Treason

by Don Brown

  “Yes.” An even calmer pitch.

  “We funded that organization with millions of their dollars, Leader. Remember the day in Zurich when you spoke of meaningless car bombings by our predecessors, which only inflamed the Western Zionist media?”

  “Yes.” Hussein slumped back into his chair, laying the pistol on his desk.

  “Now is the time to breathe life into your vision, Leader, to use their laws against them to advance our cause.”

  Hussein raised an eyebrow. “To provide legal representation to the chaplains through the foundation?”

  “Precisely. We can pay for the finest lawyers in America. Let us explore that option. It was a vision given you by Allah. It is a vision that will work. And besides, we still have chaplains operating who have not been arrested, and I do not believe that the arrest of these three compromises Islamic Glory. These three were not informed of it. That plan is confined to our aviators, at least for the time being.”

  “Yes,” Hussein said calmly. “Yours is the voice of reason, Abdur. What would I do without you?” Hussein walked around his desk and, placing his hands on Abdur’s shoulder’s, kissed him on each cheek. “Coordinate this, Abdur. Do it personally. Do not let me down.”

  “As you wish, Leader. I will leave for Turks and Caicos tomorrow morning.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Navy-Marine Corps Trial Judiciary

  Building 1

  32nd Street Naval Station

  San Diego

  All rise.” Diane’s stomach tightened as the packed gallery rose for Captain Reeves.

  “Be seated.” Judge Reeves hesitated briefly before continuing. “The court finds that the proffer by the defense does violate the spirit, if not the letter, of the rape-shield statute. To that extent, the defense proffer to allow the testimony of these three witnesses is denied.”

  The reaction from the gallery was swift and loud.

  Brewer smiled and rose to his feet, almost shouting above the cacophony. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  “Order!”

  This was not what Diane had expected. The case was over. She slumped in her chair.

  “Order in the court.” Two raps of the gavel quieted the gallery of spectators.

  “However”—Judge Reeves slightly inclined his head to Zack—“the court is also mindful of the defendant’s constitutional right to a speedy and fair trial under the Sixth Amendment of the Constitution. Moreover, the court is concerned about ineffective assistance of counsel and having this case reversed on appeal, in light of defense counsel’s failure to make timely disclosure of these witnesses to the prosecution.

  “Therefore, in an effort to protect the witness’s rights to privacy under the rape-shield statute, and to balance those rights against those of the accused to a fair trial, the court will allow the following. Only one of the three witnesses, of the defense’s choosing, may testify. The testimony of the other two witnesses, which the court deems cumulative, will not be allowed.

  “Furthermore, the defense may ask only general questions to the witness about having dated Ensign Landrieu. No specific acts of promiscuous conduct, if there was any such conduct, shall be allowed. That is the ruling of this court.”

  More mumbling rose from the gallery.

  Two more raps of the gavel followed.

  Diane put her hands on the table, leaned forward, and exhaled. A victory. Or was it? Could she damage the prosecution under Judge Reeves’s restrictions? Calling only one witness? Asking limited questions? Did this make her gamble even riskier?

  She cleared her throat. “Your Honor, the defense requests that the court reconsider its restrictions on the witnesses.”

  Reeves whipped off his glasses and peered at Diane. “If the court is to reconsider anything, Lieutenant Colcernian, the court might change its mind about letting any of these last-minute witnesses testify at all. Under the circumstances, you’re lucky to get one. If you ask me to reconsider, I will. But be forewarned. You might not like the results. Now you can take the court’s ruling, or you can leave it.”

  Diane felt Zack’s glare boring into her back. A grin was undoubtedly there too. She knew him all too well. And she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. “We call Mr. Willie Garrett as our witness on this issue.”

  “Very well,” Reeves said. “Bailiff, call the witness to the stand and then summon the members.”

  A few minutes later, the back door of Courtroom 1 swung open and a muscular young man wearing tight blue jeans, Air-Jordan athletic shoes, and an LSU T-shirt walked in. With a slow, bouncing strut, Garrett walked to the witness stand, was sworn in, and sat down.

