The Price Of Power

by James W. Huston

  “No.”

  “Did you comply with Congress’s order to go after those men who hijacked the Pacific Flyer?”

  “Objection, leading,” said Pettit. “Misstates the evidence—there’s no evidence that this Letter of Reprisal constitutes an order or that Congress can even issue an order.”

  “Sustained.”

  “When you received the Letter of Reprisal, did you perceive it as a recommendation?”

  “No. It had been passed by both houses of Congress, and the President’s veto overridden. It was a clear statement of what the government wanted the battle group to do.”

  “And what was that?”

  “To find the men who attacked the Pacific Flyer, and take them. If they resisted, then we would kill them, and if they did not resist, or were subdued, we would capture them.”

  “And did this Letter of Reprisal strike you as an order from Congress?”

  “Yes, it did.”

  “And did you comply with this order from Congress?”

  “Same objection, Your Honor!” Pettit shouted angrily.

  “Overruled, on his understanding of it.... Do you understand that you’re being asked based on what your understanding was?” Diamond said to Billings.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you comply with the order from Congress?” Dillon continued.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you notify the President of your intention to go forward with the Letter of Reprisal and not to comply with his order.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “How?”

  “I sent him a message. An official Navy message.”

  “What was the response of Washington to that message?” Dillon asked quietly.

  “They cut off all communication. All messages, intelligence, news, everything. They blacked us out.”

  “Were you cut off entirely from the world?”

  “No, we could still get satellite feeds of CNN, radio broadcasts, and the like, but all Navy communications were encrypted so that we could not receive them. My guess is they sent new encryption codes to everybody in the Navy worldwide except us.”

  “We’ve already heard from the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs that they knew American missionaries had been kidnapped from Irian Jaya before you sent your troops ashore to go after the hijackers. If you had had that information, would you have changed anything?”

  “I’m not sure,” Billings responded. “It would have depended on whether we thought they might be on the island. If we thought that was a possibility, we would still have gone ashore, but we probably would not have used the SLAMs on the bunkers.”

  “What are SLAMs?”

  “It is an airborne precision-guided missile, the Standoff Land-Attack Missile.”

  “So you might have taken steps to avoid that result and still gone after the hijackers?”

  “Yes. Unless we knew they had the missionaries, in which case we might have only sent the SEALs ashore to try to rescue the missionaries first.”

  “Admiral Billings, have you ever in your lifetime disobeyed the direct order of a superior officer?”

  “No, I have not.”

  “Why did you not comply with the President’s order?”

  “Because Congress told the to do something different.”

  “But where did Congress get its authority?”

  “Directly from the Constitution.”

  “So what? Why does that make a difference?”

  Dillon had asked him this question in their preparation for his testimony; he suddenly didn’t like the answer he told Dillon he would give. “The ship that I was on was named after not only the USS Constitution, Old Ironsides from the War of 1812, but also after the document itself. The United States Constitution.... It is the foundation of our country. We don’t have a king. The President works under the Constitution. The Supreme Court works under the Constitution. We all do. We all swear allegiance to it. I was willing to stand up then and take on those enemies of our Constitution, and if the President”—Billings glanced at the judge—“and this court, are telling me the Constitution is wrong, and that Congress is wrong, and that I was wrong, then so be it. They can do what they want to me, but I will always defend the Constitution.”

  Dillon stared at Admiral Billings, pleased with his answer. He turned toward the bench slowly, met the eyes of each member of the court, then proceeded to the defense table and sat down.

  The judge spoke to Dillon. “Are you done, Mr. Dillon?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. No further questions.”

  “Trial Counsel, anything further?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Pettit said, rising quickly. “Admiral Billings, that stirring speech you just gave about supporting and defending the Constitution—the Constitution also indicates that the President is Commander in Chief. Does it not?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “And you’re bound to obey the orders of the Commander in Chief, correct?”

  “Yes, sir,” the Admiral said.

