“That’s not very nice,” Molly said. She was going through the paper’s style section.
Dillon watched the dark-suited figures on television. “So here go the hearings on impeachment before the Judiciary Committee.”
“What’s Barrett like?”
“Nice enough, ambitious.”
“That goes without saying.” Molly watched Barrett preside as the Judiciary Committee started listening to statements by its members. Molly put the paper down. “These hearings are going to go on forever. It will be next year before they do anything.”
“I don’t think so,” Dillon said, pouring himself another bowl of cereal. “The Speaker told them to keep it short. He wants it voted on by the House, now. He thinks he has the votes to impeach the President today, without any factual hearings and recommendation from the committee. He just wants the committee to go through the motions.”
“They’ve got to do some fact finding before they vote.”
“They’ll do whatever they need to do.”
“You seem to think this is a foregone conclusion.”
“It is.”
“That he’ll be impeached?”
“It only takes a majority vote,” Dillon said. “There are enough members of Congress pissed at Manchester for the way he handled the Letter of Reprisal to impeach him for that alone. This pacifist thing is just a bonus. They’d vote on it tomorrow if they had the chance.”
“You really think he’s going to be impeached?”
“Sure. The question is whether he’ll be convicted.”
“I don’t think he will be.”
Dillon didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to start. Molly understood.
“So what’s the plan for today?”
“We’ve got to start preparing the defense.”
“Isn’t that up to Mr. Penthouse?”
“Sure, but we’ve got to do it as if we were doing it, and then see how we can contribute.”
“Okay, so what do you want me to do?”
“How about making a list of facts and witnesses that we can use for the defense.”
“I don’t know who the witnesses will be or exactly what the facts are.”
“Yeah, I should do that. How about we go to the county law library and you research all the Article Ninety-two cases that we can find—see how maybe somebody else got off?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Chapter Fifteen
It was the first time Dillon had seen a military court proceeding. It had many superficial similarities to a standard court proceeding, but the judge was wearing a uniform instead of a robe. Dillon, however, was more concerned about the differences he couldn’t see. He leaned over to Molly. “Let’s see how Mr. Penthouse does.”
“Good morning, Your Honor. Mr. Chung, on behalf of Admiral Billings, moving party.”
“Good morning, Your Honor. Commander Pettit, for the United States.”
“Good morning, gentlemen,” the judge said. “It’s my understanding that this is a motion to release the accused from custody under Rule 305. It’s also my understanding that an appeal has been made to the convening authority for release from custody already, which has been denied. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” they said simultaneously.
“Very well. Mr. Chung, it’s your motion.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. We actually have several motions pending. We requested this date for pretrial motions before the arraignment. The other major motion is based on the undue influence being exercised at every level by the convening authority, the President. As you have seen in our papers, we are requesting that the President not be allowed to continue as the convening authority. But before we get to that, we wanted to discuss the admiral’s release from custody. I need not remind this court that this is essentially a political trial. The political pressures involved are enormous, the stakes are high, and this has the interests of the highest levels of government. Because of that it is certainly understandable why the convening authority is unwilling personally to release the admiral from custody. It may also be to the political benefit of the convening authority—the President—to try to publicly humiliate Admiral Billings so—”
“Objection!” the prosecutor said. “This is not a political trial, there is no humiliation at issue here—”
The judge put up his hand. “Thank you, Counsel. Please let him continue. If you have an objection to his argument, which would be extraordinary, please state it. I don’t want you to argue with him.” Pettit sat down.
“If I may continue,” Chung said patiently, “it is understandable why the convening authority was unenthusiastic about releasing the admiral from custody. However, now that he has been in custody since returning from his victory in the Southwestern Pacific, this court should be able to evaluate objectively how likely it is that Admiral Billings will flee. His wife is here, his home is here, his friends are here. He is anxious to confront the charges that have been unfairly leveled against him. Because of that, we request that the court release him on his own recognizance, pending trial.”
“Trial Counsel?”
“Thank you, Your Honor. While I don’t doubt the admiral’s anxiety, I do dispute that he has no incentive to flee. These are serious charges. The last time an admiral was court-martialed was in 1959. It could deprive him of his freedom for a very long time. I need not remind the court that there is also a charge of manslaughter. This is not simply disobeying an order to refill the coffeepot; this is disobeying an order that resulted in the deaths of nearly two hundred people, including several Americans, one of whom was a civilian. This is not to be taken lightly. The fact that the admiral has a reputation of being a nice guy, or that he hasn’t become violent in the brig, does not mean that he should be released. This court should keep him in custody until the trial. Thank you.”
“Thank you for your argument.”
“Admiral Billings, would you please rise.” Admiral Billings stood up regally and looked the judge in the eye.
