by Peter Darley
As Brandon listened, he remembered something Treadwell had said to him on the night of his death. It came back to him as the voice of a ghoulish specter: We even cleaned up your overly-stained military record for you.
Brock could see no purpose in questioning Colonel Woodroffe. The man had answered honestly and was clearly a hostile witness who was reluctant to sell out one of his own. There was nothing he’d said that could possibly be discredited.
The next witness to take the stand was Professor Abraham Jacobson, a balding man in his sixties, and director of weapons development at Mach Industries. Brandon had been assigned to him following his head injury and memory revision.
As Arrowsmith interviewed him, it became apparent that Treadwell had arranged for Brandon to be posted at Mach Industries, accompanied by a team of agents who oversaw the entire operation. Brandon already knew Treadwell had a close involvement with the facility. Without that involvement, he wouldn’t have come into contact with the senator’s plans to attack army-contracted corporations. He didn’t realize it had all begun when he’d arrived. From what the professor was saying, Treadwell had marched in and taken over Mach Industries.
Brandon screwed up his lips at the injustice. The professor was a kind and gracious man with whom he’d developed a fine friendship. The thought of Jacobson being oppressed by scum the likes of Treadwell caused a flutter of anger to begin festering in him.
Jacobson went on to stun those in attendance by expressing his astonishment at Brandon’s skills and intellect, which had enabled him to create the miniature engines for the Turbo Swan. He confused the jury profoundly by showing deep emotion when describing Brandon as a gentle soul whom he’d grown to love like his own son.
While it caused Brandon a degree of bashfulness, it was clear nobody else could associate the professor’s words with the psychopathic warmonger they knew Drake to have been.
However, as supportive of Brandon as Jacobson was, he couldn’t deny the equipment Brandon had stolen was property of the United States Army.
The hearing extended into the afternoon, with the testimonies of Captain Lewis Jordan from the Denver police, Sheriff Earl Gillespie from Morgan, Wyoming, and Agent Eric Tremayne from the FBI, who had been present at Brandon’s arrest in North Carolina. Each of the men gave descriptive and captivating accounts of their experiences with Drake, which was detrimental to Brandon’s case. Two escapes from the police, a jail break, an assault against a police officer, beating a man to death, and a car chase with the FBI, were damning incidents.
After an intense day, General Grant decided recess was in order. “We will reconvene tomorrow at oh-nine hundred.”
The following morning, the trial resumed. It had been an angst-ridden night for all concerned. Brandon hadn’t slept. He was vacant and unresponsive, as though he wasn’t in his right mind, and Brock had serious reservations about how he intended to proceed. He was beginning to doubt Drake’s suitability to stand trial.
Nevertheless, the judge and jury had heard from everyone except the one who could have put the entire situation into perspective for them.
Grant entered the courtroom and everyone stood. “Be seated,” he said. “Does the prosecution have any further witnesses?”
“Just one, General. The prosecution calls Belinda Carolyn Reese.”
Brandon’s gaze shot up from the floor. He watched, wondering if he was dreaming as an MP escorted Belinda into the courtroom. She looked stunning to his eyes. Her hair had grown a little, and she’d reverted back to her natural brunette color. Her eyes were visibly moistened. She seemed to take a sharp breath when she saw him, but he assumed she was just surprised to see him in his military uniform.
It occurred to him that his adversary had brought her into this. Then he noticed the MPs hand grasping her arm as he led her in. She was in no danger and wasn’t being manhandled, but his mind was not sound at that moment. His adrenaline surged and his aggression ignited, destroying his rationality. “Get your hands off her, motherfucker!”
He sprang up from his chair, leaping over the witness stand in a single bound.
Forty-Five
Sting of the Scorpion
Arrowsmith recoiled instinctively, and the jury members stood in alarm.
“Leave her alone!” Brandon roared.
Grant gestured to the four officers who were standing at the courtroom door. “MPs. Stop that man!”
Belinda watched as Brandon charged toward her, but she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. The whites of his eyes became bloodshot and the forehead scar deepened, this time assuming a dark shade of purple. His face contorted into the grimace of a beast. However, as comforting as it was to see him acting so protectively toward her, she was devastated by what he was doing to his case.
Brandon’s foot flew into the MPs jaw, knocking him over the bench. Brock darted out of the way as the man crashed into the oak surface beside him.
Four MPs were on Brandon within a heartbeat, but their efforts were futile. He was down on the floor in an instant. His left leg swept around in an arc, taking two of the MPs’ feet from under them.
He leaped onto the desk, using it as a springboard before leaping off toward the two who remained standing. The heel of his right shoe collided with the chin of the man in front of him. Simultaneously, his left foot kicked back into the solar plexus of the MP behind him. It all occurred in one fluid movement before he landed.
The first two fallen MPs got to their feet and one grabbed Brandon around the neck. Brandon reached backward, gripped the back of his assailant’s head, and hurled him over his shoulders.
