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CHAPTER 11

  Council of Ishmael headquarters

  Rub al-Khali Desert

  The interruption of regular programming, feeding live images of the United States Supreme Court Building into the television sets in the intelligence room of the Council of Ishmael headquarters, sent Abdur Rahman scrambling out the door. He turned left down the dark hallway, then right, then headed straight to the office of the titular leader of the Council.

  "I must see the leader. Now!" he barked in Arabic at the two black-bereted guards posted on either side of the door. "Tell him it's urgent!"

  Abdur Rahman was the one member of the powerful Council of Twenty with enough clout to get Hussein al-Akhma's personal bodyguards to interrupt the most powerful man in the Arab world outside the Saudi royal family. Two seconds later, the guard reappeared and motioned Abdur into Hussein's inner sanctum.

  "What is this emergency, Abdur?" Hussein al-Akhma, in his favorite white robe, stood as Abdur entered.

  "Leader," Abdur responded, panting, "American television is about to announce their Supreme Court's ruling on the death penalty for our operatives."

  Hussein reached for the black remote control on his desk and pointed it at the television in the corner of his room, preset to CNN.

  "Sit." Hussein motioned Abdur to sit down as an image of a disturbed-looking black man appeared on the screen. Holding a microphone, he stood in front of a marble building, fidgeting with an earpiece in his right ear. It was the famous American reporter Bernie Woodson.

  "I understand that we have breaking news from the White House on a presidential order concerning the executions," he said. "And we're going to take you now to the White House, where CNN's Tom Miller has more information on that order."

  Woodson's image faded, and in its place appeared the familiar visage of a middle-aged white man, wearing a dark blue business suit and wire-rim glasses. He held a microphone identical to Bernie Woodson's with the CNN logo. Electronically superimposed across the bottom of the screen, in both English and Arabic, were the words Tom Miller, CNN White House Correspondent.

  "That's right, Bernie," Miller said, holding his microphone in his left hand and touching his earpiece with his right, "CNN has in fact just learned that the White House, reacting to the late-breaking news from the Supreme Court lifting the stay for the executions of the three chaplains, has released a presidential directive concerning the specifics of the executions. And I've just been handed a copy of that directive, released by the White House press office, which reads as follows."

  Miller held a document in front of him and began to read as the same text scrolled on the screen:

  I, Malcolm P. Williams III, pursuant to the authority vested in me by the Constitution of the United States as Commander in Chief of the armed forces of the United States, and also pursuant to my authority under the Uniform Code of Military Justice and various other directives and regulations pertaining to the United States military, do hereby issue this directive to the Secretaries of the Army and Navy, through the Secretary of Defense.

  Whereas a general court-martial of the United States Navy, having convened and considered certain charges and evidence brought against officers of the United States Navy, namely Commander AbdulSehen, Commander Mohammed Olajuwon, and Lieutenant Commander Mohammed Reska, all members of the Navy Chaplain Corps; and whereas said general court-martial, after having considered the evidence against these officers, returned with a verdict of guilty on all charges and specifications and sentenced said officers to death by execution; and whereas military procedures and regulations require that all death penalty sentences may be carried out only with the approval of and by order of the president: Now, therefore, I order that the Secretaries of the Army and the Navy, and all military personnel under their jurisdiction, shall carry out the following instruction with regard to the final fate of these defendants.

  The defendants shall be moved immediately by military transport from the United States Navy Brig in Norfolk, Virginia, to the United States Disciplinary Barracks at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, an institution under the jurisdiction of the United States Army.

  A United States Navy execution team shall accompany the condemned defendants to the USDB, and the Navy execution team shall carry out execution of these defendants at midnight tomorrow, in accordance with procedural instructions handed down by the Secretary of the Navy.

  United States Army personnel are directed to provide full logistical support to their Navy counterparts, including use of USDB facilities and any and all other support as may be necessary to carry out this sentence.

