"Did you say anything to him?"
"No. I was afraid of what he would do to me if I reported him. We were in a combat zone. Everybody had access to weapons. That's why I waited until I got back to the States."
"What, if anything, did Nassar do to provoke a physical reaction from Jefferson?"
"Nothing I saw," Rickard said. "Nassar was sleeping when I left the area, and he was chained to the ceiling by his wrists."
"How did Nassar react when struck?"
"He groaned in pain." Rickard hung his head like he was ashamed. "I should have stopped him."
Weiss lowered her voice. "I have no further questions of this witness," she said and sat down.
I stood and walked to the podium. "Mr. Rickard, I want to talk about the isolation cells you mentioned," I said.
"Okay."
"The isolation block had six cells?"
Rickard counted on his fingers. "Yes, sir."
"These isolation cells were used for high-value prisoners - or VIPs?"
"Pretty much."
"What were the guards ordered to do to the high-value prisoners?"
Weiss sprang to her feet like a jack-in-a-box. "Objection. Hearsay."
"Overruled," Gianelli said. "Mr. Rickard, please answer the question."
"We were ordered to implement sleep deprivation and physical exercise."
"What is sleep deprivation?" I knew the answer but wanted to get this information in front of the jury.
"We let them sleep for 15 minutes. Then, they stayed awake for hours."
Weiss squirmed in her chair.
"How do you force someone to stay awake for hours?" I asked.
Rickard shrugged. "Don't know."
"You were ordered to hang prisoners from the ceiling using chains?"
"We had to keep them awake. They just happened to be chained." Forced exercise. Sleep deprivation. Rickard made it sound perfectly reasonable.
"You were also ordered to force prisoners to exercise to the point of exhaustion?" I said.
"At Sangar, PT was as regular as three-square meals a day. They did PT, like all Army soldiers do."
"Army soldiers are not shackled to the rafters for days on end, are they?" I asked.
"I didn't do anything that wasn't authorized by Army regulations." He was getting defensive.
"What Army regulation authorizes you to hang prisoners from the ceiling by their wrists?"
Rickard stared at Weiss, who conveniently avoided eye contact and flipped through some papers. "I don't recall," he said.
"Have you ever, in your military career, read an Army regulation that authorizes you to hang prisoners from the ceiling?"
"I don't recall."
"Would it surprise you that no Army regulation authorizes such behavior?"
Rickard shook his head. "I did what I was told."
"Told by whom?"
"By the interrogators."
"What interrogators?"
"I don't know their names."
"Were they civilians?"
"Yeah."
"Were they CIA?"
"I have no clue who they were."
"Were you specifically ordered to break Nassar?"
"Objection." Weiss was on her feet. "Asked and answered."
"Sustained. Move on, counsel."
I continued, "If prisoners didn't comply with your orders, you were instructed to strike them in the peroneal nerve in their leg, correct?"
"Objection."
Judge Gianelli turned to me and said, "My patience is wearing thin. Now move on to another topic."
"I have no further questions," I said and sat down.
After Rickard exited the courtroom, the prosecution called a handful of filler witnesses, none particularly relevant. The jury lost interest as the day wore on. When the president of the panel nodded off, Gianelli struck his gavel and recessed for the day. Jefferson wanted to stick around to critique Rickard's testimony, but I declined. The damage had been done. Jefferson's lying and complaining had wasted enough of my time. He was like an albatross around my neck, dragging me down. Tonight, I needed to rest.
Chapter 72
On Tuesday morning, Paine strutted into the courtroom like a high school quarterback who'd just won the State Championship.
"Your Honor, the prosecution calls Major Walter Needham."
On cue, the door swung open, and Major "Doc" Needham, an Army physician, marched into the room. A damn recruiting poster. Needham's uniform had been custom-tailored, accenting his broad shoulders. After Needham was sworn in, Paine commenced his questioning. "Doctor, do you know the accused?" Paine pointed at Jefferson.
