Secret Justice

by James W. Huston

  “That’s right.”

  “And a firefight ensued.”

  Groomer took a deep breath. “Well, it wasn’t that we just walked in and started shooting. We walked in identifying ourselves as Sudanese Army—actually Rat did the talking—just so we could get into the room without being shot.”

  “Rat being a name often used by Lieutenant Rathman?”

  “Right.”

  “Go on.”

  “Once there, we identified ourselves as Americans and told them not to resist, to put their hands up and no one would be hurt.” He stopped. “What in particular do you want to know about?”

  Wolff said gratuitously, “I would have been happy to tell you if you had returned my calls or agreed to talk to me about your testimony prior to the trial.”

  Groomer’s eyes narrowed. “In my experience, talking to attorneys you don’t know is usually not a good idea.”

  The jury smiled.

  Wolff was not amused. “During the firefight with Duar’s men several of them were killed. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were any Americans injured?”

  “One was killed.”

  “And how many were left at the end?”

  “That fellow Mazmin and another guy . . .” Groomer looked up at the judge. “Am I allowed to talk about him?”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Groomer nodded. “A guy from another country and Mazmin. We knew Duar had to be nearby. He was there when we arrived, so he had to be close.”

  “Shortly after the fight, you saw Mazmin put on the table in that room. Correct?”

  “I saw him lying on a table.”

  “Do you claim to not know how he got on the table?”

  “I assumed he was injured.”

  Wolff stared at Groomer for several seconds. “Do you have any evidence that he was injured?”

  “Sure. He was lying on that table, and everybody that wasn’t injured was standing up.”

  “You saw Lieutenant Rathman near him on that table. Correct?”

  Groomer hesitated. “Yes, I did.”

  Wolff relaxed. He could see Groomer’s internal debate. “And you saw Rathman pouring water into Mazmin’s mouth and nose in an attempt to force him to give out information. Correct?”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  Wolff looked up quickly from his notes at Groomer. “You saw Lieutenant Rathman kneeling next to Mazmin. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he had a cup of water in his hands. Correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  Skyles stood. “He’s leading the witness, Your Honor.”

  Wolff replied, “He’s an adverse witness, Your Honor.”

  Judge Wiggins said, “I agree. Continue.”

  “And Lieutenant Rathman poured water into Mazmin’s nose and mouth. Right?”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “Do you deny that Rathman took water from a bucket in cups and poured them into Mazmin’s nose and mouth in an attempt to torture him?”

  “I just don’t know. I saw him giving Mazmin a drink. I figured the guy was injured and needed water. That’s all I saw.”

  “Do you deny that Lieutenant Rathman tortured Mazmin to get information from him?”

  “I’m just telling you what I saw. I saw him give Mazmin a drink.”

  Wolff was growing frustrated. “After he gave Mazmin a drink Rathman suddenly knew where Duar was hiding. Right?”

  “I assume so. They were speaking Arabic. I don’t speak Arabic.”

  “Didn’t you think it was strange that Rathman suddenly knew where Duar was, whereas before he had no idea?”

  “No. I figured Mazmin had told him. I figured he was grateful.”

  “Grateful?” Wolff choked.

  “Sure. He had just killed Nubs,” Groomer said angrily. “One of our men. Shot him in the face. Rat was about to return the fire when Mazmin threw down his weapon. Rat didn’t shoot. He could have. He could have shot the guy instantly. I don’t know how he didn’t. I would have. We’re talking a matter of one second, maybe two. But Rat held his fire. Lowered his weapon. He was furious. We all were. Nubs had a wife and a little boy. Then Rat gives this guy a drink of water. So yeah, I thought maybe the guy was grateful.” Groomer stared into Wolff’s eyes.

  Wolff tried to back out. “You are a friend of Rathman’s. Are you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “You would lie for him, wouldn’t you?”

  “It would depend. In our position in the CIA currently, and before that in the Navy counterterrorism team Dev Group, we’re called on to do a lot of things. It would depend on the circumstances.”

  “In fact, you just did. You just sat on this witness stand and lied for your friend Kent Rathman, also known as Rat. True?”

  Skyles rose slowly. “The question is argumentative and unduly confrontational.”

  “Sustained.”

  “No further questions.” Wolff returned to his seat, frustrated.

  Skyles stood and crossed to the podium with a small smile on his face. “I have no questions, Your Honor.”

  * * *

  The Director of the CIA had arranged the briefing at twelve-thirty. The entire National Security Council was there. The President was in a foul temper and Sarah St. James felt exposed. She was concerned when she heard that Rat was giving the brief because she had not received a report from him on what he was going to talk about. She would hear it for the first time as he spoke, just like everyone else in the room. She didn’t like learning with everyone else. She liked to be ahead of the game.

  Rat stood at the head of the table with a screen behind him. He held the computer’s infrared remote in his hand. Russell had prepared the briefing slides for him. He had reviewed them on a laptop in the back of the limo from Justice to the White House as Jacobs sat next to him.

