by Kenneth Eade
“I do, but only under conditions of confidentiality. How does it work? Can I be a confidential informant?”
“We can talk confidentially now, of course,” said Brent. “But if you’re implicated at all in any wrongdoing against our client, that’s where all confidentiality would cease.”
“Oh no, sir, nothing like that.”
“Alright then, speak confidentially and tell us what you know.”
“I just want to say that I’m very proud to be a soldier and even more proud to be an American. But it’s just not right what they’re doing down there in Gitmo, it’s downright un-American if you ask me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’ve done two tours, one in Afghanistan and one in Iraq. We all learn in basic that there’s a certain way to act toward your prisoner, and this ain’t it, I can tell you that.”
“What are they doing that you think is not right?”
“This is anonymous, right? I don’t want to be the next guy swinging from the ceiling in my quarters.”
“Yes, anonymous.”
“Waterboarding, dry-boarding, fake executions, beatings, you name it, they do it. Some guys get used to it, but I can’t. I just follow orders.”
“Have you thought about reporting this?”
“To who? I’m only talking to you guys because I know you’re on the right side. I can’t trust anyone, not in my position.”
Corporal Reeding continued to describe the house of horrors that was Camp 7: every inhuman act, every violation of the Constitution, the Military Code of Justice and the Geneva Conventions of 1949 that would throw every conviction of every accused who ever set foot in Camp 7 out of court.
“Corporal Reeding?” asked Brent.
“Yes, sir?”
“What really happened in that feeding room to Ahmed?”
“I don’t know sir, really I don’t. I told you everything I know in my deposition. The only ones who really know are Sergeant Brown and Nurse Benson. And…”
“And who else?”
“I don’t know, sir. But I think something went really wrong in that feeding room and they’re trying to cover it up.”
***
“Those a-holes have fucked up every case against every real terrorist, haven’t they?” asked Rick, slamming a shot of whiskey.
“I’m afraid they have,” replied Brent, “It’s a shame that the guilty ones are going to get off, but that’s what happens when you try to change 200 years of checks and balances.”
“So, are we gonna stay here awhile and catch some strip acts?”
Brent just gave Rick a look that obviated the need to respond verbally.
“What? Okay, I get it, back to work.”
“Back to work,” said Brent.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Corporal Reeding was determined to enjoy his R&R no matter what. He had done his good deed, and now his conscience could have a well-needed rest. Bootsie’s Cabaret was just the ticket. Reeding started on the lower level. The main stage was good, the girls were hot and the beer was cold. He grabbed a pile of fresh $1 bills from his pocket and folded them in little tents in front of himself on the bright red stage to entice the chicks to give him the closest view of their very best features.
A knockout blonde with green eyes was his object of attention. His gaze was glued on her with fascination as she did her final act, completely nude. She jumped on the pole in the center of the stage, slinked up as high as the ceiling, and then glided down backwards into a perfect split. When she came to pick up his collection of $1 bills, she smiled at Reeding and blew him a kiss.
During the next act, the blonde came up to Reeding and asked him if he wanted to go to the VIP Room. Of course he did.
“How much does it cost?”
“$20 for a lap dance, $300 for full service.”
“What’s a full service include?”
“Everything.”
“Let’s go for the lap dance.”
In the blue-lit glow of a little alcove of the VIP Room, Blondie gyrated her privates against Reeding’s stiffening member, then reached around with her hand and started to rub it. Then the third song had finished.
“Time’s up!”
“No!”
“Full service?” she whispered, as she squeezed it again. Reeding, his judgment already impaired with alcohol and long-term horniness, succumbed, and she led him to a private booth in the back of the VIP Room.
***
While Reeding was getting his reward for his honesty, back on the main floor, three crew cuts came in and joined the fourth at the main stage.
“Where is he?” asked Balls.
“He’s upstairs in the VIP Room, getting a lap dance,” said Skinny.
“Don’t you guys fuck this up like you did in California,” said Balls.
“Don’t worry,” said Skinny. “He won’t even know what hit him.”
As Reeding stumbled down the stairs with a goofy grin on his face, he didn’t notice the four amigos at all. Reeding navigated a wavy course through the smoke filled room of too many guys, and went out the door.
The four followed. It was too easy. Skinny and Pumpkin Head slipped ahead of Reeding to scout for an alley to slip into, while Balls and Rock followed him. Once Balls saw that Skinny and Pumpkin Head had themselves tucked away in a dark alley, Balls gave the order and he and Rock slipped on their masks and pushed Reeding into the alley.
“You’ve got a big mouth,” said Balls.
“What, what are you talking about?” slurred Reeding. “Who are you guys?”
“You’d better learn how to keep it shut or next time you won’t be so lucky.”
Reeding was tipped to the opposite scale of the soft pleasure he had just experienced as the four beat him into an unconscious blob.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Benjamin Franklin said, “Justice will not be served until those who are unaffected are as outraged as those who are.” The U.S. Military had become the strong right arm of an over-zealous president and his cabinet. The next six months were a struggle to obtain documents, records and identify witnesses who were all deemed by the military to be “classified.”
