Huston, James W. -2003- Secret Justice (com v4.0)(html) (12 page)

“Kent Rathman,” Rat said.

As they shook hands Rat noticed that there was a catheter hanging out of the back of the man’s right hand. He was horrified. “What is
that
?” Rat asked before he could stop himself.

“I was getting some medical treatment today. Ignore it.”

Rat’s eyes raced over the man he was supposed to rely on to keep him out of prison. His tie was slightly crooked, and although Rat didn’t know one tie from another, this tie had seen better days. Tiny strings hung from it as if the cheap silk had been snagged a few dozen times. The white shirt seemed not quite as white as it should be. “So Andrea called you?”

“Yeah. She told me you needed my help.”

“I need somebody’s help.” He looked at Skyles hard. “But why should it be you?”

Skyles returned his penetrating gaze. “You’re concerned about my age. Don’t worry about it. I can kick the ass of any U.S. Attorney in Washington.”

Rat wasn’t impressed. He’d heard a lot of big talk. “Really.”

“Yes. Really.”

“How’d Andrea find you?”

“I assume she got a reference from somebody. What the hell difference does it make?”

“I guess I need to make sure you’re the right guy. I’m in deep trouble.”

“I am the right guy.”

“How do I know that?”

He leaned forward. “I’ve tried more cases against the government, against U.S. Attorneys, than anyone in D.C.”

“That means you’ve been doing it a long time. That’s all.”

“And I’ve gotten more people off than anyone else. No doubt about it.”

Rat asked, “How much do you charge?”

“I’ll try to get myself appointed by the federal defender’s office and paid by the government. They pay more than I might get if I worked at McDonald’s—not a lot, but a little more—but it’s a hell of a lot more fun, especially when I get to go against the federal government.”

“You don’t mind going against the federal government?”

“No. It’s the thing I like to do. I hate the government, and every chance I get to oppose it in whatever they’re doing, it’s pure joy to me. Representing you will be a great joy.”

“You know what the charges are?”

“Yes.”

“You think you can fight these guys?”

Skyles eyes narrowed. “I am going to be a shit-stick for the U.S. Attorney. Every time they rub up against me, they’re going to get
shit
all over them. They will be so annoyed they’ll spend half their time just trying to get rid of me. I’ll fight them every single step on every single issue. I’ll make their lives miserable. I’ll call them twenty-four hours a day. I’ll file motions they’ve never even seen. I’ll defend you to the death.” He sat back. “And we will prevail.”

“You’re not talking about doing things that are across the line, are you?”

“Never. Just annoying as hell, as obnoxious as hell, and as effective as hell.”

Rat was unconvinced. “I’m a pretty straight shooter. I don’t like angles and agendas. I don’t mind a good fight, even when the odds aren’t very good. But I like going straight at it.”

Skyles shook his head. “No such thing as a straight fight in criminal court. No such thing as a fair fight at all. Do you really think you can bring to bear the assets necessary to fight the United States Government? Seriously? You think you can put together an army of attorneys to fight whatever army they can put on the other side? You can’t get a fair fight when you go against the U.S. Attorney’s Office or the Department of Justice. When these guys turn their sights on you, you’re dead. They will get you. You’ll be convicted of one thing or another. And unless I’m here to protect you, you’ll go to prison for many years. But they hate me, and I hate them. When I come around the fight is as close to fair as you’re going to get. I’ve faced almost all of them. I’ve beaten every one of them. I’ve tried cases against the United States Government for forty years.” Skyles tried to force himself to stand up quickly but he didn’t have the strength. He got up slowly and stood behind his chair. Rat noticed that his suit was wrinkled. “I am a little off the wall, I admit. But that’s what makes me so
damned
effective.”

“So assuming that I do ask you to defend me, what’s your plan? I’d like to keep this quiet. I don’t want it to get out that I’ve been arrested and am in jail, about to go on trial for some horrible crime.”