"Not personally, but I knew of him. He had quite the reputation."
"Did you ever have chow with him, play cards with him - anything like that?"
"No, sir." Needham shook his head. "I do not fraternize with the enlisted. Like I said, I knew who he was."
"How did you know who he was?"
"We all knew the Crash Team guys. They were bigger than the rest. They looked like the offensive line of the New England Patriots." Some of the audience snickered. Needham seemed credible. His demeanor radiated confidence - and emanated trust. To see him, to hear him, to be around him, was to believe him. Needham glanced at the jury and said with a sneer, "I heard some crazy stories about those guys."
"Objection. Hearsay," I said.
"Sustained."
Jefferson scribbled a note and passed it to me. It read: "This asshole never worked in the prison. He worked in the medical clinic." Finally, Jefferson was contributing. I crumpled the note and handed it back to Jefferson as Paine launched his attack.
"Doctor Needham, did you ever see Sergeant Jefferson subdue an unruly prisoner?"
Needham paused as if he was thinking. After a few seconds, he answered, "Well, not exactly."
Paine acted surprised by the answer. "What do you mean, 'not exactly?'"
"I saw him assault detainees, but they were never unruly."
"Interesting," Paine said as he leaned on the podium and stared at the jurors one by one. Some of the jurors avoided eye contact. "Doc, why were you in Sangar Prison?"
"I was in charge of the Sangar medical clinic. Every week, I went to the prison to treat prisoners with minor issues."
"When was the first time you witnessed the accused assault a prisoner?"
Needham turned to Judge Gianelli and asked, "Your Honor, may I refer to my notes?"
"Absolutely, if it will refresh your recollection."
Needham had the reference points marked with multi-colored tabs. After reviewing his notes, he slid them back into his pocket. "On 18 July 2002, at 2345 hours," Needham said, "I saw Sergeant Jefferson, and members of the Crash Team, escorting three prisoners inside the prison. I think they were going to the latrines, but I'm not sure."
Paine seemed positively giddy. "Please, tell the jury what you witnessed."
"Without provocation, Sergeant Jefferson slammed a prisoner into the wall. He acted like it was an accident. It wasn't."
I wanted to strangle Jefferson. We had gone over this sort of thing many times. "Did you ever hit a detainee?" "Did you ever push or berate a detainee?" - and the big one - "If you did, who saw it?" Jefferson had responded to every question in the negative. He wanted me to believe, next to him, Sunday School teachers were like streetwalkers.
"Doctor, please tell us about the other incident," Paine said, using air quotes around the word "incident."
"On 21 August 2002, at 0215 hours. I witnessed the perpetrator deliver a peroneal strike to a non-resisting detainee, again during the escort process."
"He struck a defenseless man, right here?" Paine struggled to look concerned as he pointed to a spot above his knee.
"Yes, sir. He struck the peroneal nerve. That will bring an elephant down. It hurts badly and can cause permanent damage."
"Objection," I said. I regretted it the moment the word left my mouth.
"Basis?"
I should
have withdrawn the objection, but I didn't. "This witness has not been qualified as an expert witness."
"Your Honor, he is a licensed physician," Paine replied. "He is board-certified in internal medicine, more than qualified to describe the pain caused by a peroneal nerve strike."
"Overruled."
I sat. Paine had what he needed. But he wanted to push the knife in a little deeper. "Are you sure it was Sergeant Jefferson that did this?"
"Yes, sir." Needham nodded. "The second time, he did it in front of my entire medical team. I was shocked. I chewed him out and immediately reported it to my commander. I also sent an e-mail to his supervisor that evening. I figured they did something about it because I never saw him in the facility after that."
"No further questions," Paine said as he took his seat triumphantly.
I stood and approached the podium. "Doctor Needham," I said, "you have flown on Army helicopters before, haven't you?"
"Affirm-"
"Objection," Paine said, slowly rising to his feet.
"Basis?" Gianelli asked.
"Counsel is moving beyond the scope of the direct testimony."
