SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops IV (19 page)

“I’m your legal representative, Chief. At least, while you’re still at Bagram. I heard you were looking for someone to protect your interests, and I volunteered.”

Nolan felt both relief and unease.

At least he believes in me, but Boswell was present when all the crimes were committed, had to have been. That puts him in the frame. Would the description of the rapist fit Boswell?
No, not very
likely. And right now, I need someone on my side. Maybe the guy could be helpful, despite my misgivings about his lackluster performance on operations.

“Thanks, Lt, where do we go from here?”

“I’m not sure. You know they’re taking you back to San Diego?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“The brass have given them the go ahead,” Boswell continued. “They say you have a case to answer, and they’re sending a guy across from JAG to look at your case too, and see where it leads.”

“Someone to defend me, you mean?”

He looked slightly embarrassed. “Er, no. They’ll be looking at a separate prosecution. Once there’s been further investigation, of course.”

“So who’ll represent me in the States?”

“You’ll be able to appoint your own lawyer, or a public defender if you prefer. Do you have a lawyer experienced in criminal law?”

Nolan laughed. “My own lawyer deals with property transactions, corporate law, minor civil stuff, nothing much more than that. I’ve never needed a criminal attorney.”

“Yeah, well, you need one now. My first piece of advice is to get yourself someone good. You need the best, and...”
 
He stopped, and then went on, “in fact, I do know a guy in San Diego. I was at Harvard with him. Edward Oakley III. Do you want me to contact him?”

“Is he any good?”

Boswell considered. “He is good, if a little unconventional. But I’d say yes, in his own way, he’s the best. If anyone can help you, it’s Edward.”

“In that case, I’d like to give him a shot.”

“Okay, I’ll fix it up. I’ll get him to contact SDPD and fix up to talk to you when you arrive. Anything else I can do?”

“Get me out of here,” Nolan grinned.

“I’ve no doubt most of the guys in Bravo Platoon would be more than happy to break you out. They’re pretty pissed at all of this, and they know damn well it’s all bullshit. But I’m afraid it would only be a temporary solution, and we’d all wind up behind bars.”

“I’ll be okay. This Oakley guy sounds good.”

“He is.”

* * *

They flew him back to the States on an American Airlines Boeing 767, flying coach, naturally. The cabin attendants, all pretty young women, viewed him with suspicion, and it occurred to him that Ashe had probably put the boot in and told them he was a suspected rapist and murderer. He was handcuffed to Detective Ashe the whole flight, except when Ashe needed the bathroom. They cuffed him to Preston, and Ashe unlocked his own cuff to leave his seat. Ashe spent the first part of the journey trying to put him off balance with grating observations.

“You’d better get used to the restraint, Nolan. They get a lot worse when you finish up in Pelican Bay. That’s where they put scum like you.”

Nolan forced a smile. “Do you get off on talking crap like that, Ashe? You playing with yourself right now? Have you got your hand inside your pants?”

Ashe scowled. “Very funny. You’ll have plenty of time for that when they put you away. That’s if you’re not chosen to be someone’s girlfriend.”

“Is that it, Ashe? Are you gay, you get off on men?”

But the detective wasn’t to be put off. “Why did you do it, Nolan? What makes a man like you with a good career, go rape a woman? And then kill those people while you were on operations? Yeah, the military guys told us all about you. They’re going after you when we’re done. You’re gonna go down for so long, you’ll never see the daylight ever again. Don’t you have any regrets?”

“I do have one, Ashe.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” The man leaned closer, waiting for an admission.

“Sitting next to you on a long flight. You ever consider taking a shower?”

Ashe looked away, and Nolan felt he’d succeed in getting to him. That was good. The last thing he needed was the guy needling him throughout the entire flight. Ashe didn’t bother him after that, and Nolan was left to his own thoughts. He made a mental list of priorities. He’d need it ready for when he talked to his lawyer.

I have to know what’s bugging Carol Summers. It seems incredible that
she
changed so quickly from loving partner to betrayer. Damned Judas Iscariot has nothing on her. I’ll try to talk to her as soon as I can after landing.

But the lawyer would come first, and number one on the list would be to get him out on bail. Number two was to start searching for the real killer. He had no illusions; the cops would do their utmost to get a conviction. They’d set their sights on him and wouldn’t rest until he was in jail. And then he’d have the MPs to deal with. If JAG was sending in a lawyer, it wouldn’t be long before they started making a case for a Military Court Martial. The more he thought about it, the more he came to realize there was only one surefire route to freedom. He had to find the real culprit, the rapist murderer who was still out there somewhere, still on the loose. And he didn’t have far to look. It had to be a Bravo Platoon operative, there was little doubt about that. And some of them he could eliminate for a number of reasons. Will Bryce was black, which left him out. Zeke Murray, Hispanic. There were a half-dozen others who were out of the running, for reasons of color, height, and so on. At a stretch, there were maybe ten real candidates, including himself.

I have to get free and start checking them all out.

They landed in San Diego International in a squeal of brakes and kerosene fumes. There were no formal immigration facilities. The TSA uniforms had been briefed, and after a quick look at their passports, they were passed through and walked outside the bustling, modern, almost futuristic terminal. The cops had a marked patrol car waiting there, and a gang of reporters lounged nearby. They looked up quickly and pressed forward when Nolan came through with the detectives. It was then the normal bustle of the airport terminal became chaos. Reporters thrust recorders towards him, and he was conscious of a cluster of news cameras pointing his way.

