by Don Brown
Jan Oberholtz suddenly appeared at his elbow. “Just one word, Lieutenant?”
Without answering, Zack ducked inside, and the door closed. He gave Diane a wink and a half smile before turning to the front of the elevator.
A moment later, the doors slid open again. “Right this way.” The chief led the group to a back stairway, then through a double doorway and down a large, antiseptic-looking corridor. They stepped onto a backstage area draped behind a large black curtain and were met by a salt-and-pepper-haired Navy captain in summer whites.
“I’m Captain James Waters with Navy Public Affairs,” the four-striper said. He explained how he wanted to conduct the press conference. “Remember,” he concluded, “the main purpose here is to put on a good face for the public. Understood?”
From the corner of her eye, Diane saw Zack give him a crisp nod at the same time she did.
“Good.” Waters checked his watch. “Let’s go.”
He stepped through the curtain onto the stage, followed by Zack and Diane. The blinding spotlights, reflecting off the varnished hardwood floor on the stage, made the audience almost disappear in an illusion of darkness.
Captain Waters stepped to the podium as Zack and Diane sat at a long table on his left. Captain Rudy and Commander Awe seated themselves at another table on the opposite side.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Captain James Waters, Senior Public Affairs Officer for Navy Region Southwest.”
Diane, her eyes now adjusting to the light, could make out members of the press and media packed into the first seven or eight rows of the auditorium.
Captain Waters introduced the four officers, then nodded amiably to the audience. “As you know, a general court-martial convening authority has referred charges against three United States Navy chaplains who are charged with treason, murder, and conspiracy to commit murder. Because of the very high degree of public interest in this case, today we wanted to introduce you to the prosecution team. But before I do, I have an announcement to make.”
He paused dramatically before continuing in a loud voice. “By order of the president of the United States, the case of United States versus LCDR Mohammed Olajuwon et al. will be the first court-martial in history in which television cameras will be allowed.”
The announcement brought a flood of murmurs from the audience as Diane met Zack’s gaze. “News to me,” he whispered, frowning.
“And now, I am pleased to present our prosecution team.” Captain Waters glanced toward Zack and Diane. “Lieutenant Zack Brewer is our lead trial counsel,” he gestured toward Zack, “and he is joined by Lieutenant Diane Colcernian, our assistant trial counsel.”
Diane smiled and nodded toward the sea of lights.
“And now, here’s Lieutenant Brewer.”
Zack stood and walked to the microphone. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. To say this court-martial is of immense national importance is an understatement. Let me begin by addressing some of the irresponsible public comments made by our opponent during the last couple of days.
“Despite the grossly irresponsible misinformation being pedaled by Mr. Levinson, this case is not about religion. It is, rather, about the inexcusable, deliberate, concerted, and shameful actions by a group of individuals who call themselves naval officers, to undermine the interests of the United States and to cause death and destruction to innocent American citizens and innocent American sailors. This, ladies and gentlemen, we will prove beyond a reasonable doubt. And make no mistake, we intend to seek the death penalty in this case.”
Diane leaned forward, her attention riveted on Zack. I can’t believe he’s going after Levinson like this. He’s crazy.
“The defendants have demanded a speedy trial, and they’re going to get a speedy trial. Next week, as a matter of fact. Therefore, Lieutenant Colcernian and I have a very busy agenda ahead of us. But before we get back to base to resume our trial preparation, we’ll take a few questions.”
“Lieutenant, Bernie Woodson, CNN.”
“I had a feeling you’d be here today, Mr. Woodson.”
“Lieutenant, you hit Mr. Levinson pretty hard, accusing him of making ‘irresponsible’ statements. But doesn’t he raise a legitimate concern about the sanctity of freedom of religion in the Navy and particularly in the Chaplain Corps?”
Zack sipped ice water from the plastic cup on the podium. “Bernie, I stand by my statement. What we want here is justice. I’m not sure what Mr. Levinson wants. For the last couple of days, the publicity-seeking Mr. Levinson played the national media like a marionette. Verbally dancing around on the national morning talk shows and the Sunday shows from Washington, Mr. Levinson seems set on milking the press for all that he can. Frankly, Bernie, I’m not concerned with what points Mr. Levinson makes to the press. I am concerned about the cancer of terrorism creeping into the United States Military.”