  Diane fixed her attention on the witness, hoping to wipe the grin from Zack’s face in short order. “You’re Willie Garrett of Metairie, Louisiana?”

  “That’s me.” Garrett’s voice was low and whispery. He flicked a piece of lint off his sleeve.

  Judge Reeves leaned forward. “Speak up, please.”

  Diane started again. “Mr. Garrett, do you know Ensign Marianne Landrieu?”

  “Oh yeah.” A wide grin flashed across Garrett’s face.

  “Could you tell us how, please?”

  “Me and her. We used to go out.”

  Diane paused, letting his words sink in. “What do you mean, ‘go out’?”

  “Her family is very big in Louisiana, so we had to keep it quiet. Know what I mean?”

  “I’m not sure that I do,” Diane said. “Please explain.”

  “You know. Dating.”

  “You and Ensign Landrieu dated?”

  “When we were in high school and some in college. But yes, we dated.”

  “Why did you keep it quiet?”

  “You know. I was an enlisted Navy SEAL. It might hurt her uncle’s political chances.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You know, they were grooming her for someone with better social standing. Not an enlisted guy, a nobody. My family was on food stamps before I joined the Navy. They still live in the projects. It wasn’t like her family wanted me showing up at cocktail parties or political functions. That sort of thing.”

  “What did Ensign Landrieu think about dating an enlisted guy with your background?”

  “She had no problem with it. Trust me.” He shot her another grin, looking pleased with himself.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She always used to say she had a thing for SEALs.”

  The sustained roar from the gallery brought two raps of Reeves’s gavel, and when that didn’t quiet the crowd, three more. Whap. Whap.

  Whap.

  “Order! Order in the court.”

  Perfect. Leave it there. The roar faded into a dramatic silence. After a moment, Diane smiled. “No further questions.”

  “Cross-examination?” Captain Reeves nodded toward Zack.

  The trim, tanned prosecutor stepped to the podium and shot her a sarcastic grin that made her want to shove him back down into his seat. “Mr. Garrett, how long ago do you claim you and Ensign Landrieu dated?”

  “I don’t claim. It happened.” He flicked lint off the opposite arm.

  “How long, Mr. Garrett?”

  “Maybe about five years.”

  “Five years. And you were both teenagers back then, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And she certainly wasn’t a naval officer back then, was she?”

  “No.”

  “And you never forced her behind a hedgerow in a cold, dark parking lot, did you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And you never assaulted her, did you?”

  Garrett’s dark eyes flashed in anger. “I never assaulted anybody!”

  Zack tossed Diane another inconspicuous, sarcastic smile that only she could see. Then he winked at her before turning back to the judge.

  “I’m done, Your Honor.”

  “Very well. Court will be in recess.”

  “All rise.”

  CHAPTER 35r />
  Law offices of Wellington Levinson

  Wells Fargo Plaza

  Century City

  Los Angeles, California

  Mr. Levinson’s office, Terrie Bearden speaking.” Make this fast, buddy.It’s just about quitting time. Terrie crossed her legs and sipped her freshly opened bottle of Perrier as the caller, a man, introduced himself. “Yes, sir,” she said when he’d finished. “You’re speaking to Mr. Levinson’s lead appointments secretary.”

  The caller rambled about needing the services of the world’s greatest lawyer as Terrie glanced at the digital clock on her desk: five minutes until her workday was over, which meant heading to the gym, trading her high heels for cross trainers, and then commencing a much-needed workout. She would top off her glorious hour of tension-relieving exercise with a refreshing shower and an evening of shopping on Rodeo Drive.

  The fool still babbled on the other end of the phone. If she let him, he might ramble right into her personal time at the gym. If the guy could seriously afford Wells Levinson’s services, that would be different. She would forgo the workout for the 2 percent bonus that Levinson paid her for booking serious clients. But those with the money had been rare recently, and the loonies always tended to call right before quitting time.