Gianelli motioned for my response.
"Your Honor, I'm going to connect these questions with his direct testimony. They will become relevant soon."
"Objection overruled."
I continued, "You have flown on Chinooks and Blackhawks while in Afghanistan, correct?"
"Every soldier deployed to Afghanistan has flown in a helicopter," Needham said. "I know you JAGs don't leave the wire much, but that's how real soldiers move around. You would know that if you had been deployed."
I ignored his intended insult and pressed forward. Gianelli sat up in his chair, his face turned to a scowl. He didn't seem to care for Needham's cockiness, and I hoped the jury felt the same way. Needham wanted to draw me into a slap fight. All I had to do was poke a few holes in his testimony. So, I let his comment pass. "You didn't fly the helicopter, did you?" I asked.
"No."
"You were not part of the regular flight crew?"
"No."
"As part of your duties in Afghanistan, you flew at night?"
Needham leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. "Yes, Captain. We flew at night because it was safer. It's harder to hit a helicopter in the dark."
Members of the prosecution team laughed. I did not. "Some of your missions involved transporting detainees?" I asked.
"Objection. Classified."
"Overruled." Gianelli shook his head. "Colonel Paine, I'm growing weary of your 'Classified' objections. Unless you can site the classifying authority, do not make another 'Classified' objection. The witness will answer the question."
Paine blushed and slid into his chair.
I repeated my question, hoping to drive home the point. "Doctor Needham, did some of your missions involve transporting detainees?"
"I had a variety of missions."
"And, some of them involved transporting detainees?"
Needham's mouth was almost touching the microphone. "Yes."
"Doctor, you don't have to lean into the microphone," Gianelli said. "It does not amplify your voice. It only records it. And you don't need to be that close for it to record."
"Roger that," Needham said.
I continued, "In the summer of 2002, you were in charge of the Sangar medical clinic?"
"Correct."
"Did you go on combat missions?"
"No. I attended to my duties at the clinic. We sent combat medics on combat missions. We didn't have enough doctors to spare."
"If you did not go on combat missions, where a doctor might actually be needed," I said, "why did you go on prisoner transport missions?"
"I accompanied the detainees."
"You rode in the back of the helicopter with the prisoners?" I asked. "That's all you did?"
"Sometimes, I was asked to perform certain duties."
"Can you elaborate?"
"If a prisoner needed medication or special attention, I provided it."
Now we were getting somewhere. "How did you know if a prisoner needed medical attention?" I asked.
"I was told."
"Told by whom?"
"By the people running the operation."
I could almost hear Paine wincing behind my back. "On these prisoner transport missions. Were the people giving you orders in the military?"
Needham hesitated. I was blocking his view of the prosecution team - not by accident. The doctor desperately wanted to crane his neck.
Gianelli was running out of patience. "Let's go, Doctor. Answer the question."
"No," Needham said. "They were civilians."
"Were they Americans?"
"They appeared to be."
"What agency did they come from?"
"I don't know," Needham said.
"Since when does an Army doctor follow orders from random civilians?" I asked. "That seems like it violates your Hippocratic oath."
Needham shrugged. I glanced at the jury; some of them seemed confused. A Sergeant Major in the back row shook his head and wrote in his notepad.
"Let me get this straight, Doctor. Some unfamiliar American civilians got into a helicopter with you, in Afghanistan, with enemy prisoners on board, and told you, a medical doctor, what medical services to provide to the prisoners? And, you followed their orders? Do I have that right?"
"I follow orders," Needham said. "I am a soldier."
"Doctor, were all your flights logged?"
"Objection," Paine said.
I ignored him. So did Gianelli.
"Your Honor, I objected," Paine said.
"Oh, yeah," Gianelli said. "Overruled."
"Doctor Needham," I said, "were all your flights logged?"
"Every flight is logged. That's the standard operating procedure."