  “When did you last rehearse that?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You had practiced that answer before now, hadn’t you? The one you just gave, about how you will always defend the Constitution.”

  “I had thought about it—”

  “You’re not going to try to convince this court that was extemporaneous, off the cuff, are you?”

  “I had prepared for my testimony.”

  Pettit squinted at Billings. “You had rehearsed it, right?”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  “No further questions,” the prosecutor said.

  “Mr. Dillon,” the judge said, “it’s almost time to break for lunch. How many additional witnesses do you plan on calling this afternoon?”

  “No further witnesses, Your Honor. Defense rests.”

  The spectators in the gallery behind Dillon demonstrated their surprise that Billings’s entire case would rest on his own testimony. The judge raised his eyebrows. “You’re ready to submit this case to the court?” he queried.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Trial Counsel?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well. Closing arguments will commence immediately after lunch. Are you ready to go, Commander Pettit?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Gentlemen, can we finish this today and submit it to the court?”

  “Yes, sir,” the prosecutor said immediately.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Dillon agreed.

  “Very well, this court stands adjourned until 1300.” He slammed the gavel down on the wooden block and the spectators rose and left the auditorium.

  Billings, Dillon, and Molly joined Carolyn on the way out. Their driver whisked them to their table at the officers’ club where Dillon assembled his laptop computer, el cheapo printer, and notebooks. “You guys go ahead and eat. I’m going to finalize my closing argument.”

  “What are you going to say?” Billings asked as he placed his cap on the hat rack behind the table.

  “I think it’s going to be motherhood and apple pie,” Dillon said. “I’ve got to convince these admirals that you did the right thing, whether or not it was the legal thing.”

  “I don’t think that will work,” Molly said. “He’s going to be convicted unless we distinguish this somehow.”

  “Well, if you’ve got any bright ideas, I’d love to hear them, Molly,” Dillon said.

  “Should we say somehow it wasn’t an order?” Billings asked.

  “No, that’s just a loser. We can’t say it wasn’t an order, we can’t say you didn’t get it, we can’t say you complied with it…” Dillon scratched his head as he worked down through the outline for his closing argument on his computer. He threw his hands up. “This is all the same stuff we’ve already argued. There won’t be anything new to this. I guess we’ll just have to go with jury nullification.”

  Molly’s expression clearly showed how uncomfortable she felt about taking that route.

 
“Can we do that?” Carolyn asked.

  “No,” Molly said, “it’s illegal.... Some lunatics circulate tracts, trying to convince jurors to nullify all kinds of laws they think are stupid, to bring down the judicial system. But juries aren’t supposed to do that. If you argue for a jury to do it, it is an automatic mistrial, and you have to start all over again. That is if the court doesn’t find you in contempt first and put you in jail. You know that, Jim.”

  “Of course, I know that. What I’m saying is that the court members aren’t going to want to find Admiral Billings guilty.”

  Suddenly the expression on Molly’s face changed. “Admiral,” she said, sitting on the edge of her chair, “did the President or the Joint Chiefs contact you at all after you sent them the message telling them you would not be complying with their order?”

  “No, they cut us off,” he said as he rolled his spoon in his fingers. “We never heard from them again until Blazer arrived.”

  “You told them you wouldn’t comply and they never responded?”

  “Right.”

  Dillon saw the light in her eyes and it gave him hope. She said, “Timing. Think about timing.”

  “What about it?” Dillon asked anxiously.

  “I don’t know, but it’s the key … think of Something,” she said.

  Dillon leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “I’ve got an idea. Molly,” he said, pointing to the case he had just taken his computer out of, “get the phone line out of that pocket and hand it to me.” He connected the phone line into the back of his computer and then plugged the other end into a wall jack underneath the hat rack by their table. “I’m going to do some quick research.”

  “Here?” Carolyn asked.

  “Yeah, all I need is a phone line.”

  “Who are you going to call?”

  “Lexis.”

  “Where is that?”

