Huston, James W. -2003- Secret Justice (com v4.0)(html) (37 page)

Aboard the
Belleau Wood
Judge Graham spoke loudly over the sound of a Harrier jet starting over their heads on the flight deck. “Commander Watson, you may call your next witness.”

Elizabeth looked at her watch, and considered. “Your Honor, based on the lateness of the hour, it seems unwise to start a witness this afternoon that we cannot complete until Monday morning.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Since the confession is to be admitted into evidence, I’d like to read portions of that confession to the court.”

Stern stood to object. “Your Honor, the motion to exclude the confession was based on the fact that it was elicited through coercion. There is still no foundation to admit the confession. No one has testified that my client signed it.”

“Can you prove that this man signed that confession, Commander?”

“I can, sir. The witness that I would like to bring to the court to do that is on his way from Washington. Which raises another question. He will be flying all night and will be arriving tomorrow. I know the court had planned to take the weekend off, but if possible I would like to have him testify tomorrow during the day so he can get back to Washington. He is extremely busy and needs to be back in Washington by Monday morning.”

Judge Graham looked to his left and right, saw general agreement from the members of the court, and said, “I think that will be fine. Any opposition to taking this witness tomorrow? What’s his name?”

“Lieutenant Rathman.”

“Any opposition?”

Stern and Little shook their heads.

“Very well. Please give us an hour’s notice, and the court will convene as necessary tomorrow to receive his testimony.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Now if it please the court, I’d like to read portions of the confession into the record.”

“Go ahead,” the judge said.

Watson stood back from the lectern and held up the photocopy of the confession. She had the certified translation. “My name is Wahamed Duar. I have been a member of the organization of which I’m now a part for several years. Our objective, my objective, is the downfall of the United States, and the ascendancy of Islam. I have taken many steps to accomplish this. My organization has been responsible for many attacks on many countries, including the United States. We have been responsible for the deaths of at least a hundred Americans, and many Egyptians, Turks, Israelis, English, and Germans. I am proud of what we have done. If given the opportunity I will do more.

“I planned and was responsible for the attack on the American embassy in Cairo. I planned and was responsible for the attack on the British embassy in Tunisia. I planned and was responsible for the attack on Jerusalem last November . . .

“We have executed several attacks against the interests of the United States, and have many more attacks planned and in place. If given the opportunity I will attack the United States again. The United States represents everything that is bad and evil in this world, and I will do anything to bring about its downfall.

“I have also entered into plans with my associates to attack the secular governments of Muslim countries such as Egypt and Turkey. They do not deserve to be leaders of those countries, and their downfall is nearly as important as the downfall of the United States, who supports them and props them up and protects them from the will of the people that they rule so oppressively.”

Elizabeth looked up. “That is all I want to read at this moment. In summary, Your Honor, this document is all that is needed to convict Wahamed Duar.”

Stern interrupted her. “That assumes, Your Honor, that Wahamed Duar is the man sitting at the defense table. The evidence will show that he is not.”

The judge put up his hand. “We will deal with that in due time. I’m confident that Commander Watson intends to prove that your client is the man who signed this document, and is Wahamed Duar. Am I right, Commander?”

“Yes, Your Honor. In fact, the man who will testify about the confession tomorrow will testify about that as well in that regard.”

In the small courtroom atop the Department of Justice, Wolff stood and spoke. “United States calls Lieutenant Junior Grade Ted Groome.”

Rat’s heart went to his throat. Groomer could sink him. Rat turned around and looked as the doors opened in the back of the courtroom. Groomer walked in dressed identically to Rat. He wore a tropical white long uniform just like Rat’s, with ribbons, SEAL insignia, and a fresh haircut. He looked like someone who could rip the judge’s bench up by its roots if he chose to do so.

Groomer walked quickly to the front of the courtroom, turned and raised his hand, and was sworn in.

Wolff regarded him skeptically. He knew that Groomer was a risky witness, but he also knew that if Groomer was honest, his case would be proved. After Groomer identified himself and gave his current assignment, which disclosed that he was TAD, temporary additional duty, to the SAS, Wolff asked him about the raid.

