Treason

by Don Brown

  Zack let her comments sink in for a moment as they jogged. He didn’t have long to think; a woman running toward them on the beach broke his concentration. He frowned. “Is that Sally? Looks like she’s trying to flag us down.”

  “If it’s her, I’m surprised she’s up this early.”

  “Zack. Marianne!” Sally’s voice was barely audible over the sound of the wind and surf.

  Marianne kicked her jog into a sprint, prompting Zack to follow. A moment later, they met Sally at the edge of the surf, just a few hundred yards down the beach from the compound.

  “Zack, you’ve got an urgent phone call from San Diego,” Sally panted. “Call your commanding officer right away.”

  “Now?” Zack checked his watch, trying to catch his breath. “It’s four in the morning out there.”

  “He called the compound thirty minutes ago. He said to get back to him as soon as I found you.” She handed him her cell phone.

  Zack wiped the sweat from his forehead and took another deep breath. He flipped open the phone and punched in the number for Captain Rudy’s personal cell phone. After a couple of rings, he heard the voice of his commanding officer answer.

  “Mornin’, Skipper,” Zack said. “Sorry to call so early.”

  “No problem, Zack.” The normally affable Rudy spoke in an urgent, businesslike tone. “Look, Zack. I know we sent you out there for ten days on sort of a diplomatic mission, but something’s come up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’ve got a high-profile case we need you to get back for. The Marines have a C-130 ready to bring you home just as soon as you can make it over to Beaufort. I hate to interrupt your vacation, Zack, but I need you to pack and get over to MCAS Beaufort this morning. Senator Fowler’s already been briefed on your change of plans, and I’ll brief you fully this afternoon.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain. I’m on my way, sir.”

  “Good. Report to me as soon as you get back to base.” The line went dead.

  Zack flipped the phone closed and shot a half smile at Marianne and Sally. “Well, ladies, it’s been a great fourteen hours, but I’ve just been ordered back to San Diego.”

  “What?” Marianne’s tone reflected her surprise and disappointment.

  “Some sort of high-profile case. That’s all I know.”

  They walked through a shallow dip to the other side of the dunes, breaking into the open in full view of the compound a moment later. Roberson Fowler was sitting on the back patio, wearing a flowered Hawaiian shirt and white trousers, sipping a bloody Mary. “Well, now.

  Seems I’m not the only Washington politician you’ve impressed, Lieutenant. I just got a call from Mack Williams.”

  “Mack Williams, the president?”

  “One and the same.”

  Zack exchanged glances with Marianne. She looked as bewildered as he felt.

  “Seems like ol’ Mack’s been watching you on TV, and he likes what he saw.”

  “My commanding officer said something about a high-profile case.”

  “The president briefed me this morning. The Navy arrested three Muslim chaplains and charged them with treason and murder. High-profile stuff. Seems like you’re the lucky prosecutor, son.”

  Zack was too stunned to speak for a moment. Finally, he said, “Senator, I very much appreciate your hospitality—and your kind offer—but unfortunately, I’ve got to hit the shower and then get back over to Beaufort.”

  Kind offer? More like life-changing offer. And how could he make such a decision within the next few minutes? His mind was racing. Any rational man would ask for more time. Even the high-profile case paled in comparison. Besides, he wanted this chance so much he could taste it. An opportunity like this might not come his way again.

  “I understand why you’ve got to go. When the commander in chief calls, a good officer must respond.” The senator blew a puff of premium cigar smoke into the early morning salt breeze. The scent of sweet tobacco reminded Zack of his grandfather’s cigars many years ago.

  “It seems the president is bringing your decision about the seat in Congress to a head a few days early.” Fowler took another puff, studying Zack’s face and seeming pleased with what he saw. “What do you say, Lieutenant? A victory in another high-profile case would be a perfect backdrop for a press conference announcing your candidacy thirty days from now.” He paused as another puff of sweet smoke drifted toward Zack. “The prize is yours for the taking, son.”

