My mind was still turning as the vehicle pulled slowly through the gray parking lot and onto the main road of the base.
My attorney, to his credit, waited quietly.
It was as if he knew that I needed the time to decode the information he'd presented me with.
After a minute or two, I finally said what I'd been thinking.
"They knew". It was almost a whisper.
He nodded. "They knew. There's no question about that."
Both of us turned and faced out of our respective windows, the rain falling harder now and cascading down the glass. The weather seemed appropriate.
We sat like that for a while, until Myers turned to me once more.
"The question is, Jackson. Who knew, and why? If we can figure that part out, we have a chance to bring these people to justice."
I turned towards him just in time to see him shake his head in disdain and turn back to face the Virginia rain rolling down his window.
"That," I replied, "Is the billion dollar question, isn't it."
He just nodded.
We rode the rest of the way in silence, reaching the tall brick building which housed the military tribunal here in Norfolk. It stood stoically above the shorter buildings on base, red brick with a sloping roof, punctuated by Doric columns in the front and large heavy doors.
An appropriate building for a court house. I thought, as the MP opened my door and I stepped onto the wet concrete below.
A number of reporters crowded around the steps.
The throng turned towards me as we stepped up the brick steps to the courthouse.
As the reporters attempted to swarm me, men and women in business suits tried to get a statement, any statement that would feed the twenty four hour news machine.
The government vehicle drove away as the remaining MP escorted me up the brick stairs to the heavy wooden doors at the top of the landing.
We pushed through the reporters who crowded around us.
The rain continued to fall lightly as we approached the building.
At the top of the brick landing stood another Military Police officer who pushed open the doors as we approached. The wooden doors swung silently on well oiled hinges and we stepped into the large foyer of the building.
The press had not been allowed inside. The foyer of the building was quiet.
Within the foyer sat a man in a wheelchair, flanked by his own attorney who was clad in dress whites. The man in the wheelchair was wearing the familiar khaki uniform of a Chief.
It was Chief Jones.
The huge black SEAL's enormous frame seemed to dwarf the small metal wheelchair, which looked like it might collapse at any minute under the weight of his 250 plus pounds of muscle.
When he heard the door flung open, he turned and the closest thing to a smile I'd ever seen from the Chief crossed his face.
Ever the stoic, he wheeled himself over to me, his right leg propped up in the chair before him.
He nodded, and I returned the nod with a slight inclination of my own head.
"Chief." I said, eyeing his condition.
"You look pretty good, Lieutenant. Better than me, I guess."
The Chief was admittedly in rough shape. His leg was propped up in a cast which extended from his wheelchair. One of his arms was in a sling, and there were cuts covering his face.
My anger boiled as I looked at the Chief. His face, bruised and cut was a reminder of my team members who hadn't made it. Of their families. And of my own.
"Did they get to you?" I asked, forcing myself to relax the muscles in my face and jaw as I awaited the Chief's response.
"What do you mean?" The Chief responded. There was no lie in his eyes, and his voice was steady.
I relaxed.
Leaning in, I whispered in a voice only loud enough for Chief Jones and my own ears, "This was no case of mistaken identity. It was a cover up. Someone at the highest levels of government was trying to get whatever was stored at that facility out before we arrived."
To his credit, the Chief did not allow emotions to cloud his behavior. He simply nodded, although his fists did clench involuntarily on the arms of his wheelchair.
"Who?" He asked, as his attorney approached us from behind and began to talk to LCDR Meyers. It seemed the judge was ready to see us now.
"I don't know." I replied, as the military police officer escorted me into the courtroom.
But we need to find out, I thought as I stepped down the long marble hallway past the wooden seats packed with waiting officers and military public affairs officials.
The press had been relegated to the outside, but there was no doubt that the military services themselves would be releasing the results of today's hearing to the public as soon as it happened.
I glanced around the room before taking my seat at the defendant's table. It was almost all men and women in uniform, and was only about half full.
In the back of the courtroom near the tall double doors that led into the marble floored auditorium sat Leigh.
In her lap was Clementine. Even from forty or so feet away, I could see that Leigh had been crying, her mascara running slowly down her cheeks as she dabbed at her face with a tissue.
She held Clementine in her strong but slightly trembling arms. I was so fixated on the two of them I almost failed to notice the man sitting two rows behind them. He was the only person in the room who was not a family member or wearing a military uniform.
His tan skin and bespoke business suit stood out against the sea of white and khaki uniforms. He sat quietly. His hands folded in his lap, looking straight ahead, his eyes hardly wavering.
He looked even younger during the day than he had in the dark of night in the solitary confinement cell of the military Brig. His features sharper. His gaze self assured.
I straightened my back and sat as the Military Police officer released his grip on my shoulder and unlocked my handcuffs, ushering me to a wooden chair at the defendant's table. LCDR Meyers took a seat to my side and they wheeled Chief Jones to a specially designed table to our side.
I shuddered as I took a seat.
That man was here as a threat.
Admit to the crime you didn't commit or your family will suffer.
I turned to Chief Jones and flashed a small smile.
No. I would neither sacrifice my honor or the safety of my family.
I was a SEAL.
Chapter 21:
When the judge entered the courtroom we stood; all of us except for Chief Jones, who was physically unable.
So I stood and Jones sat. Our fates equally uncertain as the Navy Captain positioned himself behind the raised bench where he would preside over our Article 32 Hearing.
"Seats." He stated authoritatively before taking his own and turning the page to our charge sheet.
"Lieutenant Jackson Pike." He called.
I stood once more.
"Chief Petty Officer Michael Jones." He continued.
Chief raised his hand from his wheelchair and with sounded off a pronounced "Here. Sir."
The Judge Advocate General peered to where Chief sat in his wheelchair, his hand in the air.
The judge nodded.
"Lieutenant Jackson Pike, you have been charged with twenty counts of violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, article 118. Premeditated murder. This charge carries with it a maximum penalty of death. You have also been charged with a lesser charge of violation of article 113. Conduct unbecoming an officer and gentleman."
He turned to the Chief. "Chief Petty Officer Michael Jones, you have been charged with twenty counts of violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, article 118. Premeditated murder. This charge carries with it a maximum penalty of death."