The Price Of Power

by James W. Huston

  “Yes. It’s not far from one of the larger cities in Irian Jaya,” she replied, “although the cities aren’t very large at all anywhere on the island.”

  “Did you ever meet me president of the American mining company and his wife?”

  “No. We knew they were there, but I never met them.”

  “You’re aware that they were kidnapped?”

  “Yes.”

  The prosecutor stood up again. “Your Honor, what is the relevance of this information? They’re trying to confuse the very basic issues in this case.”

  Molly said, “I’m cross-examining the witness—”

  “Continue, Ms. Vaughan,” the judge said.

  “Thank you, Your Honor. Mrs. Carson, you’ve seen this picture?”

  “Yes,” she said, turning away.

  Molly stood next to the enlarged picture of Dan Heidel, lying on the floor, dead. “You can see that Mr. Heidel has been murdered. This picture was sent to the United States government and we obtained a copy of it through the Freedom of Information Act. You may have seen a copy of it published in the press. Look carefully at the picture, if you would.”

  Mary Carson reluctantly turned back to the large poster-size copy of the photograph. “Do you see the picture on the wall behind where Mr. Heidel is lying on the floor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you recognize it?”

  “Yes. It’s a photograph of Mao Zedong.”

  “And do you see the large black border around the photo behind the glass?”

  She studied the photograph. “Yes.”

  “I want you to look very carefully at that border. Tell me if you see anything else.”

  Mary Carson examined the picture again. “No, I really don’t,” she said, leaning forward.

  “Look at the upper right-hand corner of the border.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Carson said. “What am I looking for?”

  “A reflection,” Molly said. “Something in the room where this picture was taken.”

  Mary looked harder. “Oh yes. A face.”

  Molly crossed over to Dillon at the defense table and pulled out her third and last large display board. She put it on the tripod near Mary Carson.

  “I’ve taken the liberty, Mrs. Carson, of having that photograph, in particular the section with that reflection, separately enlarged, digitized, and computer-enhanced. Can you now see the face in the reflection clearly?”

  Mary Carson stared at it once more and then sat back quickly. “Yes. I can.”

  “Do you recognize that face?”

  “Yes. That’s him.”

  Two hundred people let out a collective gasp. They wanted to get as close to the photo as Mary Carson was.

  “That’s who?”

  “That’s the man who was on the island.”

  “It’s the same man in the drawing done for Captain Bonham, isn’t it? The same man who took the Pacific Flyer?”

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  Pettit had to catch his breath to keep from looking as shocked as he felt. “Your Honor,” he said standing up, “this is all very interesting detective work, but this man, whoever he is, is not the one on trial here. The charge of murder, is not for murdering the Americans on the Pacific Flyer...”

  The judge held up his hand. “Sit down, Commander Pettit.”

  “Mrs. Carson,” Molly continued, feeling euphoric, “the man who kidnapped you is the same man who murdered the victims on the Pacific Flyer and the president of the South Sea Mining Company, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It looks that way.”

  “And that is who the United States Navy was attempting to attack when your husband was accidentally killed, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  Molly turned to the admirals on the court, men turned back to Mary Carson. “You don’t hold your husband’s death against Admiral Billings, do you?”

  “Objection!” Pettit roared.

  “Overruled.”

  “No,” Mary Carson replied. “I understand what he was trying to do, and it was just an accident.”

  “If the battle group hadn’t come, and if they hadn’t attacked this evil man and this group when they did”—Molly moved toward the photograph of the dead American lying on the floor of the hut—“you might have ended up like him, isn’t that right?” Molly asked, pointing at the photo of Heidel.

  “Enough!” Pettit cried. “I must object, Your Honor,” the prosecutor said, now on his feet and waving his arms. “This is ridiculous. How Mrs. Carson might have ended up is pure speculation—this whole line of questioning is totally out of line and irrelevant. I also move to strike the testimony on the grounds that whatever evidence is being elicited here is more prejudicial men probative.”

  “Sustained as to the last question only.”

  “Admiral Billings and his battle group didn’t murder your husband, did they?”

  “Sustained,” Judge Diamond ruled, not even waiting for Pettit’s objection.

  “Admiral Billings and his battle group rescued you, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, they did. The man who actually freed me was a Marine officer, Mr. Tucker.”

  “Thank you very much, Mrs. Carson,” Molly said with finality. To the judge she said, “Defense moves the admission of defendant’s Exhibits A, B, and C, the three photographic blowups. I’ve provided smaller copies for the judge and prosecution.”

  “Any objection?” the judge asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor. There’s no foundation for these photographs at all. This witness has no personal knowledge of how the photographs were created, whether the duplications properly reflect the originals, or anything else. We do object.”

  “Ms. Vaughan?” the judge said.

  “Of course we laid no foundation with this witness, because the foundation is not necessary. The court could take judicial notice of these photographs, which have appeared in the newspapers. However, if the prosecution is unwilling to stipulate to the admissibility of these photographs, we will call those who can authenticate them. But I wonder whether the prosecutor really intends to dispute that this George Washington person, the murderer, is the man who killed the president of the American mining company last week. Because if he disputes even those fundamental facts, we’re going to have to try a much longer case.”

