Giorgi put out his arms to stop the other two. They looked into the melted spot and saw a silver cylinder lying on the dead grass.

Tamar spoke. “What is it? And how did it get there?”

Giorgi said, “Must have been warm, like a thermos.”

“You think someone else is out here and left their thermos?”

“There’s nobody but our camp within a hundred kilometers. And I’ve never seen a thermos—”

“Then who left it there?” Tamar asked, growing annoyed.

Giorgi ignored him. “Let’s see if it’s still warm.” Giorgi walked directly toward the cylinder. He knew he should be cautious but wasn’t sure why. It didn’t look dangerous, yet something was telling him to use extreme caution. Giorgi crouched down next to the cylinder and looked at it from as many angles as he could. The other two stood back slightly. “Looks harmless enough.” He removed his hand from his glove and touched the cylinder with one finger. “It’s warm.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. It’s not boiling hot.” He put his entire hand on it and felt the steady heat from the smooth metal cylinder. “We can use this to keep our tent warm.” He picked it up and felt its heft. “It’s not that heavy. Maybe five kilos. Here, warm your hands on it.” The other two took their gloves off and touched it. Giorgi handed the cylinder to Shota. “Take this back and put it in our tent. Then come back and we’ll go get that big tree. If that thing is still warm tonight, we’ll use it for some extra heat, huh? We can always use some extra heat.”

Shota smiled and headed back to their tent. “Always can use some extra heat. A lucky day for the best woodsmen! The others will be jealous of our new heater!”

Groomer had never been in Don Jacobs’s office. He had been in the Counterterrorism Center several times but had never crossed the threshold of the office of the man in charge. It wasn’t that he was afraid of Jacobs, or anyone else for that matter. It was that Rat was the one who dealt with people at this level. Groomer just went along. But now it was time for him to take things into his hands, just a little.

Jacobs was not expecting him and looked up in surprise when Groomer cleared his throat.

“You’re with Rat,” Jacobs said.

“Yes, sir. Lieutenant Junior Grade Ted Groome.”

“What brings you here? Everything okay?” Jacobs asked, annoyed, not impressed by military rank, especially when it was the second-lowest rank in the Navy.

“No, everything is not okay. We’ve heard about what happened to Rat and don’t quite understand how this has happened.”

“I was surprised myself,” Jacobs admitted. He tossed his pen on the desk. “Frankly, I was blind-sided.”

“How?” Groomer asked, watching Jacobs’s face for lies. “I thought you had your hand in everything.”

Jacobs frowned slightly. “Meaning?”

“Nothing in particular, sir. I just figured it would be hard for anyone to pull anything like this without you knowing about it. Who’s behind this? Because someone is.”

“That’s what I don’t quite get. The Attorney General seems to be going after Rat, but I don’t get his motivation. Whatever it is, I don’t like it. This could give Rat, and the Agency, a black eye, and whoever else stands up for Rat. Even the Navy.”

Groomer said, “I’ll stand up for Rat. As will the other guys.”

Jacobs shook his head. “I’m not talking about standing up like that. I’m talking about taking the fall. Washington-speak. Which agency, which politician, which appointee, is going to get his head cut off.”

“Well, sir, I guess a question that I have is what are you going to do about this?”

“I don’t know. I will say one thing though, I’ll do what I can for Rat.” Jacobs paused. “But if in fact he tortured this guy and the man died because of it, and they can prove it, we’ve got problems. So did he?”

Groomer hesitated.

Jacobs put up his hand. “Don’t answer that question. Next thing you know they’ll subpoena me and ask me what you said. If you don’t say anything right now, it won’t go against you. Keep your ears open as well. If you hear anything that you think I need to know, you can tell me about it. We’re going to have to work this problem smart. But I don’t think it’s going to be that easy.”

“No, sir. We’ve got to get him off though.”

“Who’s running the team?”

“I’m second in charge so until he gets out on bail, I am.”

“Keep me posted.”

Groomer stepped to the door, then turned around. “So as of right now, you have no plan to get him off.” He waited, but Jacobs didn’t reply. “Do you have any plans to do anything for Rat? Anything at all? I mean you approved this mission. You and Rat did all the planning.”

Jacobs began working on a memo he was reviewing, then looked up. “Call me if you hear anything I need to know.”

“Where’d you find this Skyles guy, in a bus terminal?” Rat asked Andrea as they walked into her apartment in Maryland.

“I asked around Washington and found a guy who used to be a U.S. Attorney in D.C. I asked him who the U.S. Attorney feared the most. His name came up.”

“I don’t know about him, Andrea. He’s a loose cannon. Undisciplined.”

“Maybe. But maybe that’s what you have to do as a defense attorney. I don’t know. You want to take a shower?”

Rat sat down heavily on the couch. “Maybe three or four. Being in jail . . . what a stinking, filthy place. I’ve been a lot of dirty places, but jail . . . it’s just so nasty. Makes you feel dirty inside.”

Andrea could tell he had been affected. “So now what?”

“So now we’d better start getting our strategy together, or I’m going to end in a stinking filthy
prison
—although I’ll tell you what, I will
never
go to prison. I would kill my—”

“Kent!”

