“How feeble is she?” Justice Ross asked Potts.
Potts made an unhappy face. “She is not feeble, but her health could be better.”
“Well, that’s nice and vague. Motion denied.... Now, as I see it, the rest of your motions are evidentiary, is that correct?” Ross asked Potts.
“Yes, Mr. Chief Justice.”
“Very well, as I said, I’m going to defer on those.” He collected several of the papers on his desk, put them into a folder, and set it aside.
“Mr. Pendleton, are you ready?”
“Yes, Mr. Chief Justice.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hughes studied the newly constructed compound and compared it to the satellite photo Beth Louwsma had sent him. It was perfect. They’d even darkened the wood to match the plywood and bamboo of George Washington’s buildings. He considered various possible approach paths to attack the compound. The first dry run would be tonight.
Hughes returned to the operations room where most of the SEALs were examining copies of the satellite photo. They continued preparing with a mixture of anxiety and impatience. There was a sharp knock at the door that startled Hughes. The other SEALs also glanced up, aware that Lieutenant Commander Sawyer wouldn’t knock. Hughes opened the door, revealing a clean-cut black man dressed in civilian clothes. He stepped inside and said, “I’m looking for Lieutenant Hughes.”
“That’s me,” Dan said.
“Chris McGowan. FBI.”
“They told us you’d be coming.”
“I was supposed to arrive yesterday. I was out in the field. Sorry.”
“No problem. We haven’t left yet, but we’re getting close. You been briefed?”
“No. I was just told to report.”
Hughes smiled. “I understand you’re a reserve SEAL.”
“Lieutenant Chris McGowan, United States Navy SEAL, Reserve.”
Hughes wrinkled his forehead. “East Coast guy?”
“Yup,” McGowan answered. “Little Creek the whole time after Buds.”
“Your weapons quals current?”
“I’d like to squeeze off a few hundred rounds before we head off.”
“No problem. You speak Indonesian?”
“Indonesian?” McGowan asked, watching Hughes with interest. “No. Why, is that where we’re going?”
“Remember the amphibious landing last month?”
“Sure. Who wouldn’t?”
“Same guys. We’re going back. A different island.”
“You’re shitting me!”
“I’m most definitely not shitting you. Only this time it looks like a headquarters compound. Not much defense, at least as far as we can tell. We haven’t gotten a report on numbers, but it’s not very many. Probably less than thirty.”
“They still holding her as a hostage?”
“We don’t know. It’s hard to tell. This George Washington guy just issued new demands, like she’s still around. But we have a satellite photo that looks a lot like them carrying her body out. We’re trying to find out.”
“I sure hope she’s still alive. So, I’m the door kicker?”
“Exactly. When we go in and grab these guys, we need you to make this all legal.”
“What authority are we going to have to do that?” McGowan asked.
“I have no idea,” Hughes responded. “I’m told that will be taken care of and it will not be ambiguous.”
“You guys have a sledge?” McGowan queried.
“Eight pound.”
“That’s fine. What’s the insertion plan?”
“I’ll show you,” Hughes said, indicating the chart on the large square table in the middle of the room.
Pendleton gave his opening statement first. It was eloquent, precise, and short. He took only half of his allotted hour. He told the senators that he would prove Manchester was a pacifist, and that having a pacifist as President was completely incompatible with the government described in the Constitution.
Potts’s opening was equally eloquent He emphasized that most of the evidence was already before the country from the hearing of the House Judiciary Committee and there wasn’t enough of it to convict. Moreover, this country ought to have room in its system of government to have a man of peace as President. In fact, it should be required.
“Call your first witness,” Chief Justice Ross said to Pendleton.
The clerk of the Senate raised his right hand and faced the witness. “Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do.”
“Please be seated. State your full name.”
The witness sat, clearly uncomfortable from the pressure of his necktie. “Jeremy Jones.”
Pendleton stood at the podium with his light-pen in hand and his examination outline in front of him. “Good morning, Mr. Jones,” Pendleton began gently. Pendleton walked Jones slowly through his current job as a USDA meat inspector in northern Indiana, a position that he had held for twenty years. He was an unremarkable man, quiet in demeanor and somewhat chubby and homely in appearance. He was petrified.
“You were President Manchester’s college roommate at Goshen College, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, sir. For the first two years.”
“And you were friends during that time, correct?”
“Pretty much, yes, sir.”
“You shared your thoughts about the future, about the college and the like, I assume?”
“I suppose,” he said.
Pendleton zipped his light-pen across a bar code in the front of his notebook and the Goshen College course list from Manchester’s freshman year appeared on the television screens throughout the Senate chamber and in the corner of the C-SPAN2 television picture being broadcast worldwide.
“This is a copy of the Goshen College course book that listed the courses available during your first two years. Correct?”
“Yeah, it is,” he said. “I haven’t seen that in a while.”