The last remaining MP stepped in front of him and threw his fist toward Brandon’s face. Brandon’s left arm rose up with dazzling speed and blocked the strike. Wrapping his arm around the MPs, he drove his palm up under the man’s chin, rendering him unconscious. The man fell to the floor onto his three senseless colleagues.
Brandon lunged toward Arrowsmith, but was suddenly halted by an attack of complete bodily paralysis. A second squad of MPs had entered the courtroom and hit him with a shot from a taser. He fell to the ground with wires protruding from his back.
Belinda trembled, sobbing as she watched him twitching on the floor.
David Spicer ran from among the spectators and gently held her shoulders. She noticed his sad expression, and suspected he was taking a serious risk given that he wasn’t supposed to know her. She hoped that perhaps he could pass it off as common compassion for a woman in distress.
Grant stood from his judgment seat with one cold word: “Recess.”
The trial resumed in the afternoon, and Belinda took the stand. Brandon sat in a chair with his wrists shackled to his ankles via long chains.
“Agent Payne inserted wooden sticks under two of my fingernails,” Belinda said.
The members of the jury winced as she related her horrifying tale.
Belinda noticed Brandon shaking with rage. She paused to collect herself and then resumed her testimony. “He kept asking me about the money, but I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about. Then he tied me to a table and wrapped filthy rags around my head. He poured dirty water onto my face.” She became tearful as she remembered her terror.
“I understand this is difficult for you, Ms. Reese,” Arrowsmith said gently, “but please, try to tell us what happened.”
“When that didn’t work, he was about to shoot me and then thought better of it.”
“What do you mean, Ms. Reese?”
“He made a move to . . . rape me.” She struggled to retain her compose as the words spilled out of her.
Brandon looked up from the corner of the room. “You bastard, Arrowsmith.”
Grant alerted a new group of MPs at the door. “Recess. Escort Sergeant Drake from the court.”
After a brief recess, Brandon was brought back into the courtroom, still restrained by shackles. He looked across the crowd of personnel and off-duty soldiers. He glanced at the two civilians he’d noticed ear
lier, a young man and an older guy with a snow-white beard. For a moment, his eyes locked with the younger man, whose expression seemed to show sincere concern. Brandon didn’t recognize him from anywhere specifically, but there was something about him that seemed strangely familiar.
“To resume, Ms. Reese,” Arrowsmith said. “You say Agent Gary Payne was going to rape you. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“And what happened?”
“Brandon came in through the window and . . . stopped him.” Belinda’s tone lifted as she recalled the wondrous moment.
“By stopping him, do you mean beating him to death?”
Brock stood. “Objection. Badgering.”
“Sustained,” Grant said.
“He did what he had to do to stop an armed man from raping and killing me—”
“Thank you, Ms. Reese,” Arrowsmith cut her off abruptly, but he was too late. The jury had heard her. “Where did he take you after each of these fantastic rescues you mentioned?”
“Motels.”
“Motels?” Arrowsmith gestured to the off-duty personnel. “We have soldiers in this room today, who were present in Morgan, Wyoming on February seventeenth, when Drake took off in the Turbo Swan with you. Where did he take you?”
She was silent for a moment as though she was trying to think of a story that couldn’t be discredited. “I don’t remember. I was in shock. I think we ended up at another motel.”
“And where did he leave the Turbo Swan?”
“I don’t know.”
Arrowsmith held her gaze for a moment before concluding. “No further questions. The prosecution rests.”
After a break for lunch, Grant positioned himself in his judgment seat and wasted no time resuming the proceedings. “Lieutenant Brock, you may call your first witness.
Brock stood. “Thank you, sir. Defense calls . . . Sergeant Brandon Drake.”
Brandon’s feet shuffled as he was escorted to the stand.
“State your name for the record, please.”
“Sergeant Brandon Drake, Eighty-Second Airborne Division, sir.”
“Sergeant Drake, would you please tell the court the circumstances that led to your arrest.”
Brandon felt emotionally exhausted, and it took several moments for him to gather his thoughts. “When I was working at Mach Industries, I was researching ways of increasing the load that could be taken by the engines on the Turbo Swan.”
“And what happened then?”
Brandon shook his head, trying to clear his mind. “I was in the facility’s mainframe when I came across a deleted file that clearly shouldn’t have been there.”
“What was the nature of this file?”
“It was a folder from an untraceable location, which mentioned attacks against army-contracted facilities by an undisclosed cell operating from Langley. An attachment within the folder contained a series of crypto-numeric codes for the dates, times, and locations for the attacks.”
Brock’s slight smile indicated he was now in a more comfortable place. Brandon knew his attorney was trying to defend his true intentions as being those of an honorable soldier, and not a deserter.
“Please continue, Sergeant.”
“The first two I decoded, a few weeks later, were Everidge in Dallas, and Carringby in Denver. It seemed the government I was serving was involved in attacks against itself.”
“So why didn’t you report it?”
“Report it to whom? Who could I possibly trust? I was already working within a high security operation. Do you honestly think I would have lived to see the next sunrise if I’d said anything about this?”
“So what was your solution?”
