Huston, James W. -2003- Secret Justice (com v4.0)(html) (29 page)

“What’s your confidence level we would have found the nuclear cores if they were there?”

James moved his mind off the image of Robby taking a picture of a man who had just had his face shot off, whose features had been replaced by fresh red meat, oozing blood and bone chips. “Um, good question. Maybe thirty percent.”

“Damn,” Rat said. “That’s not very good.”

James couldn’t have agreed more.

Rat thought out loud, “They’ve got to get them out of the gorge. Can’t fly them out. No airplanes here. Can’t really walk them out, nowhere to go. Can’t go through Russia, they’d get their asses shot off. Could go to Chechnya and use them against the Russians, but they killed Georgians to find them and probably don’t like the Chechens either. I think they’re aimed at us. But how?” Rat stopped. He had a sudden thought. “Could you detect radioactivity on a ship?”

“Depends on the size of the source. The strontium would probably be blocked, but the cesium’s a gamma-emitter. It should be detectable, but with the right shielding—like the core containers themselves, if they’re not breached . . . I’d want to get pretty close.”

Rat was thinking of their escape. “Only way a ship can take anything from Georgia is all the way across the Black Sea. That must be six, seven hundred miles. Even with a decent ship, say ten knots, that’s three days of sailing. And that assumes they got on board right away. Once they get across the Black Sea, they’ve got to go through the Bosporus by Istanbul, across the Sea of Marmara and then through the Dardanelles. Sort of like sailing down a hallway to the Mediterranean.” He paused as they walked. James was beginning to breathe hard as he struggled with his heavy bags. “You sure you’re with the DO?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You’re out of shape. You’re fighting those bags like there’s a dead cow in there. I thought all their guys were ready to climb buildings.”

“I just came over from NEST—the Nuclear Emergency Search Team—”

“I know all about it.”

“Okay. Anyway, I just started. The agency wanted its own ability to find nukes. Overseas, near embassies, wherever. I’m just here to find nukes and these bags are heavy.”

“Those NEST guys are supposed to be pretty good.”

“Four-hour response time anywhere in the country. I would usually stroll around a city with a briefcase, and headphones that look like they’re plugged into a CD player, listening for any radioactivity. I’m not really trained for this spy stuff, or military stuff. I’m basically a nuclear engineer.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be training the Georgians to go after the guys in the gorge. But they’re going to be disappointed. You and I have to go somewhere else.”

“Where?”

Rat smiled. “Çanakkale. You never been there?”

The doors to the courtroom on top of the Department of Justice were closed tightly behind the participants. Judge Royce Wiggins scowled from the bench as he had practiced doing for many years. The fluorescent lighting was stark and unflattering. Judge Wiggins spoke to Skyles. “This is your motion. I’ve read the moving papers. Tell me, why should we dismiss the charge relating to the Geneva Convention?”

Wolff sat down.

“Thank you, Your Honor. That is the very thing I would like to address this morning—”

“Obviously. That’s why you filed the motion.”

“Yes, sir. The charge relating to the Geneva Convention is defective in two ways: first, the Geneva Convention is not a statute upon which a prosecution can be based. It is a treaty. A charge cannot be brought directly as a violation of the Geneva Convention. And second, the obvious contemplation of Congress when the Geneva Convention was adopted was that wars would be fought against other countries that were signatories. It seems that the only thing that the Geneva Convention is really good at is predicting who it is we’re going to fight. If you want to know who we’re going to war against, just read the list of signatories. Whoever
didn’t
sign it is who our enemy will be. Japan, North Korea, Vietnam, terrorists . . . We’ve had a lot of skirmishes and even wars since 1945, but not one time have we fought a signatory to the Geneva Convention. Need I remind the court of the hay that was made by North Vietnam in using the Geneva Convention against us even though they did not sign it?

