The Price Of Power

by James W. Huston

  “It’s not a nonissue with me.”

  “Look,” Dillon replied, not wanting an argument, “we need to concentrate on this trial. Let’s talk about it later.”

  The Speaker of the House stared at his computer monitor. He hadn’t been using his computer all that long and didn’t consider himself agile with it, but he knew enough to get along. He knew how to use the Internet, and he knew how to send and receive e-mail. His e-mail address was not listed in the House of Representatives Directory that was generally available on the Internet, but those who knew it, knew how to use it. He primarily had e-mail to communicate with his wife. He’d been seeing less and less of her recently, and it was somehow easier than using the phone. But even his daily e-mail correspondence with his wife had dropped off. He had simply been too busy with the Letter of Reprisal, the lawsuit, and now the impeachment.

  The Speaker liked to get to work at 6 A.M. before even the hardy photographers and political wannabes tried to find him. It also gave him some quiet time to read the daily papers and drink his coffee. He sipped from a Navy porcelain coffee mug that carried the insignia of his Vietnam river boat squadron. The coffee was hot. He scrolled through the e-mails listed in his in-box and deleted most of them unread. He saw one from Jim Dillon and smiled. Probably asking for his job back. Enough sun, surf, and baptism by fire in the most highly watched court-martial in fifty years. Stanbridge hit the “enter” key to call up the message. It was long. Three pages, single-spaced, and attached to it was a fifteen-page memo. Stanbridge clicked back to the message and began to read.

  He read the message, then the memo. He hit “page down” at the bottom of the screen each time, reading it as fast as he could, his excitement building with each paragraph. At first he had been shocked, then skeptical, then amazed, then excited. He printed a copy of the e-mail and memo, then printed another of each. He put the first in the drawer of his desk and put the other on top of the desk facedown. He quickly dialed Frank Grazio’s number and left a message for him to call as soon as he got in. He then called Rhonda, one of his staff members, who had a Ph.D. in history, and left word on her voice mail to come immediately. He thought of the implications, the opportunities to finally challenge the president’s do-nothing approach to this George Washington character. To take action again, yet not in the same way as before. If the Letter of Reprisal had been a roundhouse to the jaw, this would be a body blow. It could knock him down.

  The Speaker took the memo in his hands and read it again as he paced across his large office. He sipped from his mug and sat on the couch. He read through the e-mail message and the memo attached to it again. He wished the ideas Dillon had thought of were his. Stanbridge shook his head. Damn. How did Dillon come up with these things? Nobody thought like this. Over and over again Dillon was out in front of his peers in creative and insightful thinking. How did he do it?

  Stanbridge put the memo down in front of him on the coffee table and leaned back. He reflected on what had happened since Dillon brought the idea of the Letter of Reprisal to him. The government hadn’t seen that much turmoil in a very long time, if ever. Not even Watergate, let alone Lewinskygate. Watergate was about one man—this was about the structure of the government. Watergate and Lewinskygate were about people. This was about government power. Now Dillon was about to do it again.

  Stanbridge also recognized the impact the immediate, unfiltered, direct application of Dillon’s ideas would have. An idea, particularly insightful or original, was usually subjected to endless analysis, briefings, hearings, debates, and, ultimately, compromises. Congress had the ability of sanding down any sharp idea to a dull blunt instrument. If Stanbridge had learned one lesson from Dillon, it was to allow sharp ideas to stay sharp. It was for that reason that he wanted to put the President’s impeachment to the test of a trial, without the endless hearings, debate, and corrosion by the political process.

  Grazio and Rhonda arrived at the Speaker’s office simultaneously. It was 6:30 A.M.

  “Good morning, Mr. Speaker,” Grazio said first.

  “Good morning,” Rhonda echoed.

  “Good morning,” Stanbridge said. “You’re a bunch of slackers, rolling in at six-thirty. What do you think this is, a bank?” Grazio and Rhonda checked to see if he was serious. He wasn’t. “Come in and close the door, please.” Grazio shut it behind them and they sat in the chairs near where the Speaker sat on the couch. “Read this,” he said, handing them copies of the memo.

