Authors: Joshua Graham
“I don’t know.”
“Isn’t it true that the FBI uses silencers, or more accurately, suppressors?”
“Objection. The Federal Bureau of Investigation is not on trial here.”
“But the veracity of the evidence is crucial to my case.” Morgenstern faces Maguire. “Doesn’t this report raise more questions than it answers?”
She puts the photo down and gives him a patronizing smile. “You’ll have to take that up with the pathologist who wrote the report.”
Without taking his eyes from her, he takes three steps back and reaches over the rail to retrieve a stack of papers from the desk. “You mean this report?” He enters it into evidence and hands it to her.
“This is the report.”
“Please tell the court who prepared it.”
She cranes her neck a bit to examine the cover. “It says Avijit Singh.”
Morgenstern rests his hand on the rail of the witness stand. “Are you aware that Mr. Singh resigned from his position the day after this report was filed?”
“I don’t keep track of anyone’s career outside of my own direct reports.”
“Why do you think he’d do that, after working in the Bureau for fifteen years?”
“Objection,” Nevins says. “Relevance.”
“Sustained.”
A stir rises up from the jury.
“If I were to call him as a witness, Ms. Maguire, what do you think Mr. Singh would say, under oath, about this report that fails to mention the lack of gunpowder residue?”
“Objection!”
Before Hardings can rule, Morgenstern plows through the next set of questions. “Isn’t it true that this report has been falsified and that the actual murder weapon was a Glock twenty-two, standard FBI issue?”
Maguire’s eyes dart quickly between the jury and Nevins. She’s unaware of her appearance until she notices the report shaking in her hands and puts it down.
“A Glock twenty-two with a suppressor, Ms. Maguire. Standard issue for the FBI, isn’t that true?”
Nevins: “Your Honor!”
Hardings: “That’s enough, counsel.”
“Isn’t it true, Sharon Maguire, that you did in fact shoot and kill Special Agent Kyle Matthews?”
“Counsel, you’re to stop this line of—”
“And that you’re part of an elaborate—”
“Mr. Morgenstern! Chambers!” Hardings is pounding his gavel repeatedly now; each rap rings in my head like a gunshot. John finally stops. Maguire’s eyes are blazing, her teeth clenched. For a moment, it seems no one dares breathe. Then the judge addresses the courtroom. “We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning at 0-eight-hundred hours.”
91
“You’re insane.” Which is a bit easier to say to John when I’m locked in a guarded conference room in the brig. “What were you thinking?”
“Desperate times.”
“I didn’t think you’d go on the offensive like that.”
“Reasonable doubt. That’s the strategy. I saw an opportunity.” John shrugs. “Colonel Hardings chewed me out real good in his chambers. He’s under the impression that I got my law degree from FoxTV University.”
“Can’t say I blame him.”
“We need to stay focused. This is just day one. Tomorrow Nevins will call Loran Stevenson, Homeland’s National Cyber Security Director. I have to tell you, the evidence they’ve prepared—”
“Concocted.”
“It’s pretty tight.”
“Is there any hope?”
“I believe so.”
“I’m having a hard time believing in anything now.”
“Even with that pastor’s pep talks?”
I put my head down and let the grief and frustration pour out onto my sleeve. My words evaporate into a whimper. “I don’t know.”
Warm sunlight pours in from the window and bathes my shoulders. Small comfort, but I’ll take what I can get. Reflecting on the past few days in prison, I realize that I haven’t had any appetite, can’t sleep well, and I’m probably losing weight.
John has been thumbing through pages upon pages—no doubt briefs, affidavits, and evidentiary documents. Then the rustling of paper stops. All is silent save for the soft buzzing of the white flourescents overhead. “Hey.”
I barely answer with a soft grunt.
“It’s not over till G. Gordon Liddy sings. And even then, it ain’t.”
“You’re naive.”
“And you need to have some faith.”
“You’ve been talking to Pastor Jake, I see.”
“What?”
“I just can’t make any sense of it. If there really is a God, a God who gave me those visions, then He’s either incompetent or He’s a sadist.”