  Upon completion of the executions, the bodies of the defendants shall remain in United States Navy control for proper disposition.

  It is so ordered.

  Malcolm P. Williams III

  President of the United States hand.

  Miller finished reading the statement, paused, then looked up into the camera.

  "So there you have it, the first presidential order authorizing execution of naval personnel in over 150 years. And in case you're wondering why the defendants are being transferred to Fort Leavenworth, an army installation, the White House press office issued a statement explaining that technically, both navy and army regulations suggest that executions of all military personnel are to be carried out by the army. In this case, the president, himself a former Navy JAG officer, moved the site to Fort Leavenworth as a symbolic gesture that the armed forces are united in combating terrorist infiltration."

  Abdur expected a legendary outburst of temper from Hussein alAkhma at such bad news. Slinging papers from his desk to the floor, shattering the first pane of glass in sight. Even worse, brandishing his pistol and killing in a fit of rage. He'd done it before.

  Instead, the leader of the Council of Ishmael, like an angel from Allah, stood behind his desk in white linens, his arm outstretched, pointing toward the television set, holding the remote control in his His eyes were transfixed on the now-blank screen, and his face had an eerie, blank expression.

  "Praise be to Allah," he said. "And blessed be the prophet Mohammed -- peace be upon him."

  Hussein turned his eyes toward Abdur. These were eyes that Abdur Rhaman had never seen before on the face of Hussein al-Akhma. Instead of black and piercing, they were dark and soft. Almost glowing. Hussein seemed possessed by something strangely serene.

  "The time draweth nigh, Abdur," Hussein said softly, almost in a whisper.

  "Of what do you speak, Leader?"

  "Don't you see, my brother? This moment is a gift from Allah. This is the beginning of the end for his adversaries." Hussein's eyes seemed to gaze into space, at something unseen, just over the top of Abdur's head.

  "It is as you say, Leader," Abdur blurted, uncertain of what to say to the human apparition standing before him.

  "Only a moment longer." Hussein smiled, his eyes now sparkling. "In the holy name of Allah the merciful" -- he extended his arms to his sides, raised his palms to the ceiling as if in worship -- "hasten your coming glory."

  CHAPTER 12

  Execution chamber

  United States Disciplinary Barracks

  U.S. Army Base

  Fort Leavenworth, Kansas2330 hours

  Zack waited in the corridor just outside the execution chamber with a handful of other navy dignitaries, including Captain Will MacDonald, Lieutenant Commander Wendy Poole, the judge advocate general of the navy, and the chief of naval operations. A handful of reporters also stood outside, silent.

  An army protocol officer, an African-American major wearing U.S. Army green, his boots clicking and echoing as he marched down the shiny passageway, approached the group with a clipboard.

  He stopped in front of the chief of naval operations, clicked his heels, and shot a smart salute. The CNO nodded, said, "Major," but did not salute back, reflecting the long-standing tradition of those in the army saluting indoors while those in the navy do not.

  The protocol officer, in a stern voice and with a grim face, s
aid, "We'll file you in according to rank, first the CNO, followed by the judge advocate general." The major studied the sheet provided to him by navy public affairs. "As the junior-most officer present, Lieutenant Brewer will enter last. Then we will escort members of the press in, who will be seated in the back rows." He looked at the CNO. "Admiral, is there any other way that I may be of service to you and your party?"

  "No, Major," the navy's highest-ranking admiral said. "You may proceed."

  "Very well, sir." The major again smartly saluted, then opened the large wooden door to the viewing gallery of the execution chamber.

  Zack waited for the admiral, the JAG, and other senior officers to file in, then followed Wendy into the white antiseptic-smelling viewing gallery. One wall was made of glass paneling. Behind it were three empty gurneys with bags presumably containing lethal agents. The senior officers sat in wooden folding chairs in the front row; Zack and Wendy sat in the last two chairs of the second row.

  Zack glanced at the round clock on the wall: 2330 hours. Thirty minutes to midnight.