  Zack’s eyes caught Sally’s, then Marianne’s. They were both nodding their heads in the bright morning sun. It was now or never. How can I say no?

  “Okay, Senator. I’m your man.”

  Fowler’s eyebrows rose; his smile widened.

  “You’ve got a deal.” Zack grinned. “I’ll run.”

  “Well, now.” Fowler rose from his chair. “That’s my boy.” He extended his hand and took Zack’s in a hearty shake.

  “Thank you, Senator.”

  “Congressman Brewer.” Fowler reached for his bloody Mary, gave it a stir with the stalk of celery, and took a sip. “Got a nice ring to it!”

  “I can drive you to Beaufort, Congressman.” Marianne beamed.

  Zack chuckled. The weight he’d been carrying since the offer was made suddenly lifted. “Thanks. That would be nice.”

  “Sally and I have some Senate business to attend to this morning, so this may be the last time I see you for now.” Fowler grasped Zack’s hand again and gave him another warm shake. “As soon as the trial is over, we formally announce your candidacy.”

  “Thank you, Senator.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Fifteen minutes’ flight time from North Island Naval Air Station

  Coronado, California

  Lieutenant, we’re fifteen minutes from North Island,” the first officer, a Marine Corps first lieutenant, called over the roar of the C-130’s four big propellers. “Captain says go ahead and strap in.”

  Zack, sitting in the canvas jump seat behind the cabin, fastened his belt. “Thanks, Lieutenant.” He leaned back and closed his eyes in a last-minute attempt to catch a snooze. This proved useless when his ears started popping on descent. Plus his mind was too numb from the last twenty-four hours. A congressional seat? A treason trial? The president watching him on television? What was going on?

  The bump of the plane’s wheels as they skipped against the long concrete runway at the North Island Naval Air Station brought with it a strange feeling of peace.

  He was home, at least, if nothing else.

  When the C-130 rolled to a stop, Zack waited for the Navy ground crew to wheel the portable ladder across the tarmac. Then he stepped out into the irresistible, balmy Southern California sunshine and inhaled the glorious Pacific breeze before descending the ladder.

  “Welcome home, Lieutenant,” he heard as he stepped off the ladder.

  He glanced up at the senior trial counsel, Commander Bob Awe, and shot him a salute. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

  “The skipper asked me to drive you to the station—and brief you on the way.”

  “Thanks, Commander.” Zack followed Awe to the white Dodge Reliant with U.S. government plates.

  “NCIS has arrested three U.S. Navy chaplains,” Awe said as soon as they were in the car. “All three are Muslim. Intercepted communications linking them to the murder of the Israeli ambassador, an attack on a church here in San Diego, and the sabotage of an F/A-18 Super Hornet flying out of Virginia Beach. They’ve been in custody eighty days, which means we may have a speedy-trial problem. To make matters worse, both Naval Intelligence and the CIA report more attacks may be planned, but we don’t know when, where, or how. And we’re very concerned about more radical Muslim infiltration of the Navy. So this prosecution is crucial to the national security. The president saw you on television during the Blount trial, and you’ve got the job.”

  Zack let the information sink in, glancing at the glistening high-rises of downtown San Diego, then at the eighteen p
iers of the 32nd Naval Station that stretched several miles along the waterfront. “Detailed defense counsel?”

  “There’s a Lieutenant Sulik out of Norfolk, a Marine captain, Captain Blanzy, out of Pendleton, and Lieutenant Melesky from here in San Diego.”

  Thank goodness Colcernian’s not involved.

  The car swung right onto Harbor Drive and headed to the main gate of the naval station.

  “And we’re prosecuting them all in the same action?”

  “Yes, we have to because of speedy-trial considerations and because of the conspiracy charge.” Awe returned a salute from the enlisted security guard at the main gate.

  “Who’s the convening authority?”

  “The chief of naval operations.”

  “I’ve never heard of the CNO convening a general court-marital.”

