by Kenneth Eade
“Even assuming the Government’s allegations are true, that Mr. Khury has indeed assisted with a money laundering operation to benefit al Qaeda, albeit based on a coerced confession, which I will discuss later, this allegation, however serious, is not enough to make Mr. Khury an enemy combatant. He has never taken up arms against the United States nor has he assisted any person to do so. Mr. Khury has never been given the opportunity to dispute his enemy combatant status in an Article III court, and he should be allowed to do so with full criminal process.”
“Whether the Detention Act applies or not, the fundamental notion of due process is at the heart of our nation’s foundation as a nation of laws. If we cease to follow the law, the United States will also cease to be a nation of laws. Therefore, we can’t really entertain a discussion of whether or not Mr. Khury is an enemy combatant without discussing the more important issue of due process.
“The Supreme Court, in Hamdi v. Rumsfeld, held that a citizen being accused of a being an enemy combatant is entitled to full notice of the factual basis for this determination and a fair opportunity to rebut the Government’s case before a neutral decision maker.”
“Mr. Marks, wasn’t the Supreme Court’s ruling in Hamdi v. Rumsfeld limited to the case of a U.S. citizen held on American soil?”
“Your Honor, it is true that the Hamdi case concerned a citizen held on U.S. soil, but, in the case of U.S. citizens, whether they are held by the military on U.S. soil or by the military in a foreign country, they are still entitled to the basic due process rights of notice of what they are being held for and an opportunity to be heard to challenge that charge. President Bush has adopted the belief, however ill-advised that may be, that the executive can put anyone he determines is an enemy combatant in military detention, without ever giving them a trial. This is not consistent with due process.”
“But, Mr. Marks, the USA Patriot Act authorizes detention of a suspected terrorist without charge, does it not?”
“Yes, Your Honor, but not indefinite detention. That’s the difference here. My client has been detained indefinitely without due process. There have been no formal charges levied against him, nor has he had the right to be heard in a court of law regarding the sufficiency of those charges. He should be charged, and given the opportunity to face those charges, or he should be released.”
***
As the arguments continued in federal court, Corporal Reeding and his force-feeding team came to collect Ahmed from his cell.
“Please, Corporal Reeding, I was just sick. I will eat, I really will!”
“Sorry Ahmed, we have our orders.”
“No! No!”
The members of the detail shackled Ahmed’s ankles and hands, hooded him, and dragged him out of his cell for the long walk to the force-feeding area. Ahmed’s nasal passages and throat, already swollen and scraped from two weeks of force-feeding, were about to undergo another full frontal assault.
Corporal Reeding strapped Ahmed into the force-feeding chair, and the nurse lubricated the tip of the feeding tube with olive oil, as usual, and then shoved the tube into an unwilling Ahmed.
The nurse had difficulty with the tube, and Ahmed coughed it up twice. Finally, the nurse forced the tube down Ahmed’s right nostril, which caused another bout of coughing. His chest was on fire, and he felt that the tube was not reaching his stomach.
“It’s not in right! I feel like the tube is at the bottom of my throat!” Ahmed pleaded with the nurse, who replied, “It’s just fine, don’t worry,” and proceeded to drip in the solution.
Ahmed choked. He felt like he was drowning. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t. He felt as if he would pass out, and finally coughed up a pink solution of Ensure mixed with blood.
“Stop the procedure!” said Reeding. The nurse looked up in shock, and removed the feeding tube from a sputtering Ahmed, whose body then went limp.
***
At the end of the arguments, Brent was not sure if Judge Henley had been convinced to stick with his tentative or not. He, Ahmed and Catherine would have to wait for the judge to reflect on the arguments and render his written decision.
***
Corporal Reinhart, a 22-year-old from Macon, Georgia, looked into the portal of Ahmed’s cell on a routine check and saw Ahmed hanging naked from the wire mesh ceiling by his jumpsuit. The Corporal sounded the alarm, and Sergeant Brown came running.
“What is it Corporal?”
“It looks like the Haji hanged himself, sir.”
Brown unlocked the steel door and cut Ahmed down while Corporal Reinhart held his limp body. Ahmed’s face was pale.
“Go get the doctor!” yelled Brown, as he checked Ahmed’s pulse.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The very evening of the same day in court, Judge Henley issued a writ of habeas corpus to “produce the body” of Ahmed Khury. The sorry detail was that the body of Ahmed Khury was no longer alive. The Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS) had already issued a report calling it a probable suicide and an autopsy had already been performed under NCIS’s orders.
Brent was the first to be informed of his client’s demise. The news came in an early morning phone call from Stephen Gray.
“Brent, it’s Stephen Gray.”
“Stephen, did you see the ruling?”
“Yes, I did, but that’s not why I called.”
“Why then?”
“Brent, I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’ll just say it. Your client was found dead this morning in his cell.”
“Found dead? What does it mean, found dead?”
“NCIS is calling it an apparent suicide.”
“Suicide…”
“Yes, he hanged himself in his cell.”