“Mr. Nolan, why did you rape that woman?”

“Is it true you killed innocent civilians while you were out on legitimate missions?”

“Do you plan to plead guilty, Sir?”

“Chief Nolan, are you ashamed of what you have done to the image of the United States Navy?”

Ashe and Preston pushed him toward a waiting SDPD cruiser, a black and white with the full array of lights and sirens. Camera flashes lit up the interior as he sat in the back. The car squealed away in a blaze of strobe lights and sirens. Preston was in the front, and Ashe was beside him, still joined to him with the handcuffs. The detective looked aside at Nolan.

“You’re a celebrity already, my friend. You’ll make the late news. How does it feel to be a celebrity?”

Nolan ignored the sneering remark. It was the first salvo in what he knew would be the cop’s intention to paint him blacker than black. They’d got their man, and they wanted everyone to know he was guilty before the inconvenience of a trial. They called it the perp walk. Ashe kept prodding him, but he kept his silence for the short journey to the headquarters of the Police Department at 1401 Broadway. Just before they hustled him inside, he looked up at the grim, gray building, built in modern American multi-story car park chic. Then they led him into the building and past the desk where several cops looked up and stared. His notoriety had preceded him, obviously, courtesy of Detective Ashe. The cop led him straight down to a cell and pushed him inside.

“Welcome home, Nolan. This is where you stay, my friend, until the bus comes to take you to San Diego Central Jail.”

“What about booking me, Ashe? I thought there were a lot of forms to be filled in.”

“Already done. We shortcut the process and did the paperwork when we interviewed you in Afghanistan. Don’t worry about it,” he sneered. “We’ll take good care of you.”

“What about my lawyer? I want to talk to a lawyer. I want to make a phone call. I’m entitled to that.”

“Yeah, you sure do need a lawyer. I’ll arrange for you to get access to a phone. It’ll be done in the next hour. Maybe a bit more,” he grinned. “My memory is terrible, especially after a long flight.”

He removed the handcuffs, left the cell, and Nolan heard the echoing clang of the steel door, as it slammed shut with a loud ratcheting noise as the lock engaged. He was now under the total control of the police and the prison system, and even worse, as good as convicted in the court of public opinion.

He paced around the cell. After the long flight, he needed to get his muscles working. He resolved to keep moving, and keep working on his fitness and strength. When he got out of here, he’d be straight back on operations, which was all he needed to keep in his head. He’d need every ounce of strength he could retain while he was cooped up inside this cramped cell. He was innocent, and he’d keep working at proving it until he was cleared. He estimated he’d been walking, stretching, and doing press ups for almost an hour when the door crashed open. A man stood there, accompanied by a guard. The guy looked distinguished, wearing a three thousand dollar suit, a shock of long, curly, barbered hair, polished handmade brogues, and the kind of watch worn by people with more money than sense. In fact, everything about him exuded wealth and power. He looked like an alien that had landed inside the prison.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man strode forward, his arm outstretched. “Edward Oakley III, Mr. Nolan, pleased to meet you. I’m your legal representative.”

His voice was loud, and his grip firm. Before Nolan could answer, he turned to the guard. “I need some privacy here. Would you please leave us alone?”

The man looked unhappy. “This guy is a dangerous felon. They told me he’s to be watched at all times.”

“A felon, is that right?” Oakley raised an eyebrow. “Do you know the law? A felon is a man convicted of a felony, is he not?” The guard nodded uneasily. “And this man has not been convicted of anything, quite the opposite. The charge he is here for is manifestly ridiculous. So go and find yourself a felon, there’s a good chap. And leave us alone, unless you want to explain to a Federal judge why you’re trying to block this man’s constitutional rights.”

Oakley’s voice was calm and measured, but each word was spoken in a precise East Coast Ivy League accent. The guard nodded, “Call out when you’re done.”

He pulled the door closed, and Nolan looked at the newcomer. He was of average height, but it was the only thing about him that was average. Oakley looked to be about thirty-five years old, and he told Nolan he’d started his law career late after pursuing a number of adventures to ‘get some experience of life’, as he put it. Tanned, lean, and fit, he had a pair of piercing blue eyes that Nolan felt were looking right through him. He was the epitome of the upper bracket lawyer, maybe with one exception to the average for that profession. There was nothing condescending about him. He was brisk, all business. Nolan got the impression it didn’t make a difference to this man whether his client was a Navy Chief or a Washington Senator.

“May we sit on your bunk, Chief Nolan? They wouldn’t allow me to speak to you in an interview room. They said there was a strong risk you’d try to escape. I’m sure they’re breaking the law in that respect, but we’ll deal with that one later. The first priority is to get you out of here. Any questions?”

Nolan was trying to adjust his thinking. For the first time, here was someone who was on his side for a change.

“Yes, how did you get to me? Who asked you to represent me?”

Oakley smiled. “My old college buddy, Will Boswell, of course. We were pretty close at Harvard, and he helped me out of more than a few scrapes, so I’m glad to help out one of his people. Anything else?”

Nolan shook his head.

“Good. To business, the first question. Am I defending a man who’s guilty or not guilty?”

“I didn’t do it, no way.”

“Okay, but they have some evidence to the contrary. How do you explain that?”

“It’s all circumstantial.”

“But this business of the memory loss. That could be a problem. Why are they pushing this?”