In the Name of Honor

by Richard North Patterson

  Terry stood quiet for a moment, hoping by his steady gaze to seal a compact with the jurors: that they would be fair, that they would allow themselves to live with doubt rather than seek refuge in a certainty beyond their power to reach. This was, after all, the compact Terry had just made with himself.

  AS TERRY SAT, BRIAN turned to him with an expression of quiet gratitude. From the bench, Hollis asked, “Have you a rebuttal, Major Flynn?” Across the courtroom, Flynn listened to Pulaski, then got quickly to his feet.

  “Amid all of counsel’s eloquence,” he asked bluntly, “what’s missing? A defense to charges of adultery. Any comment on Lieutenant McCarran’s lie. The slightest mention of his affair. Captain Terry treats all that like a dead mouse on the kitchen floor—if he pretends not to notice it, maybe you won’t either.

  “Brian McCarran lied. Kate D’Abruzzo lied. Their desire for each other—the ruinous secret of their affair—is why the accused killed Joe D’Abruzzo.” Flynn paused, then added derisively, “What defense does he offer to the charge of murder? No physical evidence, or any corroboration of his story. All too conveniently, the entirety of his evidence is locked inside his head. Why should you believe his story of self-defense? Because he says so. Why were his actions driven by combat in Iraq? Because he told you. He even asserts that—exclusive of all the soldiers in Captain D’Abruzzo’s company—any order resulting in Brian McCarran’s exposure to combat was calculated to kill him.

  “The defense, in short, offers you nothing but the world according to Brian McCarran. And the only reason he can do that is because he killed the only witness.” Standing erect, Flynn concluded sternly, “Do not reward this charade. I implore you to discharge your duty as members of this court: to find Brian McCarran guilty of murder and of the adulterous affair his counsel dares not mention.”

  Meg, Terry noticed, could not look at him. He wondered how her father was feeling now.

  BEFORE INSTRUCTING THE MEMBERS, Judge Hollis called a fifteen-minute recess.

  Terry spoke to no one. Motionless, he half-listened to the babble of comments and speculation from the gallery behind him. Then he felt a light touch on his shoulder. “Captain Terry?”

  Turning, Terry saw that Rose Gallagher had broken away from Anthony McCarran. Quietly, she said, “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

  Looking into her handsome face, Terry was struck again by her perception and, in the end, her kindness. “Why do you think so?”

  Briefly, she glanced around them, ensuring that no one could overhear her, and saw that Meg and Brian stood a safe distance apart. “I know there’s terrible pressure. But today you barely looked at Meg—neither of them, really.”

  Terry shook his head. “Belated melancholy,” he said. “I’m left believing that none of this needed to happen. But all I can do is help my client.”

  Rose looked at him closely. “Who helps you, Captain Terry?”

  In lieu of the truth, Terry thought, all he could offer was kindness in return—or, perhaps, the illusion of kindness. Smiling a little, he answered, “I don’t need help, Mrs. Gallagher. I’m the one who gets to leave it all behind. But the rest of them will need you, perhaps more than ever.”

  Rose’s own smile did not erase the seriousness in her eyes. “Nonetheless,” she said. “I wish you luck.” Turning, she walked back to Anthony McCarran, her bearing as composed as before.

  CONFIDENT IN HOLLIS’S FAIRNESS, Terry experienced the judge’s instructions as a blur: the degrees of murder and manslaughter; self-defense; the standards for insanity. Only at the end did he look up at the bench. “In the specification of charge two,” Hollis intoned, “the accused is charged with the offense of adultery.

  “To find the accused guilty of this offense, you must be convinced beyond a reasonable doubt of the following elements:

  “One, that the accused wrongfully had sexual intercourse with Kate D’Abruzzo;

  “Two, that at the time, Kate D’Abruzzo was married to another; and

  “Three, that the conduct of the accused prejudiced the good order and discipline of the army or was of a nature as to bring discredit upon it—”

  The same cold fury consumed Terry, mingled with guilt at his own complicity. He restrained himself from looking toward Anthony McCarran. Slowly and clearly, Hollis continued: “You may not infer that the accused is guilty of one offense because his guilt may have been proven on another. However, the evidence that Lieutenant Brian McCarran may have had sexual intercourse with Kate D’Abruzzo can be considered for the limited purpose of its tendency, if any, to prove a motive to kill Captain Joe D’Abruzzo—”

  Sitting beside Terry, Brian’s head was bent in the attitude of prayer. Concluding, Hollis admonished the members as Terry had asked: “Nonetheless, you should not infer from this evidence that the accused is a bad person or has criminal tendencies and, therefore, that he committed the offense of premeditated murder.”