“Stephen, listen to me carefully, I do not want anyone to touch the body.”
“Too late, they’ve already done an autopsy.”
“Well, that’s very convenient. This is a lot to take in at one time, you know. I need that autopsy report, and I need the body.”
“We’ll arrange for the body to be transported back to California, but I’m afraid the autopsy report is classified.”
“Then get it de-classified, Stephen. This is too hard to believe. My client commits suicide on the eve of his writ of habeas corpus? I don’t buy it.”
“I’ll see what I can do to get you the report.”
“Please do that. Has anyone told his wife?”
“No.”
“Good, let me do it, alright? I don’t want her to get some drone monotone phone call from someone whom she doesn’t know and doesn’t give two shits about her or her husband.”
“Of course Brent. I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault Stephen. It’s probably your bosses’ fault, but definitely not yours. You were just doing your job.”
“I’m just serving my country, Brent.”
“I know. Me too. I just can’t believe what it’s come to.”
***
The birds chirped happily in the charming Santa Barbara neighborhood that held the home of Ahmed and Catherine Khury and their two children. Although Southern California is not known for the changing of seasons, the thick trunked maple trees on E. Haley Street had released a collage assortment of yellows, reds and oranges onto the sidewalk below, signaling the arrival of autumn to the unknowing state and its occupants. Brent knocked on the door, and Catherine opened it, surprised.
“Mr. Marks, hello.”
“Hello Catherine.”
“Won’t you come in, please?”
Catherine ushered Brent in to her home, and he removed his shoes, putting them next to the other pairs of shoes that were in the corridor.
“You don’t have to do that, Mr. Marks. But look there, where you put your shoes. I have left Ahmed’s shoes there, for when he comes home. Please, sit down. Tell me your news.”
Brent sat down and broke the unthinkable news to Catherine in one terribly awkward and uncomfortable sentence.
“Catheri
ne, I’m so sorry to give you this news, but Ahmed has died.”
The room around Catherine exploded from the shock, the sorrow, and then the grief of the news she had just heard. Through her tears, she tried to speak.
“Why? Why did this happen? How could this happen?”
“I don’t know, Catherine.”
“Why did this happen to my beautiful Ahmed? What is their explanation of this?”
“They say he hung himself in his cell.”
“That’s ridiculous! Ahmed was hoping for the habeas corpus to be granted.”
“And it was.”
“The Court says he can come home and now he’s dead! When can I have my Ahmed back? He has suffered enough. I need to lay him to rest.”
“It’s being arranged. Catherine, if you allow me, we can punish those responsible for this.”
“I can’t, I can’t right now…”
“I know. We can talk about it later.”
Despite the devastation inside the Khury home, the loss of a husband, a lover, a father; despite the fact that the world would never be the same again for them, outside, the birds were still chirping and the leaves still falling. An endless cycle of cruelty had been hidden behind the beautiful façade of nature.
PART II
FIGHTING CITY HALL
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ahmed’s body was flown back to California, where it underwent another assault, this time at the request of his wife. Brent had recommended Dr. Jaime Orozco, a medical examiner for the autopsy, who was a former forensic pathologist for the FBI. The NCIS autopsy was still classified, so Dr. Orozco was called upon to perform an independent pathological examination. Brent met Dr. Orozco in his office to discuss his preliminary findings.
Orozco had more than a few extra pounds to haul around. He reminded Brent a bit of all the characters he had seen in movies and TV shows where the doctors were always munching on a sandwich or something while they were doing autopsies. But he was smart, and Brent thought he would make a good expert witness notwithstanding his personal appearance.
“I’m not so sure if we have a suicide here,” said Orozco. He cleared his throat as if he was gargling his saliva.
“Why?”
“Were they force-feeding Mr. Khury? I found traces of the liquid nutrient Ensure in his lungs.”
“I don’t know if they were or not.”
“And I found traces of olive oil in his nostrils and lungs as well, so I ran a check on his lung tissues for lipoid pneumonia, and it looks like he had it.”
“What does it mean, doctor?”
“It means that I think they were force-feeding Mr. Khury in captivity, and that they used olive oil to lubricate the feeding tube. That is, in my opinion an instance of negligent medical care in reckless disregard of standard medical practices.”
“So you don’t think it was suicide? You think his death was due to negligence?”
“I do. But not from his lipoid pneumonia, although that probably did weaken his respiration. It appears that they inserted the feeding tube improperly, resulting in his aspirating the feeding fluid.”
“And this will be the conclusion in your report?”
“Yes, despite the fact that we don’t have the stomach contents from the previous autopsy and the lungs have been dissected, there is still enough evidence to draw this conclusion.”
“Thank you doctor. I can’t say that his wife will be pleased, because nothing would please her right now, but for her to know it wasn’t suicide will come as somewhat a relief.”
“I understand. I sure would like to see that Navy autopsy report.”
“It’s still classified. But I’m working on getting it with a Freedom of Information request.”
***
As Brent had expected, the news brought a mixed reaction from Catherine. It had been difficult enough to get her to agree to a second autopsy.
