The Trials (The Red Trilogy Book 2)

by Linda Nagata

  “No, ma’am, I did not. I classified the document as top secret for reasons of national security, and for those reasons alone.”

  Major Ogawa undertakes his cross-examination, polite as always, but he shows no sign of being intimidated by the rank of the witness. “General Ahmet, what led you to conclude the document contained extensive errors?”

  “I am not at liberty to talk about that, Major.”

  “Did you arrive at this decision on your own, or were you advised that the document contained errors?”

  “Again, Major, I am not at liberty to discuss classified matters.”

  Major Ogawa turns to the judge. “Your Honor, the role of the chain of command is material to our defense. With all due respect to General Ahmet, the statement that the document ‘contained extensive errors’ is insufficient without some indication of how that conclusion was reached.”

  To her credit, Monteiro accepts this argument with a nod. “General Ahmet, please answer Major Ogawa’s question. Were you advised the document contained errors?”

  The general scowls. Maybe she’s thinking she doesn’t want to take this all on her own shoulders, because she concedes to Monteiro’s request. “Yes, Your Honor. I was advised of that fact.”

  “Thank you, General.”

  Ogawa is too smart to gloat. Keeping his expression carefully neutral, he asks, “Who advised you that the document contained extensive errors?”

  “I am not at liberty to reveal that.”

  Ogawa turns again to the judge. This time Monteiro punts. “I’m not going to compel an answer at this time. You may call the witness again on defense, and we’ll decide at that time if there is sufficient cause to conduct a closed session.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ogawa says. “Thank you, General. No more questions.”

  • • • •

  “The United States calls Special Agent Eve England.”

  I know her name from the witness list: the FBI agent who conducted the initial investigation of Black Cross. She looks to be in her early thirties. The business suit she wears—charcoal slacks and coat—is fitted perfectly to her lean, athletic figure. She pauses as she enters, her gaze surveying the courtroom, lingering on those of us occupying the defendants’ table. She looks to be of pure European descent, her fair skin lightly freckled and her dark-red hair smoothed and confined in a short ponytail.

  Eve England was Kendrick’s contact in the FBI, the agent who warned him that all evidence pointing to Thelma Sheridan had been locked up in a top secret file.

  Kendrick knew her. How? Did he use his network of contacts to get in touch with her? Or did he know her already? Was she—is she—part of the organization, that network of anonymous conspirators who planned and financed the First Light mission carried out by my squad?

  Kendrick told me almost nothing about the organization. I don’t blame him for that. He knew the Red was inside my head and that no secret was safe with me. I wish like hell he were still with us, though. He knew about a hundred times what I know about people, about how power is distributed, about who gives a shit for their oath of office and who’s just playing the power game to climb up over the fallen bodies and get above the blood.

  Eve England is a witness for the prosecution. I wonder what Kendrick would have made of that.

  • • • •

  “Special Agent England,” Major Fong says, “could you please describe your role at Black Cross.”

  “I was never at Black Cross, ma’am.” Her voice is low and smooth, each word crisply pronounced. “Army Intelligence did the initial on-scene investigation at Black Cross. My assignment was to inventory the evidence for the FBI case file.”

  “And where did you perform this function?”

  “At a secure facility outside of San Antonio, ma’am.”

  “What sort of evidence did you have access to? That is, what form was this evidence in?”

  “The evidence included documents, photos, audio recordings, and video, including video interviews of survivors. Fingerprints. Biological samples of the deceased. Air samples. Weapon inventories—”

  “Is it fair to say there was an overwhelming amount of potential evidence collected at Black Cross?”

  “No, ma’am. A large amount of evidence was collected, but I would not describe it as overwhelming.”

  “What was your relationship with Colonel Steven Kendrick?”

  “Colonel Kendrick visited my work site on November fourteenth. He had full security clearance, and I was told by my supervisor to answer his questions. He wanted to hear my interpretation of the events leading up to the nuclear terrorism of November eleventh, based on the evidence I’d been examining. I provided him with a verbal summary, and on November fifteenth, I used a secure connection to transfer to him a preliminary report packaging key digital evidence, interviews, and my conclusions based on the same.”

  “Were you aware, Ms. England, that other investigations relating to November eleventh were under way?”

  “Yes, ma’am, of course I was aware of this.”

  “Was this ‘preliminary report’ you provided to Colonel Kendrick a sufficient explanation of the events leading to November eleventh?”

  “Sufficient, ma’am?”

  “Sufficient to prove the guilt of the involved parties, Ms. England. Did this report include evidence to prove without doubt the identities and the roles of those who participated in the terrorism of November eleventh, evidence so profound there was no possibility of your conclusions being contraindicated by further evidence that might have come to light by virtue of any of the hundreds of other ongoing investigations?”

  England lowers her chin. She leans forward, just a little. “I felt that to be the case, ma’am.”

  Eve England does not rattle easily, a fact that has Fong deeply annoyed. She paces a few steps away, then turns and asks, “What is your current status with the FBI?”