  Or even, Terry thought, that Brian McCarran had made love to Kate D’Abruzzo.

  When it was done, Hollis directed the members to commence deliberations. Terry watched them leave, Randi Wertheimer talking quietly to Alex MacDonald. Leaning closer, Meg spoke to him for the first time. “Thank you, Paul.”

  Terry looked at her coldly. “I did it for Brian. Not for you, and certainly not for your father.” He stood. “I’ll be at my apartment. Don’t bother to call me until the jury comes back.”

  He left alone, ignoring Flynn, the crowd, General Anthony McCarran, the reporters who called out questions.

  six

  FOR THE FIRST TIME IN SIX MONTHS, PAUL TERRY HAD NOTHING to do but wait.

  As the hours of deliberation crept by, he relived those months in hindsight: the call from Colonel Dawes; his first meetings with Meg, Brian, and Anthony McCarran; his “discovery” of the affair that never was; his weekend with Meg in Virginia Beach; his fateful decision to remain in the army until the end of Brian’s trial. All this time he had been standing on quicksand—lies masquerading as truth; truth concealed as a lie. He still could not grasp what was true between Meg and himself.

  That evening, after the members had ended their first day of deliberation, Terry turned on the news.

  The third story on CNN, a summary of the final arguments in the court-martial of Brian McCarran, was followed by film of General McCarran leaving the courthouse with Rose Gallagher. “In a related development,” the reporter’s voice-over said, “the Pentagon announced today that General Anthony McCarran has submitted his resignation from the army effective on February 1, citing personal and family considerations. It had been widely believed that the father of Lieutenant Brian McCarran was slated to become chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff—”

  So it was done. Whether for his children, or to preserve his own reputation, the general had kept his word to Terry. Now his career was over. Terry went to the kitchen and burned his copy of McCarran’s letter to the secretary of defense.

  But Terry’s reckoning with the McCarrans was far from done. If Brian was acquitted of murder, Terry might be able to leave the case behind. But if the members convicted Brian in the death of Joe D’Abruzzo, Terry had no moral choice but to reveal that the motive urged by Flynn did not exist. Neither Flynn, nor the guardians of legal ethics, would be likely to forgive Terry for gambling on the verdict before he revealed the truth.

  He had worked so hard for so many years. Now the McCarrans, with his complicity, might write the end to his ambitions.

  ON THE AFTERNOON OF the second day, Meg called him. Her voice thick with emotion, she told him, “They’re back, Paul.”

  Distractedly, Terry put on his uniform. The five-minute drive to the courthouse felt interminable.

  A crowd of reporters and cameramen had gathered in front. Sweeping past them, Terry entered the courtroom. Abruptly, he was sealed in hermetic silence, the mute anticipation of a judgment in suspension. They were all waiting: Anthony McCarran and Rose Gallagher, Joseph and Flora D’Abruzzo
, Brian and Meg, Flynn and Pulaski. All had the same stiffness of affect and tightness around the eyes. Sitting between Meg and Brian, Terry noted that, among the members, only Colonel MacDonald and Major Wertheimer had the serenity of expression that Terry read as satisfaction with the outcome. But he had been wrong before.

  “All rise,” the bailiff called, and Colonel Hollis ascended the bench.

  Those present stood and then sat, remaining focused on the judge. With the attendant gravity, Hollis said, “The court is called to order. All parties are present, as are the members of the court. Has the court reached findings?”

  Colonel MacDonald stood, as president of the court. “We have, Your Honor.”

  “Are the findings reflected in the worksheet?”

  “They are.”

  Hollis nodded slowly. “Please tender the worksheet to the bailiff so that I can examine it.”

