Black Ops #1

by William W. Johnstone

  “Your witnesses are wrong, Marshal. They are either mistaken, or they are lying.”

  “Mister, I am one of them witnesses,” Turnball said. “And I don’t cotton to being called a liar by anybody, and least of all, not by you. So, don’t you go tellin’ me what I did and what I did not see.” He pointed at my chest, adding, “I remember them plaid shirts you and one of the other robbers was wearin’ like as if there was a picture of ’em drawn on my eyeballs.”

  “I told you, this isn’t my shirt,” I said again.

  “You are making a huge mistake.”

  “No, friend,” the lawman responded. “The only ones who made any mistakes around here were you and your friends. And you boys made three of ’em.” Ticking them off on his fingers, he enumerated: “Your first mistake was in pickin’ a bank in my town to rob. Your second was in havin’ a fallout with the other thieves, and your third was in getting yourself caught. Now, let’s go.”

  Art Jensen felt himself growing sleepy, so he closed the journal and put it on the table beside his bed.

  “Well, Grandpa Smoke,” he said under his breath, “looks like we’re both in trouble for something we didn’t do.”

  Turning off the lamp, Art lay there in the darkened BOQ room, thinking of the coincidence. He was reading about a trial his great-great-grandfather had faced in his own life, and now here he was, over one hundred years later, facing a trial of his own.

  It was as if his great-great-grandfather was here in the room with him now.

  “Remember, Son,” Smoke seemed to be saying. “In the end, it all boils down to one thing. Character.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The BOQ at Fort Myer, Virginia

  Art stepped out of the shower the next morning to the tune of “The Army Goes Rolling Along.” He grabbed his cell phone, which was the source of the music.

  “Colonel Jensen,” he said.

  “How did your first day go? Did Kinnamon give ’em hell?”

  The caller was Art’s father, Cal Jensen.

  “Hi, Dad,” Art replied. “I suppose he did, but you have to hand it to Colonel Nighthorse. He gave about as well as he took.”

  “Yes,” Cal said. “I’ve heard he is pretty good.”

  “Oh, he’s better than pretty good,” Art said. “He’s damn good.”

  Cal chuckled. “I guess, as far as qualitative analyses go, ‘damn’ good is better than ‘pretty’ good.”

  A graduate of the University of Alabama, Cal Jensen had played football for the legendary Bear Bryant, on the same team as Joe Namath. Namath went on to the New York Jets, Super Bowl III, and football fame. Cal went to Vietnam where he won the Distinguished Service Cross, the Silver Star, the Bronze Star with a “V” device, and two Purple Hearts.

  The same tenacity and physical courage that had made him an outstanding football player and an exemplary army officer served him well during his career with the FBI. When the daughter of a U.S. congressman was kidnapped and buried alive in a ventilated coffin while her kidnappers tried to extort money, Cal Jensen single-handedly broke the case. He killed all three kidnappers in a shoot-out, then found the young girl and rescued her.

  Cal was retired now, but he still maintained close contacts with the FBI, and had been called upon for advice by more than one of the bureau’s directors.

  “Are you coming to the court today?” Art asked.

  “I hadn’t planned to,” Cal replied. “But I will if you want me to.”

  “No need. I was just curious.”

  There was a moment of silence before Cal responded. “You’ll be all right, Son,” he said. “No matter what happens, no matter what the verdict is, you’ll be all right.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so,” Cal said. “Because it all boils down to one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Character,” Cal said.

  Art chuckled.

  “What’s funny?”

  “You sound like you’ve been reading Smoke’s journal. That’s what he says, too.”

  “You pay attention to Smoke,” Cal said. “He knows what he is talking about.”

  The courtroom

  The members and participants of the court sat very quietly as they watched a drama play out on the TV screen. They saw half a dozen soldiers in a darkened room, carrying their weapons at the ready, while they looked down upon what appeared to be dozens of bodies, lying on the floor.

  “Son of a bitch! He’s alive!” someone shouted. You could hear the voice, but you could not see who was speaking.

  “. . . shit, the son of a bitch isn’t armed,” a disembodied voice said.

  One of the soldiers swung his weapon around and fired. The flame pattern of his muzzle flash, and the pop of the round was followed by a mist of blood and detritus exploding from the back of the head of an insurgent who had suddenly sat up.

  “He’s dead now,” the shooter said dryly. As he turned toward the camera, it was clear to the viewing audience that the soldier who shot the insurgent was Colonel Art Jensen.

  Art held his hand up toward the camera lens, blocking it off, and shortly thereafter the screen went black.

  The TV was switched off and Nighthorse turned his attention toward his witness, John Williams.

  “Mr. Williams, this is extraordinarily graphic footage. Did you take it?” Nighthorse asked.

  “Actually, my cameraman took it,” Williams said.

  “But you were present?”

  “I was present, yes.”

  “There appeared to be several bodies on the floor. Who were they, and what were they doing there?”

  “They were Hajs and—”

  “They were what?” the law officer asked, interrupting the interrogation.

  “Hajs,” Williams said. “Uh, it’s what the men call the insurgents. All the dead insurgents were brought into this room and laid out on the floor.”