I expected Paine to object again. He didn't. He sat there with parted lips. He was breathing through his mouth, and his eyes were slightly glazed. "Your Honor," I said, "the defense requests copies of all helicopter flight logs to and from Sangar Air Base from 1 August 2002 to 30 September 2002."
Paine rose, spreading his arms like Charlton Heston parting the Red Sea. "Your Honor," he said, the tone condescending and overblown, "why don't we just give Captain O'Donnell the name of every American intelligence asset in the Middle East while we're at it?"
Gianelli was not amused. "Colonel Paine." You could grind an ax on the grit in his voice. "I'm not sure how you have conducted yourself in the past. Maybe all the judges were your golf buddies, but you better watch your tone. Either object in a decorous fashion or be quiet."
"Sorry, Your Honor. I object to the request by opposing counsel because all flight logs from Sangar are classified."
"Colonel Paine, you're telling me that all of the Sangar flight logs from 2002 are classified?" Gianelli asked. "I don't believe it."
Judge Gianelli turned to me. "Captain O'Donnell, what's your position?"
"Your Honor, these are not classified, and they never were. Besides, we're talking about flight logs from three years ago. Anyone who was going to be attacked in those flights has already been attacked. Any supplies or troops that were going to move have already been moved."
"It doesn't matter," Paine said. "They're still classified."
Gianelli stared out the window - for a while. Then, he spoke in a thunderous voice. "Colonel Paine, I warned you about throwing that word around, but here you go again. Tell me, who classified the flight logs? The Air Force? The Army? Her Majesty's Secret Service? What governing body determined that a bunch of flight numbers and flight times were secret?"
Paine apparently noticed a blemish on his shoes - one he examined for a long, long time. "I don't know," he said.
"I'm tired of these games. By tomorrow morning, I want a copy of the flight logs on my desk. That way, I can see for myself whether they are classified or not. We are adjourned until 0800 hours." Judge Gianelli tapped his gavel and disappeared into
his chambers.
When I left court, I called Perry Elliot, a well-connected lawyer I golfed with back in South Carolina. I told him about the temporary restraining order.
"Sounds bad, buddy," he said.
"Anything you can do to make it go away?"
"Sorry, Max, even with my connections, I can't do anything. These situations are touchy, you know."
"Can you call Annabelle and see if you can smooth this thing out - sort of backchannel?"
Perry laughed. "I'll see what I can do."
"I appreciate your help," I said and hung up the phone.
Chapter 73
The next morning Paine's entry into the courtroom was more of a slink than a strut. He looked like he rolled out of an all-night bachelor party and into court. Dark puffy circles framed his bloodshot eyes. The faint odor of bourbon emanated from his pores.
I turned to Jefferson and said, "I can tell by the way he's walking Paine doesn't have the flight logs."
At eight o'clock, Judge Gianelli called the Court to order and immediately addressed Paine. "Where are the flight logs?" Paine fell all over himself, trying to convince Gianelli the flight logs possessed magical powers and had disappeared. Gianelli shook his head in disapproval and said, "The flight logs were, at some point, in the Government's possession, and they lost them. It appears these records could possibly exonerate Sergeant Jefferson."
"Judge," Paine said in a snarky tone, "we have no way of knowing for sure if these logs would exonerate the defendant." I had to hand it to Paine. He was going down like Rocky.
Gianelli raised his voice a notch. "Exactly. We don't know for sure. Why don't we know? Because the Government lost them. I will not let the defense suffer because of the Government's incompetence. I see three options here. I can dismiss the charges. I can abate the proceedings for as long as necessary until the flight logs turn up. If they appear, then we will continue the trial. Or, I can have Captain O'Donnell draft a stipulation outlining what he believes the flight logs will show. If the prosecution objects, then I will consider other remedies."
Paine put his hands on his hips. "Are you honestly considering dismissing these charges?" Paine acted like a kid who didn't get what he wanted for Christmas.
"I said I might dismiss the charges," Gianelli replied. "Defense, aside from a dismissal, what is your preference?"
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