Treason

by Don Brown

  He unraveled his third paper clip of the afternoon, bent it around like a flat tire, and flicked it in the trashcan. Two points! And the Tar Heels have won the national championship.

  Paper clip number four was now a small, straight, rod, waiting to be shaped into a dramatic piece of fine sculpture for all of posterity, when the hand of the sculptor was interrupted by the buzz of his intercom.

  “Yes?”

  “Welcome home, Lieutenant.” The sweet voice of Amy DeBenedetto greeted him.

  “Good to be back, Amy. Thanks.”

  “I hear we’ve got another high-profile case on board.”

  “Word spreads quickly.”

  “I know you’re probably busy, but . . .” There was a hesitation in her voice. “Could I see you for a few minutes?”

  Zack twisted the little rod into an imitation fishing hook before answering.

  “Sure, come on down.”

  A moment later, Amy was at his door. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. It’s a nice surprise.” She gave him an affectionate smile as she sat down across from him.

  “From what I’ve been told, I guess the president had other ideas.”

  “There’s something we need to talk about,” she said, her tone serious.

  “Is something wrong, Amy?”

  “Well, while you were gone—”

  A knock at the door cut her off midsentence.

  “Yes?” Zack called.

  Commander Bob Awe opened the door. “Sorry to interrupt, Zack,” he said, “but the skipper needs to see you immediately. We’ve had an unexpected development in the case.”

  Zack and Commander Awe walked briskly down the passageway, back to Captain Rudy’s office, where the commanding officer, sitting on the burgundy leather sofa in front of his desk, waved them in. CNN was blaring from the television in the corner of his office.

  “Our chaplain friends have fired their military lawyers and hired a civilian.” Even as he spoke, Captain Rudy kept his eyes glued to the screen.

  Zack sat down as the all-too-familiar image of Bernie Woodson appeared. He held a microphone in one hand while adjusting his headset with the other. He stood outside a sunbaked office complex in an urban location.

  “This is Bernie Woodson reporting from Los Angeles, where we have just learned the U.S. Navy is about to court-martial three Navy chaplains, all members of the Muslim faith, for treason, murder, and conspiracy to commit murder. The chaplains are being implicated in the murder of Daniel Barak, the Israeli ambassador to the United States. Other deaths include an F-18 pilot, a number of civilian deaths in a San Diego area church bombing, and also an enlisted Navy man who allegedly planted a bomb on the F-18 I just mentioned.

  “The Navy has neither confirmed nor denied the arrest of the chaplains. Navy Public Affairs Command did not return our calls this afternoon. The chaplains, however, have issued a press release through their civilian attorney, and he’s a good one, internationally acclaimed defense attorney Wellington Levinson of Los Angeles.”

  Zack’s eyes widened.

  “We’re here in front of Mr. Levinson’s Century City law offices, where in just a few minutes, Mr. Levinson will make a statement to this growing horde of reporters you can see just over my shoulder. And we will bring you his press conference, which is expected to begin in just a few minutes. Now back to you.”

  The commanding officer’s civilian secretary interrupted just as the picture on the screen switched back to the CNN anchor desk. “Captain, Admiral Stumbaugh on line one from Washington for you, sir.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rudy said, picking up the receiver on his desk. “We’re watching it now . . . Yes, sir, I’ll pass that on to Lieutenant Brewer . . . Yes, sir.” Captain Rudy’s gaze was still on CNN. “Yes, sir. They’re starting the press conference now . . . Aye, sir . . . I’ll call you back.”

  Wells Levinson was on the screen, decked out in a gray pinstripe suit and red tie. Levinson took a quick hand swipe through his silver hair.

  “Good afternoon, and thank you for coming. As you know, the U.S. Navy has, disturbingly, chosen to prosecute three naval officers, all chaplains who happen to be Muslim, for crimes which they did not commit.

  “I submit that they are being prosecuted only because they are Muslim, because that’s the popular thing to do in this country.

