Huston, James W. -2003- Secret Justice (com v4.0)(html) by Secret Justice (com v4.0)

Before he opened the last hatch, he turned to Watson and said, “This isn’t the friendliest guy you’ve ever met, ma’am. I’d use some caution with him.”
    They went to the window outside the brig where a senior chief petty officer was waiting for them. He stood taller when he saw Commander Watson approaching. The first class petty officer tried to give him a look, a caution, but he didn’t see it. “Good morning, ma’am. You’re here to see the prisoner?”
    “Yes. Mr. Duar. Where is he?”
    “He’s in a private cell. I’ll be happy to take you there.” He stepped around the thin bulkhead and brought the keys with him. He unlocked the main door to the brig and stepped through. “Right this way,” he said. The two petty officers stayed back and only Watson and the chief stepped through. They stopped in front of a thick steel hatch that was dogged and padlocked. The chief inserted a key, noisily took off the heavy padlock, and looked at Watson. “If you need anything, please just let me know. I’ll be right outside. If I hear anything I don’t like, I’ll come in immediately, whether I’m interrupting something or not. Okay, ma’am?”
    “Fine. Open it.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” he said, turning the key.
    Watson stepped through and the chief closed the door behind her. Her bravery seemed to fall away from her and land outside the room. She was exposed. She felt a cold chill on the back of her neck as she stood face-to-face with Duar. She was surprised by the depth of anger in his dark eyes. It suddenly struck Elizabeth that she had forgotten something very important. “Chief!” she yelled.
    He opened the door immediately. “Yes?”
    “We need the interpreter.”
    “Yes, ma’am. He was waiting at the office. I should have brought him along. Sorry.”
    Watson took the time to evaluate Duar. He leaned against the far bulkhead eerily motionless. His hair was longer than it appeared in the grainy black-and-white photo she had seen, and his complexion was darker than she had expected. He was almost handsome. She was five six, and he was much taller, perhaps six feet.
    The hatch opened again and the interpreter stepped into the small room. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
    “Good. Let’s do this.” She spoke to Duar in English, looking at him the entire time. The interpreter quickly converted her words to Arabic.
    “Good morning. My name is Elizabeth Watson. I have been assigned to be your attorney. I’ll do my best to defend you—”
    “My what?” Duar asked, frowning.
    “Your attorney. Your advocate. You’re going to be put on trial, and I’m going to defend you.”
    “What am I being charged with?”
    “Murder of Americans, conspiracy to murder Americans. Conspiracy to commit terrorist acts. Did you not receive the charges against you?”
    “I’ve seen nothing.”
    “I’ll bring them today—a written copy of charges. But that is the heart of the matter. In any case, I’ll be defending it.”
    “You will be my attorney?”
    Elizabeth warmed. “Yes—”
    Duar said loudly, “And who pays you?”
    “The United States Government.”
    “A
woman
, paid for by the United States, defending me in a trial? This is an insult. It is against Islam, it is against my tradition and my culture.”
    “Why?” Watson asked, unable to control the redness climbing up into her face.
    “You are a woman. You’re not qualified to defend me from anything. I would rather go without an attorney than be defended by you.”
    “I’m afraid you don’t have a lot of choice. I’ve been assigned to you by the American government—”
    Duar clenched his jaw. “I will
never
speak with you, I will
never
tell you anything, and if you are there to defend me I will not participate in the trial. Get me someone else.”
    The translator completed his translation and looked at her sheepishly.
    “Fine,” she replied. “Then I will ensure you get a different attorney. You’re also