Sofia said, “What kind of crap is this? They make us fly all the way down here for just one interview?”
“Yeah,” said Jack. “Better make it count.”
15
We are the front line in the battle for regional security,” said Lieutenant Damont Johnson.
It sounded like the opening line from a presidential speech, and the lieutenant did have the air of a young leader about him. A handsome and articulate African American, obviously intelligent, the kind of guy you wanted on your side. He might have had a future in politics, if he could tone down the arrogance.
Jack and Sofia were seated on one side of the conference table. The lieutenant and the JAG lawyer, Captain Kessinger, were on the other. Kessinger wasn’t the lieutenant’s personal attorney, but he was there to make sure that nothing happened to “compromise the government’s interests”-however those interests were defined.
“What does that mean?” asked Jack. “The front line in the battle for regional security?”
“It means we’re in Castro’s backyard. Or,” he said as he glanced at the framed map on the wall, “if you envision the island as a big Cuban iguana with its tail cut off, some people say we’re crawling straight up its asshole.”
“And as America ’s ambassadors to proctology, what’s your mission here?”
The lieutenant almost smiled. He seemed to like the way Jack stayed with him, blow for blow.
“I’m not sure how to answer that,” said Johnson. “The Coast Guard conducts daily operations in the Caribbean theater, many of them out of Guantánamo. By doing that, we protect the United States of America from its two biggest external threats. Drug trafficking and terrorism.”
“Which of those two matters are you personally involved in most?”
“I’d say my time is divided several ways. The two I just mentioned being a big part of my job. Immigration and rescue-recovery matters being equally important.”
“By ‘immigration’ you mean illegal immigration matters, I assume.”
“Depends how you define illegal.”
“You’re not there to give away green cards, are you?”
The JAG lawyer grumbled. “Mr. Swyteck, I realize that this is not a formal deposition, but I don’t think there’s any need for sarcasm. The lieutenant is here on his own time, on a volunteer basis. You could at least be polite.”
“Fair enough,” said Jack. “Lieutenant Johnson, if I’ve offended you, I apologize. But let me go about it this way. You’re Coast Guard. Oscar Pintado was a Marine. Correct?”
“That’s right.”
“And you guys were friends?”
“That’s right. Best friends.”
“Right. Best friends. Now, that’s probably not as unusual as a joint tailgate party between a midshipman and a West Point cadet at the annual Army-Navy football game, but it still strikes me as a little out of the ordinary that two guys in two different branches of service would become best friends.”
“We hit it off. What can I say?”
“How? What is it that made you guys such good friends?”
“I don’t know. What makes anybody friends?”
Jack shrugged. “Common interests?”
Again the JAG lawyer mumbled. “Mr. Swyteck, I don’t represent Lieutenant Johnson here, but I feel compelled to point out that the man is taking time off duty for this interview. He has more important things to do than ponder the essence of friendship. I mean, this isn’t Oprah.”
“Here’s my point,” said Jack. “Oscar Pintado’s father is the founder of Brothers for Freedom. He has flown thousands of hours over the Florida Straits looking for Cuban rafters, hoping to bring them to America. You are an officer in the Coast Guard. You look for rafters every day, trying to return them to Cuba. Am I stating this fairly?”
“Basically, yes.”
“Yet, you and the son of Alejandro Pintado became best friends. What’s that all about?”
“You’re analyzing it too much. Oscar and I would go out, have a few a beers, shoot some pool. When you’re surrounded by razor wire all day long, you don’t usually talk about the world’s problems when you get some R and R.”
“Did you ever meet Oscar’s father?”
“Nah.”
“You know he’s a very wealthy man, right?”
“Yeah, I heard that.”
“If someone were to say that Lieutenant Johnson was buddying up to Oscar Pintado just because he likes to have rich friends, how would you respond?”
“I’d say that sounds like Lindsey Hart talking.”
“How so?”
The JAG lawyer spoke up. “Excuse me, but Lieutenant Johnson volunteered to tell what he knows about the death of Captain Pintado. Why is it that you seem interested in talking to him about anything but that?”
“Why is it that you seem interested only in reminding him every five minutes that he’s here on a volunteer basis and doesn’t have to answer my questions?”