  “Sadly, the Navy is conjuring up a political trial against Islam. This court-martial is the epitome of religious discrimination at its most arrogant level. The Navy is saying, to heck with the First Amendment—tolerance and diversity are not welcome. This is despicable. This is disgraceful. And we will prevail.” Levinson again ran his hand through his silver hair.

  Captain Rudy clicked off the TV, sat down, and exhaled. “So much for Washington’s hopes to keep this under the radar screen.” He turned to Zack. “Lieutenant, how do you feel about taking on Wells Levinson?”

  “Sir, to he honest, so much has happened in the last twenty-four hours, nothing surprises me at this point.”

  “That was Admiral Stumbaugh on the phone. He was concerned, frankly, that with Levinson in the case, we might need to detail an assistant prosecutor to help you. The admiral says he will assign any officer in the JAG Corps of your choosing, with the understanding you will be the lead trial counsel, even if you pick an officer of higher rank. He says you should let us know in twenty-four hours.”

  “Skipper, is the admiral ordering that I select an assistant trial counsel?”

  “He suggested it. But just remember, this isn’t Lieutenant Colcernian you’re facing anymore. This is the best defense attorney in the world.”

  The best defense attorney in the world.

  “Lieutenant. Are you okay?”

  “My apologies, sir.” Captain Rudy’s voice snapped Zack from his daze.

  “Yes, sir. I’m fine.”

  “The JAG may not have given you a direct order, but I’m going to.” The captain paused, looking at Zack pointedly. “Lieutenant Brewer, I want you to get in your car, drive directly home, jump in the sack, and get some rest. Then report back here only when you’ve had at least five hours of sleep. You’re no good to me or anybody else if you’re half asleep. Now that’s an order, Lieutenant. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come back in the morning, and let me know what you’ve decided about an assistant.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  CHAPTER 50

  Base chapel

  32nd Street Naval Station

  San Diego

  Zack got up at six o’clock the next morning, flipped on the television, then headed into a hot, steamy shower. A few minutes later, he wiped the foggy condensation off the small mirror in his bathroom. He dragged his disposable razor through a layer of shaving cream, across his Adam’s apple, and up to his chin. The twelve hours of sleep in his own home in peaceful La Mesa was just what the doctor—in this case the captain—had ordered. For the moment, anyway, Zack felt physically refreshed.

  Tapping the last vestiges of beard stubble into the white basin, he washed them down the drain with a blast of hot water, tossed the razor in the trash can, and walked out of the bathroom.

  He was in the small hallway between his bathroom and bedroom when he heard a phrase coming from the TV that stopped him dead in his tracks.

  “It’s already being called the court-martial of the century by legal scholars. Three U.S. Navy chaplains, all Muslim, are being prosecuted for treason and murder in a dramatic legal showdown between internationally acclaimed defense attorney Wellington Levinson and Navy prosecutor Lieutenant Zack Brewer. The selection of Lieutenant Brewer as prosecutor was confirmed by a Navy spokesman yesterday afternoon. Brewer, the young JAG officer who successfully prosecuted Petty Officer Antonio Blount, the Navy SEAL accused of assaulting the niece of Senator Roberson Fowler, is expected to be in a fight for his life against the seasoned and experienced Levinson, who has never—repeat, never— lost a jury trial. CNN has been following this lat
e-breaking story since yesterday, and here’s our legal affairs correspondent, Bernie Woodson, in Los Angeles . . .”

  Wells Levinson? Sure, Zack had prosecuted over one hundred courts-martial and dozens of jury trials. But was he ready for this challenge just three years out of law school? Wells Levinson was not just a man. The man was a legend. A worldwide legend.

  The court-martial of the century.

  Suddenly, Zack felt as if a cement mixer had dumped a ton of concrete in the bottom of his belly. He turned off the television, picked up the phone, and called Captain Rudy.

  “Skipper, about our conversation yesterday . . . I’ve got an idea.” He took a moment to explain his plan.

  “Are you sure about this?” Captain Rudy asked.

