“The last piece of information was obtained just this morning. A radio call was intercepted from a ship in the South Atlantic to the Liberian International Shipping Company. It was in the clear and was from the captain to Lisbie. The captain asked a very strange question. He asked Lisbie if he had to follow the directions of the new crew.”
Jacobs looked at the faces of those around the table. They were all coming to the same conclusion he had already drawn.
“What did Lisbie say?” Shauna asked.
“He said the captain was to do whatever they told him. The transcript is in your folders.”
She opened the file for the first time and flipped through it. “What did the captain say?”
“’Roger, out.’”
“Did we get a position on this ship?”
“The latitude and longitude are in the message.”
Everybody waited. Rat went on. “I think the nuclear cores are aboard that container ship. It’s called the Monrovian Prince. Her scheduled port of call is Jacksonville. Mr. Jacobs thinks this needs to go up the flagpole right away. Today.” He looked to his left at Jacobs. “He wanted all of you to hear about it before he sent this on. Anybody see any holes? Any stupid thinking?”
They sat in stunned silence.
Jacobs stood. “We’re going to brief the President on this. The Director wants him to know today.”
Rat nodded.
Jacobs continued. “I told him you were just the guy to do that.”
Rat couldn’t believe it. “Do what?”
“I want you to brief the President. At the White House.”
“I’m kind of occupied today.”
“That’s why I set the brief up at the White House for twelve-thirty. A car will pick you up in front of Justice at noon.”
“I won’t have any time to prepare.”
“We’ll get you some help.”
Rat considered how he was going to keep from making a fool of himself in front of the President of the United States. “Maybe Russell could help. He seems to be up on this.”
“Great idea.”
* * *
Everyone was in place in the packed courtroom on the top floor of the Justice Department. The jury had been sworn in and was waiting outside the courtroom to be summoned by the judge. Witnesses were excluded until they testified. Judge Royce Wiggins entered the courtroom from the back door fuming. He had pushed his reading glasses so high up on his nose that he could barely see over them. His jaw was clenched as the bailiff called the court to order and he sat down in the black leather chair behind the elevated bench. He waited, looked at the attorneys, and then spoke to Skyles. “Mr. Skyles, stand up.”
The gallery sat up straight and strained to see Skyles. They were enthusiastic about drama this early in the trial.
Skyles stood up with a questioning look on his face. He hadn’t yet done anything in this trial that he thought deserved a lecture. He had some things in mind, but Wiggins didn’t know that yet. “Yes, sir?”
The judge held up a single sheet of paper. He looked directly at Skyles, putting his head down at an awkward angle in order to look out over his reading glasses. “Is this your idea of how to undercut this court? Is this your idea of how to avoid putting your client before this court, to try this case?”
Skyles had no idea what the judge was talking about. “I’m sorry, Your Honor . . . I really don’t know what you have there . . .” he said, probing, watching for holes in the ice. “Is it something that I have filed or submitted?”
“Do you claim to be ignorant of this?” the judge asked, holding up the piece of paper.
“If Your Honor might tell me what ‘this’ is, I might be able to say.”
The judge looked disgusted. “I received a fax this morning from a woman, a commander, who claims to be the prosecutor in the tribunal aboard the Belleau Wood. They have suddenly determined that your client is an indispensable witness for that trial. The fax said that his testimony is needed to identify the defendant as he was the one who in fact captured him. Did they just learn this information today? And now they have to have him for their trial, which as we all know since we all read the newspapers, is going on at the same time as Mr. Rathman’s trial. Are you aware of this?”
“Your Honor, I am not aware of that fax. I was notified this morning by my client that he had been served with a subpoena at his house at 5:00 a.m. I did not know that the attorney who subpoenaed him also wrote to Your Honor.”
Judge Wiggins didn’t believe him. “In the last paragraph of the letter she confirms that she knows that this trial is ongoing and Mr. Rathman is the defendant. She asks that we continue his trial until he can get out to the Belleau Wood and testify in the tribunal.” He looked at Skyles. “This is classic Skyles, from what I hear. It feels to me like one of your tricks, sir.”
Skyles’s face reddened. “Your Honor, I think that’s unfair. I resent the implication that I participate in trickery—”
“Please, Mr. Skyles. Do not deny what everyone in the Washington bar knows. You are notorious for gamesmanship and trickery during trial. Do you deny it?”
“I absolutely deny it. I represent my clients vigorously. I have never tried a case in front of you and I’m now very concerned that you have brought into this courtroom a prejudice against me that you will hold against my client.”
“I’m not biased against anyone,” the judge roared. “I just believe that a leopard never changes its spots. Attorneys that practice law by gamesmanship don’t change, and you don’t develop a reputation in Washington for practicing that way unless there’s some truth to it.”
Skyles couldn’t believe it. “Your Honor, if in fact you have heard such rumors, I think you owe it to me and my client to not prejudge, and to make your own decision on whether I’m behaving properly or not. That is all I would ask of you.”
“And that’s what you’ll get. So tell me directly, did you know this fax was coming, and did you have any part in its being sent to me?”