  “It’s a research thing. All you have to have is a modem and a phone line, and you can log onto the Internet.”

  “From here?”

  “Sure, this is what you guys set up for me.”

  “Aren’t we smart?” Carolyn said.

  “Go ahead and eat. I’m going to race through this and see if I can find anything. I’ve got a hunch.”

  Dillon manipulated the keyboard furiously. He went from one screen to the next, from one library to another, from one case to another.

  The other three sat there and watched him until they realized they weren’t making any progress on lunch. A messman finally approached them and took their orders. They got a turkey sandwich for Dillon and put it down next to his computer. It went untouched. He drank three Cokes in succession without even realizing his glass had been refilled twice.

  As the rest finished their lunches, he printed the case that he needed. He sat back and smiled at them.

  “Well?” Billings said.

  “I think we’ve got them,” Dillon said calmly as his closing argument curled out of the el cheapo.

  Lieutenant Dan Hughes sat in the conference room in front of a large television screen with a camera on top of it. On the screen were Admiral Blazer, Beth Louwsma, Lieutenant Jody Armstrong, and a lieutenant from the Special Boat Unit det in Thailand.

  “Good evening and good morning,” Blazer said. “I want to be sure we’re all operating on the same page. Lieutenant Hughes, how are your then doing?”

  “Very well, sir. We’re ready to go.”

  “Lieutenant Armstrong?”

  “We’re ready, sir.”

  “Good morning from Thailand,” Lieutenant Butch Winter said on the split screen. “We’re ready, sir.”

  “All right,” Blazer said. “Beth?”

  She began. “We’ve got them located on a single island. The one with the buildings on it—you’ve all received the imagery. We don’t know if the hostage is alive or dead, or even if she’s still there. In fact, we don’t know if they’re still there. We think they are, but we can’t be sure. Based on the most recent imagery, I think she’s been killed—”

  Hughes interrupted. “What imagery is that?”

  “The one with the man carrying a rug or bundle over his shoulder—”

  “We’ve never seen that,” he said, looking to his side, off the screen, at Whip, who indicated they hadn’t. “Can you get that one to us at San Clemente?”

  “Sure. Anyway, we’re gathering additional information on the island and will give you updates as soon as we have anything else.”

  “What about a TARPS run?” asked Armstrong.

  “I don’t know,” Beth said. “Admiral Blazer hasn’t been letting anyone go near the island. He doesn’t want another airplane shot down like off Bunaya. What do you think, Admiral?”

  Blazer hesitated. “How important is it?”

  Hughes answered first. “It could make all the difference. If we end up going ashore, especially at night, and the approach is steep and rocky, we could be in for a lot of problems. It’s the best imagery available for a beach study.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Blazer said.

  Armstrong added, “The way I see this happening is that we’re going to get some short notice that we’re supposed to go in and either do a personnel recovery or take these guys out. Whichever way, we may have to act within forty-eight hours.”

  Blazer replied, “Lieutenant Armstrong has the overall plan. He’ll be the OIC of the operation. As to forty-eight hours, well, we don’t know. It may be, and it may not be. That’s going to depend on whether the President decides to send us. I know he’s the one who put Lieutenant Hughes on alert, as I requested, but I don’t hear him saying it’s time to go. We’ll have to see. Congress may have something up its sleeve too, but I’m not counting on that, especially the way that all worked out last time, which is why I’m here. Anyway, Lieutenant Armstrong, assuming we go, you want to give us the tentative plan?”

  “Yes, sir,” Armstrong replied. “I’ve been studying this island a lot. We don’t have any good charts of it, but we’ve got some decent imagery now. Looks like it’s dense jungle all the way down to the waterline. Pretty much rules out helicopter insertion, unless we land on the beach. Too noisy. Likewise, we can’t jump in because there is no place on the island to land. If we jump in the water with those Zodiacs, we’re no better off than if we just motor in. I recommend a boat insertion. That’s why I’ve asked the SBU folks from Thailand to join us. It’s also where the det is working with the two new boats that were just received.”

