It was a rare sunny, warm day for San Francisco as the crowd of about seventy-five demonstrators gathered before the Spanish Consulate, anticipating the arrival of Francisco Salazar, the Minister of the Interior. Demonstrators formed an oval on the sidewalk carrying the red and yellow flags of Spain, signs for honor and dignity for the victims of the ETA, and demands for justice.
James Olsen was sitting with the Consulate’s chief of security on a second floor room with a window facing the street. “Thank God that there are so few demonstrators,” Olsen said. “How many men do you have out there?”
“Ten on the street and three snipers on nearby roofs.”
“With my eight men,” Olsen said, “that seems like overkill.”
“Please, Señor don’t use that word. Any crowd is too many for me,” the security chief said.
“But these are demonstrators from The Antiterrorist Group of Liberation,” Olsen said, “the so-called GAL.”
“Even after 9/11 you guys never learn,” the chief said. “Any group is dangerous when you can’t account for everyone in their midst.”
Olsen scanned the crowd. “How much longer?”
The chief covered the ear bud with his hand. “They’re a block away.”
The demonstrators cheered and waved their flags as the black Ford Expedition pulled up and Francisco Salazar stepped to the curb with two large bodyguards. He smiled and waved to the crowd and began walking toward the Spanish Consulate’s entrance.
Suddenly an angry roar came from the crowd as another group of twenty men wearing black armbands and carrying the blue and white flags of the ETA approached from the opposite direction.
Olsen leaned our from the window, and said, “Shit.” He brought up his hand mike and yelled, “Get them the hell out of there.”
Suddenly several blasts from handguns erupted at street level, followed by rifle shots from above. Most of the crowd dispersed in all directions leaving a few staring down at the sidewalk.
Salazar lay on his back with blood oozing from his mouth. The wound to his left chest was draining frothy-red foam. He groaned with each breath.
Jorge knelt next to his bête noire and smiled. “So, Señor, we meet again.”
Salazar gasped. “You miserable Basque scum. I’ll die happily remembering your boy squirming as I cut off his head.”
Jorge pulled out a serrated knife. His hand shook as he placed the blade across Salazar’s neck. “Go to hell you son-of-a-bitch,” he shouted as the blade slashed through Salazar’s neck. The wound erupted in bright-red arterial blood as Salazar opened his mouth in agony and then lay still. Jorge took a deep breath, smiled, and wiped the blade on Salazar’s shirt. When he stood, his head exploded from the high-power sniper round launched from the rooftop. Jorge Moneo fell facedown to the ground.
Four bodies now lay on the bloody sidewalk, two with black armbands, one bodyguard, and Francisco Salazar, his head askew.
The security chief and Olsen rushed up to the bodies, while erstwhile protectors held their guns at the ready, scanning the area.
Olsen looked down at Salazar whose neck was severed to the spine. He had a look of terror on his face. “God damn it—God damn it!”
Several women who remained nearby looked down at the bodies and cried in anguish.
Olsen stared down at the two dead men with the armbands. One was young, in his twenties. The other was clearly older and when Olsen flipped him over, he gasped. It was the smiling face of Jorge Moneo.
The security chief stared down and shook his head. “A determined assassin.” He paused. “Like John F. Kennedy, said, ‘anyone can kill a president. All he has to do is be willing to trade his life for the president’s.’ and, Francisco Salazar was no president.”
Chapter Seventy-Six
Zack had been coming to visit Adam at least three times a week. He’d been disappointed each time, but on the last visit, Adam’s eyes were open, but unseeing.
“He opened them last night,” Marnie said. “We were thrilled.”
“What do his doctors say?” Zack asked.
Marnie remained silent.
“His awakening has encouraged them,” Ed said, “but they made it clear to us that his brain injury is permanent. He’ll never speak or see. The bullet just did too much damage.” He paused, “Of course, we’re hoping they’re wrong. It’s trite, but when there’s life, there’s hope.”
“We hope that you’ll continue to visit Adam,” Marnie said. “We know that he’d like that.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Zack said. “I’m going to court tomorrow, but if I go to jail…”
Marnie hugged Zack. “We wish you luck. You’re a good boy—you deserve it.”
Zack started to object, but instead, he simply hugged them both and said, “Thanks.”
The United States District Court for the Northern California District sat on Golden Gate Avenue. The streets were busy, and after they finally found parking, Denise, Gabe, Ella, Zack, and his lawyer entered the building and found their way to courtroom 6 on the seventeenth floor. It was deserted as they entered. Their attorney directed them to the defense table.
“I can’t believe it,” Zack said. “Jorge’s dead, and here am I sitting in court. So much for his promises to keep me out of this.”
“Why are you still surprised?” Denise asked.
“I can’t excuse all he did, and how he manipulated everyone,” Zack said. “Being wronged, even egregiously wronged, doesn’t justify his actions with the ETA or his criminal acts here. Jorge hasn’t earned a get-out-of-jail card, but still, I see a primal purity in his search for revenge.”
“That’s the formula for anarchy,” Gabe said.
“I’m not saying I agree,” Zack said, “but I do understand.”