“So after you had jumped out of the C-17 . . .” Wolff steered away from the classified elements of the raid, “you came upon Duar’s group. Right?”

“That’s right.”

“And a firefight ensued.”

Groomer took a deep breath. “Well, it wasn’t that we just walked in and started shooting. We walked in identifying ourselves as Sudanese Army—actually Rat did the talking—just so we could get into the room without being shot.”

“Rat being a name often used by Lieutenant Rathman?”

“Right.”

“Go on.”

“Once there, we identified ourselves as Americans and told them not to resist, to put their hands up and no one would be hurt.” He stopped. “What in particular do you want to know about?”

Wolff said gratuitously, “I would have been happy to tell you if you had returned my calls or agreed to talk to me about your testimony prior to the trial.”

Groomer’s eyes narrowed. “In my experience, talking to attorneys you don’t know is usually not a good idea.”

The jury smiled.

Wolff was not amused. “During the firefight with Duar’s men several of them were killed. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Were any Americans injured?”

“One was killed.”

“And how many were left at the end?”

“That fellow Mazmin and another guy . . .” Groomer looked up at the judge. “Am I allowed to talk about him?”

“Yes, you are.”

Groomer nodded. “A guy from another country and Mazmin. We knew Duar had to be nearby. He was there when we arrived, so he had to be close.”

“Shortly after the fight, you saw Mazmin put on the table in that room. Correct?”

“I saw him lying on a table.”

“Do you claim to not know how he got on the table?”

“I assumed he was injured.”

Wolff stared at Groomer for several seconds. “Do you have any evidence that he was injured?”

“Sure. He was lying on that table, and everybody that wasn’t injured was standing up.”

“You saw Lieutenant Rathman near him on that table. Correct?”

Groomer hesitated. “Yes, I did.”

Wolff relaxed. He could see Groomer’s internal debate. “And you saw Rathman pouring water into Mazmin’s mouth and nose in an attempt to force him to give out information. Correct?”

“I don’t remember that.”

Wolff looked up quickly from his notes at Groomer. “You saw Lieutenant Rathman kneeling next to Mazmin. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“And he had a cup of water in his hands. Correct?”

“That’s right.”

Skyles stood. “He’s leading the witness, Your Honor.”

Wolff replied, “He’s an adverse witness, Your Honor.”

Judge Wiggins said, “I agree. Continue.”

“And Lieutenant Rathman poured water into Mazmin’s nose and mouth. Right?”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Do you deny that Rathman took water from a bucket in cups and poured them into Mazmin’s nose and mouth in an attempt to torture him?”

“I just don’t know. I saw him giving Mazmin a drink. I figured the guy was injured and needed water. That’s all I saw.”

“Do you deny that Lieutenant Rathman tortured Mazmin to get information from him?”

“I’m just telling you what I saw. I saw him give Mazmin a drink.”

Wolff was growing frustrated. “After he gave Mazmin a drink Rathman suddenly knew where Duar was hiding. Right?”

“I assume so. They were speaking Arabic. I don’t speak Arabic.”

“Didn’t you think it was strange that Rathman suddenly knew where Duar was, whereas before he had no idea?”

“No. I figured Mazmin had told him. I figured he was grateful.”

“Grateful?” Wolff choked.

“Sure. He had just killed Nubs,” Groomer said angrily. “One of our men. Shot him in the face. Rat was about to return the fire when Mazmin threw down his weapon. Rat didn’t shoot. He could have. He could have shot the guy instantly. I don’t know how he didn’t. I would have. We’re talking a matter of one second, maybe two. But Rat held his fire. Lowered his weapon. He was furious. We all were. Nubs had a wife and a little boy. Then Rat gives this guy a drink of water. So yeah, I thought maybe the guy was grateful.” Groomer stared into Wolff’s eyes.

Wolff tried to back out. “You are a friend of Rathman’s. Are you not?”

“Yes.”

“You would lie for him, wouldn’t you?”

“It would depend. In our position in the CIA currently, and before that in the Navy counterterrorism team Dev Group, we’re called on to do a lot of things. It would depend on the circumstances.”