  “I haven’t either, and I’ve been in the JAG Corps twenty-five years. They considered the chief of chaplains, but apparently rejected the idea for political reasons.”

  “Political reasons?”

  “They didn’t want the chief of chaplains to come across as looking anti-Muslim.”

  “What’s CNO looking for in this case, sir?”

  Awe steered the Reliant into the reserved parking space outside the Trial Command offices. He cut the engine, then turned to look directly at Zack.

  “The death penalty.”

  For a moment, Zack was at a loss for words. When he could speak again, he said, “Commander, we haven’t had a death-penalty case in the military since World War II. The execution of Private Slovick, I believe.”

  “Actually, the last military execution was 1961. The Army continued executing after the war. But it’s been so long we’re practically on virgin territory here. You’ve got your work cut out for you. Let’s go see the captain.”

  “Bob, Zack, come on in.” Captain Glen Rudy stood as Zack and Awe arrived.

  Zack stepped into his office and saw a familiar face from years past.

  “Zack, you remember Captain Guy?”

  “From my Justice School days. Good to see you again, sir.”

  “You, too, Lieutenant,” David Guy said.

  “Captain Guy is now the JAG for AIRLANT,” Rudy said, “and helped break open this treason case. He’s going to brief you and make his files available to you, Zack, to assist in your case preparation. Why don’t you gentlemen have a seat?” Rudy took a swig of coffee and looked over at Guy as they sat down. “Dave, want to start with an overview?”

  “By all means.” David Guy glanced at Zack. “You look bushed, Lieutenant. Want some coffee before we start?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m operating on forty-eight hours with no sleep.”

  Rudy gestured to his legalman chief, who was outside in the secretary’s office, to come in. A moment later, the chief brought Zack a mug of steaming black coffee. Just a couple of sips gave Zack the caffeine jolt he needed.

  “Several years ago,” Captain Guy began, “the Navy, under threat of litigation by a civil rights organization, admitted five Muslim imams into the Chaplain Corps. Now it seems at least three of the five chaplains are of a radical Islamic sect, backed by an international terrorist group known as the Council of Ishmael.

  “They’ve encouraged violence within the service by sailors they’ve recruited into their faith. The target of their hate is the ‘apostate nation of Israel,’ which they say is ‘an anathema to the great Muslim faith.’ In their opinion, nations that aid Israel oppose Allah. Their secondary theme opposes ‘religious intolerance’ in the Navy, particularly among sailors in Christian Bible studies. They claim these groups tout Christianity as supreme over Islam.

  “One convert, a Petty Officer Neptune, launched a grenade attack against sailors and civilians in one such Bible study.”

  Zack leaned forward. “The grenade attack in Lemon Grove that was all over the news?”

  “The same.” Captain Rudy nodded.

  “Another sailor”—Captain Guy stopped for a swig of coffee—“egged on by a chaplain in Virginia Beach, sabotaged an F/A-18 before their squadron left for the Mediterranean to provide military support to Israel. A third, attached to the Marine base at Camp Pendleton, encouraged one of his converts to open fire on the Israeli ambassador. This was the incident that garnered most of the international attention. And frankly, the international pressure being brought by the Israelis and the possibility of another attack are what make the stakes so high. The Israelis expect a conviction, and the president wants a conviction to show the terrorists we mean business.”

  “Unbelievable.” Zack shook his head, suddenly wondering how he could have secret political aspirations with the national security on the line, and with the president personally tapping him to help defend it. No JAG officer in history had ever been personally requested by the president to prosecute a court-martial.

  “The NCIS in Norfolk, working closely with our legal staff at COM-NAVAIRLANT, broke this case open. Since then, a debate has raged in Washington over whether the Navy or the Justice Department should prosecute. Ultimately, the president decided this is a military matter, more specifically a Navy matter.

  “The president ordered the judge advocate general of the Navy to find a prosecutor.”

