Huston, James W. -2003- Secret Justice (com v4.0)(html) by Secret Justice (com v4.0) Page A
Authors: Secret Justice (com v4.0)
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entitled to a civilian attorney. I do not know how you would pay for a civilian attorney, nor do I know how you would contact one. But if you want a civilian attorney, you’re entitled to one. I would also, if I were you, contact the press. That’s going to be your best bet for a fair trial in this setting. Good-bye.” She turned and banged her flat hand on the heavy hatch. The chief opened it immediately and she and the interpreter stepped through.
She was furious. It would have been the biggest case of her life. She had looked forward to defending Duar, to bleeding for him. He had no idea how much she would have sacrificed for him, how hard she would have worked for him. But he didn’t care a bit. To him it was impossible because she was a woman.
But if she were honest with herself, she knew, she would have to admit it was as much about her as it was him. Defending him in the first big tribunal in the War on Terrorism would have made her a household name. It would have been her chance at fame and notoriety. When she retired in two years, this case alone would have made her marketable as an attorney. She could get a good, high-paying job in the private sector. But Duar had changed all that.
She stepped over one knee-knocker after another as she hurried down the passageway toward the ladder. She headed directly to her stateroom. She would pack her things, get the next helo off the ship, and get back to her office at Fifth Fleet. The hell with Duar anyway. What an
asshole
, she thought. She would love the opportunity to stick it to him; but vengeance wasn’t a praiseworthy instinct. She was ashamed she felt as she did, but only slightly.
Chapter 6
Rat walked into Jacobs’s office. He had been paged and had no idea what it was about. Jacobs sat at his desk talking on the telephone. He glanced up and saw Rat. He motioned for him to sit down. “I’d like to be with him—I don’t care. I understand.” He looked at Rat as he listened angrily to the person on the other end of the line. “I’ll tell them what I would do, and he can do what he wants. Okay, fine. Five minutes.” Jacobs hung up the phone. He was drained. “Rat, how you doing?”
“Fine. What’s up? I got your page.”
Jacobs sat silently. He seemed lost for words. “Rat,” he said in a tone and with a look that Rat didn’t like at all, “there are times in our lives where things happen beyond our control. In my experience, it’s those times that determine our character. Maybe it’s better said our character determines how those times come out. I think this is going to be one of yours.”
Rat stared at Jacobs, wondering what he was talking about. “I’m not following you, sir.”
“The FBI is here.”
Rat hesitated. “For what?”
“To see you. To interview you.”
“About what?”
“About that terrorist who died. The one with the vomit in his lungs. The one who started screaming he’d been tortured as soon as he got aboard the ship.”
“Why would the FBI want to talk to me about him?”
Jacobs scowled at him. “Why do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because somebody thinks you dicked up. Somebody thinks you may need to be charged because somebody thinks that torturing prisoners—or whatever one calls them—is a bad thing. Shit, Rat, what were you thinking? You can’t throw someone like that on the water board . . . and let him survive to talk about it.”
“Just trying to find Duar, sir. And we did.”
“Roomful of witnesses? They’ll all have to testify against you.”
“They won’t testify against me, sir.”
“You cannot be that naive. Have you never heard of a subpoena? Do you not understand that if they don’t testify against you they can go to prison too?”
“What happens now?” He felt exposed.
“Talk to the FBI. They’re upstairs right now waiting for you. You decide whether you want to say anything or not, or whether you are going to ask for an attorney.”
“If I ask for an
She was furious. It would have been the biggest case of her life. She had looked forward to defending Duar, to bleeding for him. He had no idea how much she would have sacrificed for him, how hard she would have worked for him. But he didn’t care a bit. To him it was impossible because she was a woman.
But if she were honest with herself, she knew, she would have to admit it was as much about her as it was him. Defending him in the first big tribunal in the War on Terrorism would have made her a household name. It would have been her chance at fame and notoriety. When she retired in two years, this case alone would have made her marketable as an attorney. She could get a good, high-paying job in the private sector. But Duar had changed all that.
She stepped over one knee-knocker after another as she hurried down the passageway toward the ladder. She headed directly to her stateroom. She would pack her things, get the next helo off the ship, and get back to her office at Fifth Fleet. The hell with Duar anyway. What an
asshole
, she thought. She would love the opportunity to stick it to him; but vengeance wasn’t a praiseworthy instinct. She was ashamed she felt as she did, but only slightly.
Chapter 6
Rat walked into Jacobs’s office. He had been paged and had no idea what it was about. Jacobs sat at his desk talking on the telephone. He glanced up and saw Rat. He motioned for him to sit down. “I’d like to be with him—I don’t care. I understand.” He looked at Rat as he listened angrily to the person on the other end of the line. “I’ll tell them what I would do, and he can do what he wants. Okay, fine. Five minutes.” Jacobs hung up the phone. He was drained. “Rat, how you doing?”
“Fine. What’s up? I got your page.”
Jacobs sat silently. He seemed lost for words. “Rat,” he said in a tone and with a look that Rat didn’t like at all, “there are times in our lives where things happen beyond our control. In my experience, it’s those times that determine our character. Maybe it’s better said our character determines how those times come out. I think this is going to be one of yours.”
Rat stared at Jacobs, wondering what he was talking about. “I’m not following you, sir.”
“The FBI is here.”
Rat hesitated. “For what?”
“To see you. To interview you.”
“About what?”
“About that terrorist who died. The one with the vomit in his lungs. The one who started screaming he’d been tortured as soon as he got aboard the ship.”
“Why would the FBI want to talk to me about him?”
Jacobs scowled at him. “Why do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because somebody thinks you dicked up. Somebody thinks you may need to be charged because somebody thinks that torturing prisoners—or whatever one calls them—is a bad thing. Shit, Rat, what were you thinking? You can’t throw someone like that on the water board . . . and let him survive to talk about it.”
“Just trying to find Duar, sir. And we did.”
“Roomful of witnesses? They’ll all have to testify against you.”
“They won’t testify against me, sir.”
“You cannot be that naive. Have you never heard of a subpoena? Do you not understand that if they don’t testify against you they can go to prison too?”
“What happens now?” He felt exposed.
“Talk to the FBI. They’re upstairs right now waiting for you. You decide whether you want to say anything or not, or whether you are going to ask for an attorney.”
“If I ask for an
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