“Keep it quiet?” Skyles asked, rubbing the back of his hand around the catheter. “Are you out of your mind? That’s
exactly
what the government will want to do. My guess is they’re schizophrenic about whether they should have even brought these charges. Somebody somewhere sure wants to bring them, but I’ll bet there are just as many people that said they shouldn’t pursue it. And for every U.S. Attorney who will charge ahead enthusiastically, there’ll be five or ten who would shy away from this case. The last thing they want to do is put some American hero on trial for doing something everybody in the country would say you should have done.” Skyles put his hands in his pockets. “They have to convince a jury, see.” He paused. “Did you really torture the guy?”

Rat took in a deep breath. “Are we free to talk?”

“They might be listening, but if they do it’s a violation of the attorney-client privilege and I can get them in a shitload of trouble.”

“Well,” Rat began, “it depends on your definition. I did use some water, a little technique that’s been around for a long time, to . . . encourage him to answer a few questions. I’m sure he thought it was unpleasant, but there wasn’t supposed to be any long-term harm. I guess he got pneumonia.”

“Too bad for him. Too bad the American public doesn’t know what you did, because you captured Wahamed Duar, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m prepared to bet that the average American would torture one terrorist to capture the most wanted terrorist in the world. I think they would make that deal. And that’s what’s going to be hard on the DOJ. When they drag you before a jury, the jury’s going to identify with you and not be sympathetic to the terrorist asshole who died.”

“So now what?”

“Say the magic words, that you want me to represent you.”

Rat stared at Skyles. “You sure you’re up for this? You sure you’re not too old?”

“I’m up for this.” Skyles looked down at the table. He spoke slowly. “I will not let you down.”

“Can I think about it?”

“Sure. But at least say you want me as part of your team. I have to jump in the U.S. Attorney’s shit right away. I have to get them on their heels. You can always fire me, tell them that I was a loose cannon, but let me start the fight for you. Let me chew on them a little.”

Rat couldn’t believe Skyles. He was the opposite of what Rat had expected, especially from Andrea. She had good judgment, and good taste. She wouldn’t send him some loser. Rat had envisioned having a sophisticated, soft-spoken but effective attorney who would somehow find some magic way to get him off. Skyles was a maniac. But maybe a maniac was what he needed.

Skyles grabbed his briefcase. “What do you say?”

Rat stood. “Let me think about it. Do you have a card?”

Skyles gave him his card. “Don’t think too long. You need to get the prosecutors playing defense right away. They’re not used to it. Give me a call and let me know what you decide.” He walked slowly to the door with a hint of a limp.

“I’ll be in touch.”

Elizabeth Watson stood silently in the wardroom, watching Commander Barry Little prepare his prosecution case. She was waiting for a helicopter to begin her long return flight to the Fifth Fleet. She considered helping Commander Little prepare his prosecution case, out of spite as much as anything, but that felt wrong. Still, she didn’t understand Duar’s animosity toward women. The world had seen the results of such fear, or animosity or whatever it should be called, with the fall of the Taliban in Afghanistan. But seeing it on television, hearing about the attitudes, was very different from personally experiencing it. She hadn’t been ready for it.

She drank from a cup of hot tea and watched Little prepare outlines on his laptop. The wardroom door opened and a sailor came in from the communications center. “Commander Watson?” he said, walking toward her, a message in hand.

She nodded to him and took the message. “Thank you.” She unfolded it and scanned for the location of her next assignment. When her eyes fell to the bottom of the message she felt a sense of panic. She couldn’t believe what she was reading. She crossed over to Commander Little. “Barry, you’re not going to believe this.”

“Believe what?”

She handed him the message without saying another word.

He took it from her, recognized it as a Navy text message, and began reading. When he had gotten halfway, he glanced up at her in stunned disbelief. His eyes returned to the message and he read on. He examined the DTG, the Date Time Group of the message, which showed exactly when it was sent. He checked to see if it was April 1. It was not. He checked for the transmission authentication and the message number. All in order. “That’s their solution to your getting fired by Duar?”

“That’s what it says. You’re now Duar’s defense attorney, and I’m the prosecutor.”

“That’s nuts! We can’t do that,” Little said.

“They say they don’t have anyone else they can spare. We’re here. I didn’t obtain any confidential information or establish any meaningful attorney-client relationship, so I’m free to prosecute him.” The idea had begun to settle in. She found it exciting.