  Eerie silence permeated the room. Not a sound from the dozen or so press members occupying the two rows behind him. Only the sound of pencils furiously sketching the scene, from the two media artists behind them. No cameras had been allowed.

  Zack didn't want to be here. He'd never seen anyone die and had never fathomed watching someone he'd prosecuted die. His heart ached. He missed Diane more than he could have imagined, though he was glad she had been spared this sickening scene.

  The army protocol officer interrupted his thoughts. "Excuse me, Lieutenant Brewer?"

  "Yes, sir?" Zack stood.

  "Could I see you for a moment?" The major waved Zack into the hallway outside the viewing chamber, then closed the door. He briefly wondered if somehow, miraculously, he might be excused from having to witness the event.

  "This is a bit unusual, Lieutenant," the major said, looking hard into Zack's eyes, "but there's been a rather strange request I've been asked to pass along."

  "Yes, sir?"

  "One of the chaplains has asked to see you."

  Dear God. If a chaplain is asking to see me at a time like this, something is terribly wrong. They've gotten Diane.

  "Major, is everything all right?" Zack's heart pounded like a jackhammer.

  The major gave Zack a puzzled look. "Lieutenant, do you understand what I just said?"

  "Sorry, sir. It's been my experience that when a chaplain comes calling out of the blue, it's to bring bad news. I was worried about a family member or possibly Lieutenant Colcernian."

  "Lieutenant," the major persisted, "you don't understand. I'm not talking about a Christian chaplain like you or I might see in a time of personal crisis. I'm talking about one of the Muslim chaplains you prosecuted."

  Zack stood for a moment, his mouth agape, his body temporarily paralyzed. "Wants to see me?"

  "Time's running out, Lieutenant. These executions take place by order of the president at midnight whether you see him or not. It's your decision."

  "Which one?"

  "Lieutenant Commander Reska."

  Zack's heart dropped through his stomach as his palms beaded into a cold sweat. He hadn't wanted to come, let alone talk to one of these guys.

  "That sort of thing's allowable?"

  "The navy's running this execution, but your guys have pretty much been relying on our guys all night. We told them we would try to grant a condemned man's last wishes. Anyway, you've got about twenty minutes if you want to do it. Personally" -- the major's eyes bored into Zack -- "I'm not sure that I would. These guys are traitors to this country. But it's up to you." He glanced at his watch. "Either way, I need a decision, Lieutenant."

  "Where are they?"

  "They're in three separate holding rooms. They've eaten their last meals, and now they're strapped on gurneys. Navy corpsmen will wheel them into the execution chamber, simultaneously, about five minutes till midnight."

  Zack's stomach knotted. He checked his watch: 11:35. "Okay, Major, I'll do it," he said, then wondered why he'd agreed, or for that matter, why he was even here.

  "Follow me, please." The major motioned to Zack. He walked down the hallway, stopping at a door flanked by two armed marines in combat fatigues. "He's in here, Lieutenant. You can go in, if you'd like."

  Why are you putting yourself through this, Zack? You don't have to do this.

  "I don't mean to rush you, Lieutenant, but we're on a tight time schedule."

  Because you'd wonder the rest of your life, that's why.

  Zack grasped the cold, round steel doorknob. He gripped it, nodded at the major, then turned it a quarter of a rotation clockwise. He heard a corresponding clicking sound, then pushed open the door.

  The room, its walls, floor, and ceiling, was all white, lit by five oblong fluorescent bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Two navy corpsmen, standing guard at opposite corners of the room in their enlisted "crackerjack" blue uniforms, shifted from parade rest to attention as Zack stepped in.

  The accused was strapped on a gurney in the middle of the room, robed in white, his feet facing opposite the door. A heart monitor, registering each beat with a beep, hung on a stainless steel stand beside the gurney.

  Zack motioned the corpsmen to return to parade rest. They complied, and as he stepped around Reska, he met the condemned man's piercing black eyes.