  In dead quiet the courtroom watched the bailiff take the written findings and hand them to Judge Hollis. Meg bowed her head, as if watching were unbearable. Though he was composed, Brian’s face was white. Terry tried to imagine how it felt to have chosen, through a lie, to endure this moment and what might wait beyond it. For once it was not hard—Terry, too, had run the risk of silence, and now would learn the consequences.

  Reading the findings, Hollis remained impassive. Then he looked up at the members of the court. “I have reviewed the findings worksheet and it appears to be in the proper form. Bailiff, please return the findings to the president of the court.”

  Crossing the courtroom, the bailiff placed the verdict in Colonel MacDonald’s hand. Turning to the defense table, Hollis said, “Accused and defense counsel, please rise.”

  Standing, Terry felt numb. “Colonel MacDonald,” Hollis directed, “please announce the findings of the court.”

  MacDonald assumed a martial posture. Facing Brian, he said in a clear voice, “Lieutenant Brian McCarran, this court-martial finds you, of all charges and specifications in the death of Captain Joseph D’Abruzzo, not guilty.”

  A gasp escaped from the gallery, punctuated by a soft moan from Flora D’Abruzzo. Terry felt himself swallow, then saw Brian’s body tremor in relief. From the expression of the members, all but MacDonald and Wertheimer had wanted to convict, perhaps on the charge of manslaughter. But three was not enough.

  MacDonald waited for silence to descend. In a flatter tone, he announced, “Brian McCarran, this court finds you, of the charge and specification of adultery, guilty.”

  Brian’s face closed again. “Thank you,” Hollis told the members. “The sentencing phase of this court-martial will commence on Thursday at nine A.M.”

  It was not quite done.

  TERRY WAITED FOR HOLLIS to adjourn the findings phase, clearing the courtroom of spectators. When Brian turned to him, Terry snapped, “Wait here.” Then he crossed the courtroom to speak with Flynn.

  Standing, Flynn extended his hand. Grimly but without visible rancor, he said, “Congratulations, Captain.”

  “And to you. As you said, it was a hard case.”

  Flynn shrugged. “Any suggestion on where we go now?”

  “One: that we agree on the sentence for adultery. At the beginning of the case, I proposed Lieutenant McCarran’s dismissal from the army. The offer stands.”

  Flynn’s smile was no smile at all. “Six months later,” he said ironically, “that would at least be some satisfaction—if not to the D’Abruzzos. I’m prepared to agree.”

  In that moment, Terry realized that for Brian, and for himself, the case was finally over. “Thank you, Major,” he said, and returned to the defense table.

  Brian and Meg watched his face. Ignoring her, Terry said, “We need to talk, Brian. In private.”

  As they walked to the meeting room, Anthony McCarran caught his eye. McCarran nodded in thanks; curtly, Terry nodded back, sealing their arrangement. He hoped never to see this man again.

  TERRY WATCHED BRIAN ACROSS the conference table. In a soft, astonished voice, Brian said, “Flynn agreed to that?”

  Terry nodded. “You’ve earned a medal of your own devising, and lived not to tell about it. So ends the McCarran legacy. You’re free, Brian.”

  Head bent, Brian covered his face, overcome by emotions that, to him, must feel years deep. When he faced Terry, his eyes were damp with tears he did not bother to conceal. “Thank you, Paul,” he said slowly. “But what the hell do I do now?”

  “You already know,” Terry answered. “Do for yourself what you tried to do for Sergeant Martinez. Deal with what happened, here and in Iraq. Then you can figure out the rest.”

  Brian exhaled. “What about you?” he inquired at last.

  “Thanks to you,” Terry answered sardonically, “I’m about to become a howling success. At least as long as I keep your secret. I guess I’ll learn to live with that.”

  Brian studied him. “There’s no reason to lie to you now,” he said quietly. “So I hope you can believe me. As far as I know, I’m innocent of everything. This much you can be sure of: I never planned to kill him. Maybe that will help.”

  Terry shrugged. “Give me enough time, and perhaps it will.”

  “There’s also my father,” Brian went on. “As best I can read him, he resigned less to save his reputation than to salvage something for Meg and me. He wanted you to help get me acquitted. And he didn’t want you resenting Meg every time you saw him in uniform, the ranking military officer in America.” When Terry said nothing, Brian added, “Don’t think he got off light, Paul. He has to live with himself. And without that uniform, who is he?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Neither will he.” Pausing, Brian added softly, “He’s going to be a very lonely man. Next week, Kate moves her family off the base, and Rose is going with her. I don’t envy them at Christmas, when Rose in her innocence plans the usual dinner. But for both of them, the alternative is even worse. All they’ve got left is that Rose doesn’t know.”

