Treason Page 15

  “Your Honor, can I explain?”

  “The witness will answer the question,” the judge said.

  Marianne stared at Diane.

  “The witness will answer the question,” Captain Reeves repeated.

  “Um, Your Honor, as I was about to explain, I . . . I may have ordered five drinks, that’s true. But I ordered the last drink just before Lieutenant Hawley arrived. I left it on the table when I decided to leave. I didn’t drink the third martini.”

  Diane pounced quickly. “As I understand your testimony, you now claim that you ordered, but did not drink, the third martini for yourself?”

  “That’s right,” Marianne said in an angry, clipped tone.

  “You will admit, will you not, that when you left Ensign Rogerson and Lieutenant Hawley alone, you were under the influence of alcohol, won’t you?”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t drunk.”

  “A bit tipsy, perhaps?”

  Zack jumped to his feet. “Objection!”

  “Sustained.”

  Diane ignored the objection and changed the subject. “You’re a public affairs officer, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Marianne had returned to her soft, victim-sounding voice again.

  “And your duties as a PAO include serving as a reporter for base closed-circuit television?”

  “Correct.”

  “And isn’t it true, Ensign, on April fifteenth, just six weeks before you claim you were assaulted, you did a television report for base closed-circuit TV on the SEALs during their training at Hell Week in Coronado?” Diane turned and motioned to her legalman paralegal who pushed a four-wheeled cart stand with a television and VCR player up the center aisle from the back of the courtroom.

  “Yes, I recall doing that piece.” Marianne’s eyes appeared to be on the television set, now sitting just behind the defense counsel’s table.

  “Okay. And isn’t it true, when you filed your report, you looked into the television camera and said, and I quote, ‘The rigorous week of training, known as Hell Week, will help turn these trainees—at least those who survive—into the most perfectly sculpted, physically fit fighting men in the world’? Did you say that?”

  “I don’t remember what I said, Lieutenant.”

  “Want to see a videotape of the broadcast?” Diane waved a black videotape in the air, drawing the jury’s undivided attention. “Well? Shall we play your broadcast to refresh your memory, Ensign?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary.” She shrugged. “I was just doing my job. I was trying to accurately describe the training process,” she snapped.

  “And so you came up with ‘the most perfectly sculpted, physically fit fighting men in the world’?”

  Zack jumped to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. Not only has the question been asked and answered, but now Lieutenant Colcernian is becoming argumentative.”

  “Sustained. Move along, defense counsel.”

  Diane laid the videotape on the stand beside the television. “Ensign, did you ever tell Ensign Rogerson that you ‘have a thing’ for SEALs?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Nothing like that?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Ensign, I remind you that you’re under oath.”

  “Objection.” This was Zack again. “Asked and answered. Argumentative.”

  “Sustained. Lieutenant, that’s your last warning about being argumentative with the witness.”

  “My apologies, Your Honor,” Diane said quickly, then focused again on Marianne. “But it’s fair to say, is it not, that you personally admire the SEALs, isn’t it, Ensign?”

  Marianne took a couple of deep breaths, then said slowly, “Lieutenant, yes, it’s true. I admire the SEALs.” She clamped her lips together angrily.

  “And you felt left out, didn’t you, when this good-looking aviator cast his affections at your friend and not at you?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Marianne’s face was turning red again.

  “You were feeling lonely and a little dejected that night, weren’t you, Ensign?”

  “Not really.”

  “And you stepped out into the parking lot, feeling tipsy and rejected, when you saw this Navy SEAL?”

  “I did not see him!”

  “And then you struck up a conversation with him, and one thing led to another, isn’t that right?”

  “No, that’s not the way it happened!”

  “Isn’t it true that you stopped him in the parking lot and said, ‘Where are you from, sailor?’”

  “I don’t remember saying that.”

  “But you don’t deny it.”

  Marianne narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I deny it. He attacked me, Lieutenant!”

  “Of course, with those martinis you were drinking, you don’t really remember what happened, do you? Yet you’re also saying that your memory could not have been affected at all by two and possibly”—Diane made finger quotation marks in the air—“three martinis?”