Judge Henley, not wanting to be branded as partial, since he had already granted Ahmed’s habeas corpus petition, split the baby. He granted roughly half of Brent’s motions, and denied the other half, on the grounds that the material requested was sensitive to national security and did not lead to the discovery of admissible evidence in Brent’s case.
Brent and Rick spent long hours at the office. Rick put together witness lists and exhibits, and worked with Melinda to organize them, and Brent worked on the trial brief, opening statement to the jury, and his witness outlines, until, finally, the pretrial conference was upon them.
“These are the times that try men’s souls,” said Rick.
“You know who coined that phrase?”
“Who?”
“Thomas Paine.”
“Another great American.”
“Yes, we are stepping into the shoes of many great ones who have gone before us,” said Brent.
***
At the pre-trial, Judge Henley laid down the rules of his courtroom for the jury trial. There would be no surprises. Everything had already been disclosed and exhibits exchanged. It would be as fair a fight as possible, and, despite the huge disparity between the two sides in terms of power and money, Brent was comfortable on his side of the courtroom because when it came to argument, no amount of money and power could triumph over the power of the spoken word.
Brent would make the jury see what Ahmed saw, to feel what Ahmed felt. The theory of his case was twofold: either they were negligent in the feeding procedure, causing Ahmed’s death, or the alternative, if it was more palatable to the jury, that Ahmed was psychologically broken to the point of suicide and they were negligent in not taking precautions for his safety. The alternative theory allowed Brent to bring in all the evidence of the treatment that the Government did not
define as “torture.” The jury would give that treatment its own definition, and it that opinion would be broadcast to the masses. The trial would begin in two weeks.
PART III
A PATRIOT’S ACT
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The closest thing to a jury trial would probably be live theater. Luckily, Brent had been able to sleep well the night before the trial; something that he wasn’t always able to do. He had spent many a night before a trial worrying about it, and going over it in his mind. No matter how well prepared he was, he seemed to always feel like he was missing something. But when he was in the heat of battle, he carried himself confidently and well.
Brent put the finishing touches on his appearance, which was more important than anything else on the first day. He had to exude confidence, but not give the appearance of being vain. He had laid out his suit the night before; a classic navy blue Cerruti. As he tied the Windsor knot of his dark blue tie on the collar of his teleprompter blue shirt, the image of the actor was complete.
***
Brent met Catherine in the parking lot, so they could walk into the courthouse together. No matter how early they could have planned to be, they would never have avoided the crowds.
A small group of protestors holding signs saying, “Close Guantanamo” and “Gitmo has to go” gathered on the sidewalk across from the courthouse, along with five people dressed in orange jumpsuits with black hoods. An opposing group holding “Remember 911” signs and signs that read, “Death to Terrorists” shouted at the demonstrators from their spot on the corner about 100 meters away. It was folly for the news crews and reporters, who swarmed around Brent and Catherine like a bunch of bees fishing for comments, but there could be no talking to the media yet. The case came first.
Inside the courtroom, the usual humdrum, quiet pace was a welcome change to the circus outside. Brent and Catherine took a seat and waited for the judge to take the bench.
***
“Catherine Khury v. George W. Bush, et. al, case Number CV 08 – 36749. Counsel, please state your appearances.”
“Good morning, Your Honor. Brent Marks appearing for the Plaintiff, Catherine Khury.”
“Good morning, Mr. Marks.”
“Good morning, Your Honor. Assistant U.S. Attorney Timothy Nagel for the Government.”
“Good morning, Mr. Nagel.”
“Good morning, Your Honor. Assistant U.S. Attorney Joseph Cicatto for the Government.”
“Good morning, Mr. Cicatto. Call in the first panel, please, Madame Clerk.”
A panel of jurors shuffled in, and Judge Henley identified the parties and witnesses, to make sure that none of the jurors knew any of them, proceeding to question the jurors as to their names, where they lived, their marital status and education. Then he handed the show over to the lawyers.
Representing the Plaintiff, Brent had the first opportunity for voir dire, the preliminary questioning that each lawyer would do to determine if any of the jurors had any biases that could hurt (or help) their respective cases. It also gave the opportunity to do a little foreshadowing of the case that lay ahead.
Brent had already read the jury questionnaires of each prospective juror, and Rick had done a background check on all of them. There was nothing alarming, just a group of middle-class folks of all ages and backgrounds with only one thing in common: None of them wanted to be sitting in the jury box.
Brent started the voir dire with a little show and tell. He held up a large headshot of Ahmed for the potential jurors to see. “Tell me who you see in the photograph.” he asked Dominic Petrelli, an assembly line worker at the Toyota manufacturing plant.
“It looks like an Arab guy,” responded Petrelli. The same question was posed to each member in the panel, and Brent made a note of their responses on the “juror map” on his desk, in which he had written the names of all the jurors in the panel.
