We stood and looked at each other stupidly for a moment before he thrust out his hand. “Sean, how are you?”
“Pretty crappy,” I admitted.
Then he shook hands with Morrow and she admitted how she felt pretty crappy, too. That’s not the word she used, though. She said abysmal, or some variation of that, because she’s too much of a lady to admit she felt like shit.
Clapper then led us through the facility and back down the stairs to the conference room in the lead-lined basement. Someone had given him a passkey for the door, and he slid it through the little magnetic reader, then swung the door open and we all walked in.
The long conference room table had acquired an abundant audience. Tretorne was there, of course, and he was back to wearing that damned vest he seemed so fond of. Murphy was there, of course. So was his boss, General Clive Partridge, who had all four of those heavy little stars weighing down his shoulders. And so was the White House man who had briefed me before I came out here. He at least was wearing a nice conservative suit and was too modest to try to pretend that he was a field agent. His name was Parker, and he didn’t look happy to be here. None of them looked happy to be here. Hell, Morrow and I didn’t look happy to be here. It was just a great big room filled with unhappy people who were unhappy to see one another.
Morrow and I had made a promise, though, and we were keeping it. We’d worked around the clock the past three days, dissecting the evidence and testimonies, considering every legal angle and alternative, arguing back and forth, often wanting to scratch each other’s eyes out, until we built the packet we intended to present.
Clapper walked around the table and took the seat next to General Partridge. The table had been artfully arranged so that all them were seated on one side, and there were these two empty chairs positioned in the middle of the other side. These, obviously, were intended for Morrow and me. Well, I knew a little about arranging furniture to achieve a certain psychological effect, and I wasn’t about to feel the least bit threatened. We were way past the point where some silly little game was going to manipulate our sensibilities.
I led Morrow over and we both sat down. I glanced at her and she appeared as exhausted as I felt, but she also looked calm and unperturbed. After what we’d been through, the fact that a few of the most powerful men in our country’s national security establishment were seated across from us didn’t seem to bother her in the least.
We spent a few moments digging through our legal cases and withdrawing our findings. We had made only ten copies, each numbered and stamped with the words TOP SECRET: SPECAT. Morrow, being by some order of magnitude the lowest-ranking personage in the room, got up and placed a copy in front of each of the men on the other side of the table.
I said, “Gentlemen, these are our findings. If you’d like, we can pause for twenty minutes to give you time to read them. Otherwise, Captain Morrow will orally present our conclusions.”
General Partridge, being the highest-ranking man across the table, and also the man who ultimately had to decide whether to convene a court-martial or not, made the call.
“Tell us what you found.”
Morrow looked at me, and I nodded for her to proceed.
She cleared her throat once or twice and her eyes swept across the line of faces on the other side of the table. Then she began.
“On the morning of 18 June, at approximately 0800 hours, Captain Sanchez’s A-team did willfully execute an ambush that resulted in the deaths of…”
She spoke for nearly twenty minutes. I was real proud of her. She was organized, succinct, and never strayed an inch from the facts, just like a Harvard-trained lawyer’s supposed to do. She explained everything that occurred, from the assumed betrayal and massacre of Akhan’s company, through the attempted obstruction of justice. The men across the table sat stone-faced and listened without interrupting even once.
I watched their faces and tried to imagine what they were thinking, what they felt, how they were reacting to the story Morrow was so skillfully unraveling. It had not been an easy case to break. Winston Churchill once described the country of Russia as “an enigma, inside a mystery, wrapped inside a puzzle.” What we had been up against was a cornucopia of conspiracies, a convoluted jumble of conspiracies wrapped inside more conspiracies. It was too many layers of collusion and connivance, starting with Persico trying to hide the fact that Perrite had murdered the survivors, to the team making a deal with Sanchez to cover one another’s misdeeds, to the men across the table attempting to subvert our efforts to find out what had really happened. It was all such a hopeless mixture of motives and compulsions that I still wasn’t convinced I had it all sorted out.
Morrow finally finished. There was a moment of fretful silence.
General Partridge reached into his pocket, took out a pack of cigarettes, and I’ll be damned if it wasn’t a pack of Camels, unfiltered. He extracted one, tapped it gently on his palm a few times, then lit it. Simply amazing. General Murphy got up and went over to a side table, opened a drawer, and fetched a glass ashtray for his boss. Smoking was strictly prohibited in all military and government facilities, but nobody in that room had the balls to remind the meanest, snarliest four-star general in the whole United States Army that this rule applied to him, too. I sure as hell didn’t.
Partridge then stared at me. “So what do you recommend, Major? What do I charge, and who do I charge?”
I said, “Why don’t we deal with the most serious charge first? The charge of murder.”
“Go on,” he said, his eyes watching me through a veil of smoke.
In my most lawyerly tone, I began. “The issue of murder becomes very complicated, mainly because when we began this investigation we were deliberately misled into believing that the role of our teams in Kosovo was essentially that of noncombatants, except in instances of self-defense. Only later did we learn of Operation Avenging Angel, and that Sanchez’s team was actually in Kosovo for the express purpose of performing offensive combat operations. Since Sanchez’s team had the legal authority to perform offensive operations, we concluded that the ambush conducted on the eighteenth of June was a tolerable act. It follows that the ambush was not an act of mass murder. It was, however, a willful disobedience of orders, since Colonel Smothers ordered the team to extricate, and since the orders the team were operating under strictly disallowed attacks on targets of opportunity.”
Partridge said, “Noted.” Nothing else, just that.
I continued. “Sergeant Perrite’s initial attack on the remaining survivors was not murder, either. It was a case of willful disobedience of his orders. Also, he abandoned his post in combat, which you’re aware is an added offense. He crossed the line from those infractions to murder when he purposely dispatched the wounded Serbs. He committed multiple acts of first-degree murder and one act of mutilating a corpse. Exactly how many murders he committed is impossible to ascertain. We have included copies of the coroner’s findings in your packet. A minimum of three. As many as ten.”
“Noted,” Partridge said again.
I said, “The act of mutiny is again a matter of extraordinary complexity. The Uniform Code of Military Justice defines mutiny as a deliberate and organized attempt to usurp the authority of the designated leaders of the unit. Over the centuries, there have been many test cases involving multiple variations of mutiny. Captain Morrow and I did as much research as our limited time and resources permitted. We will not bore you with the details, but we found no case in military law that precisely mirrors what happened inside Captain Sanchez’s unit. More able or experienced jurists might argue with our finding; however, our considered judgment is that Captain Terry Sanchez willfully abrogated his responsibility to lead the unit, and that Chief Michael Persico took the commendable step of performing his duties. There seems a strong possibility that had Sanchez not voluntarily relinquished his leadership, there would have been a mutiny, but Sanchez’s own passiveness preempted this offense.”