  “No, sir. I’m not. Not yet. But if lightning strikes, I just want to make sure the command and the JAG are behind me.”

  Rudy waited a moment before answering. “The admiral gave you the green light to do what you need to do. Of course, he has the prerogative to change his mind . . .” He paused again. “And I must admit, I am very apprehensive about your plan.”

  “Aye, aye, Skipper.” The line went dead.

  CHAPTER 51

  Lieutenant Diane Colcernian’s office

  Defense wing, Naval Legal Service Office

  Sitting alone at her desk in the defense wing, Diane scanned the small list of new cases she had just received from the senior defense counsel. Three unauthorized absences, two drug charges—simple marijuana possessions—and a bar fight at the Enlisted Club. All special courts-martial. All guilty pleas.

  Maybe they think I’m incompetent because I lost a case.

  Maybe I’m getting blackballed for attacking the senator’s niece.Maybe I should just call the detailer and volunteer for aircraft carrier duty. There’s a JAG billet open on the USS Nimitz.

  The buzz on the telephone intercom system broke her concentration.

  “Lieutenant Colcernian?” It was Legalman First Class Kim Benedict.

  “Yes, Kim?”

  “You have a visitor.”

  “A visitor?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Lieutenant Brewer.”

  She let out a sigh, then sat unmoving for a moment in stunned silence. Finally, she said, “Okay, bring him down.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  A moment later, a light tapping sounded at her door.

  “Come in,” she said, puzzled.

  “Hi, Diane,” Zack said from the hallway, looking extremely glad to see her.

  She blinked with surprise. “The good lieutenant graces us with his presence.” She leaned back in her chair, attempting nonchalance.

  “May I come in?”

  “Are you going to read me my rights and have me arrested?”

  “Have you arrested?” Zack flashed a puzzled look.

  “I assume your presence here means that I’ll be prosecuted for dereliction of duty for my performance in the Blount case, and you, as the JAG’s new star, would be prosecuting me.”

  “Funny.” He smiled again. “So are you going to let me in or make me talk to you from out here in the passageway?”

  She waved him in.

  Zack crossed the room and sat down on the opposite side of her desk.

  “The Blount case is one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “To rub salt in the wound?”

  “No,” he said. “I think you did a fabulous job representing your client.”

  “I gambled, and I lost. Case closed.”

  “Sure, calling Garrett was a gamble. But if our roles were reversed, I’d have tried the same thing. Blount would have been convicted anyway if you hadn’t rolled the dice. You had a chance for an acquittal if everything broke right.”

  “Yes, but if I left Garrett off the stand, my guy wouldn’t have gotten such a heavy sentence. I mean, thirty years. Come on.”

  “But if you hadn’t put him on the stand, your guy had no chance at an acquittal. As far as the sentence goes, we’ll never know. I think you made the correct decisions, for what it’s worth. It was excellent lawyer-ing, Diane.”

  “What’s going on, Zack?” This was the first time she had called him Zack since Justice School. She needed to get ahold of herself. Why did she suddenly feel the urge to get chummy? This was the same guy who stabbed her in the back and stole her trial advocacy award. She frowned. “I know you didn’t come all the way over here to rave about my performance in the Blount trial.”

  He studied her for a moment. “Okay, to be honest, there is something I want from you. But the main thing I want is to patch things up between us.”

  She raised an eyebrow and almost laughed. Whatever it was he wanted must be important. “You’ve made me curious, Lieutenant. I’m listening, if there’s something you want to say.”

  He crossed his legs and rested his clasped hands in his lap like a State Department diplomat at an arms-control summit. “Above all, I want to apologize for the way I’ve treated you.”

  “For the way you’ve treated me?”

  “For my attitude.”

  She quirked a brow again, becoming amused. The great Zack Brewer ... apologizing? To her?

  “Diane,” he softened his voice, “for whatever reason, the powers that be, in this case our JAG Corps superiors, have placed us on opposite sides of the professional aisle ever since our days at Justice School. Ever since our days in Newport, at the trial advocacy competition, in the championship round. Remember that stipulation I sprang on you?”