  “I remember what I remember.”

  “Didn’t you ask Petty Officer Blount where he was from?”

  “No. I wouldn’t have asked him that.”

  “Didn’t you tell him that you were from New Orleans?”

  “No!”

  “Didn’t you tell him that SEALs are more physically fit even than the Marines?”

  Marianne’s face was redder than before. “No!”

  “And didn’t you tell him you used to date enlisted Navy SEALs at the Academy?”

  “Objection.”

  “Overruled.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, did you ever date enlisted Navy SEALs?”

  “Objection.” Zack was on his feet, waving his hand in the air. “Your Honor, the question violates the rape-shield law.”

  “Sustained. Move along, Lieutenant Colcernian.”

  “You were feeling lonely, rejected, and slightly under the influence, and you saw one of these perfect physical specimens, didn’t you?”

  “No, I didn’t see him.”

  “And the truth is, you voluntarily experimented with this perfectly sculpted physical specimen.”

  “That’s a lie!”

  “You didn’t scream or call out, did you?”

  “He held my mouth closed, Lieutenant!”

  “Right. The whole time.”

  “Objection! Argumentative.”

  “Sustained.”

  “The truth is, you didn’t scream or call out because you didn’t want to get busted for fraternization with an enlisted person, isn’t that so?”

  “That’s ridiculous, Lieutenant.”

  “I think I’m about finished, here, Your Honor.” Diane turned and walked back to the counsel table. She glanced at Judge Reeves. “I’m done with this witness.” She paused, and the courtroom fell silent. “For now.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Quarters of LCDR Mohammed Reska

  Apartment 123, Princess Anne Apartments

  Virginia Beach, Virginia

  Tuesday, August 5, 0700 hours (EST)

  You said he would do as the others, Reska!” Commander Mohammed Olajuwon’s voice thundered through the telephone.

  Reska held the phone away from his ear to protect his eardrums. “But, Commander, I have encouraged martyrdom both before and after the event—”

  “Speaking of martyrdom is not good enough! Petty Officer Neptune is now a martyr in Allah’s cause. So is Staff Sergeant Saidi. In other words, Commander, Chaplain Abdul-Sehen did his part to persuade Saidi. So did I with Neptune. Neptune and I had many talks about martyrdom. He understood his role from the beginning. But this al-Aziz seems liable to erupt like a volcano with a slew of information that must be contained. This is a risk which cannot be allowed.”

  “He understands that he cannot compromise our position, Commander.”

  “Does he? And how can we be assured of this?” Olajuwon’s voice lowered. “He already seems distraught as a result of this ‘investigation.’
We never have to worry about Neptune or Saidi speaking. But I fear this alAziz, in his present mental state, constitutes a risk to our network.”

  “I will speak with him again if you think it is best, Commander.”

  “Lieutenant Commander Reska, consider what is at stake here. Think of all the Council has worked for over the years. Remember the lawsuit to assure our admission into the Chaplain Corps. Then think of the Council’s work with the aviators. We cannot afford to have this strategically placed cell of officers compromised by this young man.”

  Reska took a breath, but did not speak.

  “Perhaps I should inform al-Akhma and the Council through our back channels and seek their guidance on what to do in this situation,” Olajuwon said.

  “No!” Reska’s palms broke out in a sweat. “Please, Commander. Do not bother al-Akhma with this. I beg of you, let me try again with the boy. I can assure you, it will not be necessary to bother the Council with this.”

  “Lieutenant Commander Reska,” Olajuwon said in a slow, restrained voice, “I have spoken with Commander Abdul-Sehen about the problem. He agrees the situation is potentially grave, and our entire core network is at risk. Unless the problem is dealt with immediately, we must inform the Council.”

  Reska wiped sweat beads from his forehead. He wanted to vomit, but he spoke, almost in a pleading whisper. “Please, Commander. I beg of you. Give me until midnight; I will have the problem eradicated.”

  “Very well, Commander Reska. You have until midnight tonight.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Call me when the problem is resolved.”

