Huston, James W. -2003- Secret Justice (com v4.0)(html) (36 page)

As Skyles rose the judge ruled without him. “Strike the last sentence of his testimony.” Judge Graham turned to the jury. “You will ignore his last sentence.”

“Did you have an opportunity to speak with Mr. Mazmin before he died?”

“I did,” Satterly said quietly, to make sure everyone in the room knew they were now getting to the heart of his testimony. “Several times.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Objection! Hearsay.” Skyles said from his chair.

“Sustained.”

Wolff looked up at the judge, surprised, as if every ruling was supposed to be in his favor. “These are dying declarations, Your Honor.”

“Then lay a foundation that the witness was dying, and we’ll see about the hearsay.”

“When Mr. Mazmin said these things to you, what was his condition?”

Satterly had picked up on the judge’s hint. “He was in deep distress. He had a temperature of a hundred and four. His pneumonia was bad, and he was declining. When he confirmed these things to me, he was clearly dying, and knew it. He knew it because I told him so. The last time he told me these things was about two hours before his death.”

“Would you say that he told you these things when he was dying?”

“Without a doubt.”

“What did he tell you?”

Satterly looked at Rat and paused for several seconds. He looked back at Wolff. “He told me that he had been tortured. He had been forced to lie down on a table on the floor. Several men pinned him down and water was poured into his nose and mouth until he couldn’t breathe. When he tried to breathe he inhaled the water. He’d put so much water in his stomach that he threw up and sucked the food into his lungs with more water. He said he had never been more scared in his life. He was literally drowning.”

“Did he say who had done this to him?”

“He did. He said it was the man who was in charge of the assault squad. An American. An American who spoke Arabic.”

“Did you ever confirm who was that American who spoke Arabic and who led the attack squad?”

“Yes. I asked some of the squad members which of them spoke Arabic. They said only one did. Their leader. Lieutenant Kent Rathman.”

“Do you see Lieutenant Rathman?”

Satterly extended his arm and pointed at Rathman. “That’s him, there. At the defense table.”

Rat stared at him with violence in his eyes.

Wolff paused and appeared to ponder for a minute. “Just one last thing, Dr. Satterly. Did you ever have an opportunity to confront Lieutenant Rathman with this accusation that Mr. Mazmin was making?”

“I did. After Mazmin told me this, I was outraged. I went immediately to the wardroom, where Lieutenant Rathman was eating breakfast after torturing Mr. Mazmin in Sudan. I walked into the wardroom and probably made too much of a scene of it, but I wanted to ask Mr. Rathman what he had done. I confronted him and accused him of torturing Mazmin. I did it in front of the entire wardroom, in front of the captain of the ship.” Satterly was clearly pleased with himself.

“What did Mr. Rathman say when you confronted him?”

“He didn’t say anything at all. He just stared at me.” He glanced at Rat. “Just like he is now.”

“Thank you, Dr. Satterly. Thank you for coming all this way. I have no further questions.”

Skyles shot up and moved to the podium without any notes. He began firing immediately. “Shall I call you Doctor?”

Satterly was a little confused. “Or Captain. Either one.”

“No, no, my question was really about whether doctors of osteopathy are entitled to be called doctors.”

Satterly blushed in anger. “Of course they are.”

“But you’re not a medical doctor, with an M.D., are you?”

“No. They are allopathic doctors; I’m a doctor of osteopathy. I can explain the differences if you’d like.”

“You wanted to be an M.D. though. Am I right?”

“That would have been fine, but I am quite happy as I am.”

“Do you mean to imply to the jury that you did not apply to regular medical schools?”

“What is the possible relevance of this line of inquiry?” Wolff asked.

The judge was also concerned. “The relevance, Counsel?”

“Mr. Wolff offered Dr. Satterly as an
expert
on the cause of pneumonia and the timing of the terrorist’s death. I’m entitled to examine his qualifications.”

“Overruled. Continue.”

“Did you or did you not apply to regular medical schools from which you would have received an M.D. degree?”

“I did,” Satterly said angrily.