  “Remember it? I’ll never forget it.”

  “I blindsided you to keep you off balance. You were so good I didn’t believe I could win without surprising you at the last minute. I did not extend much professional courtesy in that case. If I could do it over differently, I would. I apologize to you.”

  “Apologize?” She was beginning to believe him. Maybe it was because of the intensity of emotion somewhere behind those hazel eyes. She stared at him, almost afraid to breathe. “It’s not like I didn’t try the same thing in the Blount trial.”

  “I deserved it,” he said, studying her face.

  She felt a blush begin. “If I had given you time to prepare,” she added, “you’d have shredded my Mr. Garrett and his two friends.” She shrugged. “But you shredded him anyway with your cross.” She let the comment stand a moment. “And you still won. Big-time.”

  “It’s easier to win when you’re the prosecution,” he said.

  “Oh yeah?” She leaned back from the desk and crossed her legs. “Like when I was the prosecutor in the Justice School competition—and you still beat me?”

  “As I said, my tactics weren’t exactly gentlemanly.”

  She sighed. “At the end of the day, you won. Isn’t that all that matters?”

  “No. The truth is what matters. I can tell you, I wasn’t there when Blount met Ensign Landrieu in the parking lot that night, but I’d far rather lose a trial than send an innocent man to the brig.”

  “Here’s the truth, Lieutenant. Look at you now. You’re about to take on the great Wells Levinson in the ‘court-martial of the century.’” She mimed quotation marks with her fingers. “And I’m back defending UA dives.” She couldn’t believe she was baring her soul to this man. What was it about him that made her feel she could trust him . . . made her feel he cared?

  “You bought his book, didn’t you?”

  “Whose book?”

  “Levinson’s King of Defense. You bought it and studied chapter 14.”

  Diane felt another flush start at the roots of her hair. “The Element of Surprise.” She didn’t dare meet his gaze. “Yeah, okay. I did.”

  Her admission brought a chuckle, and she looked up at him. He was grinning. “Me too. Good book.”

  “So where are you going with all this?”

  “What do you think of Levinson?” Zack was serious again.

  “He’s a genius. Very rich. Maybe the brightest trial lawyer in the world.”

  “Think I c
an handle him?”

  “I’m sure you can. You’re the great Lieutenant Brewer.”

  Zack waited a few seconds. “I’m not sure about that.”

  Intrigued, she fell silent as he studied her face. Something in his eyes told her his admission of weakness was difficult for him to say aloud. There was also a vulnerability in his expression that surprised her. “Go on.”

  “I need a slingshot.”

  “A slingshot? Is that a pick-up line—or something out of your next closing argument?”

  The flicker of vulnerability passed as quickly as it had come. He laughed heartily. It was contagious, and she laughed with him.

  “I still have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Let me ask you a question,” he said.

  “Get to the point, Lieutenant,” she said, fighting a smile. “I’ve got some very serious unauthorized-absence cases I must get to.”

  “Okay,” he said. “When word broke yesterday that these three chaplains hired Wells Levinson, Admiral Stumbaugh called and suggested we add another trial counsel to the prosecution team.” His eyes caught and held hers. “The admiral said that I could request any of the 825 JAG officers in the world, even a commander or a captain, and he’d approve it. But if I request anybody at all, I really want the best JAG officer I know.” He paused, seeming to measure her reaction before going on. “If you’ll agree,” he said, “I’d be honored if you would join me on the prosecution team.”

  Diane gaped at him. “You want me to come on as assistant trial counsel?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “But the way we’ve clashed in the past—”

  He interrupted her midsentence. “Because we were professional opponents. Look, we’re both aggressive in the courtroom and passionate about our work. The sparks between us are inevitable. This time we’d bring everything we have to bear for a cause greater than either of us, working together toward a common goal. Besides, I take all responsibility for our past rocky relationship. I promise to bend over backwards to make it work.”

  She smiled at him. “Still spinning your persuasive yarn on the jury?”