  The line went dead.

  Reska picked up the receiver and dialed another number. “Sulayman, how are you this morning? . . . Yes . . . You are off your shift now? . . . No, I do not think Shoney’s would be good. Because under the circumstances, I believe we need a more private place . . . Little Creek Marina off 17th Bay Street in Norfolk . . . You know where it is? . . . Yes, I have a boat there. Can you meet me in three hours? About ten hundred? . . . Good . . . I will see you then.”

  Trial counsel offices

  32nd Street Naval Station

  San Diego

  Tuesday, August 5, 0600 hours (PST)

  Zack had been in his office for an hour, preparing for the day’s upcoming testimony, when there was a knock on his door. He tossed the legal pad on his desk and looked up. “Come in.”

  “Good morning.” Amy stepped inside. “How is San Diego’s most famous prosecutor this morning?”

  “I don’t know about the famous part, but this prosecutor is worn out. Too much work. Not enough time. As much as I hate to say it, I think Diane scored some points yesterday.”

  “You haven’t seen, have you?”

  “Seen what?”

  She slid the morning edition of the Union-Tribune across his desk. “You read that while I get us some coffee.”

  “Thanks.” Zack opened the paper as Amy headed down the hall to the coffee mess.

  NAVY PROSECUTES SEAL FOR

  RAPING ROBERSON FOWLER’S NIECE

  By Brenda Cantor, Military Affairs Correspondent

  32nd Street Naval Station—A Navy SEAL stationed in Coronado is being prosecuted this week in San Diego for raping the niece of powerful United States Senator Roberson Fowler of Louisiana, the Union-Tribune has learned.

  According to inside sources, Petty Officer Antonio Blount, a Navy SEAL, is accused of raping Ensign Marianne Landrieu, a Naval Academy graduate, on May 25 in the Officers’ Club parking lot at the North Island Naval Air Station.

  Landrieu testified yesterday before a military jury, telling the prosecutor, Lieutenant Zack Brewer, that she was abducted by Blount in the parking lot of the Officers’ Club at NASNI just before midnight on May 25. Sources report that the defense counsel, Lieutenant Diane Colcern-ian, spent much of the afternoon cross-examining Landrieu about her alcohol consumption on the night in question. Colcernian also suggested a romantic involvement between Landrieu and Brewer, a charge denied by Landrieu. Brewer could not be reached for comment.

  Testimony is set to resume today at the 32nd Street Naval Station.

  “Great.” Zack tossed the newspaper on the desk just as Amy came back in with two mugs. He was still steamed that Colcernian had made an issue over seeing him having dinner with Marianne, though he probably deserved it. “Looks like somebody called the press.”

  The smile was gone when Amy sat down across from him. “There’s something else bothering you about all this, isn’t there?” Her expression said she knew what it was. Sometimes it seemed that Amy was the best friend he had. He appreciated her more than he’d ever been able to say.

  “Yeah. Even in light of the legalities we’ve talked about, it’s the not knowing.” He sipped his coffee.

  “Not knowing about Marianne, you mean?”

  “Struggling. Thinking the guy is guilty. But never really knowing for sure. I lose sleep over it.”

  Her gaze met his, clear and filled with a wisdom and compassion that gave him peace just seeing it. “I pray for you, you know,” she said. “And I’ll continue to pray for God to grant you wisdom during this trial . . .”

  She paused. “. . . and that the result will be just.”

  The tenderness in her words grabbed Zack’s heart, and for a moment he couldn’t speak. “Thanks. I appreciate your prayers more than you know.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Little Creek Marina

  Norfolk, Virginia

  Tuesday, August 5, 0930 hours (EST)

  Lieutenant Commander Reska stepped from the dock onto the back deck of the twenty-seven foot Grady-White cabin cruiser. Christened the River Rat, the boat was complete with a small sleeping cabin and powered by twin 225-horsepower Mercury outboards. It had been purchased by a Bahamian corporation several months earlier, which also made monthly payments for slip and storage fees directly to the Little Creek Marina in Norfolk. Keys for the boat were provided to Reska, who had negotiated the purchase from the marina and had executed all the paperwork on behalf of the Bahamian corporation as its local agent.