  “I’m presently suspended from duty, pending a dismissal hearing.”

  “Why is the FBI seeking to dismiss you?”

  “My supervisor feels I overstepped my authority when I provided the requested report to Colonel Kendrick.”

  When the judge invites a cross-examination, Major Ogawa is so eager he springs up, stalking to the center of the floor. “Ms. England, did you inform your supervisor that Colonel Kendrick had requested this report?”

  Her pale lips turn in a slight smile. “Not immediately, sir.”

  “Could you explain that?”

  “I compiled the evidence package for Colonel Kendrick. I began working on it shortly after he left, and worked overnight. At oh four fifty-two on November fifteenth, I transmitted the report to a secure digital locker that could be accessed only by myself and Colonel Kendrick. I spoke to my supervisor later that morning. That’s when I informed him of the report. He indicated by his reaction that he was furious. He told me he had only just received a warning that much of the evidence gathered at Black Cross had been falsified.”

  “Did he say what form this warning came in, or who it came from?”

  “No, sir. He refused to provide me any further information.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “I was immediately suspended, my security credentials were deleted, and I was escorted from the facility.”

  “The report, which you left in a ‘secure digital locker.’ What became of it?”

  “I do not have direct knowledge of that since I was no longer able to access the user log.”

  “But Colonel Kendrick would still have had access to the report?”

  “I believe that to be the case, sir.”

  “Thank you, Ms. England.”

  Her gaze turns again in my direction, though whether she’s angry or just curious, I can’t tell. Emotional analysis indicates it might be both.

  Of cour
se, Kendrick did retrieve the evidence package she prepared for him. He sent it to Ahab Matugo, to be used in the trial of Thelma Sheridan, a trial that it now seems will never happen, making Eve England just another meaningless casualty in a covert war to limit the political fallout of November 11.

  • • • •

  It’s early evening. I’m sitting on the bunk in my cell, thinking about Eve England and what she knows, and hoping no one is gunning for her, when the cell door unlocks, popping a few inches open. I lean down to retrieve from the floor the packaging from my recently completed dinner, expecting that one of the MPs has come to collect it. But it’s my uncle who appears on the other side of the glass, still dressed in the suit he wore in court.

  He crooks a finger at me to come out, barely pausing as he strides down the cellblock. I leave the trash where it is and go to the door, pushing it wider. All the other doors are open. Nolan, Moon, Tuttle: They all lean cautiously out of their cells to look around. And then, as my uncle beckons them, Harvey, Flynn, and Jaynie emerge as well. He turns around to head back up the cellblock. He’s not smiling exactly, but his expression suggests vindication: the look of a warrior who has won a hard-fought victory.

  “There’s news,” he announces. “It doesn’t pertain directly to your case and maybe it doesn’t mean a thing, but you wanted to arouse people’s passions. You wanted to force questions to be asked. You wanted to trigger official inquiries. Well, congratulations, you’ve had your first victory. Minutes ago, in a joint news conference with the president, the attorney general announced she is looking into the handling of evidence in the Black Cross investigation, to determine whether that evidence was tampered with, falsified, or manipulated to protect the identities of some of the conspirators. Whether it will be an honest and legitimate investigation, only time will tell—but it’s a start.”

  It takes a few seconds to process what he’s just said, then I catch Jaynie’s eye and we trade a grin. “Hoo-yah!” Flynn shouts, like she’s channeling Ransom, and the rest of us echo the cheer, “Hoo-yah!”

  Uncle Brandon tells us there’s been cheering out on the National Mall too. That around four hundred thousand people are out there, demanding the same thing we’re demanding—a full and honest accounting. I imagine the misery they’ve endured in this protest: the lack of toilets, showers, food, and adequate transportation; the risks to their safety from crime, from terrorism, or from overzealous law enforcement. But they stayed on the Mall, in enough numbers to frighten the president into action. This is their victory.

  • • • •

  In the courtroom, no one acknowledges the shift in policy.

  Day three extends our legal education as Major Fong calls expert witnesses to the stand to lecture the panel of officers in the jury box on the meaning of their sworn duty as members of the United States military, discussing the implication of the oath of office required of every officer, and the oath of enlistment which binds the soldiers under their command.

  The last witness is an academic, a bearded professor steeped in political science, dressed in an expensive suit my dad would admire, with gold cuff links because he can. He speaks to the court with the assurance of a man accustomed to being listened to:

  “Huge responsibilities are placed on our soldiers. It’s their everyday duty to safeguard the deadliest technologies known to humanity. Every day, they have within their reach weapons that could destroy cities, countries, the very Earth on which all our lives depend—but we trust them with this duty because they are loyal to the chain of command.

  “We do not grant to individual soldiers the right to decide when to attack—when tanks should roll through a city, when artillery bombardments should commence, when a nuclear missile should be launched. Such decisions must descend through the chain of command.