“Because he’s a busy man, and he should be made aware of his options.”
“He’s aware. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d sit tight and let me get answers to the questions I’d like to ask.”
“Fine. Ask away.”
“What was the question?” asked the lieutenant.
Jack said, “I’m just trying to get a sense for how you felt about the captain’s wife.”
The lieutenant said, “You mean before or after she shot her husband?”
“You think she shot him?”
The JAG lawyer grimaced. “Mr. Swyteck, come on. He has no way of knowing one way or the other. And I don’t think it’s appropriate to ask him to speculate on that matter.”
“I think he’s doing just fine,” said Jack. “Lieutenant, is there some reason you don’t want to answer my question? Do you think Lindsey Hart shot her husband?”
“Yeah, I think she shot him. Everybody thinks she shot him. That’s why I was glad to hear she got indicted.”
“Why do you think Lindsey Hart shot her husband?”
The JAG lawyer slapped his palm on the table. “This is going beyond speculation. You’re asking him to make wild guesses about very serious matters, and I don’t see how any of this is helpful to the investigation. I’m not his lawyer, but frankly, if I were, Lieutenant Johnson and I would be on our way out the door.”
The lawyer rose from his seat, as if expecting the lieutenant to join him.
Jack looked at the lieutenant and said, “You gonna listen to the lawyer who’s not your lawyer, or you gonna answer my question?”
“I don’t see how he could responsibly answer that question,” said the JAG lawyer.
“No, no,” said the lieutenant. “I want to answer.”
“You don’t have to,” said Kessinger.
“And you don’t have to stay,” the lieutenant told him.
Captain Kessinger slowly returned to his seat beside the witness. Then the lieutenant looked at Jack and said, “I actually liked Lindsey Hart. When she was on her medication.”
“Her medication?”
“Yeah. She misses a few pills and-whoa. Good-bye.”
“Medication for what?”
“Not sure. Oscar never told me anything specific, but if you want my opinion, I’d say the woman is bipolar or something.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Many, many things. But let me give you just one example that you can probably relate to. Did she do that thing with her cell phone for you yet?”
“Cell phone?”
“Yeah. When she flips open her phone and points to the numbers stored in her address book. All those important people she says she could call in a heartbeat.”
Jack didn’t answer, but he couldn’t help the look on his face.
The lieutenant smiled and said, “She did do it for you. I knew it. Admittedly, it wouldn’t have the same impact on you in Miami as it did on me here in Cuba. Cell phones aren’t much use in Guantánamo, so it was weird enough t
hat she was walking around with one. But that Nancy Milama connection was truly special. Oh yeah, as if Lindsey Hart is going to pick up her cell phone and call Nancy Milama. Do you know who Nancy Milama is?”
“Lindsey told me that she was married to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”
“Yeah. Was married.”
“They’re divorced?” asked Jack.
“Uh-uh. Tony Milama is a widower. His wife, Nancy, died three years ago.”
Jack was speechless.
“So let me make this clear to you, Mr. Swyteck. It’s a terrible thing that happened to my friend Oscar. But truthfully, I’m more scared for his son, stuck living with that wack-job mother of his.”
Jack still couldn’t speak.
The lieutenant looked at the JAG lawyer and said, “Now I think it’s time for me to get back to work.” He pushed away from the table, and the lawyer followed.
“Thanks for your time,” said Jack.
The lieutenant stopped at the door and said, “You’re welcome.” He seemed ready to move on, then added, “You want a little free advice, Mr. Swyteck?”
“Sure.”
“Not sure what you expected to find when you came down here. But we have two basic rules here at Guantánamo. First, the important stuff is always simple.”
“What’s the second?”
He smiled wryly and said, “The simple things are always hard.”
Jack added a silent “Amen” to that, keeping his thoughts to himself as the two officers shared a little laugh and left the conference room.
16
Hector Torres waited at the end of the pier at the marina. The prosecutor needed to meet with Alejandro Pintado, which was never as easy as summoning him to the U.S. attorney’s office. A man like Pintado didn’t come to you. He made you come to him, even if you were prosecuting the woman accused of murdering his son. Equally power conscious, Torres was unwilling to get in his ten-year-old Ford and drive to Pintado’s waterfront castle like a common servant to Miami ’s undisputed king of Cuban restaurants. They agreed to meet halfway, but it was Pintado who arrived in style.