“I did tell you directly, Your Honor. I had no idea it was coming, I have never seen it, I did not get a copy of it, and I had no role whatsoever in its being written, sent, or received.”
“Very well,” the judge said with a sarcastic smile on his face. “Then you have no opposition to my ignoring the fax. I want you to know that I’m not continuing this trial under any circumstances. We’re going forward. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir, I do understand that. My client has been subpoenaed though, and I believe it is a legitimate subpoena issued by the United States Government. I’m therefore not sure that he can simply ignore it as you intend to do with the fax.”
“I’m not going to ignore the fax, Mr. Skyles. I resent the implication of that remark—”
“I apologize, Your Honor, I thought that’s what you just said.”
“It is not what I just said. Do you want me to have the court reporter read back what I just said?”
Skyles fought to control his facial expressions. “No, Your Honor, that won’t be necessary. My mistake.”
“Your client can do whatever he wants with his subpoena. But he had better be here for this trial.”
“Yes, sir. He will be here as . . . appropriate.”
Judge Wiggins stared at Skyles to see if there was evasion in his eyes. He turned to the prosecutor. “Mr. Wolff.”
Wolff stood up slowly as Skyles sat down. Wolff was enjoying the morning so far. “Yes, sir.”
“Are you ready to proceed?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Bring in the jury.”
They filed in through the door and sat in the jury box that had never before been used. No case had ever been tried in the courtroom on top of the Justice Building, just the secret hearings on whether requested government surveillance was going to be allowed on unsuspecting people who were alleged to have ties to foreign intelligence or operations. They sat in the box and glanced at Rat. They had been anxious to see him. They h
ad heard enough during the jury selection process and read enough in the newspapers to know the trial was going to be interesting and had to do with torture. They knew the defendant was something of a Special Operations legend, and thought he looked composed and intelligent.
They let their eyes linger on Rat. They wanted to know what made him tick. As Wolff rose to give his opening statement, they gave him their attention, but kept an eye on Lieutenant Rathman, watching for his reaction.
Wolff began his opening statement predictably: outrage and offense at the idea of American Armed Forces or intelligence special operatives being allowed to torture other human beings. He continued, “To allow such conduct would make us like those we were fighting. The law has been clear for as long as the United States has been in existence—prisoners are treated as human beings; prisoners are not to be killed, or tortured, or mistreated. Such an understanding had been confirmed in the treaty called the Geneva Convention that was ratified—”
“Objection,” Skyles cried, holding his hands out in shocked disbelief. “The Geneva Convention has nothing to do with this case, Your Honor! This case is about manslaughter. That’s all. I—”
“Sustained,” Judge Wiggins said. “Mr. Wolff, please limit your comments to the case before the court.”
“Yes, sir,” he said. “Lieutenant Kent Rathman, an active duty naval officer and a cowboy of a Special Operations operative, has violated the letter and the spirit of the law, but is not being charged with a violation of the Geneva Convention.” He paused. “His charge is manslaughter—the wrongful, or negligent, killing of another. He knew that torturing the man that died was wrong.” He looked at the jurors. “And he did it anyway.
“The evidence will show that Rathman intentionally tortured a man by the name of Mazmin. He tortured him by pouring water into his mouth and nose until he couldn’t breathe—until he sucked the water into his lungs and stomach, until he fought desperately for breath and ultimately vomited and sucked the vomit into his lungs.” Wolff looked outraged. “Mr. Rathman saw it all. He was poised over Mazmin, who was being held down by other CIA operatives. The vomit caused a raging infection that the best medicine and a naval surgeon couldn’t stop. At the conclusion of the evidence there will be no doubt that Kent Rathman is guilty as charged.” He looked at each juror to convey his seriousness and assess theirs, then sat down. His dark suit hid the perspiration under his arms.
Judge Wiggins looked at the jury. “Counsel for the defendant has chosen to defer his opening statement.” The jury looked confused. They couldn’t imagine why it would be to the advantage of the defendant to wait to tell them his side of the story but they were willing to wait. “Mr. Wolff, call your first witness.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. United States calls Captain Tim Satterly.”
Satterly walked into the courtroom quickly, with authority. He tried to control the look of triumph and enthusiasm on his face.
Rat watched him walk to the front of the courtroom. He could tell Satterly was proud of the four stripes on his uniform, the uniform of a Navy captain; much more impressive than the two stripes on Rat’s shoulder boards. But Rat had little regard for restricted line officers, the lawyers, the doctors, the supply pukes that made up the support structure of the Navy. They weren’t unrestricted line officers and didn’t have warfare specialties; they couldn’t command anything or anyone in combat. He wished he could explain the difference to the jury.
Dr. Tim Satterly looked around the courtroom, impressed by the security, the mahogany, and the integrity of the court that he knew would, with his help, convict Kent Rathman and sentence him to prison. He looked at Rathman and tried not to frown. He also did not look away. He could tell that Rathman wanted to rip his heart out, but he knew Rathman couldn’t touch him. He was going to be held accountable for what he had done, and Satterly thought that was appropriate and necessary.