“The base was heavily guarded, and my whereabouts had to be accounted for. I couldn’t have just walked out, so I escaped in the Turbo Swan.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. Why did you take so many items from the lab with you?”
“I knew that in order to have any chance of trying to stop what was going to happen, I’d need the right equipment. I tried to employ a non-confrontational tactic, but it failed.”
“And what was that?”
“I phoned in a warning to Everidge using a sat-scrambler phone, but it was disregarded as a hoax.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I don’t think I need to say how many died as a result.”
As David Spicer listened, he figured it hadn’t been possible for the jury to avoid hearing stories of what kind of a character Drake used to be. This new incarnation was the same ‘Drake’ that one of them, Captain Ward, had seen on television. Descriptions of his new persona had spread throughout his division to all who’d missed the broadcasts. Most were convinced it was an act he’d designed to ingratiate himself, and level an attack against the authority of the US government.
Only David knew the truth, but he was sworn to secrecy about what he knew and how he came to know it. The situation made his position agonizing, and he knew what questions were coming. He could clear up the question of Brandon’s altruism once and for all, but at what cost? For now, Brandon was doing well, if he could only keep his cool. For the sake of a promise he’d made to Brandon, and for his own career in the army, he had no choice but to remain silent.
Brandon continued. “I worked out the date and a time for the attack against Carringby, and decided to intervene personally. The rest is history.”
“As the police pursued the van that night, why didn’t you stop and explain yourself to them? Why all of the pyrotechnics and the escape in the Turbo Swan?”
“By that time, I trusted no one. If they took me in, I knew I would’ve been the victim of assassination within hours. When we reached Wyoming we discovered they’d targeted Ms. Reese.”
“And that’s the reason you incapacitated two police officers with a . . . just a moment.” Brock put on his reading glasses and sifted through a slew of papers. He quickly came to the phrase he was looking for. “A UX-E5 sonic force emitter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And afterward?”
“The van was stolen from the motel while we were sleeping. I learned the thieves had been taken into police custody along with the van, so I set about reacquiring it.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Drake. No further questions for now.”
Grant looked across to Arrowsmith. “Do you have any questions, Captain?”
“Yes General, I certainly do.” Arrowsmith approached the witness stand.
Brandon’s gaze burned into those of his adversary, and he sensed his rage beginning to resurface. Keep it together. Don’t lose it now.
Forty-Six
Cross Examination
“Sergeant Drake,” Arrowsmith said, “at the time you speak of, you were without a vehicle. You were far away from anyone who may have been trying to kill you. So why did you break into the police impound yard?”
“You’re right. I wasn’t in any danger at that time,” Brandon replied. “Treadwell knew I was responsible for interfering with the Carringby operation, and yet he still made sure my name stayed out of the media.”
“So why did you break into the impound yard? You’d taken equipment that belonged to the authorities and it had found its way into official hands. What right did you have to take it again?”
“Belinda . . . Ms. Reese, had been targeted and we were out in the cold with no means of transportation or defense, no weaponry, and all our money was in the van.” Brandon’s voice increased in volume. “Now, what the hell do you think I should have done, asshole?”
General Grant slapped his hand upon the desk. “Sergeant Drake, outbursts like that will not be tolerated. Is that clear?”
Brandon sat back in an attempt to compose himself. Dammit. Why can’t I hold it in?
Arrowsmith resumed. “Sergeant Drake, the FBI reports show that on March thirteenth, you were driving away from a deserted gas station approximately thirty miles north of Asheville, North Carolina, in a Mustang identified as having been purchased by
one Carl Perry.”
Brandon shook his head, confused. “Who?”
“The car was traced to its previous owner in Washington DC, who said he’d sold the vehicle, one month before, to a man named Carl Perry. When shown a photograph of Agent Gary Payne, he confirmed that Perry and Payne were one and the same.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
Arrowsmith stepped closer to the witness stand. “The man was found beaten to death with such ferocity that the only way he could be identified was through his fingerprints. Even his teeth had been shattered, and you were seen driving away in his car. What happened?”
Brandon clenched his fist with the eyes of all in the court upon him. “Belinda and I were driving to Florida,” he lied. “I stopped outside an old storage shack to take a leak.”
“Where was this?”
“Cherry Mountain Plain, around seventy miles northeast of Asheville.”
“What happened?”
“Apparently Payne had been following us. When I came from behind the shack, he was holding Belinda at gunpoint, and he demanded money from me.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He seemed to think I had money that Treadwell owed him.”
“And what happened?”
Brandon pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to find the right words. “I threw a homing device onto Payne’s Mustang and gave chase. Payne hurled grenades out of his car toward me. I jumped out of the SUV moments before a grenade took it out.”
“What happened then?”
“I had the tracking device, but some of the equipment I’d taken from Mach Industries was destroyed in the explosion.”
“What time of day, and whereabouts did this happen?”
Brandon shrugged. “I don’t know. Ten, maybe ten-thirty hours. It was on a narrow road by a cliff edge around four miles ahead of where Payne found us.”