  They both read it, then read it again. Grazio moved up to the edge of his chair and Rhonda got up and paced.

  “Is he serious?” Grazio asked.

  “What do you think?” the Speaker countered.

  “This is incredible,” Grazio said. “When did you get this?”

  “This morning, first thing. I think he sent it last night.”

  “In the middle of his trial?”

  “Yeah, that’s Dillon.”

  “Did he say anything about how the trial is going?”

  “Not a word.”

  “What do you think about the idea?” he said to Rhonda.

  “I don’t know, Mr. Speaker. Think it might be going to the well once too often?”

  “How?”

  “The Letter of Reprisal thing struck everybody as new. If we did it again, it could be just a way to slap the President in the face.”

  “No!” said the Speaker emphatically. “It’s an attempt to slap that murderer George Washington, in the face!”

  “I hear you,” Grazio said, “but it’s going to look like you’re going after the President.”

  After reflecting for a moment, Stanbridge said to Grazio, “Take this to that panel of the world’s smartest lawyers Pendleton’s working with on the impeachment thing. Run it by them. See if they think it’s as legitimate as Dillon does. If they agree with him,” the Speaker said, “I’m going to do it.”

  “I don’t think this has anywhere near the historical authority that the Letter of Reprisal does, Mr. Speaker,” Rhonda blurted.

  “Why?”

  “When I was looking into the Letter of Reprisal, I came across this all the time. But it is very rarely even talked about. Nobody discusses it. I think it’s because nobody really knows what it’s for anymore.”

  “Well, that’s the whole point! Nobody knows what it means.” He crossed to the bookshelf and pulled out a tan paperback book—Jefferson’s Manual, which all members of Congress had. It contained the rules of the House of Representatives and the United States Constitution. “Look,” he said, turning to the Constitution. “Article One … Section Eight … here.” He put his finger on the clause and read it to them, “Congress has Power to … Issue Rules Concerning Captures on Land and Water.” He smiled. “If we pass rules to capture men who have attacked Americans, who is going to say we’re wrong? If the President fights us on this one too, it’ll make him look worse than he already does. It’s a no-lose situation.”

  “But it’s more of a reach than the Letter of Reprisal was,” Rhonda insisted.

  Stanbridge showed his anger. “Reach or not, nothing’s happening to the guy out there murdering Americans.” He lowered his voice. “We found him again.”

  “Found who?” Grazio said.

  “Navy Intelligence located some radio signals that they think are from him. He got sloppy. We’ve got them placed on an island. Imagery and all. There must be millions of islands down there. And he doesn’t know we know where he is. Admiral Blazer with the USS Constitution battle group is right back down there prepared to take whatever steps the President directs. The President has the same information I do, and is still not taking steps! It’s the same old bullshit! I’m telling you, this President refuses to act. But I can’t go public and accuse him of refusing to act, because then everybody would know that we know where our enemies are hiding.” The Speaker got to his feet and started pacing around his office again. “It seems like no matter what happens, Americans die and this guy walks. Those are the two sure thi
ngs in how the President has handled this. It’s time to put the President on the spot, big time. If we can do what Dillon says, if we can pass these Rules of Capture and give the battle group the clear direction to go after this guy, then at least we’ll know with certainty whether the President has the nerve and the will to do it. If he doesn’t, I think it will bring him down. And if he does, at least we’ll get this guy. But we can’t do it in the normal way. The problem is no one will know why we’re doing it in such a hurry.” He sighed. “That makes it a little harder, but I think it’s the way to go. Let’s get on with this.” He turned to Rhonda. “The same analysis as you did for the Letter of Reprisal—you did such a great job.”

  “Can I say something?” Rhonda interjected.

  “What?” the Speaker asked.

  “Why don’t we just have the CIA or the SEALs or something go in and get these guys?”

  Stanbridge was disappointed by her question. “Rhonda. Congress has abdicated its responsibility for too long. It’s time to step up. The question is whether the President is gonna let us.”