  Captain Guy paused, meeting Zack’s eyes with a piercing gaze. “You are that prosecutor, Lieutenant. Your assignment is to prosecute the three Islamic chaplains for conspiracy to commit treason against the United States and conspiracy to commit murder. And to secure a sentence of death.”

  Goose bumps crept up Zack’s arms and neck as Captain Guy’s piercing gaze focused on him.

  “I want you to understand,” Guy continued, “that anything short of a death sentence could imperil the national security. The president believes, as does the secretary of defense and the director of the CIA, that a successful prosecution, conviction, and execution must be accomplished to send a strong, clear message that the military justice system will prosecute and swiftly punish terrorists, and ours will be a zero-tolerance policy for terrorists in the military.”

  Captain Guy bore his eyes into Zack. For the first time in years, Zack, who counted on his usual abundance of self-confidence, felt butterflies in his stomach.

  “Put another way,” Guy said, obviously not finished with his lecture, “if you don’t get the death penalty for us, or worse still, if you lose this case, you send the message that the United States Military is a benign playground for murdering terrorists who may seek to get their hands on the most powerful weapons on the face of the earth. Terrorists hijacking airplanes is bad enough. If you think 9/11 was bad for this country, Lieutenant Brewer, you can’t imagine the terror that could rain down on America if they infiltrate our military and influence the use of weapons of mass destruction.”

  Captain Rudy leaned forward, arms on his desk, his expression somber. “Nothing will be spared to you in the planning for this case. Any assistance you want, technical or personnel wise, will be made available to you. This is the most important court-martial in well over a century. I don’t mean to put on the pressure, son, but we cannot lose this one. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’ve got a speedy-trial problem,” Guy added. “These chaplains have been in confinement more than eighty days already. In ninety days they walk. So you have to get ready quickly, effectively prosecute these traitors on a very short notice.”

  “Understood, sir.” The butterflies in Zack’s stomach turned into a swarm of hornets.

  “Captain Guy will give you the file. Your orders are to take it to your office, thoroughly familiarize yourself with it, and have the case ready for prosecution by the end of the week.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “You are dismissed, Lieutenant.”

  CHAPTER 49

  Lieutenant Zack Brewer’s office

  Navy Trial Command

  Building 73

  32nd Street Naval Station

  San Diego

  Zack leaned back in the go
vernment-issued swivel chair behind his desk and thumbed through the photographs of the three U.S. Navy chaplains, now defendants facing a general court-martial.

  In the color mug shots wearing their khaki uniforms, they looked normal. Dark complexions with black hair, they could pass for any of the dozens of other naval officers he would see before the end of a day.

  Who could pick evil from the crowd when evil looked so ordinary?

  He tossed the photos on his desk and picked up the NCIS report for the third time. He tried concentrating, but felt his eyes drooping from fatigue. A huge swig of black coffee remedied that for the moment, and he refocused on the first page again.

  On paper, the evidence looked solid. The bust started with the tape-recorded conversations intercepted by Special Agent Harry Kilnap, which led to a search warrant by a federal magistrate and then federal court orders authorizing phone tapping of the private, home telephone lines of all three chaplains.

  Reska, Olajuwon, and Abdul-Sehen had all acknowledged their roles in the three attacks. Transcripts of intercepted phone calls showed all three had advance knowledge of the shooting of the Israeli ambassador, the downing of the jet, and the grenade attack at the church in Lemon Grove. All were involved in planning the murder of Petty Officer Sulay-man al-Aziz, who was himself a murderer.

  NCIS had done its job. The evidence seemed airtight, at least on paper. That, in and of itself, was worrisome.

  What was missing?

  Zack rubbed his eyes, then dropped the file and pivoted his chair 180 degrees so that he faced the sparkling waters of San Diego Bay.

  Congressman Brewer? His dream was about to become a reality. This view of the bay, this naval base, this career in the Navy would soon be behind him. And now he had the opportunity to go out in a blaze of glory. Why did the old sense of uneasiness refuse to leave his heart and mind?