“Thank you for everything you’ve done, Mr. Marks. But I don’t know where we are going with this.”
“Capturing Ahmed was wrong, Catherine. And even if he did the things he was accused of, he was denied basic rights that they’re not allowed to take away from anybody.”
“Ahmed didn’t do those things. He loved America. He was a fanatic about how great America was.”
“I hate to bring this up at this time, Catherine, but I think you have a good case against the Government for wrongful death. It won’t ease your sorrow, but it may help a lot of people in the future.”
“Mr. Marks, I can’t even afford to pay your bill on the habeas corpus. How could I possibly sue the Government?”
“Don’t worry about the bill. I’m going to waive the unpaid amount. As for the new case, I would take it on a contingency. If we don’t get a settlement or judgment, I don’t get paid.”
“It just doesn’t seem right to ask for money, Mr. Marks. Ahmed was priceless to me. No amount of money can make up for him not being here.”
“I know. But it’s the only way to make a stand against the horrible things that the Government is doing in the name of fighting terrorism. There’s a case out of Oregon that was successful where an American citizen was captured and held as an enemy combatant and his home and personal effects were searched without warrant, just like with you.”
“So I would be suing the Government for Ahmed’s death, and…”
“And the violation of your civil rights. We would be attacking the entire process set up for capturing and trying suspected terrorists without due process and the Patriot Act.”
“What’s the Patriot Act?”
“The USA Patriot Act was signed a month after the terrorist attacks of 2001 as part of the “War on Terror.” It authorized the indefinite detention of immigrants, the searching of a home or business without the owner’s knowledge, as well as telephone, email, library and financial records without a court order.”
“Like they did to us.”
“Yes. The Patriot Act has practically obliterated the Fourth Amendment to the Constitution. It was supposed to be temporary, but there are so many things that the Government likes about the power that it gives, they keep renewing it.”
“I think it’s time for this Patriot Act to die, Mr. Marks. My family didn’t do anything.”
“I’m with you, Catherine. Just leave it to me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Brent went to work immediately to prepare a claim against the U.S. Government pursuant to the Federal Tort Claims Act. The Government must give its “consent” to be sued, so the Act required Brent to make a claim to the Government first. After it was denied, Brent would be free to file the lawsuit.
In the meantime, Brent pushed through a Freedom of Information Act request for the release of the report of the military autopsy. He was helped in this regard by the most unlikely of people: Assistant U.S. Attorney Stephen Gray. Stephen had convinced the NCIS to de-classify the report, given the fact that Mrs. Khury had filed a claim against the Government for Ahmed’s wrongful death.
When the report arrived, despite the conclusion that the cause of death was suicide by hanging, it held several other findings that Dr. Orozco found to be pertinent, such as traces of olive oil in the nasal passages and trachea, and traces of Ensure in the lungs. Given that the same evidence was cited in both reports, and that only the opinion differed, it would be a battle between experts when the dispute found its way to a courtroom.
***
Brent sent Rick Penn out to track down every serviceman who was Stateside, who had ever served at the Guantanamo prisons. With home leave and most of the young men on two year or less revolving deployments, it wasn’t long before he had a string of them to interview.
The army is trained to survive the horror and slaughter of modern day warfare. Part of that training instills an undying loyalty toward their country, and an even higher loyalty toward their fellow soldiers. This dedication is forged into them like steel and it survives the end of their tour, persisting as a life’s principle. A
fter several interviews, Rick was sure that he was not going to come away from any of them with a bit of useful information.
***
Brent picked Rick up at the airport, anxious to learn of his progress. He spotted Rick when he walked into the baggage claim area at Terminal 7. Rick greeted him with a worn out smile.
“I see who won all the battles,” he said to Rick.
“It’s like the most organized Old Boys’ Club in the world.”
“Nobody’s talking?”
“Nope. Names, ranks, and serial numbers. That’s about it.”
“Well, you know what Thomas Edison said.”
“What?”
“I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.”
“That’s encouraging Brent, thanks.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Jarhead was a favorite military hangout in Beaufort, South Carolina, home to three military bases: Parris Island, the Marine boot camp center, the Marine Corps Air Station and the Naval Hospital. It was a place to hang out, let off some steam, blow your paycheck.
The smell of stale beer that had spilled and soaked into the wood over the years mixed with the perfume steaming from the three sluts hanging out together at the bar. They were looking for a few good men themselves, their ready lips slicked with blood red lipstick, cheeks packed with too much cake-up, and their skinny bodies stuffed into skimpy costumes, carefully designed to flash a little T there and a little A there. The dingy light from the two TV sets above the bar playing ESPN 24/7 reflected the hungry faces of the testosterone overloaded guys on liberty, all on the hunt for a little pink hand to hand combat.
A live band played Chili Peppers to the clacking rhythm with the three pool tables, busy with the sounds of competition and small core gambling. Seated in the small dark alcove were four devildogs with crew cuts, the only serious men in the entire joint, chain-smoking and amassing an impressive collection of butts.