“In fact, you just did. You just sat on this witness stand and lied for your friend Kent Rathman, also known as Rat. True?”

Skyles rose slowly. “The question is argumentative and unduly confrontational.”

“Sustained.”

“No further questions.” Wolff returned to his seat, frustrated.

Skyles stood and crossed to the podium with a small smile on his face. “I have no questions, Your Honor.”

The Director of the CIA had arranged the briefing at twelve-thirty. The entire National Security Council was there. The President was in a foul temper and Sarah St. James felt exposed. She was concerned when she heard that Rat was giving the brief because she had not received a report from him on what he was going to talk about. She would hear it for the first time as he spoke, just like everyone else in the room. She didn’t like learning with everyone else. She liked to be ahead of the game.

Rat stood at the head of the table with a screen behind him. He held the computer’s infrared remote in his hand. Russell had prepared the briefing slides for him. He had reviewed them on a laptop in the back of the limo from Justice to the White House as Jacobs sat next to him.

Stewart Woods, the Director of Central Intelligence, said, “Mr. President, we have a situation developing, and we see enough things coming together that we think something is about to happen. I’d like to tell you what we know. Rather than pass it through several hands I thought you should hear it from the person who knows the most. Since he is currently working for the Agency, I asked him to brief you directly. Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. President. I am Lieutenant Rathman, and today’s brief is classified Top Secret—”

Kendrick immediately recognized his name and stared at him coldly. “Aren’t you the one on trial?”

“Yes, sir.”

“For torturing that terrorist.”

Rat winced. “That’s the charge, yes, sir. Manslaughter, actually.”

Kendrick shook his head and looked at Woods, displeased. “Go on.”

“We believe that Wahamed Duar’s organization is still operating. We believe—”

“Isn’t he in custody on a Navy ship?” Kendrick asked. “Isn’t he on trial too?”

“Yes, sir, but others are still operating. And some of them are in the Pankisi gorge region of Georgia. John Johnson of the NSA tracked them there through Internet traffic, and when we went there at the request of Georgia, they told us they believe Duar’s people are in the gorge.

“Why would they be there?” Rat brought up the first slide. It was a picture of a Russian RTG. He summarized all he knew, most of which they had heard, from the Pankisi gorge to the
Tbilisi
switching containers and men in Liberia.

Kendrick was deeply concerned. “Do we have a position on the ship?”

“The last position we had was from the radio call to the Liberian International Shipping Company. Since then, nothing. Here is a photograph of the container ship, the M/V
Monrovian Prince
. We have good information on her radar suite, communications suite, and other electronic identifiers. Since that radio call, though, the ship has gone total EMCON. Electronically silent. They have shut down their radars, radios, everything. We have no way of tracking her from our satellites.”

President Kendrick was growing frustrated. “Can’t any of the photographic satellites track it?”

Stewart Woods shook his head. “Not really, sir, no. That would be sort of like trying to spot the flea on your carpet with a laser pointer in the dark. It can be done, but it’s not very likely. We have some other satellite assets that may allow us to find it, but there is an awful lot of shipping crossing the Atlantic, and it’s extremely difficult to pick one ship out of the others without an electronic signal.”

“Can you pick out the one that doesn’t have an electronic signal?”

“That’s possible, but also not easy. Believe me, we’re working the problem; I’m just telling you that I don’t have a great deal of confidence that we can track the ship right now.”

“What about the Navy? Have you asked them to help?”

“Yes, sir. Unfortunately there is no Navy ship within eight hundred miles of the last known location. It would take them days to steam to that location, and then try to catch up with the ship, or guess where it is en route. They can try to cut it off, and that’s what they’re trying to do. They have sent the closest destroyer to try and find it. But it won’t be easy.”

Sarah St. James asked Rat, “What do you think they are planning?”

“We know they have access to C4. I think it’s likely they’re going to pull into Jacksonville on schedule and set off the explosives, sending radioactive material all over the city. A quick and cheap dirty bomb. It would take years, if not decades, and billions of dollars to clean up the city. It may or may not kill a lot of people, depending on how much radioactive material they have and how close the people are.”