“I hereby order you released from custody. You are to remain within the confines of Naval Base, Pearl Harbor, including Makalapa. I hereby direct you to reside at the Bachelor Officers Quarters at Makalapa, where your wife may join you. You are free to wear your uniform, and have free access to the full Naval base and submarine base. You may also travel off base for the sole purpose of going to your attorney’s office. I want to take the remainder of the motions under submission, and will inform you of my decisions. Anything further?”
Pettit shook his head, his mouth tightly closed. Chung smiled quietly.
“Adjourned,” the judge said and rose from the bench. He exited the courtroom quickly.
Carolyn Billings stood next to her husband, obviously happy. She held up a hanging bag.
“Thanks,” he said, taking it. “Wait right here.” Billings disappeared and returned in five minutes fully dressed in a crisp white uniform with all his ribbons and admiral’s bars. It was the first time Dillon had seen him in his whites except on television, where he’d been wearing handcuffs. He was impressive. He’d been restored, at least in part, to his position of power. “Come on,” Billings said to his lawyers, “I’ll buy everybody lunch.”
They went to the Pearl Harbor officers’ club and found a table in the corner of the dining room area. After ordering lunch they sat back in a silence full of pleasure and optimism. “Well,” Carolyn said, “things are looking up.”
“Yes. It doesn’t mean a lot. But I was impressed by the judge,” Billings said. “He seems to be a no-nonsense kind of guy. I’d much rather have been free to go home, but this is certainly second best.”
The food came and they ate hungrily. No one commented on the case at all, attempting to avoid saying anything to break the mood.
As the plates were cleared and a silver coffee pitcher was placed in the middle of the table, Billings turned to Chung. “Thank you for arguing that motion, Mr. Chung.”
“My pleasure. I�
�m glad we were successful.”
“That was Dillon’s motion, wasn’t it?”
Dillon caught Molly’s eye to see if she felt as awkward as he did. Her expression was apprehensive.
“Well, yes, initially,” Chung said, stung.
“What do you think about that proposal that the prosecutor mentioned to you on the way out of the hearing this morning?”
“About continuing the trial?” Chung asked.
Billings nodded.
“I’m inclined to stipulate to that, Admiral, if you want to. I think we should take as much time as we can to prepare our case properly. You only get one chance to do this.”
Billings sipped his coffee and turned to Dillon. “What do you think, Dillon?”
Dillon felt awkward, as if he was being called upon to question Chung’s judgment, but he disagreed with what Chung had said. He had to speak his mind. “I don’t think we should continue anything. We should have the trial as quickly as we possibly can. This isn’t about the facts. Most of the facts are understood. It’s like you said, this is a political trial. The President is out to get you.” Billings’s face was stoic, not giving Dillon a clue to what he was thinking. He went on. “So far all the public sentiment is on your side, Admiral. Most people think what you did was the right thing. And as much as we like to pretend that public sentiment doesn’t affect a trial like this, I think it does.” Dillon saw Chung’s troubled expression but he continued. “The admirals sitting on this court-martial will know the same things we know. They’ll know how popular you are and how unpopular the President is. I think it’ll be a factor—something in our favor. The longer we wait, the less of a factor it’s likely to be.” He hesitated and then added, “I’d insist on the earliest possible date,” Dillon finished, wondering if he’d said too much.
“Molly, what do you think?” asked Billings.
Molly’s eyes traveled from Dillon to Chung, and then to Billings. “I agree with Jim,” she answered. “I think you should strike while the passions are still high, because the passions in this case run in your favor. I don’t believe anybody is angry with you except the President. I’d bet he’s the one pushing this court-martial. Or maybe his Chief of Staff.”
Admiral Billings exchanged glances with his wife, who recognized the look on her husband’s face. Billings turned to the other three. “I’d like to make a change,” he said.
“In what respect?” Chung asked.
“From this point on, I want Jim Dillon to defend me in the court-martial. I want him doing the trial.”
Dillon felt a sharp fear speed through his body.
Chung was shocked.
Billings continued, “I appreciate the work you’ve done, Mr. Chung. I know you’re one of the best, and I still want you as a consultant. We may need your expertise for criminal procedure, or things of that nature. But I want the attorney representing me to have a fire in his belly for me. I’ve seen Mr. Dillon work on the carrier. I’ve spoken with him many times. I know how bright and capable he is. I’d like him to be in the lead.”
Chung folded his cloth napkin carefully in front of him. “I appreciate your forthrightness,” Chung said. “I’m required, however, to tell you that I think you’re making a very big mistake. Mr. Dillon has no experience in military law. I believe he has never tried a court-martial. The number of criminal trials he has handled is very small. He is not very experienced. But if that is your wish, then that is how it shall be.” He pushed his chair back slightly and stood up. “But I won’t stay on the team as a consultant. I do not operate that way. Either I make the decisions, or I am not involved. Since you have made your wishes clear, I will excuse myself and return your retainer. It has been a pleasure getting to know you and I wish you the best.” Chung walked around the table and extended his hand.
Billings stood and shook it. “I’d really like you to still be part of this, Mr. Chung.”