  She would go straight for the closer on this one. That would shut him up, just as it had all those other fools who thought they had the biggest case in history.

  “Excuse me, sir.” She interrupted some point about “religious discrimination.” “As you know, Mr. Levinson is the author of two bestselling books, and his services are in great demand. Therefore, our clients make financial arrangements that reflect Mr. Levinson’s unique position in the legal community. We require a seventy-five-thousand-dollar nonrefund-able retainer, paid up front, which entitles the client to a one-hour consultation with Mr. Levinson. This does not guarantee that Mr. Levinson will take your case. If he does decide to take your case, an additional, substantial retainer would be required.”

  Terrie sipped her Perrier, then plucked a Kleenex from the box sitting by the phone and wiped the lipstick from the clear bottle. “I cannot quote what that fee would be. That’s between you and Mr. Levinson. Needless to say, it would be substantial. Do you have any questions about the financial arrangements?” She stopped talking. Usually, this was the point in the sales pitch when callers either backed out or simply hung up.

  The man on the other end of the line didn’t hesitate. “Give us wiring instructions, and the money will be in Mr. Levinson’s account within one hour.”

  Terrie took another sip of Perrier. “And just to repeat, you do understand there’s a seventy-five-thousand-dollar nonrefundable fee for one hour?”

  “I understood you the first time, Ms. Bearden,” the man snapped. “As I said, the money is no problem. Now would you like to discuss wiring instructions? Or should we seek other counsel?”

  This guy is serious. Two percent of seventy-five thousand is fifteen hundred bucks. Forget the gym.

  “I would be pleased to provide those numbers, sir. Please hold.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Office of the Judge Advocate General of the Navy

  The Pentagon

  Arlington, Virginia

  Captain David Guy, wearing his four-stripe dress blues, carried a thick file as he walked swiftly through the corridor connecting the “E” and “D” rings of the Pentagon. When he got to the “D” ring, he turned left and walked about fifty yards, just past the first concentric bend, and found office number D-S 402 on his right. Above the door, the sign read “Judge Advocate General of the Navy.”

  The captain stepped through the doors, announced his presence to the lieutenant manning the front desk, and then was immediately escorted into the office of Rear Admiral Joseph Stumbaugh.

  Stumbaugh stood to greet him. “David, how was your drive up from Norfolk?”

  “Fine, thank you, sir.” David stepped forward to shake his hand. “Ginny and the kids send their best to you and Mrs. Stumbaugh.”

  “Thanks. David, I hate to drag you all the way up here. I know how you hate Washington.” He paused. “You prepared for your briefing?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve got the file. I’m ready when you are, sir.”

  “Actually, there’s been a change of plans.”

  “Sir?”

  “I just got

  “I just got a call from the secretary of the Navy. You and I are due at the White House in one hour.”

  “The White House?” David’s jaw dropped.

  “All they’ve told me is that we are to meet the secretary over there. I don’t know anything else, except that you should be prepared to give a briefing, if asked, on the situation with the sabotaged aircraft.”

  “Any idea who I’m briefing?”

  “Possibly someone on the national security staff. Maybe even the president’s national security advisor if he’s available. That’s all I know. Anyway, my car is waiting at the river entrance. We’d better get going.”

  Stumbaugh pressed a button on his desk. “We’re ready, Kurt.”

  Within seconds, a briefcase-carrying lieutenant commander, the JAG’s senior aide, appeared at the door.

  “Let’s roll.” Stumbaugh stepped to the doorway, and then he and Captain Guy followed the aide back through the corridors. They passed the office of the secretary of defense on their way to the river entrance door, and minutes later, they stepped out into the sunny Washington morning.

  They were greeted by the deafening roar of an airliner on final approach to Reagan National. The aide led the senior officers down the front steps of the building where the JAG’s Lincoln Towncar waited, its hood-mounted, blue and white flags snapping in the breeze.