  “Okay,” she said. “But, how do you know that we’ve found them? I usually go to those briefs where you learn that kind of information.”

  “Admiral Blazer is communicating with Admiral Billings by e-mail. Blazer forwarded it to Dillon, who forwarded it to me. He told him we have a good ellipse—whatever that is—on Washington’s location. They’ve asked for additional intelligence and are getting it. They’ve got this guy nailed.”

  “Are we supposed to know that?”

  “Whether we are or not, we do.”

  * * *

  The rest of Commander Pettit’s prosecution witnesses were unremarkable. They’d gone through another day, with Dillon and Molly alternating cross-examining the witnesses, and at the end of the day the prosecution had rested. It really was quite a simple case from their perspective: The order had been issued, the order had not been obeyed. When Billings disobeyed, the result was a dead missionary. All the rest was irrelevant.

  But now it was Billings’s turn. Dillon stood. “Your Honor, defense would like to call Admiral Raymond Billings to the stand.” Judge Diamond’s expression was one of surprise.

  “What about your opening statement, Mr. Dillon? You said you were reserving it until the commencement of your evidence?”

  Billings stopped halfway to the witness stand and looked at Dillon.

  Dillon was instantly unnerved. “Yes, sir,” he said, groping. “Uh—we waive opening statement, Your Honor.”

  “You waive it?” the judge asked skeptically.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well. Continue.”

  Billings moved to the witness stand and was sworn in.

  Dillon opened his notebook, examined his outline, and began. “Good morning, Admiral. Would you please give the court a brief synopsis of your career? And if you would, rather than going all the way back to the Naval Academy, maybe you could just start with the time when you were the commanding officer of a fighter squadron.”

  Billings nodded and cleared his throat. “Sure. I was commanding officer of VF-84, the Jolly Rogers, on the USS Nimitz, in the Mediterranean. We did two Mediterranean cruises during that time. After VF-84, I took over as executive officer, then commanding officer of Fighter Squadron 124 in San Diego, at Miramar, which at that time was a Naval Air Station—now it is a Marine Corps Air Station. Anyway, VF-124 was the RAG, Replacement Air Group—the training squadron for the F-14 for the West Coast. Just before I was to rotate out of my position at 124, the commanding officer of TOPGUN was relieved, and I was asked to take over command of TOPGUN for one year, which I did. After that tour, I was chosen to be CAG—commander of an Air Group—and was stationed aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln. I did two WESTPAC cruises as the air wing commander. I was promoted to captain just before taking over that position. Afterward, I was assigned to the CINCPAC’s staff up at Fort Smith, and was there for a year and a half. I was then sent to nuclear power school and given command of a deep draft. I was the executive officer of the USS Constitution on her first cruise, then had command of an AO, after which I became the commanding officer on the USS Constitution. I was selected for admiral during that tour and later given command of the task force attached to the USS Constitution. That’s the position I held until very recently when I was led off the USS Constitution in handcuffs.” There were snickers in the gallery after the admiral’s final remark.

  Pettit wasn’t pleased and stood up. “Move to strike the last comment as nonresponsive.”

  “Overruled. Continue, Mr. Dillon.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. Admiral Billings, the general facts of what happened with the Pacific Flyer are fairly well known due to the press coverage. Perhaps you can tell us what happened from your perspective as the admiral in charge of the battle group on the scene.”

  “Objection, Your Honor, calls for a narrative. Irrelevant.”

  “Overruled. We need to hear the background.”

  Billings saw Carolyn sitting in the front row behind the defense table. He glanced at Molly, who smiled encouragingly at him. He turned to Dillon. “Sure. We copied the distress call from the Pacific Flyer. They had been boarded and hijacked in Jakarta and were heading out to sea to the north. That was confirmed by Pearl Harbor and Washington and we were told to close on the location as fast as we could. We went to flank speed and headed west to intercept the location. We launched reconnaissance aircraft, primarily S-3s. It was unclear what the hijackers’ intentions were, so we had to keep all of our options open. We had aircraft that were armed for any contingency, and we alerted our special forces, the SEALs, so that they would be ready if they had to go aboard. One of the F-14s located the Pacific Flyer and on the orders of the national command authority we were requested to send the SEALs in to try and take the ship back.”

