“All attorneys and support and investigative personnel would also be required to sign nondisclosure agreements,” Waldron continued. “You also waive appellate review. Kubik gets dishonorable discharge, forfeiture of all pays and allowances.”
“What about time?” Grimes said.
“He serves five years,” Waldron said. “But all confinement in excess of five years will be suspended for fifteen years from the date of trial. His nondisclosure will be part of the good-conduct clause. He violates nondisclosure, we vacate the agreement, and he’s back in Leavenworth.”
Grimes turned to Claire.
Waldron said grimly, “Not bad, huh? Five years for killing eighty-seven people? You’ll never beat a deal like this.”
“Why are you suddenly so interested in making a deal?” Claire asked.
“Because this is a long and arduous and expensive process, and we think it’s best for all concerned to come to a settlement now.”
“When do you want to know?”
“Now.”
“Now? You’re crazy. I’ll have to talk to my husband.”
“He’ll be here in a minute or two. I should warn you, the deal’s off the table once he’s arraigned.”
“We’ve got three weeks before trial,” Claire said. “What’s the rush?”
“Just let me know your decision before arraignment. Which is in about five minutes.”
When Claire told Tom the deal as his restraints were being removed inside the courtroom, he shook his head.
“Why not?” Claire said. “The nondisclosure’s no big deal-you’ve kept mum about it for thirteen years! And five years at Leavenworth-well, I won’t minimize how tough any prison time is, but that looks awfully attractive, given the alternative.”
“Claire, I’m an innocent man,” Tom said. “I’m not doing five years for a crime I didn’t commit. Anyway, I wouldn’t survive Leavenworth. They’d have me killed. If they’re offering to deal, that tells us they’re scared. They’re scared of what we might bring out at trial. Scared of what might become public. Don’t you smell blood, too?”
“You’re being awfully brave for a man who faces the possibility of execution. It’s a gamble, Tom. A huge gamble.”
“Everything I’ve done is a gamble,” he said.
Grimes stared in disbelief and whispered to Tom, “Did I hear wrong, or did you just turn down Waldron’s offer?”
“I won’t do time for a crime I didn’t commit!” Tom whispered back emphatically.
Grimes turned to Claire. “You didn’t make him take it?”
“I can’t make him take a deal,” she whispered back.
“This man’s gonna sue you later for ineffective assistance of counsel,” he said, disgusted.
Claire approached the prosecution table and tapped Waldron on the shoulder. “We’re passing,” she said.
“Kubik heard the terms, and he’s not jumping at this?” Waldron said. “You serious?”
“Drop the five years, and you’ve got a deal.”
“Not negotiable.”
“Then we’re going to trial.”
Waldron gave a gladiatorial smile. “You’ll wish you’d taken it.”
“Maybe so.”
“Believe me. You don’t know what’s in store.”
“Nor do you,” she said.
PART FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“All rise,” the bailiff called out.
Judge Farrell, wearing a black robe over his dress greens, entered the courtroom and mounted the bench. He sat in his high-backed leather chair. In his rumbling voice he spoke into the microphone. “Please be seated. This Article 39(a) hearing is called to order.”
Waldron remained standing. “This court-martial is convened by the secretary of the army, by convening order number 16-98,” Waldron said. In military court-martials, the trial counsel also served as the court clerk. “United States versus Sergeant First Class Ronald M. Kubik. The accused is charged with violation of Article 85, desertion, and violation of Article 118, premeditated murder, eighty-seven specifications.” And he continued reading a litany of preliminaries.
In front of the judge’s bench sat the court reporter, the same middle-aged blond-haired woman who’d been at the last court session, at a small table, wearing headphones. The LED lights on the tape deck before her flashed, emerald-green lines jumping and sinking.
“All right, I am Colonel Warren Farrell, U.S. Army,” the judge recited. “I’ve been detailed to this court-martial by the circuit military judge. I’m qualified in accordance with Article 26(a) of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Would any counsel like to voir dire the military judge?” He referred to the seldom-used right to question, even to challenge, the judge’s right to try the case.
Waldron stood. “No, Your Honor.”
Claire stood next. “Yes, Your Honor. We would.”
Grimes slapped his forehead with a large hand. The sound was audible as far as the prosecution table, where Captain Hogan regarded Grimes with a smirk. He’d tried to talk her out of this last night, but Claire was determined.
“All right, Ms. Chapman,” Judge Farrell said in an attempt at bluff good humor.
“Your Honor,” she asked, “do you know why you were assigned to this case?”
Farrell jutted his chin and regarded her with veiled eyes. He took a sip of his coffee. “I assume I was assigned because of my experience with national-security cases.”
Claire considered this for a moment and decided to move on. “Can you please state for the record any conversations you’ve had with any member of the Office of the Judge Advocate General regarding this case.”
Farrell’s eyes flickered almost imperceptibly. But he remained game. “To the best of my recollection, counsel, I had one or two conversations that were purely administrative in nature.”
“I see. And can you please state for the record any conversations you may have had with any member of the personal staffs of the secretary of the army or the chief of staff of the army.” Here was the interesting question, and Claire wondered how honest he would be, whether he’d risk trying to cover his tracks.
But the judge was too clever. He took another sip of his coffee and glanced up at the low ceiling as if trying to recall a dim, distant memory. “Well, counsel, I can only recall one conversation I might have had that related to this case, with a member of the chief of staff’s office a few days ago.”
“Can you state for the record what you recall of that conversation?”
His eyes were dead. “Oh, we talked only generally about scheduling matters and such.”
But why was someone from General Marks’s office talking to the judge about scheduling matters? It made no sense.
“With whom did you talk, sir?”
“With Colonel Hernandez.”
From behind her, she heard Grimes exclaim, “What?”
Straining not to show her astonishment, Claire asked, “Is Colonel Hernandez in your chain of command, Your Honor?”
“No, he’s not.” The judge’s patience was visibly wearing thin.
“And, Your Honor, has Colonel Hernandez ever called you before about the scheduling of a case?”
Now he sounded dismissive. “I don’t believe so, no.”
“He’s never had any other conversations with you regarding any other court-martial scheduling?”
“As I said, I don’t recall any others.”
“Now, Your Honor, could you be more specific about what precisely you talked about with Colonel Hernandez?”
But Judge Farrell had had enough. “Counsel, I’m a busy man,” he said flintily. “My days are scheduled to the minute. I have conversations with dozens of people every day about hundreds of things. Unfortunately, I’m not always able to recollect every word that was exchanged. Now, do you or trial counsel have challenge for cause against the military judge?”