“It is an
outrage
to prosecute someone for violating the Geneva Convention when the alleged victim is a terrorist. Obviously no terrorist organization has ever signed the Geneva Convention, nor would they, because they violate it every day. Their reason for
existence
is one big violation of the concepts represented by the Geneva Convention. They are a disgrace to the entire concept of treaties and conventions and rules of law and war. To say that they are not bound by such rules, yet we are, and we must prosecute those who violate the Convention that they hold in contempt threatens our ability to fight the War on Terrorism. If we want to hold ourselves to that standard, fine, issue orders and charge people when they violate them—in a court-martial, I would suggest.”

Wolff stood up, unable to contain himself anymore.

“You’ll get your chance to respond, Mr. Wolff. Please have a seat,” Wiggins said.

Wolff nodded knowingly, returning to his seat.

“May I continue?”

The judge nodded.

“But equally important is that there is no enforcement mechanism under the Geneva Convention by which my client can be prosecuted. There is no statute.”

The judge looked confused. “I’m not following you.”

“That last point, Your Honor, is simply that the government has chosen to hide this trial from the military, from the ones who should be reviewing the conduct in question. We are in no position to judge a military officer—or more specifically a CIA agent who is actually still on active duty with the Navy—in the heat of battle.”

“I think we are in exactly the right place to judge someone’s conduct in the heat of battle,” the judge said. “What is difficult about it? Either he has violated statutes and conventions or he has not.”

“My point, Your Honor, is that the UCMJ was set up to take care of these kinds of charges against a military defendant. Our Congress wisely set up a separate military justice system for a reason. I submit that it was because they wanted the conduct at issue to be reviewed by other military officers, not a civilian jury. Here, my client is being deprived of that right.”

“Anything else?”

“No, sir. Everything else is in my papers.”

“You said two points.”

“Really just one.”

“Mr. Wolff?”

“Thank you, Your Honor. I’m afraid that Mr. Skyles’s motion is as misplaced as his client’s conduct was. To the extent I was able to follow his argument, it seems to be that there is no statutory authority for a charge of the Geneva Convention. We have dealt with that argument exhaustively in our papers. If the court wants me—”

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

The judge was getting a little tired of the argument. “You have anything else, Mr. Wolff?”

“A lot sir, but . . .”

“It won’t be necessary,” Judge Wiggins said. He could tell Skyles was going to stand and try to argue in rebuttal. “The motion is denied, Mr. Skyles, without prejudice. If you can show me better authority that your position is correct, I’ll reconsider my ruling; but for now, this trial is going to go forward on both counts—manslaughter and violation of the Geneva Convention. Trial starts as scheduled.” He paused. “Mr. Skyles,” he said, removing his glasses and giving Skyles a deeply knowing look, “do you have any other motions, perhaps something dealing with jurisdiction?”

Skyles understood perfectly and answered quickly. “No, sir, I don’t.”

“Are you sure?” the judge said, amazed that Skyles wasn’t picking up on his overt hint.

“Yes, sir. In fact I am prepared to stipulate that this court
does
have jurisdiction.” He turned to Wolff. “Is the government prepared to agree to such a stipulation?”

Wolff tried not to roll his eyes. “Sure. Happy to.”

Wiggins nodded. “Very well. The stipulation is accepted. Is there anything else?”

Skyles stood. “Well, yes, sir. Since the court now has jurisdiction that cannot be questioned by the parties due to the stipulation just entered on the record, I would like to renew my motion to dismiss the charge of violating the Geneva Convention because civilians aren’t bound by convention. If the government wants to charge Mr. Rathman in this court, if they want to try him as a civilian, they cannot pursue the charge of violating the Geneva Convention.” Skyles stole a glance at Wolff. He was sitting forward with his mouth slightly open.

“Mr. Wolff?”

Wolff’s mouth was dry. “Since this wasn’t in his papers, I’d have to take a look at the law in this regard, and I’m confident we are able to bring this charge in this court.”

“I have no such confidence,” Wiggins said. “I had expected this motion and looked at the law myself. He is right. Except in certain circumstances—and this isn’t one of them—you cannot charge a civilian with violating the Geneva Convention, and the government has chosen, for whatever reason, not to charge Mr. Rathman under the UCMJ. That’s your choice. But in this court he cannot be charged with violating the Geneva Convention. That charge is dismissed. This case will proceed on the one charge of manslaughter. And as to the jurisdiction stipulation, since it is something that can never be waived, Mr. Skyles has simply preserved an argument for appeal that he can raise at another time. This court is adjourned.” He banged his gavel and walked out of the courtroom leaving Wolff staring at his back in disbelief.