John puts his papers down and sits up, his eyes a bit wider. “I once saw a bumper sticker that said:
If you’re an atheist, you’d better pray that you’re right
. Couldn’t help but laugh. But you know, we often laugh at things that make us uncomfortable.”
“Are you an atheist?”
“Always thought I was. Then I realized that it takes the same kind of faith
not
to believe, you know?”
“Never thought of it that way.”
“People always say, ‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ right? But I’m starting to think that faith isn’t about seeing. It’s counterintuitive because, well, it goes beyond human perception.”
“As in supernatural?”
“Possibly. The way I see it, faith says:
I’ll see it when I believe it
. And true faith is something you’re willing to act upon, especially when under stress.”
That makes me lift my head. “Wow. This from an atheist.”
“I think we atheists have to have the strongest faith of all. Because if we’re wrong …” He smiles and points a thumb at the
ground. “Look, I don’t know about these visions you’ve had, whether they’re some kind of psychic phenomenon or a supernatural gift. All I know is that you’re innocent until proven guilty. And I’m having a hard time believing in the evidence the prosecution’s presenting.”
“That’s because it’s all fabricated.” I pick up a bunch of papers and start looking through them. “These so-called facts about me are unbelievable when you know the truth. But if you don’t, it actually looks credible.”
He tries to take the papers from my hand, but I’m still reading them and grip them tighter. I motion for him to come close, so I can whisper in his ear. It’s risky, because I know we’re being monitored, but it’s the only chance I have to speak with John about the case. “Look at this one. This is evidence that I had conspired to assassinate Colson in January at his inauguration with a dirty bomb. Look at these receipts—I can’t even tell you what these items are.”
“It’s difficult to prove these documents are fakes. I’ve checked them thoroughly and their purported sources all corroborate them. You know, you don’t get the same stringent chain of custody for evidence in a tribunal as you would in a civilian criminal case.”
“There’s got to be a weak link in Colson’s machine, someone who’ll bring the truth to light about the atrocities in Vietnam, the cover-up, the murders. Someone who’ll testify.”
“Would you?”
“Would I what?”
“Testify against him, if you worked for him?”
I let that question sink in as I flip through to the final page of this dirty-bomb brief. It looks so official that even I’m almost convinced. “I see your point. Anyone who was that involved would know the dangers of speaking out.”
“It’s an unholy matrimony.”
“Till death do you part.”
“Yeah.” Now, in a normal voice, John says, “Hey, you mind?” He tries again to take the document I wouldn’t relinquish. “I need that.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
John takes a deep breath and gathers his things. “Well, anyway. I just thought I’d fill you in on what happened today.”
“Going after the prosecution’s witness like that? I wonder how Nevins took it.”
“Oh, he’s ticked. But these military lawyers like a good fight. I was just doing a little punching below the belt. He’ll get over it.”
“Hope you haven’t flushed your career down the toilet.”
A shrug, and he stands. “If I have, it’s okay. I’m just placating my parents. They put me through school and hoped I’d come back to the East Coast and become a partner in my father’s firm. But truth be told? My real passion is surfing.”
“Hold fast to dreams.”
“Right on.” He knocks on the door, and the guard lets him out.
Not a lot accomplished in this meeting. Because of the strict intelligence monitoring and lack of attorney-client confidentiality, John can’t really tell me much about strategy. He’s asking me to put a lot of faith in him.
He’s crazy.
But it just might be a lunatic I’m looking for.
92
Day two of the tribunal.
I’m disturbed by the similarities between my case and that of José Padilla, who was arrested by federal agents at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport in 2002 on terrorism charges and subsequently declared an enemy combatant working to construct a radioactive dirty bomb. Only, his case was eventually moved to a civilian court. With all Colson has at stake, it’s impossible he’ll permit that to happen with me. After all, if the truth ever came out, what kind of faith could our nation ever have in our governing leaders again?
We all looked to Colson as the hope of the nation after eight years under the Bush regime. God only knows where Colson will lead the country after he’s sworn in.
These are the thoughts that run through my mind while Loran Stevenson of Homeland Security is sworn in. He’s a formidable man with a silver crest who looks like he could have been an NFL linebacker in his prime. Even now, he’s not the kind of person with whom I’d get into a disagreement. When he speaks, his voice booms throughout the courtroom.