“But you didn’t
get into
any of those medical schools, did you?”

“No.”

“So you didn’t even have the chance to finish in the bottom half of a medical school class, did you? You couldn’t even get in.”

Satterly’s face was flushed. “I am not ashamed of my education as a doctor of osteopathic medicine.”

Skyles knew he had scored. Satterly was getting defensive. “Your testimony was very convincing that Mr. Mazmin had a very high fever and was near death
every time
he spoke to you.” Skyles paused and looked at Satterly hard. “Do you want to change any of that testimony?”

“No.”

“Did you meet with Mr. Wolff before your testimony here this morning?”

“Briefly.”

“How many times?”

“I don’t know, perhaps three.”

“Did he tell you that in order for Mazmin’s statements to come into evidence he had to be
dying
and aware of the fact he was dying?”

“He mentioned something about it.”

“You changed your testimony to portray every statement he made during the entire three days he was aboard the
Belleau Wood
as being near death. Right?”

“No. I did not revise anything. I’ve told it to you exactly as it was.”

“So you were completely accurate when you told us he had a hundred-and-four-degree fever on the first day you saw him and his condition declined from there. Correct?”

“Correct.”

Skyles waited, watching Satterly’s face to make sure he was quite relaxed and confident; sure he was beating Skyles in their preliminary duel. “Infections that are out of control—like his pneumonia—are accompanied by a high and increasing fever. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“And Mazmin’s medical condition was deteriorating from the time you first saw him. Correct?”

“That’s true.” Satterly couldn’t figure out what Skyles was getting at. He seemed to be lining his own coffin.

“Fevers often cause delirium and confusion. Correct?”

Satterly now saw where Skyles was heading. “Sometimes.”

“And delirium can have people state with perfect clarity things that are untrue or impossible. Correct?”

“That can happen,” Satterly said, trying diligently to backtrack on the sand on which he was now standing.

“And that’s what happened to Mazmin, isn’t it? He was delirious from a high and raging fever, that ultimately led to his death. Correct?”

“No. He was lucid when I spoke with him.”

“The whole time? From the time you first saw him with a temperature of a hundred and four, until he died of a raging infection and fever? He was lucid?”

“Yes.”

“So a man who died of fever and infection was
completely
lucid the entire last three days of his life while he was, as you have said under oath, dying. Is that your testimony?”

“Yes.”

Skyles saw the skeptical faces of the jurors who were beginning not to like Satterly. He knew that juries always give the benefit of the doubt to doctors. They generally admired doctors. But if the doctor begins to look arrogant or dumb a jury will turn on him. Skyles went on to his next line of inquiry. “You don’t like Lieutenant Rathman, do you?”

“I don’t really know him.”

“You don’t even like what he stands for, do you? You think he’s a cowboy, a Special Forces operator who is given too much freedom of action. Isn’t that your opinion?”

“I don’t know enough to say.”

“You are
outraged
by the idea of an American torturing a terrorist, aren’t you?”

“I do find his behavior outrageous. Yes.”

“But everything you know about this alleged behavior you learned from a mass murdering terrorist who had a fever of a hundred and four or more. Correct?”

“I don’t know if he was a mass murdering terrorist.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“You have access to the Internet onboard your ship, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You never typed ‘Mazmin’ into Google?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Really? I mean it’s a fairly discrete word.”

“Really.”

Skyles looked surprised. He actually wanted one of the jurors to go home and look him up on the Internet. The jurors were instructed not to do their own research, not to discover facts on their own, but he thought there might be one who would just take a peek. “So the man you accuse, and that you flew halfway around the world to testify against, you know about only through the mouth of a terrorist, whom you apparently believe uncritically. Is that right?”

“If you want to put it that way,” Satterly said.

“Did it never occur to you that perhaps the mass murdering terrorist was
lying
to you? Trying to get the American in trouble with his own people?”

“No. He was frightened. He had clearly been through trauma. He had been tortured.”

Skyles put his hands in the worn pockets of his suit pants. “You are out to get Mr. Rathman, aren’t you?”