A Hatteras 86 Convertible pulled up alongside the dock, eighty-six feet of yachting pleasure that was many times over the value of the prosecutor’s modest Hialeah home. One of the crew helped Torres climb aboard and led him across the aft deck into the salon. It was technically a fishing boat, but the feel was more like a custom-built mansion, complete with a mirrored ceiling, club chairs, polished maple coffee table, and a wet bar with hand-crafted teak cabinetry. Pintado was seated on a curved, sectional sofa that faced the entertainment center. He switched off the flat-screen television with the remote and rose to greet his guest.
“Hector, very good to see you.”
“Likewise.”
They shook hands and patted each other on the shoulder, as close as two men ever seemed to come to hugging each other. Torres could easily have allowed himself to be envious of Pintado’s wealth. They were both tireless workers, but Torres had chosen the life of politics and public service, leaving himself far fewer toys to play with as they neared the end of their respective careers. But six years on the Miami-Dade County commission and two terms as mayor had established him as a real player in the local political arena. After a short stint as chief assistant to the U.S. attorney, he cashed in his political chits to become south Florida ’s top federal prosecutor. Being U.S. attorney was more management than trial work, so the thought of actually getting back in the courtroom to prosecute Lindsey Hart had revitalized him, made him realize that there was nothing in the world more thrilling than trying a big case and winning it. For all his success, Pintado would never experience that high. He might as well die a virgin.
“So how is the case going?” Pintado asked as he filled two glasses with some kind of fancy-pants water that came in a blue bottle. He offered one to his guest and returned to the couch.
Torres said, “The case is going well. It was going even better before you spoke to Jack Swyteck in Key West. That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re not going to scold me, are you?”
Torres did not return the smile. “You told him about the trust fund.”
“Says who?”
“Your personal attorney. I phoned him this morning to let him know that Swyteck was on the case. I reminded him that if Swyteck starts poking around into family financial affairs, don’t reveal any details about the trust fund. But he said you’d already let the cat out of the bag.”
“So, what’s the big deal anyway?
“That is a key part of our case. It’s Lindsey motive for killing her husband.”
“I understand that.”
“You needlessly tipped our hand, Alejandro. I purposely did not mention the trust fund to the grand jury so that we could surprise Swyteck with that information at trial.”
“Oh, come on. Surely Lindsey would have told him about it before trial.”
“You’re assuming that his client is being completely forthcoming with him. That’s not always the case.”
“Well, hell. Okay, I slipped and said something I shouldn’t have said. He came to see me, and, frankly, his whole approach bugged me. He tried to bullshit me with this idea that he wants to figure out if his client is innocent before he represents her. So I felt like hitting him between the eyes. I told him about the trust fund. And I have to tell you, the look on his face was worth it.”
“No, it’s not worth anything. I want the jury to see that look, not you.”
“I still believe that he was bound to figure it out sooner or later.”
“Then let it be later. I want him to figure out everything later. That’s the way I’m playing this case. Jack Swyteck is a damn good lawyer. The way to beat him is to make sure he doesn’t see what’s coming.”
“Bueno. I’m sorry I said anything. I can’t take it back now.”
“No, you can’t undo it. But I need a commitment from you, Alejandro. I want you to take a vow of silence.”
“No problema. I’ll say not another word to Jack Swyteck.”
“I want you to say nothing more to anybody. Unless I tell you to say it.”
Pintado poured himself more water, shaking his head. “This is what I left Cuba for, to be able to say what I think.”
“Talk all you want-after the case is over. Before then, everything that comes out of your mouth will only help the defense. Unless you clear it with me.”
“You make this Swyteck sound like Superman.”
“Do you want your daughter-in-law convicted or don’t you?” said Torres.
“Of course I do.”
“Then work with me.”
Pintado took a breath, as if reluctant to yield any kind of control to anyone. “Bueno. We’ll try it your way.”
“You’ll be happy you did. Just 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
Jack 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 o
r 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.
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