  “Good morning, Commander.”

  Reska, who was bending over in the back of the boat, fiddling in a tackle box, looked up as Petty Officer al-Aziz approached, his green windbreaker snapping in the breeze, his tennis shoes nearly silent.

  “Hello, Sulayman. You like fishing?”

  “Yes, sir. Though I haven’t fished since I was a boy. My father used to take me.”

  “I will take you to the Gulf Stream, home of king mackerel, if you are up to an adventure.” Reska saw a smile flicker on the young petty officer’s face and then added, “It will give us a chance to talk. Help get our minds off things.”

  “This is your boat, Commander?”

  “No, but it is loaned for my use whenever I wish. Allah is provident. Come aboard. We have much food, drink, and bait. You will have plenty of time to rest when we are done.”

  “Thank you. I would be honored to sail with you today, sir.” Sulay-man saluted the imaginary ensign on the fantail, and then, mimicking the procedure for boarding a real U.S. Navy warship, he saluted Reska. “Permission to come aboard, sir.”

  Reska forced a smile and saluted back. “Permission granted.”

  Reska made a one-quarter clockwise turn of the key in the ignition as al-Aziz stepped onto the back deck of the River Rat. The twin 225horsepower Mercury outboards jumped, then purred like twin kittens, spewing a burst of white smoke upon ignition, then with a slight roar, gurgled a modest amount of water around the stern as Reska threw the River Rat into a slow reverse out of the slip.

  When the cruiser cleared the slip, Reska gently pushed the throttle into the forward position. The River Rat lunged forward at five miles per hour through the no-wake zone in Little Creek. After a quarter of a mile, Reska turned left through the channel leading into Hampton Roads.

  The wide, expansive waters of Hampton Roads came into view, and al-Aziz took a seat in the
first mate’s chair, adjacent to the captain’s chair. As they cleared the last no-wake buoy, Reska brought the River Rat to half throttle. The twin outboard engines revved into cruising speed, lifting the bow slightly.

  Reska held a northerly course for a minute, turned right, and headed due east, toward the Atlantic. Now the engines throttled to full power, and the cruiser skimmed across the bay under warm, sunny skies. A few minutes later, they slowed to pass under the southern section of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. The chaplain brought the throttle back to full.

  Sulayman tapped the chaplain on his shoulder and pointed off the bow, slightly to the left. Two U.S. Navy warships, a cruiser and a frigate, were entering the harbor, about a mile to the northeast of the River Rat.

  Reska nodded. “We will head southeast about forty-five minutes. The fishing is good out that way, plus we will be out of the shipping lanes.”

  “I trust your judgment, Commander.”

  “Perhaps you should catch a nap until we arrive. You have had a long night.”

  One hour later, Reska pulled back on the River Rat’s throttles. With the engines shut off, they were now rolling on the open sea. Land had disappeared behind the stern half an hour ago. Reska scanned the horizon and saw a couple of large ships, probably tankers, out on the horizon. Several jet streams trailed in crisscrossing patterns against the deep blue sky. Other than that, there were no signs of human life.

  “They say this is a good spot for mackerel and dolphin,” Reska said, waking al-Aziz. “Choose your rod. I have live bluefish in the bait well.”

  Al-Aziz rubbed his eyes. “Where are we?”

  “Somewhere near the Gulf Stream, I think. A few miles off the VirginiaCarolina border.”

  Al-Aziz sat up, squinted, and looked around. “The fishing sounds good, but first there is the call of nature.”

  “You have your option of going off the stern, or you can go in there.” Reska pointed to a small hatch just inside the forward section of the cabin. “It is rather small, but there is at least privacy.”

  “Which way is Mecca, Commander?”

  Reska looked at the compass mounted on the boat’s interior dash just left of the steering wheel. “It looks like the wind has swung us around. Mecca is, more or less, off the stern.”