They stopped for coffee at the Iguana Crossing Coffee Shop, and their journey ended at the “White House,” the tongue-in-cheek name given to the impressive white building that housed the Marine command suite at the base. It was an inspiring sight, a simple white-frame structure set against the backdrop of a bright blue sky, the American flag flying proudly in the warm Cuban breeze. Their escort took them inside to a conference room. The walls were paneled with white wainscoting, and white Bahama shutters covered the windows. The blurred reflection of a whirling white paddle fan shined in the highly polished top of a long mahogany table.
A navy JAG lawyer stepped forward to greet them. “Captain Donald Kessinger,” he said.
Sofia and Jack shook his hand and introduced themselves, though Jack noticed that the captain’s eyes were still on Sofia even as he was shaking Jack’s hand. A long travel day and an abbreviated night’s sleep on a military bunk had knocked her down a peg or two on the eye-popping chart, but she was still quite a welcome sight on a military base. Finally, the captain looked at Jack and offered seats to his guests on the opposite side of the rectangular table, their backs to the windows.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” said Jack.
“You’re welcome. How was the trip down?”
“I think Dorothy had a smoother ride to Oz,” said Sofia.
“Ooh, that’s nasty. But you made it. So how can I help you?”
Jack laid his dossier on the table before him and removed a sheet of paper. “First thing I’d like to do is run down the list of potential witnesses that I faxed you from the airport yesterday.”
“I have a copy right here,” he said, flattening it out before him.
“My preference is to start the interviews with the military police officer who was first on scene in response to Lindsey Hart’s nine-one-one call.”
“I’m sorry. He’s not available.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not authorized to tell you why not.”
“Where is he?”
“Reassigned.”
“To where?”
“Can’t tell you.”
Jack penned in a little X before the first name on his list. “The NCIS report indicated that there were three other officers on the scene. I’d like to talk to them.”
“They work as a unit,” said the captain. “I’m afraid they’ve all been reassigned.”
“So they’re unavailable, too?”
“Completely.”
Jack marked another X, then moved on. “Let’s talk about personnel in the surrounding area, people who simply may have seen anything unusual.”
“Okay.”
“I noticed guard towers all over the place here. I’d like to speak with the guard who was posted nearest to the crime scene.”
“Mmmmmm. That would be PFC Frank Novich. Once again, sorry.”
“Not available?”
“No.”
“Reassigned?”
“Shipped out yesterday. You just missed him. Tough break.”
“Where is he?”
“I believe he’s in…well, I’m not at liberty to say.”
Jack leaned into the table, doing his best to put some fire behind his tired eyes. “Captain, let’s do this another way. Is there anyone on my list who has not been reassigned and relocated?”
“I seem to recall there was someone.”
“Perhaps the captain’s direct commanding officer?”
“No, I’m afraid she’s gone.”
“How about the three Marines he was with the night before his death?”
“Gone as well.”
“So, exactly who did Ms. Suarez and I come down here to interview?”
“Looks like it’s going to be Lieutenant Damont Johnson.”
“Of the sixteen people I’ve asked to interview, you’re giving me one?”
“Actually, I’m not giving you anything. Lieutenant Johnson is with the United States Coast Guard, and he is still here on the base.”
“That’s it? We came all this way to talk to one witness?”
“It’s well worth the trip, I’d say. Lieutenant Johnson was Oscar Pintado’s best friend.”
“Oscar’s best friend, or Lindsey’s worst enemy?”
He didn’t seem to appreciate the sarcasm. “Mr. Swyteck, I shouldn’t have to remind a former federal prosecutor that these witnesses are under no obligation to meet with you before trial. The U.S. government has gone beyond the call of duty by arranging for you to talk to Lieutenant Johnson.”
“I know the rules. But I can’t help but smell a rat with these sudden reassignments.”
“Reassignments happen all the time in the military.”
“Some of them even for valid reasons, I’m sure.”
The captain’s expression soured. “Mr. Swyteck, I’m sure you’re aware of the statements your client made to the local paper after her husband’s death-her ridiculous suggestions that Captain Pintado was effectively rubbed out by someone here on the base because he knew too much about a top-secret matter. I also read statements to the same effect that your cocounsel here, Ms. Suarez, made on television after Lindsey’s arrest. So let me put this in terms you can understand. I have no interest in helping a couple of slick Miami lawyers get their client off the hook by building a cockeyed big-government conspiracy theory. Pardon me if I seem unreasonable. But I owe that much to the victim’s family.”
“My client is the victim’s family. So do me a favor, would you? Stop the speeches and bring me Lieutenant Johnson.”
Their eyes locked, and finally the captain blinked. Jack watched as he pushed away from the table and left the room in silence. The door closed behind him.
Sofia said, “What kind of crap is this? They make us fly all the way down here for just one interview?”
“Yeah,” said Jack. “Better make it count.”
15
We are the front line in the battle for regional security,” said Lieutenant Damont Johnson.
It sounded like the opening line from a presidential speech, and the lieutenant did have the air of a young leader about him. A handsome and articulate African American, obviously intelligent, the kind of guy you wanted on your side. He might have had a future in politics, if he could tone down the arrogance.
Jack and Sofia were seated on one side of the conference table. The lieutenant and the JAG lawyer, Captain Kessinger, were on the other. Kessinger wasn’t the lieutenant’s personal attorney, but he was there to make sure that nothing happened to “compromise the government’s interests”-however those interests were defined.
“What does that mean?” asked Jack. “The front line in the battle for regional security?”
“It means we’re in Castro’s backyard. Or,” he said as he glanced at the framed map on the wall, “if you envision the island as a big Cuban iguana with its tail cut off, some people say we’re crawling straight up its asshole.”
“And as America ’s ambassadors to proctology, what’s your mission here?”
The lieutenant almost smiled. He seemed to like the way Jack stayed with him, blow for blow.
“I’m not sure how to answer that,” said Johnson. “The Coast Guard conducts daily operations in the Caribbean theater, many of them out of Guantánamo. By doing that, we protect the United States of America from its two biggest external threats. Drug trafficking and terrorism.”
“Which of those two matters are you personally involved in most?”
“I’d say my time is divided several ways. The two I just mentioned being a big part of my job. Immigration and rescue-recovery matters being equally important.”
“By ‘immigration’ you mean illegal immigration matters, I assume.”
“Depends how you define illegal.”