“It’s just not happening. You should know that. And it’s kind of scary to think my life is in the hands of this Skyles lunatic, whose lifetime goal is to offend every U.S. Attorney in Washington.” He looked at her. “Did I tell you that when he met with me he had a friggin’
catheter
hanging out of his hand? This guy said he wants to be a ‘shit-stick’ for every U.S. Attorney he runs into. So when they rub up against him they get shit all over them. How about that for a great strategy?”

“I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”

He looked surprised. “How can you say that? He may have no idea. Maybe the U.S. Attorneys don’t like to face him because he’s incompetent. I’ve heard attorneys—”

“Then get another attorney!” she said, exasperated. “It’s not like he’s my brother. He’s the only one whose name came up that you had
any
chance of affording without going completely bankrupt. If you don’t like him, get one of those fancy five-hundred-dollar-an-hour lawyers and just sign over everything you own. Feel free!”

“We’ll see how Skyles does,” Rat replied.

Andrea sat down next to him. “I’ve got to tell you, since they came and got you at the restaurant, I’ve been a wreck. I need to know what’s going on. Why are they going after you? What can I do? Do you want me to go to the press? Does Skyles want us to go to the press?”

“He said something about it. I just don’t know if now is the right time.”

“So what do we do now?”

“The trial’s in Skyles’s hands. I’m going back to work.”

“You going to put your head in the sand? Pretend like there isn’t anything happening? That you’re not the focus of some tornado here in Washington that you can’t even see? Don’t you get that?”

“Oh, I get it, Andrea. I understand exactly what’s happening. And I know who I need to talk to. It’s time to call in some chips. I’m going to work on this problem from some angles other people will not expect.”

“That’s more like it,” Andrea said, starting to relax for the first time in two days.

“I think I’ll take a few showers now.”

“Good morning. I’m Commander Little. I’ve been appointed to defend you.”

Duar looked up at him skeptically. He had seen the first person selected by the United States Government to defend him. He was equally unimpressed with Little. He said nothing.

“Do you mind if I sit down?”

The translator conveyed the message, and Duar pointed to the seat.

“Thank you.” Little opened his briefcase and took out some papers. His khaki uniform was clean and crisp. His reddish hair was closely cut and he had a very serious look.

Duar examined the ribbons on his left breast, wondering what they meant. Once Duar realized he was not going to be killed or beaten he had grown comfortable with his surroundings.

“Have you had a chance to examine the charges being brought against you?”

“I know of no charges. I know that I have been taken against my will from my country.”

“Well, perhaps you’ll be able to return to your country if you get off.”

“Is it possible to avoid these charges? Are you serious?”

“Yes. If you’re innocent.”

“But I am innocent.”

Little smiled. “Well then maybe you will return to your country.” He opened a file and began reading through it. “Can I ask you a few questions so we can start preparing your defense?”

Duar shrugged.

“They say they found you in a well with an AK-47, shooting at the American Special Forces when they came to arrest you. What were you doing in a well with a rifle?”

“Hiding. I was simply there. Can they ask me these questions in this trial?”

“That depends on whether we decide you should testify. We haven’t decided yet. Everything you tell me is secret between us. It’s called the attorney-client privilege.”

“You work for the United States Government, and you’ll keep secret what I tell you?” Duar asked, not believing Little would keep anything secret. He knew Little would have to report to someone and would surely report on what was said between them.

“Exactly. That is my obligation to you. You have my word.”

“Your word doesn’t mean
anything
to me.”

Little rubbed the palm of his hand on his polyester khaki pants, trying to avoid saying something he would regret. “It may not now, but maybe as we learn to trust each other, it will. You need to confide in me so I can prepare your defense. It’s to your advantage.”

“In what way?” Duar demanded. “I want an attorney who is not an employee of the government who kidnapped me.”

“You’re entitled to any attorney you want. Even a civilian attorney.”

Duar jumped to his feet, thrusting the metal chair behind him. “And how is it I am to contact any such person? I’m a captive, against my will! I’m not allowed to leave, or communicate. I have done nothing wrong and I’m being charged with horrible crimes. What are you going to do about this?”

“Who would you like to contact? I can make sure that your word reaches whoever you want to contact.”

“I will let you know. I have done nothing.”

“You keep saying that. Why do you say that? Do you deny that you were at the meeting in Sudan to purchase nuclear material?”

“I deny it. I had nothing to do with it.”

“So even though you are Wahamed Duar, the most sought-after terrorist in the world, your intentions in meeting a well-known arms merchant who had plutonium with him in the middle of the Sudan were innocent.”

Duar looked at Little with ferocious intensity. He leaned on the table. “I am not Wahamed Duar.”

“Then who are you?”

“I am Mohammed el-Mahdi of Khartoum.”

Little had seen the “It wasn’t me! You’ve got the wrong guy!” defense so many times he had lost count. A lot of criminal defendants thought it was very clever. They didn’t think anyone could actually identify them, or they thought they could create enough smoke about their identity to make a jury have a reasonable doubt. It rarely worked, and here, aboard the
Belleau Wood
in a tribunal, such a defense was even less likely to work. The jury was going to be a panel of military officers who wouldn’t be thrown off by subterfuge. And they didn’t need to convince the entire panel as they would in a criminal trial, just two-thirds. “What were you doing at that meeting?”