  "At last, my chance to speak face-to-face with the great Lieutenant Brewer."

  "There's nothing great about me, sir."

  "You prosecute me, convict me, have me sentenced to death, yet you still call me 'sir.' "

  Zack studied Reska's face. "At this moment, you remain my superior officer. I respect your rank, your office. That does not change, even though I have no respect for the crime you committed."

  A slight smile crossed Reska's face. "You amaze me, Lieutenant. My backers spend millions to hire the greatest lawyer in the world. But look at us now. Levinson is nowhere to be found. Yet you are here with me. And I am about to die."

  Zack let his words resonate for a moment. "Was there something you wanted to talk about, Commander?"

  "I wish we had more time to talk, but my time is short."

  "Yes, sir."

  "But you were right."

  "Sir?"

  "In your closing argument you said that I shot Petty Officer Aziz and dumped his body in the Atlantic. That's exactly what I did. I invited him on a fishing trip, then took him out in the cruiser supplied by the organization. I helped him bait his hook, and when he cast his line over the side of the boat, I blew his brains out. He never knew what hit him."

  Zack cringed. "Yes, sir. I was confident that I was right about that."

  "He trusted me, Lieutenant. I was his chaplain. But those who funded me, and the other two who will die with me tonight" -- Reska hesitated -- "they worried that Aziz would talk." Reska's eyes rolled off into space. "You see, Aziz did plant that bomb in the F-18, just like you said. So they pressured me to take care of the problem."

  Zack thought he saw a film of water in the chaplain's eyes. "Why are you telling me all this now?"

  Reska looked at Zack. "Because I never felt good about killing Petty Officer Aziz. Something seemed wrong about it. But they claimed it was Allah's will. I accepted that and carried out my orders."

  "And you no longer feel this crime was the will of your Allah?"

  "You're the lawyer, Lieutenant. You tell me. If this were the will of Allah, then would I be here now, strapped on this gurney, about to die?"

  "Your question presupposes that 'Allah's will,' as you call it, really matters. I don't believe Allah's will matters. I believe Allah is a powerless relic."

  Reska squinted. "You do not believe in God?" He sounded disappointed.

  "I didn't say that. I said I believe Allah is a powerless relic. My study of history tells me that Allah was an Arabic moon god, one of many gods, whom Mohammed allegedly had a vision of. That's why the symbol of Islam is a crescent m
oon. With respect, sir, I believe the god of Islam is nothing but a polytheistic entity that became an evil figment of Mohammed's imagination and is powerless to affect the final outcome of world affairs."

  "And do you believe there is a god powerful enough to, as you say, 'affect the final outcome of world affairs'?"

  Zack looked into the man's face. In the final minutes of his life, he was searching for something.

  Why me? Why is this grave responsibility on my shoulders?

  "Yes, Commander, I do believe there is such a God."

  "My time is short, Lieutenant. Who is that God?"

  "He is the one true God. The living God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob."

  "Hmm." Reska smiled. "And what would this God say to me, a man about to die, a man who has murdered and sinned against him?"

  Help me, Lord. Give me the right words.

  "He would say repent of your sin. That the hour of salvation is now, Commander. That his Son spilled his precious blood for you, and that if you will confess the Lord Jesus with your mouth, and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved."

  A peaceful smile crossed Reska's face. "You will be in the gallery when they take my life?"

  "I'll be there."

  "My eyes will be on you, Lieutenant, and I will consider the words of your God in the moments I have left."

  "Good-bye, Commander," Zack said, touching the man's hand and looking into his eyes. "I'll pray for your soul."

  "Good-bye, Lieutenant," Reska said, still smiling peacefully. "Thank you."

  Zack stepped into the hallway and checked his watch. Ten minutes until midnight. The major led him back to the viewing gallery, where all eyes followed him as he took his seat beside Wendy.

  She whispered, "Is everything okay?"

  "I think so." He still wasn't sure what had just transpired.