He nodded to a woman in the front row.
“Lieutenant, Jan Oberholtz. Just two weeks ago, you and Lieutenant Colcernian were at each other’s throats over the prosecution of Petty Officer Antonio Blount. Isn’t it a bit odd that now you are on the same team? Doesn’t this underscore charges made by the Reverend Barbour that the Blount trial was rigged by the system?”
“Jan, I’d characterize Barbour’s statements as even more reckless than Mr. Levinson’s. Let me say first that the Blount trial is over. If you knew Lieutenant Colcernian as I have for the last three years, having been on the opposite side of the aisle from her in court, you would know she doesn’t roll over and play dead for anybody. And if you know anything about the JAG Corps, you would know that JAG officers are often reassigned from prosecution to defense roles. As far as having Lieutenant Colcernian on the prosecution team, I am personally delighted. She is one of the best—if not the very best—trial lawyer in the Navy.”
“Lieutenant, how do you feel about having cameras in a Navy courtroom for the first time?” This question came from an unidentified voice in the dark.
“If that’s what the president wants, that’s fine with me. Next question.”
“Lieutenant Colcernian, as a follow-up to Ms. Oberholtz’s question, how would you respond to the earlier question about now being paired with Lieutenant Brewer, especially after your scathing cross-examination of Ensign Landrieu in the Blount trial?”
Zack turned to Diane and motioned her to join him at the podium. She stepped to the microphone as Zack moved aside. “I’m not going to comment on the Blount trial. That case is now on appeal. Lieutenant Brewer and I remain professional opponents in that case, and to the extent I am called on by appellate defense counsel to cooperate, I will do so.
“But this prosecution is a separate matter, and with the same energy that I opposed and continue to oppose Lieutenant Brewer in the Blount matter, I will support him here. As Lieutenant Brewer said, this court-martial is important to the national interest. And as naval officers, we all pledge to defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. And that’s what I intend to do.”
Captain Waters rose from his seat and headed to the podium, standing between Zack and Diane. “Thank you for your attendance this afternoon.” His tone was decisive. The press conference was over.
“Captain, just a few more questions?”
“We are out of time. CHINFO will arrange for periodic briefings, as necessary, during this trial. Thank you.” Looking pleased, Waters turned to Zack and Diane. “Nice job. Now let’s get out of here.”
Amid the flashes and shouts from the press, they slipped behind the curtain.
Law offices of Wellington Levinson
Wells Fargo Plaza
Century City
Los Angeles, California
Turn it off,” Levinson barked. “That little twit thinks he can talk about me like that and get away with it? I’ll have his hide.”
Terrie Bearden chuckled at her boss’s temper. “I thought he was kind of cute.” She pressed the remote control, turning off t
he television set. “Besides, you’ve said that kind of thing a dozen times about your opponents. Who knows, maybe he read your book.”
Levinson fumed, his face livid. “I’ve never seen such brazen arrogance.”
“Arrogance or confidence?”
“Whose side are you on anyway?”
“I’m the one who brought the case in, remember? Of course I’m on your side.” She laughed. “Cases like this make for great shopping sprees on Rodeo Drive. But you’ve said yourself there’s a fine line between arrogance and confidence. Maybe the kid’s actually confident about winning.”
Levinson narrowed his eyes. “Sure, as I’ve written in my books, there is a fine line between arrogance and confidence. But there is an even finer line between confidence and ignorance. And whether this kid is arrogant or confident, if he thinks he’s going to get away with talking about me like that, he’s ignorant.
“I mean, did you hear this little punk in his vanilla ice-cream suit?
He called me a marionette. That’s a brazen insult.”
“Actually,” Terrie sat down on the corner of his desk and crossed her legs, “I think he said you’re playing the media like they’re marionettes.
Maybe he was trying to pay you a compliment.”