  “Commander?”

  “We’re not stipulating to anything. This case is about the conduct of Admiral Billings, not somebody who calls himself George Washington.”

  “The prosecution continues to miss the point, Your Honor. We will lay the foundation for the photographs during our case.”

  “Very well. The photographs will be marked for identification purposes only at this time.”

  “No further questions, Your Honor.” Molly returned to her seat beside Billings.

  Commander Pettit stood and walked to the tripod, gathering his thoughts. He picked up the three boards, crossed over behind the defense table, and put them back where they had been. He returned to the podium. “Mrs. Carson, your husband was killed by a missile or bomb, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. I believe so.”

  “This man in this picture, or whoever, did not kill your husband, did he?”

  Mary Carson sat quietly for a time, then spoke softly. “If he hadn’t kidnapped us, we wouldn’t have been there.”

  “In terms of the actual cause of death, it wasn’t him, was it?”

  Mrs. Carson sat thoughtfully for a moment before she answered. “Well, I guess it depends what you mean.”

  “It’s really a simple question. That man didn’t cause your husband’s death, did he?”

  “It really isn’t that simple. I guess the final cause of anything is God, isn’t it?” She reflected on the question and her answer. She seemed comfortable for the first time since she had begun her testimony. “None of us could live one second without his decree that we do so.” Her eyes were on Pettit. “So I guess, in that sense, the cause of my husband
’s death was God. But I don’t believe from a human perspective anything has just a single cause. I suppose you could say that the officer who fired the missile from the airplane killed my husband, or the man who designed the missile, or Admiral Billings, or me, for not remembering his Bible when we were walking out of that bunker. I think that when we look for the cause of something, especially when that something is unpleasant or bad, like my husband’s death, what we’re really trying to do is place blame.”

  Pettit was seriously unhappy he had opened this door, and he wasn’t sure how to close it.

  Mary Carson went on, “While ultimately assigning blame is for God to determine, I understand why we feel a need to do that. When looking for blame, it seems to me—”

  “I don’t think you understood my question,” the prosecutor interrupted.

  The judge glared at Pettit. “I think she understood it perfectly well. Please continue, Mrs. Carson.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry if I’m going on …”

  “No, please continue,” the judge encouraged her again.

  “Well, where was I … you look for blame. I think in order to find blame if we’re doing it for human reasons, the best way is to look to see who did something wrong. Sometimes it’s hard to know whether something is wrong or not, but other times, it’s not hard. If you start where a known wrong happened, you will usually find where the blame should lie. Here,” she said resignedly, “this man, George Washington, committed a clear wrong by kidnapping my husband, my daughter, and me. If I were placing blame, that is where I would place it.”

  The spectators in the courtroom were silent, seemingly stunned by her directness and honesty. Many of them had cringed anytime she had said “God,” not wanting this woman’s religion and her comfort in talking about it to ruin a juicy trial. But as she continued to speak, she had drawn most of them in. Everyone wanted to hear what she had to say. She was universally sympathetic.

  The prosecutor felt as if he had been slapped. “Mrs. Carson, you’re not here to tell us whether or not Admiral Billings did anything wrong, are you?”

  “No, that’s not my place.”

  “If in fact he acted without authority, and contrary to an order from the president of the United States of America, that would be wrong, wouldn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t possibly say what authority was involved—”

  “If in fact he violated a direct order of the President, that’s where the blame should lie, isn’t it?”

  Molly recognized that the prosecutor was way out of bounds. He was asking reckless questions. He felt wounded and was trying to recuperate some of his losses. The harder he tried, the worse it got. Now he was asking questions that were clearly inappropriate, but still not making any progress. She caught Dillon’s eye with a subtle amused glance and saw his agreement—let him go.

  “That depends on whether or not he too was looking to a higher authority. In this case, I understand it to be the Constitution.”

  The reporters and others in the gallery began to elbow one another as they watched the prosecutor dig himself into a deeper and deeper hole. Some whispered to each other, receiving a glare from the judge, but he made no comment.

  “If the constitutional authority was not sufficient to override the president’s order, then what he did was wrong. Isn’t that right?” The prosecutor was still pushing, his face now red.

  “I don’t really know…” Mary Carson answered, confused by Pettit’s growing anger.

  “No further questions, Your Honor,” the prosecutor said, completely frustrated.

  Molly stood up and addressed the judge. “I have nothing further, Your Honor. This witness may be excused.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Carson. I know this has been hard for you, but you may step down. You will not be asked to return. Thank you.”

  Mary Carson left the witness stand and walked out of the courtroom. Pettit and his co-counsel were engaged in a deep discussion; the back of Pettit’s neck was deep red, the color setting off the white collar of his uniform vividly.