“Thank you, Admiral Billings,” he said, “but I cannot do that. Good luck,” he said, wondering how he could have misread the admiral so badly. He bowed slightly, turned, and walked quickly out of the club.
Billings sat down and glanced around the table. “Well, Dillon, it’s all yours.”
“I didn’t even get a chance to respond,” Dillon replied. “You should have warned me. I would have told you what a bad idea that was,” Dillon said, forcing a small smile.
“Bad idea or not, it’s the way I operate. I pride myself in being able to pick good people out of groups. You think trying a case is that big a deal? We have men six years younger than you landing forty-five-million-dollar jets on aircraft carriers all by themselves. Flying out with thousands of pounds of live ordnance or missiles every day. Men your age supervise hundreds of enlisted men and everything about them. They’re in charge of an aircraft carrier in the middle of the night, steaming at thirty knots through the darkest black you’ve ever seen. They could run over another boat or ship and never even know it if they’re not careful. I have confidence in a lot of people. And today, you’re one of them.”
“Thank you,” Dillon said, feeling a substantial weight transfer to his shoulders. “I won’t let you down,” he said with more confidence than he felt.
“My guess is that you run. Am I right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fine. I’m going to spend this afternoon with Carolyn. Then I want to meet with you first thing in the morning. Six o’clock, right by the bridge to Ford Island. In running gear. There’s a path that goes right along the waterfront. How fast do you like to run?”
“You name it, anything from six-thirty a mile to eight.”
“Well, if you want to talk, we probably ought to do about eight. You up to that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How about you, Molly, do you run?”
“Yes, sir, although it’s been winter in Washington and I’ve been riding my indoor bike instead.”
“You up for it?”
“Absolutely,” she said.
“See you then,” Billings said.
She sat on the chair on the dirt floor with her hands in her lap. She was way past worrying about how she looked or smelled. They had shot her husband right in front of her eyes. Her family, her dignity, and her confidence were all gone. She just wanted to live, but didn’t know what to do to make that more likely.
They weren’t worried about her running away. They must be on an island, and a small one at that. Her hands were free, her feet were free, but she clearly was not; there was always somebody watching her. They kept her in what appeared to be the main building of the compound. The walls were a combination of plywood and bamboo put together by a blind carpenter.
Her chair was away from the wall so she could never rest except at night when they put her on a mat on the floor. All she could do during the day was sit in the chair.
George Washington entered from the back room that she had never seen, where Washington spent a lot of his time. She could hear static and unidentifiable electronic squelching noises coming from the room. She watched him come in. The fear she always felt when she saw him jolted her as it always did.
“Your President has not let my men go.”
She did not respond.
“He has picture of your husband. He knows he must let my men go from American jail. He has not.” Washington stared at her. “I know your President, he has no courage. He looks only for the easiest way out. You agree?”
She made no movement and still said nothing.
He leaned close to her until his face was only a few inches away. “I asked you question. You answer.”
“What?”
“Your President, he is a coward, agree?”
“I don’t know.”
“If his people don’t know, then he is. As I thought. He will never do anything. It is only the Congress that acts against us. They won’t do that again.” Washington faced away from her, then turned back. “Stand up!”
She hesitated.
“Stand u
p! Now!”
“Why?”
“President not responding. Needs more encouragement.” She stood up slowly, waiting for the strength to return to her legs.
“Come here,” he said, pointing to a square wooden table with two chairs. She moved to the table and sat down. He went to the back room and returned with a piece of paper and a pencil. “You write.”
“Write what?”
“What I say.”
“No,” she said quickly.
Washington sat in the other chair. He reached down to his calf and quickly pulled up a large knife. He met her eyes. “Put your hands on the table.” She brought her hands up and placed them on the table, folded in front of her.
“Flat!” She did as he said. He grabbed her wrist and forced her hand down firmly on the tabletop. He put the sharp edge of the knife blade on her pinkie and began to press down.
“No!” she cried.
He whispered, “You write, or I will cut off every finger.”
“What do you want me to write?” Her breathing was heavy.
“Letter to President Edward Manchester.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“What I tell you.”
She bowed her head, hiding her paralyzing fear.
He lifted the knife and handed her the pencil. “Dear President Manchester,” she wrote in a rough scrawl.
“Tell him who you are.”
She began writing. Washington was thoughtful. “Tell him that I say if men in Hawaii not released, you will be killed. And I will find every person who was involved in the attack. Admiral Billings. James Dillon. We will find every American who set foot on our island. Every Marine. SEALs. We know their addresses in America. We have Internet.”
She continued to write, intentionally misspelling several words.
“Tell him men in Hawaii must be released immediately.”
As soon as she finished he grabbed the letter. He took the knife and pulled the blade across the back of her finger. Blood ran out and down onto the bottom of the letter. He smeared the blood around and pressed her thumb into the red wetness making a clear, bloody fingerprint. He pushed her away and walked out with the letter.
The Price Of Power Page 17