  “But not all of the insurgents were dead, were they?” Nighthorse asked.

  “No. As you saw in the video, one of them was still alive.” Williams paused for a moment. “That is, he was alive until he was killed by Colonel Jensen,” he added.

  “No further questions.”

  Kinnamon stood up.

  “Mr. Williams, is this the same footage shown on national TV here in America, and all over the world?”

  “It is not,” Williams replied. He looked at the board of officers. “As I am sure you can appreciate, it was necessary that we tone down the footage we broadcast. There are one billion Muslims. If they were to see this scene, as graphically presented as it is here, it could cause an even greater outpouring of hatred for America than exists now. And of course, we bleeped out some of the language when it was broadcast.”

  “And so, out of a sense of patriotism, you withheld the most graphic footage. Is that it?” Kinnamon asked. The tone of his voice suggested that the question was sarcastic and Nighthorse picked up on it right away.

  “Objection. Your Honor, that question was purely rhetorical and asked in a sarcastic tone of voice,” Nighthorse said.

  “Withdraw the rhetorical question,” Kinnamon said, quickly, before the law officer could respond. He turned his attention back to Williams. “What do you mean when you say that he was still alive?”

  Williams looked confused. “I don’t understand your question, counselor,” he said. “It was obvious on the tape that he was still alive.”

  “For you to say that he was still alive suggests that he had been badly wounded. However, an autopsy disclosed that the only wound he suffered was the fatal wound inflicted by Colonel Jensen. Isn’t that right?”

  “I suppose,” Williams said.

  “You did see the autopsy, didn’t you, Mr. Williams? You knew that he had no previous wound?”

  “Yes, I knew.”

  “Yet, you said he was ‘still alive’ as if there was some question to it. These were experienced combat veterans, Mr. Williams. Do you think they could not tell if a man
was dead or alive?”

  “I suppose they could tell. I really don’t know where you are going with these questions. I don’t know where you are going with them.”

  “You did say that the Americans were the ones who laid out the dead insurgents in this room, did you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “But this one was alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Since, according to the autopsy report, he had no previous wound, how do you suppose he wound up with the other insurgents?”

  “Objection,” Nighthorse said. “That calls for speculation.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Do you really believe that the American soldiers brought him into this room thinking he was alive?”

  “Objection. Again, the question calls for speculation.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Actually, there were two of them alive, weren’t there?”

  “I saw only one alive,” Williams replied.

  “In the video, I noticed a pall of smoke hanging in the room. What was that from?”

  “There was smoke everywhere,” Williams replied. “It was just after a battle.”

  “You know where that pall of smoke came from, Mr. Williams,” Kinnamon said loudly. “Are you trying to slant your testimony?”

  “Objection,” Nighthorse said. “He’s badgering the witness.”

  “Sustained. A calmer approach if you please, Mr. Kinnamon,” Colonel Brisbane said.

  “Very good, sir,” Kinnamon said. Then, to Williams, “You are aware, are you not, that but a moment before these pictures were taken, one of the supposedly dead insurgents set off a bomb? And that bomb killed Sergeant Baker?”

  “I can testify only to what I witnessed,” Williams replied. “I did not witness the explosion.”

  “Did you hear it?”

  “I heard an explosion,” Williams said.

  “You heard an explosion, you step into the room immediately afterward, you see smoke hanging in the air and chunks of bodies lying around on the floor, but you cannot testify to the fact that there was a bomb?”

  “As I said, I did not witness the explosion. I can testify only as to what I saw.” Again, Williams looked toward Art. “And what I saw, and recorded, was Colonel Jensen killing an unarmed man.”

  “No further questions at this time, but I reserve the right to recall,” Kinnamon said.

  “Prosecution may call the next witness,” Colonel Brisbane said.

  “Prosecution calls Captain Michael G. Chambers,” Nighthorse said.

  Captain Chambers was brought into the courtroom and sworn in.

  “Captain Chambers, did you participate in an operational sweep of Fallujah on April eleventh of this year?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And during that operational sweep, did you have cause to find yourself inside the Abu Hanifa Mosque?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you, on that occasion, witness Lieutenant Colonel Jensen kill an unarmed prisoner?”

  “He wasn’t a prisoner,” Chambers answered.

  “What do you mean, he wasn’t a prisoner?”

  “We were keeping the prisoners in another area,” Chambers said. “So, technically, this man was not a prisoner.”

  “If he wasn’t a prisoner, what was he?”

  “He was dead.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Nighthorse said, reacting to the answer.

  “This room was where we brought the dead. We had no prisoners there.”

  “But he was not dead, was he?”

  “No, sir.”

  “How long after you surrender before you are classified as a prisoner?”

  “I don’t understand the question.”

  “Captain Chambers, don’t play games with the court,” Nighthorse said.

  “Sorry, sir, it’s just that I don’t think it’s right, what’s being done to Colonel Jensen.”

  “Would the court instruct the witness to answer the questions honestly and without equivocation?”