  Terry stood, as did Brian. Quiet, they faced each other, two damaged sons who might now shape their own lives. Then Brian said, “There’s also Meg.”

  Terry simply looked at him.

  “She wants to talk to you, Paul. I said I’d ask.”

  Terry regarded him coolly. “Did you now. Remind me to send you a book on codependency.”

  To Terry’s surprise, Brian flashed his incandescent smile. “You don’t get it, Paul. I’m trying to get rid of her.” Watching Terry’s expression, Brian sighed. “Among all of us,” he said fervently, “Meg deserves the least blame—nothing she did was for herself, and she’s already paying for it. I’m not saying you should feel magnanimous. But, given the outcome, you can afford to be civil.”

  Nodding, Terry placed a hand on Brian’s shoulder. “Be well, Brian.”

  BEHIND HIM, TERRY HEARD the door open. He did not turn.

  “Please, Paul. Look at me.”

  Terry faced her. With a quiet firmness, Meg said, “There are things I need to say to you. Then I’ll leave.” Bracing herself, she looked into his eyes. “At first you were a distraction. I was frightened for Brian, and all twisted up with what I was concealing. I’d turned my whole idea of myself inside out. Sleeping with you was a ticket to oblivion—”

  “Why not buy a marital aid?”

  Meg blanched. “Please—that’s not what I meant. You were smart and strong, the things I thought I admired most. But those are my father’s virtues.” Her voice softened. “Yours are different. You’re sensitive, and you see people whole. Your values don’t depend on passing judgment, or putting anyone in a neat little box. You always tried to be fair to me. So I began telling you things I’d been afraid to tell anyone, or even admit to myself. I felt like a better person because of you. I started imagining a different life, as you did. And the fact that I was also your adversary began to tear me up inside.

  “I told myself we’d get to the other side of this, and then I’d never have to lie to you again. But you are smart. By
the end, you’d put it all together. But not before I’d fallen in love with you.” She shook her head, as if seeing her own folly. “Like my father, I know what I deserve from you. Still, you told me once that no one should be judged by the worst moment of their life. So I’m begging you not to make me your exception.

  “No matter what you say, I know how badly I’ve hurt you, if only because I know how badly I’ve hurt myself. I don’t know what I have to offer you now. But, in time, I hope we’ll have the chance to learn. Please don’t hate me so much that I can never see you again.”

  Looking into her stricken face, Terry felt too many emotions to sort through. “Right now, Meg, I don’t know if I ever can. That’s not said out of malice. Believe me, I’d like to see you whole—even selfishly, it would be far better than the hurt and betrayal I feel. But at this moment I’m not sure I can get past that, however much I might want to. All I can promise is that, weeks or months from now, I’ll have more distance. By then, I hope, the habit of caring for you will at least have become caring to find out how you are.”

  Watching his face, Meg nodded. But she could not seem to turn away. Finally, she said, “Then it’s good-bye, Paul. At least for a while.”

  She turned, squaring her shoulders as she left. Terry felt the pulse of sadness; he had never seen a woman look so alone. The door closed softly behind her.

  Terry went home and booked a plane ticket to Cabo San Lucas. He would watch the fishing boats at leisure, reflecting on his past until he saw the future he could claim as his own.

  Afterword and Acknowledgments

  THE DEBT WE OWE AMERICANS IN UNIFORM HAS LONG STRUCK me as a good subject for fiction, as is our system of military justice. But my exposure to the army was limited and long ago. So, as often, I needed help to get things right.

  I don’t claim for a moment to have provided a fully rounded portrait of military life. But what I set out to do was ambitious enough: to portray the complex life of one military family; to depict how the crucible of the Iraq War changed the lives of two officers; to describe the ways in which post-traumatic stress disorder has affected our soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan; and to provide an impressionistic, but accurate, portrait of a general court-martial. So I’m very grateful to the far more knowledgeable men and women who helped me take on this challenge.