“No. I have no personal stake in this matter.”

“You deny it?”

Satterly felt pressed. He didn’t know what Skyles had. “I do,” he said weakly.

Skyles waited for a moment, until every eye in the courtroom was on him. “Have you ever heard of the ICC, the International Criminal Court?”

“Yes.”

“You are a supporter of the ICC, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think it’s a radical idea—people should be held responsible for war crimes, crimes against humanity, genocide.”

“But the U.S. never signed the treaty establishing the ICC. In fact opposed it. Right?”

“Yes.”

“And you disagreed with that. Didn’t you?”

“Objection,” Wolff said. “What’s the relevance of this?”

“Your Honor, that will be clear in less than a minute.”

“Continue,” Judge Graham said.

“You disagreed with the U.S.’s position. Didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And when you heard from
Mister
Mazmin what Lieutenant Rathman had supposedly done, at least according to that mass murdering terrorist—”

“Your Honor—” Wolff protested.

“I withdraw the last part of that sentence, Your Honor,” Skyles said, anticipating the judge’s ruling.

Skyles lowered his voice. “After talking to Mazmin, you sent an e-mail to the ICC and told them about Rathman. Didn’t you? You wanted him to be charged with a war crime and tried in an international court, right?”

Everyone in the courtroom waited in a hushed silence for Satterly’s reply.

“How do you know about that?” Satterly asked, red-faced.

“Answer the question,” Skyles said loudly.

“I have a friend who is involved in the ICC. I didn’t have any expectations of him doing anything in particular about it.”

Skyles smiled, then the smile faded. “You thought he would want to know because you considered Mr. Rathman’s conduct egregious. On the level of a war crime. Right?”

“It was a violation of human rights and a violation of a treaty. The Geneva Convention. I thought they would want to know.”

“You told them before you even told any American authorities?”

“Yes.”

“The ICC only has jurisdiction if the home country cannot or will not prosecute. Right?”

“Yes.”

“And you sent your e-mail before the American system was even aware of a possible charge against Mr. Rathman?”

“Yes. I did,” he said proudly, as if he should be commended for his actions.

“Do you still deny you were out to get Mr. Rathman?”

“Of course I do. I wasn’t out to get him.”

“Sir, you are a supporter and member of Doctors Without Borders, are you not?”

“What relevance—”

“Objection,” Wolff said.

“Overruled.”

“Your answer?”

“Yes.”

“And you financially support the Human Rights Watch. True?”

“Yes.”

“And you are a financial supporter of Amnesty International. True?”

“Yes, I believe in all those organizations. Is there something wrong with that?”

“Each of those organizations has condemned the United States and its conduct in the War on Terrorism, have they not?”

“I believe so, but only when we do things we shouldn’t.”

“And you agree with them, do you not?”

“You’d have to be specific. I’m not sure what in particular you’re talking about.”

“Okay, let’s get specific,” Skyles said as he picked up a piece of paper. “When Gerhard Schroeder was reelected as chancellor of Germany he ran on a campaign
opposing
the American position in the War on Terrorism and in particular its plans against Iraq. You agreed with his position, true?”

“I don’t remember exactly . . .”

Skyles held up the document, gave a copy to Wolff, and said, “May I approach?”

Wiggins replied, “You may.”

He handed it to Satterly. “Do you recognize this, sir?”

“It is a copy of a letter to the editor . . .”

“That you wrote to your hometown newspaper in Burlington, Vermont. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“And in it you say, and I quote, ‘. . . Schroeder’s position is right on target, and his Minister of Justice’s statement is understandable.’”

“That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

Satterly looked beaten. “Yes.”

Skyles walked back to the lectern and paused for several seconds before continuing. “His Minister of Justice. Understandable, you said. Right?”

“Yes,” he muttered.

Skyles asked loudly, “She equated the conduct of the War on Terrorism by the President of the United States as a diversionary tactic, to take people’s attention away from domestic problems, much like
Adolf Hitler
had done. True?”

Satterly looked away. “That’s what she said.”

“No further questions.”