two simple rules. Always surprise the enemy. And never surprise me.”
“I can do that.”
“Perfect. So let’s have it.”
“Have what?”
“You’ve given me only half of what I need. You agreed not to talk without my blessing. That will make sure we surprise the enemy.”
“What else do you want?”
“I just told you. I want no surprises. So I need the skinny on your son.”
“My son was a Marine’s Marine. There’s no dirt on him.”
“I’ve done some checking up. The last thing I need is for Jack Swyteck to figure this out before I do, so tell me something, and tell it to me straight.”
“Sure. What do you want to know?”
The prosecutor turned stone-cold serious. “How did your son get to be so buddy-buddy with a slime bucket like Lieutenant Damont Johnson?”
17
J ack and Sofia had a late lunch of rice and beans in the Havana airport. The chef could have used a few pointers from Jack’s grandmother, though it was a bit unfair to single him out, since even the Food Network could have used a pointer or two from Abuela , whether they wanted help or not.
Havana was an unexpected route home, but they had been given no choice. The next charter flight to Norfolk was two days away, far longer than the navy cared to have two civilian lawyers snooping around the base. At Guantánamo’s behest, the Department of the Treasury immediately issued the licenses needed for U.S. citizens to travel lawfully within Cuba—proof positive that the bureaucracy could move when the bureaucrats wanted it to—and Jack and Sofia were whisked away on a commuter flight from Guantánamo City to Havana.
For all the travel, they’d managed just one witness interview and a twenty-minute visit to the crime scene. Amazing as it seemed, the interview was the most productive part of the trip. Lindsey’s old house had been completely sanitized—repainted, recarpeted, the works. A young officer and his new bride had been living there for the past three weeks. The military wasn’t exactly making it easy for Lindsey’s lawyers to follow the investigative trail.
“I want to apologize,” said Sofia as they walked to their gate.
“For what?” said Jack.
“For making this trip so difficult.”
“What are you talking about? You didn’t do anything.”
“Sure I did. I got their backs up before we even got here. That JAG lawyer specifically mentioned the comments I made on television after Lindsey’s indictment. They clearly are being more difficult because of my suggestion that Oscar may have been killed as part of a government cover-up.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over that.”
“I should have just kept my mouth shut.”
“The decision to transfer all those potential witnesses to another base was made at a very high level. Even if you hadn’t said anything, they’d be playing these games. An officer in the United States Marine Corps was murdered, and you and I defend the woman whom they believe is the killer. That’s all the reason they need to launch into combat readiness.”
She gave him a tight smile, as if still embarrassed by her television performance but grateful for Jack’s words.
They found a couple of open seats near the gate. Sofia read a magazine, but Jack was thinking about Lindsey Hart. After all, it was Lindsey, in her newspaper interview with the Guantánamo Gazette , who’d first gone public with the theory that Oscar was murdered because he “knew too much.” In Jack’s eyes, that theory had been a stretch from the get-go.
It was even more of a stretch if Lindsey was dialing for dead people on her cell phone.
“Gum?” said Sofia.
“Thanks,” said Jack.
At three P.M., they were still waiting at the gate in Havana. Jack had brought a few books and magazines from Miami for the flight, but with the detour through Havana, he’d purposely left them in the path of a janitor and his broom. The guy probably couldn’t read English, and he looked too proud for handouts, but he had
“I can do that.”
“Perfect. So let’s have it.”
“Have what?”
“You’ve given me only half of what I need. You agreed not to talk without my blessing. That will make sure we surprise the enemy.”
“What else do you want?”
“I just told you. I want no surprises. So I need the skinny on your son.”
“My son was a Marine’s Marine. There’s no dirt on him.”
“I’ve done some checking up. The last thing I need is for Jack Swyteck to figure this out before I do, so tell me something, and tell it to me straight.”
“Sure. What do you want to know?”
The prosecutor turned stone-cold serious. “How did your son get to be so buddy-buddy with a slime bucket like Lieutenant Damont Johnson?”
17
J ack and Sofia had a late lunch of rice and beans in the Havana airport. The chef could have used a few pointers from Jack’s grandmother, though it was a bit unfair to single him out, since even the Food Network could have used a pointer or two from Abuela , whether they wanted help or not.
Havana was an unexpected route home, but they had been given no choice. The next charter flight to Norfolk was two days away, far longer than the navy cared to have two civilian lawyers snooping around the base. At Guantánamo’s behest, the Department of the Treasury immediately issued the licenses needed for U.S. citizens to travel lawfully within Cuba—proof positive that the bureaucracy could move when the bureaucrats wanted it to—and Jack and Sofia were whisked away on a commuter flight from Guantánamo City to Havana.
For all the travel, they’d managed just one witness interview and a twenty-minute visit to the crime scene. Amazing as it seemed, the interview was the most productive part of the trip. Lindsey’s old house had been completely sanitized—repainted, recarpeted, the works. A young officer and his new bride had been living there for the past three weeks. The military wasn’t exactly making it easy for Lindsey’s lawyers to follow the investigative trail.
“I want to apologize,” said Sofia as they walked to their gate.
“For what?” said Jack.
“For making this trip so difficult.”
“What are you talking about? You didn’t do anything.”
“Sure I did. I got their backs up before we even got here. That JAG lawyer specifically mentioned the comments I made on television after Lindsey’s indictment. They clearly are being more difficult because of my suggestion that Oscar may have been killed as part of a government cover-up.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over that.”
“I should have just kept my mouth shut.”
“The decision to transfer all those potential witnesses to another base was made at a very high level. Even if you hadn’t said anything, they’d be playing these games. An officer in the United States Marine Corps was murdered, and you and I defend the woman whom they believe is the killer. That’s all the reason they need to launch into combat readiness.”
She gave him a tight smile, as if still embarrassed by her television performance but grateful for Jack’s words.
They found a couple of open seats near the gate. Sofia read a magazine, but Jack was thinking about Lindsey Hart. After all, it was Lindsey, in her newspaper interview with the Guantánamo Gazette , who’d first gone public with the theory that Oscar was murdered because he “knew too much.” In Jack’s eyes, that theory had been a stretch from the get-go.
It was even more of a stretch if Lindsey was dialing for dead people on her cell phone.
“Gum?” said Sofia.
“Thanks,” said Jack.
At three P.M., they were still waiting at the gate in Havana. Jack had brought a few books and magazines from Miami for the flight, but with the detour through Havana, he’d purposely left them in the path of a janitor and his broom. The guy probably couldn’t read English, and he looked too proud for handouts, but he had
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