  “Captain, you will answer the questions, or you will face charges,” Colonel Brisbane said admonishingly.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, Captain, I ask you again. If a soldier surrenders to the enemy, how long after he surrenders does it take for him to become a prisoner?”

  “As far as I know, it is instantaneous,” Chambers replied.

  “Then this insurgent, by surrendering, was a prisoner the moment he surrendered. Am I correct?”

  “We don’t know that he was surrendering,” Chambers replied.

  “We don’t know that he wasn’t either, do we?”

  Chambers was quiet for a long moment.

  “Did you find a weapon of any kind on the body?” Nighthorse asked.

  “No, sir,” Chambers said very quietly, mumbling the words.

  “Louder, please. Did you find a weapon of any kind on the body?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then, if he was unarmed, and making his presence known, isn’t it reasonable to assume that he was surrendering ?”

  “I suppose so, yes, sir.”

  “And in fact, do we not hear a voice on the video saying, ‘shit, the son of a bitch isn’t armed’? We did hear that, didn’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  “And were those words spoken before Colonel Jensen shot the insurgent?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? Captain, you just watched the video and heard it, just as the rest of us did.”

  “Yes,” Chambers said. “I know what we just saw. But I’m telling you that I was there . . . and I don’t remember hearing it.”

  “Did Colonel Jensen give the prisoner an opportunity to surrender?”

  “No, sir.”

  “On the videotape, someone is heard shouting, and I quote, ‘Son of a bitch! He’s alive!’ Who was that?”

  “That was me, sir.”

  “Did the insurgent shoot at anyone?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you see a gun in the insurgent’s hand? A grenade? A bomb? Any kind of weapon?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What happened next?”

  Chambers was quiet for a long moment.

  “Captain Chambers, what happened next?”

  “He was shot.”

  “Who shot him?”

  “Colonel Jensen.”

  “Did the insurgent shoot at anyone?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did he make any threatening moves?”

  “Well, yes, sir, sort of.”

  “Sort of? What do you mean, sort of ?”

  “He sat up.”

  There was a nervous tittering of laughter in the court, though it stilled instantly at a stern glance from Colonel Brisbane.”

  “He sat up?” Nighthorse asked. “Is that what you are calling a threatening move?”

  “You had to be there, sir,” Chambers said. “You know how sometimes you can be startled? It was like that.”

  “So, you are saying that, because you were startled, Colonel Jensen shot him?”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I mean . . .” Chambers let his response trail off.

  “No further questions,” Nighthorse said.

  Asa stood up, but he didn’t leave his table. “Captain Chambers, do you recognize the voice of the man who said, ‘shit, the son of a bitch isn’t armed’?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who was it?”

  “It was Private Bostick.”

  “And where is Bostick now?”

  “He’s dead. He was killed by an IED about a week after this.”

  “Did you hear him say that before Colonel Jensen shot the insurgent?”

  “No, sir. That is, yes, sir, I did hear it, but I don’t think he said it before the shooting.”

  “If I told you that this same tape had been played for seven others who were in the mosque that day, and that all seven have testified that they do not think these words were spoken before the shoo
ting, would you be surprised?”

  Chambers shook his head. “No, sir, I wouldn’t be surprised at all,” he replied. “But I am surprised to hear that it was before the shooting.”

  “Captain Chambers, how did the insurgent get into that room?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “You testified that only the dead were brought into that room. Do you think one of your men may have brought the insurgent in thinking he was dead? Or do you think the insurgent sneaked into the room in order to commit an act of terror?”

  “Objection. Again, this calls for speculation on the part of the witness.”

  “Sustained.”

  “In fact, Captain Chambers, the insurgent that Colonel Jensen shot was not the only insurgent in the room who was still alive, was he?”

  “No, sir, there was another one.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He blew himself up.”

  “And, in the act of blowing himself up, was anyone else injured?”

  “Sergeant Baker was killed,” Chambers said.

  “And how long after the first suicide bomber killed himself was it before the second insurgent showed himself ?”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Nighthorse said.

  “What are you objecting to?”

  “Counsel referred to the suicide bomber as the ‘first’ suicide bomber, implying that the second insurgent was also a suicide bomber. We know now, of course, that that was not the case. There were no weapons found on the second man.”

  “Objection sustained.”

  “How long was it after the suicide bomber killed himself, before the second live insurgent showed himself ?”

  “Oh, it was very soon, sir. Just a matter of seconds,” Chambers said.

  “And you said that he suddenly sat up?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If Colonel Jensen assumed that everyone in there was already dead . . . and one had shown himself not to be dead, but had, in fact, detonated a suicide bomb, isn’t it reasonable to assume that when the second sat up very quickly, Jensen considered him a threat?”

  “Objection! Again, this calls for speculation,” Nighthorse said.

  “Your Honor, this witness is a professional military officer who is trained to speculate under certain situations,” Kinnamon said. “Indeed, the fate of our nation hangs on the ability of such men as Captain Chambers and Colonel Jensen to be able to make immediate decisions. I think it is reasonable to ask Captain Chambers . . . as an expert witness . . . if he believes it was reasonable for Colonel Jensen to perceive a threat.”