  “When a soldier steps outside the chain of command to take vigilante action based on limited knowledge, that soldier is in violation of the law. When a soldier colludes with a foreign power to subvert lawful orders issued by superiors, that soldier is in violation of the law, and is guilty of treason besides. There are legal means for soldiers to voice their objection to policies. Vigilante action is not one of those means.”

  On cross, Major Ogawa looks thoughtful. “Sir, I believe you’ve served as an expert witness before the United States Senate, where you testified concerning the conflict in Bolivia and recommended that the United States enter into that conflict.”

  “Strategic needs demanded it.”

  “And I believe you testified later that US military intervention in the Sahel was demanded for humanitarian reasons.”

  “That is still the case. This cease-fire will not hold.”

  “I believe you occupy an endowed chair at your university. Where does that endowment come from?”

  “I don’t know what this has to do with my academic opinion.”

  “Please answer the question, sir. Where does the endowment come from?”

  “The endowment is provided by Niall and Jenkins.”

  “And what business is Niall and Jenkins engaged in?”

  “It’s a think tank concerned with defense issues.”

  “And is it also a lobbying firm?”

  “I am not sufficiently familiar with all of Niall and Jenkins’s business activities to be able to answer that question.”

  Ogawa nods. “Thank you. No more questions.”

  Major Fong has no more witnesses. The prosecution rests, and we break for lunch. It’s only Thursday, but in the afternoon session, Major Ogawa begins our defense by calling his first witness: me.

  • • • •

  “Lieutenant Shelley, on November eighteenth through twentieth you participated in the abduction of Thelma Sheridan, delivering her, an American citizen, into the hands of a foreign power. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir. It is.”

  “Why did you believe this course of action necessary?”

  “When we stormed Black Cross, we took Blue Parker prisoner. We learned from him that Thelma Sheridan was a central figure in the Coma Day conspiracy and that she had provided the INDs—”

  “INDs?” Ogawa asks me.

  “The improvised nuclear devices used to immolate and injure—”

  “Objection,” Major Fong says as she stands.

  I keep speaking. “—hundreds of thousands of people and bring down the communications structure of the United States—”

  “Objection!”

  The judge just wants to get this over with. “Overruled.”

  I continue. “No charges were brought against Thelma Sheridan. She was never detained. She was never officially under suspicion. It was a whitewash. A cover-up by a corrupt command and political structure determined to protect the individual who had long been their patron—”

  “Your Honor! This is hearsay. This is gossip. The witness does not have personal knowledge of the relationship between Thelma Sheridan and unnamed elements of the command structure.”

  “They’re unnamed,” I counter, “because no one has the guts to name them, or investigate who they are.”

  “Your Honor!”

  “Major Fong,” the judge says in a tired voice, “the lieutenant is testifying as to his motivations. His beliefs are key to answering this question, whether or not they are based in fact. Please let him continue. There will be time later to dissect the validity of his beliefs—if you should wish to dive deeper into that line of argument.”

  The way she says it: like she’s daring Fong to do it, to expand the scope of our case, to compel witnesses to name those who relayed the order for silence, and to trace that order to its source.

  I swear Fong looks wistful, like she’s thinking about it, about what it would be like to shine a light into the shadows, about what it would be like to be the knight in shining armor, facing down a dragon. “Yes, ma’am,” she says soft
ly, and she returns to her seat.

  I turn again to the jury box and I try to explain to my fellow officers why we did what we did. “We knew the truth. But as the days passed it became clear Thelma Sheridan had used her influence to buy off an investigation, to buy innocence, to buy clean hands. We knew she was guilty of mass murder and insurrection, we had seen the evidence, but no one in authority gave a damn—”

  “Lieutenant Shelley,” the judge warns, “you will conduct yourself with decorum when you are inside my courtroom.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I turn again to the jury box. “Silence is consent. We could have done nothing. We could have cooperated in the silence. But then we would have been just as guilty as those involved in the conspiracy to protect Thelma Sheridan. It was our duty to defend the Constitution of the United States. The only way we could do that was to step outside the chain of command and seek justice where we could, and that is what we did.”

  My uncle calls it true-believer shit.

  So fuck me. I do believe it.

  • • • •

  Major Fong isn’t done with me, though. When her turn comes to cross-examine, she is in control. “Lieutenant Shelley, we have heard testimony from Special Agent Eve England and from General Brittney Ahmet regarding a document that ostensibly links Thelma Sheridan to the nuclear terrorism of November eleventh, but for reasons of national security, this document has not been introduced into evidence. I would ask if you, personally, have seen this document?”

  “No. I have not.”

  “Were you aware of its existence before you undertook the First Light mission?”

  “Yes. Colonel Kendrick told me about it. He said the evidence it contained was incontrovertible.”

  “Did he offer you proof of that? Did he share the contents of this document with you?”

  “No. I didn’t ask to see it. There wasn’t time.”

  “Because you were deploying immediately on the First Light mission?”

  I hesitate, realizing what’s coming.

  “When did Colonel Kendrick inform you of the existence of this document, Lieutenant Shelley?”

  “On November seventeenth, after he picked me up from Kelly Army Medical Center.”