Pendleton pulled his light-pen across a second bar code in his outline, which immediately called up and projected onto the screens another page of the book. “On page one hundred sixty-four of this book, it shows a course in the ethics of war. Do you see that?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you recognize that professor’s name? Professor Case?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You took that course from Professor Case, did you not?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And President Manchester attended that course with you during your sophomore year, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, Eddy and I, excuse me, President Manchester and I both attended that course.”
“You called him ‘Eddy?’ ” Pendleton said, as if he was somewhat surprised.
“Yeah, that’s what we called him until we graduated. Then he usually went by Ed, later Edward.”
“You were friendly with him, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And the course that I’ve highlighted here is a course on warfare, from a pacifist perspective, believing warfare is wrong, correct?”
“I think that’s fair. But if I might—”
“You’ll have an opportunity sir,” Pendleton said, cutting him off. He turned the page and highlighted another course. “You also took Warfare in the Bible, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And Manchester was in that course with you as well, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he was.”
“Sir, it is fair to say directly and unequivocally that Mennonites are pacifists, isn’t it?”
All eyes were on Jeremy Jones as he hesitated before answering. “It is a tenet of the Mennonite faith.”
“You are still a Mennonite, are you not?”
“Yes, I am.”
“And do you understand the teachings of your church?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And is it accurate to say that all Mennonites who adhere to the teachings of t
heir church are pacifists?”
Jeremy countered with, “Is it fair to say that no Catholics use birth control?”
The gallery snickered with him.
“My question, sir, was not practice, but doctrine. All Mennonites who follow the teachings of their church are pacifists. True?”
“I think that’s fair.”
“And during the time that you were in Goshen College, a Mennonite college, with President Manchester, he was a practicing Mennonite, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And he was a pacifist while he was in college, wasn’t he?”
He hesitated. “We didn’t really talk about it very much.”
“You had no indication that he was not following the Mennonite Church in which he had grown up and whose college he was attending, did you?”
“No.”
Pendleton addressed Potts. “Your witness.”
Potts adjusted his suit coat as he got to his feet. “Mr. Jones,” Potts said, “when was the last time you saw President Manchester?”
“I’m not sure,” Jones replied.
“When’s the last time you recall speaking with him?”
“In college.”
“And that was thirty-five years ago, wasn’t it?”
“About that, yes.”
“You have no information about the development of President Manchester’s thoughts since college, do you?”
“No, not other than what I read through the papers.”
“In terms of your personal knowledge,” Potts said loudly, “in terms of the benefit that you bring to this body by way of evidence, you really have nothing to say about the President’s position on pacifism, other than what you may have inferred in college, correct?”
“That’s correct.”
Potts sighed. “I take it from your response to Mr. Pendleton’s question, that President Manchester never has told you he is a pacifist. Not in college, and not since. Correct?”
“That’s right. He never said those words.”
“So you have no knowledge of what President Manchester’s thoughts are today, his thoughts as a President regarding warfare or the employment of the military, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, sir, that’s correct.”
“One more series of questions, if I might, sir. When were you first contacted about possibly testifying against the President?”
“I don’t know, a while ago.”
“And did the people who contacted you identify themselves?”
“Not really. They were just a bunch of young guys in suits who came into the USDA office in Indianapolis where I work.”
“And did they interview you?”
“Yes.”
“What’d you tell them?”
“I told them I had no idea whether the President was a pacifist or not.”
“Were they satisfied with that?”
“No.”
“What did they do?”
“They asked me to pull out the college course lists, notes, photographs, anything that I had from our college days that might implicate the President.”
“Did they use that word, ‘implicate?’ ”
“Yes. I wasn’t even sure what it meant,” he admitted.
“So, what did you ultimately tell them?”
“Just that he’d attended the usual courses in college, that I hadn’t talked to him about pacifism that I could recall at all, and I certainly hadn’t talked to him since college.”
“Yet they subpoenaed you and dragged you halfway across the country. Correct?”
“I’m here.”
“Thank you,” Potts said, sitting down.
“Your next witness, Mr. Pendleton?” Ross said.
Pendleton said to Dillon, “Your turn.”
Dillon stood. “Mr. Chief Justice, we’d like to call Mrs. Richard Manchester.”
The President’s mother strode down the aisle through the Senate chamber. She was a woman in her late seventies—still beautiful—who carried herself easily and with grace. She appeared strong, with none of the feebleness sometimes seen in women her age. Her hair was short and well kept. She was well aware of her presence and her personality, yet exuded an air of humility. She crossed to the witness box, was sworn in, and took her seat. Dillon tried to control the tremble he could hear in his voice as his role in one of the largest trials in history lay before him. “Good morning, Mrs. Manchester.”
“Good morning, Mr. Dillon,” she said confidently.
“You know my name,” Dillon said, breaking the ice.
“Everyone in the country knows your name, Mr. Dillon. You’re the attorney who got the admiral off who disobeyed the order of the President.”