Intimidation incarnate.
Nevins dives right in with his testimony, all of which, when bolstered by the ostensive evidence, seems compelling. So compelling, in fact, I can’t even think of a way to refute it.
What’s our defense? “They’re lying.” Is that all we’ve got? Oh, we’ve got my testimony. My visions, my version of what happened when I pulled a gun on Colson.
All of Stevenson’s testimony atomizes into distant words. The portrait they’ve painted of me shocks me to the point of numbness. I’m really quite dangerous, apparently.
Nevins sits down. “No further questions.”
Before John approaches the witness, Judge Hardings points a finger. “Careful, Mr. Morgenstern.”
“Sir.” He’s a lot tamer on today’s cross, which makes me feel both relieved and somewhat peeved. Stevenson is a much heavier hitter than Maguire, the assistant director of the FBI serial-crimes unit. He’s the one John should pummel, isn’t he? But no. It’s almost like he’s throwing the fight. A chill creeps up my back. Could my attorney be on Colson’s payroll as well? Colson’s corrupted power stretches out deeper and wider than imaginable. He’s obviously controlling the media now. Did he get to John too?
“Mr. Stevenson, can you state to an absolute certainty that none of these documents and records entered by the prosecution into evidence have been tampered with, or even fabricated?”
“Yes.”
“Let me remind you that you’re under oath, sir.”
Stevenson smiles at John as though he were a five-year-old. “Which part of my answer did you fail to understand?” Subdued laughter erupts from the jury box and even from the judge himself. What are you doing, John?
John grins, but his ears and face flush crimson. “Nothing further.”
“Call your next witness, Lieutenant Colonel Nevins.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Please the court, the prosecution has just acquired new evidence in regard to the defendant’s assassination attempt.”
“Objection.” John hasn’t even returned to his seat, and he turns back to the bench. “I should have been informed.”
“I wasn’t at liberty to do so without compromising classified information.”
“Your Honor, this is unfair surprise. At least grant me a continuance to review.”
Hardings shakes his head. “You’re not in civil court defending the indigent, counsel. This is a military tribunal. You need to be prepared for anything. I’ll not lower the bar for you.”
“With all due respect, Your Honor, what in the name of—”
“Call your witness, Mr. Nevins.”
He nods to the guards in the back of the courtroom, and they open the double doors. “Your Honor, the prosecution calls President-elect Richard Colson.”
93
It’s an eerie portent. President-elect Richard “Thundering Rick” Colson stands ramrod straight with his right hand raised as the sergeant at arms swears him in.
Is this how they imagined it at the inauguration, where supposedly I planned to plant a suitcase-size nuclear bomb? To kill him and the faithful multitudes out by the Lincoln Memorial? The initial detonation would have killed him in the blast, along with the vice president and other dignitaries on the stage. The radiation would contaminate everyone in a five-block radius.
Excepting the thousands of innocent people who could get cancer from the radioactive spread, I almost wish it were true. This man is evil. And what makes him so frightening, besides the fact that he has so much control over this nation’s perceptions, is that he’s so debonair, so well liked, and perceived as such a hero.
Colson doesn’t make eye contact or even glance my way. But my hands are cold and damp anyway. The thought of his ordering the deaths of countless individuals and walking away with absolute impunity sickens me.
John leans against my shoulder. “You okay?”
“I think I’m going to be ill.”
“Can you wait until afterward?”
“How can you make light?”
He shrugs and points his chin at the witness stand. Nevins’s obsequious posture is almost laughable. “I would like to remind the court that President-elect Colson testifies today in his capacity as chairman of the Senate Oversight Committee on Homeland Security. I am deeply grateful for his taking time out of his busy schedule to be here.”
Judge Hardings nods. “Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel.”
“Mister President-elect, how long has the defendant been a subject of interest for the Department of Homeland Security?”
“I was not made aware of Homeland’s interest until she was arrested in New York for the murder of Stacy Dellafina. According to my staff, Homeland’s been eyeing her carefully since the summer of 2007, when she went on assignment to Iraq.”