  Hughes replied, “The two Mirages?”

  “Yes. And they’re ready to go.”

  “You have your weapons load-out yet?”

  Butch Winter replied, “We’ve got it all, GPS, ESM suite, FLIR, .50 cal, grenade launchers. We’re ready to go.”

  “Sweet,” Hughes said.

  “Just got the new Privateer system,” Winter continued. “Even have a station set up for an operator. I don’t know if you knew it, but we’ve been assigned a sixth crewman. A cryppie. To operate the Privateer.” The Privateer was a new system that gave a small boat like the Mirage the capability to have as much electronics intelligence as a larger ship. It was an acknowledgment of the significance of the growth of electronic warfare.

  “Shit hot,” Hughes said. “We’ll have a cryppie with us too. The SOF SIGINT Manpack. Can they communicate?” the Special Operations Forces Manpack was like the Privateer system down to the size of an infantryman’s pack, but with some more limited capabilities. It was sixty pounds or so and gave the SEALs the ability to find electronic signals like radios or cell phones, that they would otherwise have to rely on ships or airplanes to tell them about.

  “We should be able to triangulate anything that transmits.”

  Hughes was pumped. “Jody, it sounds to the like we need to jump to a blue water rendezvous with the two Mirages, transit to your battle group, and be ready to go from the Wasp. You concur?”

  “I concur exactly. Admiral, we recommend the Mirages for an over th
e horizon insertion of the two SEAL Teams. Do you concur?”

  “Concur. Finalize your planning. When we get the go-ahead, I want to be ready to pull the trigger. We may not have much time.”

  Commander Pettit’s closing argument was exactly what Dillon had expected. Simple case, undisputed evidence of issuance of order, delivery of order, disobedience of order. Message from the admiral indicating he did not intend to comply with the order and, in fact, he didn’t. Open and shut case. No need for deliberation, argument, or anything else. Billings’s speech, the missionary’s finding of fault, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs’ evidence, and most everything else elicited on cross-examination was irrelevant and meant simply to confuse the court. Conviction was the only possible alternative.

  Pettit took just twenty minutes. His tone was controlled, bored, throughout. He was very pleased with himself. He thought he might have handled one of the biggest courts-martial in Navy history with the panache of Clarence Darrow. Perhaps not the eloquence, but with the same certainty of result. Actually Darrow had lost the Scopes trial, he remembered. Well, the same historic presentation, no doubt.

  The members of the court had taken notes and were waiting for Dillon. The judge was the only one who had not looked up. The converted gym was filled with spectators, press, and Navy personnel. Some were officers and enlisted then who had served with Billings during his entire career.

  The television cameras were on Dillon, broadcasting his image to half the world. Not since the O.J. murder trial had there been so much media hype surrounding a court proceeding. Dillon felt as though he was defending himself as much as Billings. He had been part of the entire process from conceiving the idea to its execution. From sitting in his office in the United States Capitol doing legal research and discovering the Letter of Reprisal in the Constitution, all the way to watching its passage by Congress, delivering it to the Navy, and joining the attack on the island. He had seen how politics mattered. How mere words could result in someone else’s death. But the failure to act might also result in additional deaths, only of different people.

  Dillon rested his hands on the podium, and moved the microphone back slightly. He scanned the gym, taking in the television cameras, reporters, sailors, raised basketball goals, painted rafters, and painted windows. He wanted to remember the moment so he could tell his grandchildren about it, so he could extract at least one moment of pleasure from an exhausting and excruciating experience. He had at last grown comfortable in the trial. Finally, he addressed Captain Diamond. “May it please the court,” he began, “the military of the United States was put in place by the Constitution to defend the citizens of the United States and the interests of this country. We provide them with arms, training, and a requirement to do their duty to uphold their obligations to this country. Admiral Billings has done exactly what was asked of him. He is a hero.