“Did you even interview him?”

“As soon as I said I was defending him he looked like he wanted to cut my throat. I am a woman, and by definition, not qualified.”

Little’s face was a sea of confusion. “The only thing I’ve been thinking about since I got here was how I was going to hang this sonofabitch from the highest yardarm. In fact, on my list of things to do was to check to see whether ships like this still
have
yardarms. I’m not even sure what a yardarm is, but I wanted to hang him from the highest one we could find—by his thumbs, then by his neck. Until dead.” Little paused. “I’ve got real bad feelings about this guy, and I’m not sure I can really give him a proper defense.” He closed his computer and stood up. He put his hands on his hips and his mouth formed a small, ironic smile. “But maybe my duty is to ensure he has a real shitty defense so he gets convicted and we can do our yardarm search. Maybe I’m just the right guy.”

Watson frowned. “You will do your duty like any good attorney. I’m sure you will provide him with a good defense.”

“You seem to be handling this pretty well.”

Elizabeth smiled. “After meeting Mr. Duar, I can think of nothing I would rather do than prosecute his ass. See you in court.”

Sarah St. James sat alone in the back of the black government sedan as her driver skillfully weaved through traffic on the way to the Pentagon. She could not recall having been so angry. She prided herself on being calm, logical, analytical. It was one of her greatest weapons. When others got red and heated, she got calmer.

She had not called ahead. She knew Stuntz was there and she was just going to walk in on him. She didn’t want to give him time to prepare his response. She got out in the underground entrance to the Pentagon and was quickly recognized and escorted into the building.

“Good morning, Ms. St. James. Can we be of some assistance to you?” a Marine asked.

“You can escort me, but that’s all,” she said without even slowing down. She knew how to get to Stuntz’s office.

She reached the office and turned in. The receptionist was taken aback by the sudden appearance of the National Security Adviser. She stood up. “Good morning, Ms. St. James. May I help you?”

“Where is he?”

“Um . . . he’s in his office . . . in a meeting. He’s asked not to be disturbed. Is there something I can help you with?”

“No.” She pushed her way into Stuntz’s office. He was surrounded by members of his staff. “Mr. Secretary, may I have a word with you?”

Stuntz looked up at her. He was unsuccessful in his attempt to hide the shock on his face, shock mixed with concern. “Sarah! What in the world brings you to the Pentagon at this time today? Did we have a meeting that I’ve forgotten about?”

“No. We’re going to have an unscheduled meeting.”

“Could you give us a few minutes?” he asked his staff.

When the last staffer had closed the door behind him, St. James sat down across from Stuntz. She leaned her fists on the top of Stuntz’s desk and looked into his eyes. “What did you mean by arresting Rathman?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“The FBI arrested Kent Rathman, the very man that seems to make you feel so threatened. You had a tantrum when you found out he was sending me information. When he went after the man who wanted to shoot down the Blue Angels.”

“Arrested him for what?”

“Torturing a terrorist. Geneva Convention violation, manslaughter, I don’t know all of it.”

“Who is charging him?”

“Justice.”

“Then why are you talking to me? Why aren’t you leaning on Dirks’s desk and asking him what the hell
he
is doing?”

“Because Dirks doesn’t have anything against Rathman. Or me. This is your work. I can smell it.”

Stuntz frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Her voice grew softer and lower. “If this is your way to try and get to me it’s not going to work.”

Stuntz leaned back in his chair, separating himself from St. James. “I have heard something about this—your boy tortured that terrorist. Killed him, they say. Are you saying he shouldn’t have to answer for it?”

“I don’t know what happened. I’ll find out. If something went wrong, or he did something he shouldn’t have, I’ll do what I think is appropriate. All I’m saying is I want to know whether you had a hand in this. Did you start this? Did you make sure that he was arrested and charged?”

“Sarah,” he said in a patronizing tone that he knew would penetrate whatever reserve of civility remained. “I’m in the Department of Defense. I have no control over the Department of Justice or the U.S. Attorney. If you want to find out why they did what they did, ask
them
. Now please, I have to get on with my meeting.”