  Stewart Woods, the Director of Central Intelligence, said, “Mr. President, we have a situation developing, and we see enough things coming together that we think something is about to happen. I’d like to tell you what we know. Rather than pass it through several hands I thought you should hear it from the person who knows the most. Since he is currently working for the Agency, I asked him to brief you directly. Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. President. I am Lieutenant Rathman, and today’s brief is classified Top Secret—”

  Kendrick immediately recognized his name and stared at him coldly. “Aren’t you the one on trial?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “For torturing that terrorist.”

  Rat winced. “That’s the charge, yes, sir. Manslaughter, actually.”

  Kendrick shook his head and looked at Woods, displeased. “Go on.”

  “We believe that Wahamed Duar’s organization is still operating. We believe—”

  “Isn’t he in custody on a Navy ship?” Kendrick asked. “Isn’t he on trial too?”

  “Yes, sir, but others are still operating. And some of them are in the Pankisi gorge region of Georgia. John Johnson of the NSA tracked them there through Internet traffic, and when we went there at the request of Georgia, they told us they believe Duar’s people are in the gorge.

  “Why would they be there?” Rat brought up the first slide. It was a picture of a Russian RTG. He summarized all he knew, most of which they had heard, from the Pankisi gorge to the Tbilisi switching containers and men in Liberia.

  Kendrick was deeply concerned. “Do we have a position on the ship?”

  “The last position we had was from the radio call to the Liberian International Shipping Company. Since then, nothing. Here is a photograph of the container ship, the M/V Monrovian Prince. We have good information on her radar suite, communications suite, and other electronic identifiers. Since that radio call, though, the ship has gone total EMCON. Electronically silent. They have shut down their radars, radios, everything. We have no way of tracking her from our satellites.”

  President Kendri
ck was growing frustrated. “Can’t any of the photographic satellites track it?”

  Stewart Woods shook his head. “Not really, sir, no. That would be sort of like trying to spot the flea on your carpet with a laser pointer in the dark. It can be done, but it’s not very likely. We have some other satellite assets that may allow us to find it, but there is an awful lot of shipping crossing the Atlantic, and it’s extremely difficult to pick one ship out of the others without an electronic signal.”

  “Can you pick out the one that doesn’t have an electronic signal?”

  “That’s possible, but also not easy. Believe me, we’re working the problem; I’m just telling you that I don’t have a great deal of confidence that we can track the ship right now.”

  “What about the Navy? Have you asked them to help?”

  “Yes, sir. Unfortunately there is no Navy ship within eight hundred miles of the last known location. It would take them days to steam to that location, and then try to catch up with the ship, or guess where it is en route. They can try to cut it off, and that’s what they’re trying to do. They have sent the closest destroyer to try and find it. But it won’t be easy.”

  Sarah St. James asked Rat, “What do you think they are planning?”

  “We know they have access to C4. I think it’s likely they’re going to pull into Jacksonville on schedule and set off the explosives, sending radioactive material all over the city. A quick and cheap dirty bomb. It would take years, if not decades, and billions of dollars to clean up the city. It may or may not kill a lot of people, depending on how much radioactive material they have and how close the people are.”

  Kendrick was furious at the idea of a ship with terrorists aboard heading toward the United States and United States intelligence and the military being unable to tell him where it was. “This ship is huge. Are you telling me we can’t find it?”

  “Not easily, sir.”

  “Stewart, what do you suggest?”

  “We need to use every tool at our disposal to find this ship as soon as possible.”

  “What do we tell Jacksonville? Do we evacuate the city? Do we tell them terrorists are inbound? Do we wait until the day before the ship is scheduled to arrive and see if we’ve intercepted it? Do we put up a blockade? Howard, what do you think?”

  Stuntz had been waiting to be asked. “This is a very serious threat, Mr. President. I would like your permission to sink the ship. I’d like to send out every submarine on the East Coast, sortie every carrier, and inspect every ship that comes within two hundred miles of the United States. If we find the ship, sink it.”

  “Anybody disagree?” Kendrick asked.

  No one spoke. St. James thought, then said, “If Duar’s men are aboard that ship, which seems likely, aren’t there other, innocent sailors aboard? If we sink the ship, won’t they be killed?”

  “Tough shit,” Stuntz said. “We can’t risk the lives of an entire city for a few sailors that are being held hostage.”

  “I guess I’m wondering if we can do something other than sinking the ship. Disable it, or stop it.”

  The members of the National Security Council sat silently. They stared at the photograph of the container ship with its massive cranes fore and aft and the details of its construction and performance at the bottom.

  Kendrick spoke. “Send the Navy out in full force, Howard. Everything they can send to find this ship. No permission yet to sink it. Find it first, put a couple of warships around it, and we’ll decide then what to do about it.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  * * *

  The captain of the Monrovian Prince stood on the air-conditioned bridge and looked through his large binoculars at what he thought was a light on the horizon. They hadn’t seen another ship in more than two days. He wanted to make sure that they didn’t have a collision. Hotary’s restriction that they leave the radar off made him feel like a blind man in a dark room hoping not to run into anyone. Although the sun had set three hours before and the moon had not yet risen, the stars were bright enough to illuminate the smooth Atlantic. The swells were minimal and the sea was gloriously flat as the Prince glided through the water at twelve knots.