“I know what he was doing. He was throwing down the gauntlet.” Levinson rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie.
“Why, Wellington Levinson. All these years we’ve been together, I’ve never seen you so riled about an opponent. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you’re just a little intimidated by the kid in the ice-cream suit.”
“That’s garbage, and you know it, Terri,” Levinson snapped, the veins rising in his forehead.
Terrie Bearden lifted a brow at Wells, then swung out of his office, leaving her boss still fuming. She always did love a good show. And this was shaping up to be a good one. She chuckled as she went back to her desk and sat down to examine a chipped nail. Oh yes. There were bound to be fireworks.
Terrie knew well, from firsthand experience, that any attorney who dared cross the great Wells Levinson was in for a bloodbath. Wells often hit below the belt to win at all costs. An attorney in Ohio was arrested when Wells dug up an unpaid traffic ticket from years ago and paid off the cops to execute an all-but-forgotten warrant. The arrest was orchestrated by Levinson—in open court before the jury. In a New York case, Wells hired a prostitute to lure his opponent into her trap; then, after obtaining photographs of the fellow falling for her wiles, he arranged for vice officers to swoop in and arrest them both. He then leaked the photos to the press and the man’s unfortunate wife.
She wondered what would become of the young naval officer in the white ice-cream suit who, on national television, dared impugn the great Wells Levinson.
CHAPTER 55
Navy-Marine Corps Trial Judiciary
Building 1
San Diego
Court-martial of United States v.
LCDR Mohammed Olajuwon et al.
Day 1
During the week following Zack Brewer’s proposal that she become a Navy prosecutor, Diane worked six consecutive eighteen-hour days, side by side with a man she never wanted to set eyes on again—especially in a courtroom—just one month ago.
Now she didn’t know what to think of him.
In their long, tedious hours of reviewing witness statements, listening to tapes, preparing their witnesses, and divvying up trial assignments, he had flashed an occasional smile and sometimes even brushed his hand against hers.
Inadvertent or not, the touch, when it came, created a temporary relapse of the magnetic paralysis she had suffered after the handshake.
Fortunately, there was too much work to do in too little time to let her surprising fascination with him distract her from their mutual goal of whipping Wells Levinson. When the master chief brought in a front-page article in the San Diego Union with her picture at the press conference on the front, proclaiming “Diane Mania” was sweeping the nation, she glanced at the front page, smiled, but left the paper on Zack’s conference table without even reading the article.
It was easy to ignore the article: an hour before, Zack had assigned her the responsibility of making the opening statement. She would be the first to go head-to-head against Levinson. That fact, more than anything else, had dominated her every waking moment.
“Ready, Lieutenant?” Zack Brewer stood at her door, handsome in his whites, holding his briefcase. Standing behind him was LN2 “Pete” Peterson, the mustached, less attractive, but professional replacement for LN1 Amy DeBenedetto.
“Do I look ready?” I think I want to pass out.
“You look fabulous. Time to go. Let’s rock and roll.”
Five minutes later, Peterson pulled the white Ford Taurus carrying the two young prosecutors into the reserved parking places just outside Building 1. A cadre of white press trucks with satellite dishes was parked around the courthouse. If the media presence at the Blount trial was a circus, this looked like a lion’s den.
As their car pulled into place, a squadron of United States Marines, each carrying M-16s and wearing helmets and fatigues, surrounded it to block the crush of reporters from swamping the two JAG officers.
Zack cracked his window when the squadron leader tapped. The officer shouted above the background of yelping reporters barking questions. “Sir, unless you want to talk to the press, our orders are to get you and Lieutenant Colcernian inside.”
“We’ll save our talking for the courtroom, Lieutenant,” Zack said. “Lead the way.”
“Aye, sir.” The officer walked around the car to Diane’s door.
She stepped out and joined Zack and Peterson inside the moving perimeter of armed men as they cut through the throng of shouting reporters.
Zack gave her a nod and a quick wink. “Just give them a pleasant look and a wave.”
She took a deep breath, forced herself to smile, and managed a couple of waves.