  “Do you recall what the instructions were from the national command authority on how the SEALs were to go after the ship?”

  “Yes, I do. It was kind of an ambiguous order, but essentially they were to…”

  “This calls for hearsay, Your Honor.”

  “We will be presenting the actual order later on, Your Honor, plus this goes to his state of mind.”

  “Overruled.”

  “It basically said that they were to board the ship, take back the American sailors, and not have any casualties.”

  “Did you think that was an order that was feasible?”

  “Well, if you have armed men who have taken a ship and have the crew under guard, I don’t know how you’re going to get them out of there without casualties unless they just decide to let them go. I would have been surprised if it had been pulled off without casualties.”

  “What happened?”

  “As it turned out, when the SEALs arrived, all the hijackers were gone.”

  “What did they find?”

  “Hearsay,” the prosecutor shouted from his seat.

  “Commander Pettit, I think you know that when you are addressing this court, you are to stand.”

  The prosecutor leaped to his feet. “Forgive me, Your Honor. Objection. Hearsay.”

  Dillon replied, “It is not being offered for the truth—this is offered to show the state of Admiral Billings’s mind when dealing with the alleged order that he received.”

  “Overruled.”

  “They found all the Americans shot in the head with high-explosive influence mines next to each of them. One of the SEALs was trying to disarm one of the mines, actually he was a qualified EOD tech—”

  “What’s an EOD tech?” Dillon asked, not knowing the answer.

  “Explosive Ordinance Disposal. They are charged with disarming bombs, mines, that sort of thing.”

  “Go on.”

  “So they were trying to disarm one of these things on the bridge when it went off, killing the SEAL. They didn’t know if he set it off, or it went off by timer. The SEAL lieutenant in charge cleared the platoon off in an emergency evacuation
and the rest of the mines went off, blowing up the ship and sinking it. The bodies of all the American merchant sailors were still on board, handcuffed to the ship.”

  Dillon paused to let that image sink in. “What happened next?”

  “We kept looking for the hijackers. We sent airplanes in every direction for almost twenty-four hours. We couldn’t find any trace of them. One of the Marine pilots had seen some Cigarette boats leaving the area, but we sure couldn’t find them.”

  “And what were you expecting to do once you found them?”

  “Well, I didn’t know what we were going to be asked to do about it.” Billings’s face tightened. “We were going to be ready to do whatever we were asked to do, but I guess I expected that since they hadn’t taken any hostages, if we found them we would be asked to launch a retaliatory attack against them.”

  “Did you find Them?”

  Billings smiled wryly. “Well, we didn’t, but the Russians did. They found them by radar satellite and sent us a copy of the radar image. We checked it out and by the time we got there, they were gone.”

  “Did you find them again?”

  “When we identified the location, we actually sent our fast attack sub, which was with the battle group, to the island to loiter offshore to see what they could find out. The Los Angeles tracked a cargo ship leaving the island all the way to another island, where the attack ultimately occurred.”

  “Why would a cargo ship be involved?”

  “Cigarette boats were used to get away from the Pacific Flyer. They’re very fast boats that nobody can keep up with except for maybe a hydrofoil or a helicopter. But by the time we got airplanes there, they were nowhere to be seen. We assumed they must have been craned aboard a big ship and hidden from view.”

  “So you tracked them to this island that we now know is Bunaya. What happened next?”

  “It was about that time that we watched CNN as Congress issued a Letter of Reprisal.”

  “Did that surprise you?”

  “Well, yeah. I knew what Letters of Marque and Reprisal were, anybody who knows Navy history knows that. So the actual issuance of it didn’t surprise me all that much. I thought it was pretty clever since the President didn’t seem to want to act—”