  Tayseer Hotary stood just outside the door to the bridge, his presence unknown to the crew. He watched the captain and the other members of the crew on the bridge. He looked behind him at six of his men, who had opened one of their containers and retrieved a case of AK-47 assault rifles. They stood with their backs against the bulkhead, weapons ready. They all gave him nearly imperceptible nods.

  Hotary pulled the door open and walked onto the bridge with great confidence. He glanced around at the men there who looked at him with annoyance. He walked to the captain and stood beside him. “See anything?”

  The captain did not even put down his binoculars. He immediately recognized Hotary’s voice. “I told you I did not want to see you on the bridge ever again.”

  Hotary waited. “Why would what you say matter to me?”

  The captain lowered the glasses angrily. “Because I am the captain of the ship.”

  “I am the captain now.”

  The captain looked for others on the bridge to be ready to remove Hotary forcefully. “Leave the bridge now.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “You will, or I’ll have you thrown off the bridge.”

  One of the sailors who could hear the captain began moving to stand behind Hotary. Hotary knew he was there, but didn’t care. “I have done additional calculations. We need to increase our speed from twelve knots to the maximum sustainable speed of the ship.”

  “That is twelve knots.”

  “No. It is not. It is sixteen knots.”

  “Going to sixteen knots in the open ocean with this top-heavy load would be too dangerous.”

  “Not if the ship is handled properly. The ocean is calm. Call the engine room and tell them to increase speed to sixteen knots.”

  “I will not.”

  “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but I expected it would at some point. Please get on the public address system for the ship and tell your men to assemble in the mess deck. All of them. Including those in engineering, those on watch, every man on the ship. They must assemble in the mess deck in ten minutes. Make the announcement.”

  “I will not—”

  Hotary raised his hand as the captain was finishing his sentence. Hotary’s men rushed onto the bridge with their rifles and pointed them at everyone standing there. “You will.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  Hotary shrugged. “Then I’ll have you shot, and I’ll throw your body into the sea.”

  The captain raged inside but saw no options. He crossed to the back of the bridge and picked up the public address microphone. “All hands to the mess deck in ten minutes. Including those on watch, including those in engineering. All hands to the mess deck in ten minutes.” He released the button on the microphone and slammed it back into his receiver.

  Hotary spoke to his men in Arabic. He ordered two of them to escort the men from the bridge to the mess deck below. Two other men threw the slings from their rifles over their heads and took control of the ship. Hotary crossed to the navigation table and checked the chart. He saw the course line leading from their current position to Jacksonville, Florida, their supposed destination. He calculated a new heading to a point farther north and turned to the new helmsman. “Set a course of three-zero-five.”

  His helmsman turned the wheel gently to the right until the large ship started to come around. The helmsman replied to Hotary, “Three-zero-five.”

  Hotary nodded. “Set sixteen knots.” The bridge phone rang. He picked up. It was one of his men on the mess deck. “They’re all in a secure room on the second deck. We have locked the room.”

  “Excellent. Meet us on the deck outside by the forward crane.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  Hotary and the other men from the bridge hurried down to the crane. Th
e floodlights from the bridge pointed forward and illuminated the crane and the containers stacked up on the deck in front of the bridge. Hotary waited patiently as his men ran from the mess deck up to the crane. Finally they were all there. He searched for the man who was critical to the next step and saw him in the back. “Get into the crane.”

  The man handed his rifle to the man standing next to him and scrambled up into the cockpit to operate the crane. The large white crane extended into the black sky like a monument. The motor for operating the crane began to hum as the operator familiarized himself with the controls. The crane swiveled and jerked and the cables came slowly to the deck.

  Two men climbed on top of the nearest container and hooked the cables to the four corners. The crane operator moved his levers carefully and the cables were drawn tight to just where the container would be lifted off the deck. One of Hotary’s men came forward with two backpacks of equipment. Hotary nodded to him and he took out C4 plastic explosive and placed small silver-dollar-sized pieces in four places on either side of the container at its bottom. He hooked up detonators to each of the four spots and retreated behind another container as everyone else sought equivalent shelter. He pressed the electronic trigger and the small explosions cracked in the quiet night, blowing four holes in the container.

  Hotary gave the signal to the crane operator, who quickly hauled the container into the dark sky, swung it over the side of the ship and dropped it into the ocean. It hit with a large splash, nearly pitched over, but settled onto its bottom as the ship raced away. Water began to fill the container through the new holes as it disappeared behind the ship.

  Two men climbed on top of the next container and quickly hooked up the four cables again. They completed the same process as on the first, only quicker, and it too was dumped into the ocean. They went to the third, and fourth, and every container on the deck in quick succession.

  A second team manned the crane aft of the superstructure and dropped containers off the port side of the ship with equal skill. The deck was quickly becoming visible as they went from one container to the next, stacked three high, then two, then none as they moved to the next group of containers. They carefully avoided the three containers that had been loaded last, the ones they had brought aboard the ship.