He climbed into the witness stand and sat down. He was sworn in. After asking him preliminary questions, Wolff got right to the point. “Dr. Satterly, you were the head surgeon on the Belleau Wood when Wahamed Duar was captured. Correct?”
“That’s right,” Satterly said proudly.
“The individuals who participated in the raid did not launch from the Belleau Wood, did they?”
“No, they did not.”
“So you had never met Lieutenant Kent Rathman, also known as Rat, before their raid was concluded. Is that right?”
“That’s correct.”
“Had you formed any opinion about Kent Rathman in some way other than meeting him before the raid?”
“No. I had never heard of him.”
“Do you remember the day the raid occurred?”
“Very well.” Satterly was trying to look extremely serious. Rat thought he just looked mean and vindictive.
“Were you on the Belleau Wood when the raiding team came aboard after the raid with two prisoners?”
Skyles jumped in. “Prisoners? I object, Your Honor! They were not prisoners, and not entitled to any protection afforded a prisoner. That is one of the ultimate questions for the jury. They were captured terrorists.”
“Overruled.”
“Did you personally see and examine the two prisoners?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Do you remember a gentleman by the name of Mazmin?”
Skyles leaped to his feet. “Your Honor, I object to a mass murdering terrorist being called a gentleman. That is argumentative. If he wants to ask a question like ‘Do you remember the mass murderer named Mazmin—‘ “
The judge showed his teeth in a barely restrained attempt to control his anger. “Mr. Skyles, if you have an objection, make it. I don’t want to hear any speeches and argument through objection.”
Skyles replied, “Very well then. Objection, argumentative.”
“Overruled.”
Wolff looked at Satterly. “You may answer the question.”
“Yes, I do remember the gentleman named Mr. Mazmin very well.”
“How did you first encounter him?”
“He was one of the two men captured in the raid. They brought him down to sick bay because he was not feeling well.”
“Did you treat him aboard the Belleau Wood?”
“Yes, we did. I was in charge of his treatment.”
“I take it ultimately he died. Is that right?”
Satterly nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“What did he die from?”
“Pneumonia.”
“Was that unusual?”
“You see pneumonia now and then, but it is unusual to have such a raging case that kills you so quickly, and from vomit in the upper lobes.”
“How do you know he died from pneumonia?”
Satterly sat up straighter in the chair. “After his death I performed an autopsy. I found terribly infected lungs, with food particles in his lungs.”
“What conclusion did you draw from the foreign objects in his lungs?”
“That the infection was probably caused by vomiting that was then aspirated, breathed into his lungs.”
“Have you ever seen anything like that before?” Wolff asked.
“I’ve seen people aspirate vomit before, but never like this, never with a huge volume of water, and an immediate infection in the upper lobes. I think the food had been recently consumed and carried some aggressive bacteria directly into his lungs.”
“Do you have an opinion as to how someone could have food in his lungs?”
Skyles rose quickly. “Objection, Your Honor! This calls for expert witness testimony. United States has not designated any experts for medical opinions on the cause of death of Mr. Mazmin.”
“Overruled.”
“But—”
“Overruled!”
Skyles sat down in apparent frustration.
“What is your opinion?” Wolff asked.
“It would take just the right combination of vomiting and angle and desperate breathing to force the food down i
nto the lungs. You might see it in someone who has consumed too much alcohol and drowns in his own vomit, although his breathing would probably be shallow, not the desperate breathing of someone who is being deprived of his life’s breath. This food was throughout his lungs. He was gasping for breath. Other than that, I can’t imagine how you would do it . . . other than how Mr. Rathman did it to Mr. Mazmin.”
As Skyles rose the judge ruled without him. “Strike the last sentence of his testimony.” Judge Graham turned to the jury. “You will ignore his last sentence.”
“Did you have an opportunity to speak with Mr. Mazmin before he died?”
“I did,” Satterly said quietly, to make sure everyone in the room knew they were now getting to the heart of his testimony. “Several times.”
“What did he tell you?”
“Objection! Hearsay.” Skyles said from his chair.
“Sustained.”
Wolff looked up at the judge, surprised, as if every ruling was supposed to be in his favor. “These are dying declarations, Your Honor.”
“Then lay a foundation that the witness was dying, and we’ll see about the hearsay.”
“When Mr. Mazmin said these things to you, what was his condition?”
Satterly had picked up on the judge’s hint. “He was in deep distress. He had a temperature of a hundred and four. His pneumonia was bad, and he was declining. When he confirmed these things to me, he was clearly dying, and knew it. He knew it because I told him so. The last time he told me these things was about two hours before his death.”
“Would you say that he told you these things when he was dying?”
“Without a doubt.”
“What did he tell you?”
Satterly looked at Rat and paused for several seconds. He looked back at Wolff. “He told me that he had been tortured. He had been forced to lie down on a table on the floor. Several men pinned him down and water was poured into his nose and mouth until he couldn’t breathe. When he tried to breathe he inhaled the water. He’d put so much water in his stomach that he threw up and sucked the food into his lungs with more water. He said he had never been more scared in his life. He was literally drowning.”
Secret Justice Page 28