Pushing the reporters aside, the Marines led the trio to the entrance. Before they climbed the stairs, Diane noticed a silver Rolls-Royce at the curb, its vanity California license plate declaring “NEVRLOSE.”
In an instant, they were up the front steps and through the courthouse doors. The squadron dropped off except for the first lieutenant, who accompanied them into Courtroom 1.
Levinson was already in place, sitting at the defense table without his clients, who had not yet been brought from the brig next door. His gray hair was stylishly combed back, and his blue and white pinstripe suit was meticulously tailored. He was more handsome in person than on television, or even on the cover of his book.
At first, the great Wells Levinson ignored their entrance, his eyes focused instead on a folder on the defense table. But as they approached the prosecutor’s table, he peered through the lenses of his gold wire-rimmed glasses, first at Diane, then boring in on Zack with an unblinking, icy stare.
Zack quirked a brow at Diane as if to say, “Watch this.” Then he flashed Levinson the same cocky smirk he had used on her a hundred times. The sight almost made Diane giggle as Zack turned back and winked.
“All rise!”
The commotion brought about by Judge Reeves’s entrance knotted her stomach. In a moment, she would be on national television. She thought of her father, his pride, his gumption, his never-give-up attitude . . . his confidence in her. Just thinking of him relaxed her enough to breathe again.
“Be seated,” Judge Reeves ordered. “Will the bailiff bring the defendants in, please?”
“Aye, sir.”
A moment later, three ordinary-looking naval officers, dark haired, swarthy complexioned, and wearing the insignia of the Navy Chaplain Corps, walked into Courtroom 1, accompanied by armed shore patrolmen. They seated themselves at the counsel table with Levinson.
Two of the men stared at Diane for an instant before turning away. The third, Mohammed, kept his eyes straight ahead.
“Any pretrial motions before we p
roceed?” Reeves looked pointedly at Levinson. “Mr. Levinson?”
“Not at this time, Your Honor. The defense is ready to proceed.”
“Lieutenant Brewer?”
“No, sir.” Zack’s voice was calm. “The government is ready.”
“Very well. Summon the members.” It took only a few minutes for the nine senior officers serving as members to be seated; then Judge Reeves turned to Zack. “Lieutenant Brewer, is the government ready to proceed?”
“We are, Your Honor. Lieutenant Colcernian will be making the opening statement.”
Diane had been in front of cameras as a model, and yes, there had been some television exposure in the Blount trial, but this was different. Her heart pounded.
Spotlights.
National television.
Competing against the greatest lawyer in the world.
The national security of the United States on the line.
This is your moment, my daughter. Don’t let it slip away.
She rose from the counsel table, walked past Levinson, ignoring him, and strode with runwaylike confidence to the banister.
“Mr. President,” she said, referring to the senior member of the military jury, “distinguished members”—she paused to make sure their attention was riveted on her—“murderous terrorism, or the threat of it, has permeated every fabric of civilized nations. And unfortunately, it has now permeated the most sacred crevices of our own beloved United States Navy.”
Diane felt her confidence growing as she walked down the banister, eyeing the officers one by one. “In this case, the government will show that three U.S. naval officers, the defendants”—she gestured toward them and then looked back to the members—“all officers in the Navy Chaplain Corps, used their offices to spread hate and terrorism. That hate and terrorism have resulted in numerous deaths, including the death of the Israeli ambassador to the United States, a naval aviator, and a dozen innocent civilians attending a Bible study here in San Diego.
“We will show that these three, when one of their disciples did not kill himself as they insisted, conspired to and in fact did take matters into their own hands. Remember the name Sulayman al-Aziz.” She paused to let the name sink in. “When Petty Officer al-Aziz, an aviation tech in Virginia Beach who planted a deadly bomb in an F/A-18, did not enter martyrdom”—Diane made quotation marks in the air—“as they insisted, then that man, Lieutenant Commander Reska”—she pointed to Reska—“with the concurrence and encouragement of the other two, blew al-Aziz’s head off and dumped his body into the Atlantic Ocean.