The gallery gasped at the verbal spear hurled by the President’s quiet mother.
Dillon stared at her, unsure of whether to let it go. He looked at Pendleton, whose face was impassive. He turned back to Mrs. Manchester. “Are you trying to imply, Mrs. Manchester, that the flag officers impaneled to try Admiral Billings came to the wrong conclusion?”
“Yes,” she said softly.
Dillon moved on. “Mrs. Manchester, you have lived in Harrisonburg, Virginia, for a long time. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Is it fair to say that you are part of the Mennonite community of Harrisonburg?”
“Yes, my husband and I both were until he passed away.”
“And it was in that Mennonite community that you raised your son, Edward Manchester, now President of the United States. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“You seem to be a very perceptive woman. You understand what this trial is about, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“The House has passed Articles of Impeachment alleging that your son is a pacifist and that if he is, he should be removed from office. Do you understand that?”
“I understand that the House is attacking a man for his faith.”
“Mrs. Manchester, your son has not been accused of being a Mennonite, he has been accused of being a pacifist. Do you understand the difference?”
“Yes.”
“Do you understand that this would be going on whether the basis for his pacifism was being a Mennonite or a Buddhist, or the same as Mohammed Ali’s? Do you understand that?”
“No.”
Potts rose. “As a belated objection, Mr. Chief Justice, her understanding of the charge is irrelevant. Perhaps Mr. Dillon could move to the part of his outline in which he actually asks questions to elicit facts relevant to this matter.”
“Sustained,” Ross said. “Mr. Dillon, please move along.”
Dillon cleared his throat and continued. “Mrs. Manchester, during the entire time that you raised your son, Edward Manchester, you and your family were members of the Mennonite Church, correct?”
“I thought you were just trying to say that the church we were in was irrelevant.”
“It’s irrelevant in the cause of the allegation, it is not irrelevant to prove the allegation.”
“Objection. Argumentative,” Potts said.
“Sustained.”
“During the time you were raising your son, Edward Manchester, you and your family were members of the Mennonite Church in Harrisonburg, Virginia, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And it was your understanding during that time that the Mennonite Church has as one of its doctrines, or tenets, that one should not participate in warfare, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you accepted that doctrine, didn’t you?”
“She’s not on trial here,” Potts said, standing. “What is the relevance of her personal beliefs? This line of questioning is incredibly intrusive, Mr. Chief Justice. Are we now going to drag everybody in the country up to this stand who is of a certain religious persuasion and cross-examine them?”
“Overruled. This line of questioning is very obvious, Mr. Potts, and Mr. Dillon is trying to lay the foundation for where President
Manchester’s beliefs may have come from. The case may be entirely circumstantial, in which case this would be relevant,” Ross said. “Please continue, Mr. Dillon.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chief Justice. Mrs. Manchester, you raised your son to be a pacifist, isn’t that correct?”
“What do you mean by pacifist?”
“Do you not know what the word ‘pacifist’ means?”
“I have my understanding of it, but I want to make sure that my understanding is the same as yours. What is it you mean by pacifist?” she asked.
“Someone who is against warfare, and against fighting in a war regardless of the circumstances. Let’s use that definition. Are you with me?”
“Yes.”
“Is that a fair definition?”
“I think so.”
“Okay. When the current President was growing up in your household in Harrisonburg, Virginia, you attempted to raise him to be a pacifist, correct?”
“No.”
Dillon’s eyes opened wider. All the rules of cross-examination came crashing down into his head, warning him about his next question. Don’t ask a question you don’t know the answer to. Don’t quibble with a witness. Don’t argue with a sympathetic witness. Elicit only answers of “Yes.” Don’t ask questions that allow the witness to explain or expand. He hesitated before going on.
“It was your hope in raising him,” he continued, “that he would accept the doctrine of the Mennonite Church and become a pacifist in adulthood. Correct?” he asked, with an edge to his last word.
“Mr. Dillon, my goal in bringing up my son was to raise a good Christian man who cared for other people. Who loves his fellow human beings, including his enemies, as our Savior has taught us. I wanted to raise someone who cared for the plight of the poor, who fought for the downtrodden, who did not follow the idols of fame and wealth. I also wanted someone who would not fight in a war because I think war is wrong. If that fits your definition of a pacifist, then so be it.”
“Mrs. Manchester, that was a very eloquent answer—”
Potts rose to his feet, interrupting. “Mr. Chief Justice, we don’t need to hear Mr. Dillon’s opinion of the witness’s answers. What we need are questions to which she can respond.”
“Sustained,” Ross said, annoyed with both attorneys.
“Mrs. Manchester, please listen carefully to the question. I did not ask you about whether you raised him to care for the poor. I would assume that you would. The question was whether you raised him to be a pacifist, to which you earlier said no. My follow-up question then is, was it your hope that he would be a pacifist when he became an adult?”
The Price Of Power Page 42