  Pettit decided to call a few “safe” witnesses. Simple case. He called the communications officer from the Pentagon who had sent the message to Billings to confirm that it had been drafted and sent. He brought the copy with him that confirmed it all. He then called the communications officer from the USS Constitution who reluctantly said that he had received the message and had delivered it to Admiral Billings personally in his wardroom. Pettit enjoyed their testimony. Very safe. No land mines. They had been predictable and unremarkable witnesses. Dillon and Molly hadn’t even cross-examined them.

  But the prosecutor’s case seemed to have lost its form.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  After court adjourned for the day, Billings, Carolyn, Jim Dillon, and Molly went to Jim’s apartment, their “office.” Carolyn opened the refrigerator and peeked in. “All you have is orange juice?”

  Dillon put his briefcase down and opened his computer on the dining room table. “I can go get something else if you want,” Dillon said to Carolyn.

  “No, that’s fine,” she said, taking the carton of orange juice out and filling four glasses.

  “Well,” Billings said, putting his cover down on the table, “what did you think of our first day?”

  Molly spoke. “I thought it went as well as we could have hoped. I think we at least threw up enough smoke that the court has to wonder what the heck is going on with the prosecution’s case.”

  Dillon agreed. “I’m pretty pleased so far, Admiral. There are usually good days in trial and bad days in trial and I’d say this is on the good side so far. I didn’t think the prosecutor was very effective when he started losing his cool when Mary Carson was on the stand. That’s good. Anytime the prosecutor is angry, I’m happy.” they were silent for a time. Dillon sighed, looking at his open laptop. “We have a lot of work to do for tomorrow. Why don’t you guys go home, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Negative,” the admiral said. “I’m here to help—give me something to do.”

  “Well,” Dillon said, “you could read through the Manual for Courts-Martial and make sure I don’t step on another land mine.”

  “Great, haven’t read that in a long time,” the admiral said, picking up the red volume and examining it. “In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever read it. I’ll be happy to.”

  “What can I do?” Carolyn asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t I take care of dinner. How about some Chinese takeout food?”

  They all agreed that sounded good.

  Billings turned to Dillon. “I think it’s time you took care of that e-mail to the Speaker. I was looking at the picture of that American businessman lying there with bullets in his chest. It’s time to take out Mr. Washington. Do you still have the Speaker’s ear?”

  “Probably.”

  “Tonight, Jim. Make it happen. It’s time to knock that son of a bitch into tomorrow.”

  “I really need to be working on your case, not writing to the Speaker,” Dillon protested.

  “My case is nothing compared to getting him. Nothing. Do it.”

  Dillon sipped his orange juice. “I don’t know if it’s wise. They still have Heidel’s wife.”

  “Yeah, and all the people that he was supposedly kidnapping them for have been released. What does that tell you?”

  “Is this getting personal?” Dillon asked, meeting his eyes. “Is this because they went after you?”

  “Probably part of it, but that’s not all of it.”

  “I hear you,” Dillon said. “I’ll do it tonight.”

  “What are you going to tell the Speaker?”

  “I’ll give you a copy.”

  Billings stood and walked to the sliding glass doors, gazing over the Pacific Ocean toward Indonesia. “Think the Speaker’ll do it?”

  Dillon got up and moved next to him. “Yep.”

  Billings sighed. “Good. I just wish I could be there
to finish it.”

  “I wish I could too. I’ve still got a bruise on my chest from where he shot me.”

  “So do I,” Billings replied.

  Dillon glanced at the television, which Carolyn had turned on. “Something’s up,” he said, not able to hear the sound, but knowing very well the room where the House Judiciary Committee held its hearings. “Turn it up,” he said to Carolyn. She was reaching for the remote when the phone rang.

  “Yes?” Carolyn said, answering it. “Sure. Just a minute.”

  She handed the phone to Dillon. “Frank Grazio.”

  Dillon took the receiver. “Hello?… I saw something happened.... What? … When? … Wow.... Okay. When’s the vote? … Did you ask him? … Really? … Okay. Thanks.... Bye.” He set the receiver down.

  “What was that about?” Molly asked.

  “Judiciary Committee passed the Articles of Impeachment an hour ago. Along party lines.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Carolyn said. “That was fast.”

  “Goes to the House for a vote tomorrow. They’re saying it will be a vote strictly on party lines, and he’ll be impeached and it will go to a trial in the Senate next Wednesday. They’re already expecting it and getting everything set up. Grazio said it’s incredible.”

  “Did he ask who what?” Molly asked.

  “Huh?”

  “You asked him if he had ‘asked.’ What were you talking about?”

  “Oh,” Dillon said, feeling caught. “Um … I had asked the Speaker if I could, um, participate.”

  “In what?”

  “The trial.”

  “What trial?”

  “The impeachment.”

  Molly couldn’t believe his answer. “Participate how?”

  “As an assistant. A manager. One of the prosecutors. Not really to do much. Just as a bag carrier or something.”

  “I thought we were going to talk about it before you committed to doing anything like that in Washington.”

  “I really want to do this, Molly. If you don’t want me to, I guess we’d better have that conversation. It would be the opportunity of a lifetime. I don’t know if the Speaker’s really thinking about appointing me anyway. Frank said he was pretty noncommittal. It may be a non-issue.”