Gradually, the court filled with spectators and suddenly General Collier appeared by the defense. He placed his hands on the table and leaned over whispering, “It’s not too late, Zack. I have the leverage to end this now. Step outside with me and we can come to an agreement.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Zack said. “I’m not interested.”
“Wait a minute, Zack,” said Denise. “Maybe we should at least listen?”
“Yes, Zack,” Ella said, grasping his hand.
“No, Mother, and no Ella,” Zack said. He turned to the General. “Sir, I have no reason to question your patriotism or your desire to protect this country, but I chose not to be part of your world. I don’t want to live or work in a place where I must question motivation, honesty, integrity, or ethical values. I did that before. I gave my trust before, but never again.”
“You’d rather go to jail?” the General asked.
“Jail terrifies me, but I’ve already extended too much of myself to others. Come at me in the future with a specific project and I’ll consider it, but remember that whatever I do for you, it will be only on my own terms.”
The General nodded and said, “Good luck, Zack,” and then he left the room.
Just before 9 a.m., Rebecca Arnold and Inspector Olsen entered the court. Olsen took a seat in the gallery while Rebecca moved to the prosecutor’s table.
After Rebecca extracted a thick file from her briefcase, she turned to Olsen and smiled.
“What are they so happy about?” Zack’s attorney asked. “When they’re pleased with themselves, it scares the hell out of me.”
The bailiff brought the court to order and the judge took his place at the bench. The judge opened a thick notebook, scanned the court and read, “We’re here today for the arraignment of Zachery Berg. I see that everyone’s in place.” He turned to Rebecca Arnold. “Good to see you again, Ms. Arnold. You may begin.”
Rebecca stood. “If it pleases the court, we are prepared to dismiss all charges against Zachery Berg.”
Everyone at the defense table froze in disbelief. Then Ella ran to the table and embraced Zack and sobbed.
The judge studied Rebecca. “Ms. Arnold?”
“We had entere
d into an agreement with Professor Jorge Moneo that is in the interest of the people, your honor. One stipulation was absolute immunity for Zachery Berg.”
“You’re referring to the now-deceased Jorge Moneo?” the judge asked.
“That’s correct, your honor. We’re acting on a good-faith basis and request the court to abide by the terms of the agreement.”
“So ordered,” the judge said.
The judge turned to the defense table. “Having not heard the case against you, Mr. Berg, the court suggests that you may have been lucky this time. Please don’t depend on such luck in the future.”
Zack stood. “Thank you, your honor. You can count on me.”
The judge banged his gavel. “Case dismissed.”
Elation spread across the defense table as each, in turn, hugged Zack.
Rebecca and Inspector Olsen came to the defense table. Rebecca asked, “May we have a moment of your time, Zack?”
Zack nodded and they all walked into a small office just off the main courtroom.
Rebecca placed an iPad on the table in view of all, and said, “I think you need to see this.”
“What is it?” Denise asked.
“It’s Jorge Moneo’s confession,” Rebecca said.
Rebecca adjusted the iPad for easy viewing by all and pressed play.
Jorge looked into the camera, and describe, in detail, his early life and support for Basque liberation. When he described the death of his father, and the subsequent deaths of his mother, wife, and his son, Abbaran, tears formed in his eyes.
Denise and Ella began to cry as well.
Jorge moved on to discuss his plans for revenge and their execution. When pressed by Rebecca, Jorge responded vigorously, “I told you in no uncertain terms that neither Zeru Ibarra nor Zack Berg had anything to do with these activities, and as agreed, both will receive complete immunity from prosecution.”
Jorge paused and faced the camera directly. “I’m talking to you now, Zack. You’re an amazing human being and I know that you’ll do miraculous things in your life. I have an unfailing affection for you and wish that we’d met under different circumstances.”
Rebecca closed the iPad, and turned to Zack. “As an officer of the court, my hands are bound by the law, but this case reeks of tragedy. We all are products of our genetics and our environment. What kind of man might Jorge Moneo have become under different circumstances? How would any of us respond to the known killers of our loved ones escaping responsibility for their slaughter? Retribution may be ingrained in the human spirit, and that’s tragic. More tragic, however, is a society that condones and ultimately encourages it.”
Rebecca grabbed her iPad and walked up to Zack. “You’ve heard the judge’s admonitions. Enough said. You have great potential, Zack. Don’t waste it. Have a good life.”
Olsen smiled and shook Zack’s hand. “Good luck.”
After Rebecca and Olsen left the room, Zack sat in deep thought. “I really don’t get it.”
“People are not all good or all bad,” Denise said. “Despite his hunger for revenge, Jorge really cared about you and Zeru.”
“I understand that,” Zack said. “I felt it—knew it to the core of my being, but why? I don’t understand why.”
Denise stared at Gabe and nodded.
“I thought, perhaps selfishly, that you didn’t need to know, but that’s not how we do things in this family. Moreover, you were bound to discover the truth eventually, and it should come from us…from me.”
“What is it?” Zack cried.
Gabe again looked at Denise, and then faced Zack. “Jorge Moneo was your biological father.”
Zack collapsed back into his chair. He held his head down for a long moment, and then looked into Gabe’s eyes, stood, walked to his father and embraced him. “You’re my father, and you will always be my father. I love you.”
Hybrid (Brier Hospital Series Book 7) Page 26