Each side would have a total of three peremptory challenges to potential jurors, not a lot compared to the six given each side under California law. The challenges would have to be used wisely. Sometimes, believe it or not, the other side disliked a potential juror as much as Brent did. Brent elicited responses from the entire panel on the photograph and received three “Arab” responses. That would make his exercise of the challenges tricky.
Nagel did not waste any time planting the seed of terrorism in the jury’s mind.
“Who in the jury box remembers what happened to our country on September 11th, 2001?” There was a unanimous show of hands. Of course! Who didn’t?
“Juror No. 12, Mr. Steelman, do you believe that our president was correct when he announced to the nation that the United States would win the War on Terror on September 11th?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“Now by a show of hands, who thinks that President Bush was right to go after the Taliban in Afghanistan for harboring al Qaeda?” Every one of the prospective jurors raised their hand. All Nagel needed was a flag in his hand to waive while he made his speech.
“Do you think it was right for the Congress to give the president authorization to use military force against whom the president determined to be responsible for the September 11th attacks and the countries who harbored them?” Again, all hands went up.
And now the ten-million-dollar question.
“Do you feel that it is necessary and proper for every citizen to make sacrifices in the name of the War on Terror so that everyone in our nation can be safe from terrorism?” This time two jurors did not raise their hands. These were the two that Nagel would kick off the jury. Brent would be hard pressed to get a jury in this case that would be sympathetic to a woman who lost a husband who was an accused terrorist.
The tedious questioning of the panel continued for about an hour, with the time divided equally between Brent and Nagel. Finally, their initial time, which had been set by the Court, was up.
“The Court will hear any challenges for cause,” said Judge Henley.
“Pass for cause, Your Honor,” said Brent.
“Pass for cause, Your Honor,” said Nagel.
“Alright then, the first peremptory challenge is with the Plaintiff.”
“The Plaintiff wishes to thank and excuse Juror No. 1, Mr. Dominic Petrelli.”
Petrelli was excused, and the clerk drew another potential juror’s name from the gallery, filling Petrelli’s seat.
“The next peremptory challenge is with the Defendant.”
“The Defendant wishes to thank and excuse Juror No. 4, Javier Manuel.”
This was a blow to Brent, who wanted to keep as many ethnic jurors on the panel as possible. Nagel, of course, wanted only whites.
Finally, after the process was repeated for the new prospective jurors and each party had exercised their three peremptory challenges, the show was ready to begin. The final jury was comprised of one African-American man, one Mexican-American man, three white women and seven white men.
“Madame Clerk, please swear in the jury,” instructed Judge Henley. The swearing was followed by the traditional admonishments, prohibiting the jurors from talking to anyone about the case, even amongst themselves, then gave them all a well- deserved lunch break.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Our country has been faced with many different challenges in our lifetime,” said Brent, making eye contact with each juror separately as he made his opening statement.
“When we were attacked on September 11th, 2001, we were all attacked. Everyone in this room has the right to feel violated, to feel shock, depression, even anger.” With each emotion, Brent expressed his own, which came naturally. Even though he disagreed with the president, it was difficult to listen to George W. Bush’s post-9/11 speech without feeling a shiver.
“But we mustn’t let those emotions and the fever for revenge make us forget what made our nation so great, and that everything that we stand for that was attacked on September 11th. We are a nation of laws: laws that were designed to protect each and
every one of us, and the highest form of our law is embodied in the United States Constitution, which has worked well for us for over 200 years. Ladies and Gentlemen, in this trial, you are the guardians of that Constitution. Once we decide on a course of action that deviates from the law, we become the criminals.
“Theodore Roosevelt once said, “No man is justified in doing evil on the ground of expediency.” It is only by respecting the law that we can bring justice to any criminal. Benjamin Franklin said, “Those who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.” It is you who will decide whether it is right to discard the Constitution and wave the flag as we charge into battle, or to wrap yourself in the Constitution and still wave the flag in support of your country being the most fair and most free country in the world, a beacon of justice for every other free world country to look up to.”
“Objection, Your Honor, argumentative,” barked Nagel.
“Overruled. Please continue, Mr. Marks.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. It was Winston Churchill who said, “The power of the executive to cast a man into prison without formulating any charge known to the law and particularly to deny him the judgment of his peers is in the highest degree odious and is the foundation of all totalitarian government, whether Nazi or Communist.” Some of you were born here, and some of you are naturalized American citizens. The Plaintiff, Catherine Khury was married to a naturalized American citizen.
“Ahmed Khury was a loving husband, a father, and a good provider for his family. But, one day, when he was coming to the aid of his brother in his native Iraq, he was captured by the United States military, for suspicion of aiding and abetting his brother in money laundering. Without charge, he was held in Guantanamo Bay Detention Camp for almost a year: A year without being allowed to see or speak to his family. A year in which he endured some of the most unspeakable acts of cruelty ever committed by one human being against another, all sanctioned by the U.S. military. Acts that we intend to show violated the Constitution, the Military Code of Justice, the Torture Conventions and the Geneva Conventions of 1949.