  Captain Guy and Admiral Stumbaugh accepted salutes from the white-uniformed petty officers stationed at each back door of the car. Per protocol, David waited for the admiral to be seated first, in the rear passenger- side seat, then sat next to him, with the aide taking his seat in front beside the driver.

  “We’ve been told it may take a half hour to clear security, gentlemen.” The aide wheeled the Lincoln onto George Washington Parkway for the short jaunt to Memorial Bridge and then across the Potomac River into the District of Columbia. They turned left off Constitution Avenue onto 17th Street NW just in front of the Washington Monument and skirted the outside perimeter of the South Lawn.

  As they approached the White House, David’s stomach knotted. He had rubbed shoulders with high-ranking flag officers in his career, but he had never been inside the White House. The car slowed, turned right, and immediately halted in front of a small contingent of Marines and uniformed Secret Service personnel carrying M-16s.

  “Admiral.” The Marine captain rendered a sharp salute to the judge advocate general of the Navy. He was wearing a dress blue uniform with white gloves and white cap. “Please accept my apologies, sir, but could you step out of the car, please? Standard security, sir.”

  They exited the car and moved to the South Lawn of the White House, watching dogs and armed men perform their search. After checking their IDs, the Marine led the JAG, his aide, and Captain Guy to a small, high-tech security shack on the perimeter of the South Lawn, where the trio stepped into an X-ray booth.

  When they had been cleared, the Marine stepped toward the JAG.

  “Admiral, if you and your party will follow me, I’ll take you to your meeting, sir.”

  “Lead the way.” Admiral Stumbaugh glanced toward David as they fell in behind the Marine captain.

  The Marine captain led the officers back across the lawn into a small inconspicuous-looking door on the west side of the White House, adjacent to 17th Street. A four-striper Navy captain, sporting a surplus of heavy gold cording on his shoulder, stepped out to meet them.

  The Marine captain saluted. “Sir, presenting Rear Admiral Stum-baugh, Captain Guy, and Lieutenant Commander Foster.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” The Navy captain retuned the junior officer’s sa
lute. “I’ll take it from here. You are dismissed.”

  “Aye, sir.” The Marine captain clicked his heels, pivoted 180 degrees, and walked away. The Navy captain turned to Admiral Stumbaugh and flashed a smart salute to the judge advocate general.

  “Good morning, sir. I’m Captain Jay Hancock, naval attaché to the president.”

  “A pleasure, Captain,” Stumbaugh said, returning the salute. “Naval attaché to the president?”

  “One of the lesser-publicized jobs in the Navy, I suppose.” Hancock shot Stumbaugh an embarrassed grin.

  “Does that mean we are meeting the president this morning?” the JAG asked.

  Hancock nodded. “The president, as you know, is an ex-JAG officer himself, and he is looking forward to meeting you, Admiral. And he is particularly interested in speaking with Captain Guy.”

  David’s heart plunged to the floor. He had barely recovered when Captain Hancock extended his hand. “Jay Hancock. Nice to meet you, Captain Guy.”

  “A pleasure, Captain Hancock.” David swallowed hard and clasped the hand of the naval attaché.

  Hancock’s friendly gray eyes met David’s. “He is really a nice guy. Don’t sweat it.”

  “Reading my mind, Captain?”

  “I was a bit starstruck myself the first time. Everybody gets that way.” Hancock checked his watch, then looked back to Stumbaugh.

  “Please follow me, sir. The commander in chief is running a very tight schedule today.”

  Hancock led the men down an outer hallway and through a large secretarial office past three smiling women. When they reached a large white door, he opened it, stepped inside, and announced, “Mr. President, presenting the Judge Advocate General of the Navy, Captain David Guy, and Lieutenant Commander Kurt Foster.”

  David stepped into an expansive office. At the opposite end of the room, the president stood and paused for a moment behind his desk. There was no mistaking his identity. His presence, even from the distance between them, was commanding. David drew in a deep breath. He was about to shake hands with the president of the United States!