Rat, Robby, and Groomer stepped carefully onto the small boat that had been procured for them by the CIA field officer in Istanbul. He had gone to Çanakkale, the small Turkish city in the province that straddled the Dardanelles, to find a boat, a mission he thought was nuts; but he had received very specific instructions to make it happen.

Some additional gear had been flown overnight to Istanbul for James and had been waiting for them. They had retrieved the gear and driven straight to Çanakkale. The Americans wore working clothes that any Turk might wear on a boat.

James picked up the next piece of equipment and handed it over to Robby, who was looking forward to learning all about this sophisticated gear he knew nothing about. He placed the box that was labeled navigation equipment in the cabin that stood six feet above the deck; it was more like a wheelhouse and was made of wood. The boat was at least forty years old, perhaps fifty.

Rat’s experienced eyes took in the lines, the paint, the rotting wood, and the bent warped rudder and quickly concluded that the boat wasn’t very seaworthy. Rat had spent much of his life on boats of one sort or another, most of which could go fifty knots at the drop of a hat and stop in two boat lengths. Riding on this wooden tub, which probably had a maximum speed of six knots, was not what he had in mind when he went to sea. But it was all they could get, and it was certainly innocuous and inconspicuous enough to accomplish their objective.

The owner of the boat smiled as the three Americans finished loading their gear aboard. He had no idea what they wanted or were planning on doing with his boat, only that they had paid five times the market value for his boat for a three-day period. Rat turned to the captain. “Do you speak English?”

The captain shook his head. “No. No English.”

Rat changed to Arabic. “Arabic?”

The captain was surprised to hear Arabic come out of an American’s mouth. He spoke Turkish as his first language, but also spoke Arabic. “Yes.”

Rat continued, “We need this boat for three days. You should have already been paid.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been paid more than this boat is worth.”

The Turk shrugged. “Who is to say?”

“I am,” Rat said. “And I’m going to captain this boat for the next three days. We don’t need you. You can go back your family. We’ll meet you here at this pier in three days.”

The Turk’s face clouded. “I am the captain of the boat. I do not let it out of my sight. It is my living, it is how I make money to feed my family.”

Rat leaned toward the man and lowered his voice. “We don’t need your services. I’ll return the boat to you.”

The man was desperate; he was sure he would never see his boat again. As he stared into Rat’s eyes he could feel fear rising inside of him. He didn’t know what would happen if he forced the issue. “I was going to live on the boat that now you tell me I cannot. I therefore must have some money to eat.”

Rat had anticipated such a demand. He reached into his pocket and brought out a hundred dollars in Turkish currency. He handed it to the man. “This should do it.”

The Turk grabbed the money and counted. “This will only get me through today. I must take a bus, I must—”

“That’s all there is. We’re leaving. Get off the boat.”

The Turk knew he had done his best and stepped off onto the pier. “If you are not here . . .”

Rat said nothing as he jumped on the pier. The man scampered back. Rat nodded to Robby, who started the diesel engine on the boat. Rat released the two lines holding the boat, gave the boat a push with his right foot, and jumped back onto the boat as Robby pulled away from the pier.

“So how exactly are we going to do this?” James asked, glancing back at the confused Turk on the pier as he got smaller.

“We’re going to sail north and south through the Dardanelles for three days and check every ship that passes for a radioactive signature. How close do we have to get?”

“If the cores are still intact we’ll need to be within fifty yards.”

“That’s the assumption we’re going to have to make.” He walked into the wheelhouse and took the wheel from Robby, who went forward. James followed Rat into the wheelhouse.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Rat said as he studied the minimal instruments in front of him. He listened carefully to the sound of the steady diesel engine as he advanced the throttle slightly.

“I’m all for finding these things, believe me . . . but what makes you so sure that the cores are on a ship?”