by Don Brown
"We begin by offering our sincere condolences to the families of all who lost their lives.
"While the facts are not yet all in, it appears that shots may have been fired by governmental authorities -- perhaps even by United States Marines.
"Until all the facts are in, I urge restraint in rushing to judgment about who fired into the unarmed crowd.
"While the identity of the perpetrators may not yet be totally clear, what is clear is this.
"The policies of the Williams administration --in perpetrating a long-standing policy of discriminating against gay Americans in the U.S. military -- have fostered the deadly and heavy-handed atmosphere under which these Americans were gunned down today.
"These Americans had gathered to express their concern about the navy's policy.
"Even as we speak, against the backdrop of this morning's senseless killings, here in San Diego, the navy is involved in a general court-martial against a young officer -- Ensign Wofford Eckberg -- a Naval Academy graduate -- only because he is a gay American. By all accounts, this young officer was beaten by naval personnel, but the navy has turned a deaf ear and has taken no action against the sailors who broke the collarbone of this young officer.
"Nothing." Claxton chopped her hand in the air.
"Just two days ago, the Navy JAG officer who had been assigned to defend this young man, Lieutenant Karen Jacoby, was murdered in cold blood under suspicious circumstances.
"It appears that Lieutenant Jacoby, who fought so hard to represent Ensign Eckberg and to protect his civil rights, may also be the victim of hate.
"I've asked my counsel, Mr. Webster Wallace, to lend a hand and do everything he can to help this fine young man.
"But from a larger perspective, I call on this administration to stop turning a blind eye to discrimination not only in the navy, but in all branches of the armed ser vices.
"Act now, Mr. President, in the name of those whose lives have been lost today, and so that their lives will not have been lost in vain. Act now to end discrimination against patriotic Americans like Ensign Eckberg.
"And, Mr. President, for the sake of Ensign Eckberg and so many other brave Americans in the armed forces who are like him, and in memory of Lieutenant Karen Jacoby, who lost her life because of who and what she represented, I call upon you now, Mr. President" -- Eleanor stared into the cameras and pointed on cue, just as she had been instructed -- "to make hate crimes punishable under the Uniform Code of Military Justice.
"Act now, Mr. President, to end once and for all discrimination in the military, before there is more loss of innocent blood.
"Thank you."
"Senator Claxton!"
"Senator Claxton!"
Mary-Latham stepped to the podium as Eleanor exited through the backstage door. "Ladies and gentlemen, the senator will not take questions at this time. We need to await more information, and at that time the senator will be available for a press conference.
"Mary-Latham..."
"Thank you." Mary-Latham turned, motioned for Jackson to follow her, and left the stage. They stepped through the exit door into a smaller room, where Eleanor, eyes narrowed, was waiting for them.
"Great job," Jackson said.
Mary-Latham stepped up behind him. "Agreed."
"Where's Mohammed?" Eleanor demanded.
"In the bar," Jackson said.
"Get him up to my suite. I want him alone. Is that clear?"
"Mary-Latham," Jackson said, "why don't you accompany Eleanor back to the suite? I'll get Mohammed and bring him upstairs."
"Make it fast," Eleanor snapped.
"Yes, Senator."
Attorneys' loungeFloor 2, Building 1
Navy-Marine Corp Trial Judiciary
32nd Street Naval Station
San Diego, California
Zack Brewer was not in a good mood.
He'd just been handed an order from his commanding officer, Captain Alan Rudy, instructing him to move into a room in the Navy Lodge at Naval Air Station North Island until further notice.
On top of that, his brand-new silver Mercedes, the only worldly possession that he halfway cared about, would be impounded at the 32nd Street Naval Station until further notice.
And on top of that, he was to be transported around the city of San Diego -- to the extent that it was necessary to set foot off a U.S. Naval facility -- only by NCIS in a windowless panel truck until further notice.
He wanted to take the Styrofoam cup he was holding in his hand, with its battery-acid excuse for coffee, and hurl it against the wall of the attorneys' lounge. Sure, the navy had every right to order him around. He was a naval officer, subject to the orders of his superiors. But that wasn't the point. The point was that by hiding him inside the naval station and behind windowless panel trucks as if he were some sort of frail petunia, the navy was capitulating to terrorists. When freedoms are curtailed in the wake of terrorism, as with the passage of the so-called Patriot Act in the name of antiterrorism after 9/11, the terrorists win.
He knew he was overreacting, but he couldn't help himself.
Now he was about to get his first chauffeured ride in the windowless panel truck. He was due at COMNAVBASE headquarters in downtown San Diego in thirty minutes for a meeting with Rear Admiral Charles F. Scott. Admiral Scott was the convening authority for the court-martial against Ensign Eckberg, which meant that the admiral had the power to bring the case or drop it -- or take some other action as he saw fit.
Zack checked his watch. "Guys, is my paddy wagon in place yet?"
Special Agent Wesner chuckled. "Yes, sir, Commander, they're bringing it over right now. It will be out front."
"You know, if you're going to make me ride in a windowless paddy wagon, at least you could send Shannon back over here to babysit me. She's" -- Zack cleared his throat -- "shall we say, a bit easier on the eyes."
"Can't argue with that, Commander." Wesner chuckled. "She's down at NCIS headquarters. She'll be back soon."
"Speaking of headquarters," Zack said, "we've gotta roll if I'm going to make that appointment with Admiral Scott."
"Right about that, Commander,"
Wesner said. "Let's rock 'n' roll." Wesner, Raynor, Zack, and Peterson all stepped into the hallway on the second deck of the military courthouse building and headed toward the stairway that would take them down to the first floor, out the front door, and to the waiting vehicle for Zack's ride downtown.
"What about these press vultures?" Zack asked.
"Still a few down there, Zack," Raynor answered. "They're camped out, waiting for you."
"Great," Zack muttered. "Any more word on the shootings?"
"Two confirmed dead. Some of 'em are trying to blame the marines," Wesner said. "I don't believe it."
"Don't believe anything you read in the papers," Zack said. "It's all about who can out-sensationalize the other. Ratings and money. That's what the press has gotten to."
They hustled down the steps to the first deck and past Courtroom 1, the now-vacant site of the latest public saga to take over Zack's life.
Mike Wesner stepped out ahead of the quartet, walking to the exit door. He turned and looked at Zack. "Sorry, Commander, we've still got company."
"How much company?"
"Looks like they all stayed for the party."
"Great."
"Panel truck's at the bottom of the steps. Good news is we've still got our marine platoon down there. Just ignore the press if you want, sir. It's up to you."
"Maybe," Zack said. "Let's go."
Wesner flung open the door to the worn-out sight of a press circus.
They barked Zack's name like hungry puppies yelping in a dog pound. He started down the steps toward the panel truck through the cordon of marines.
Raynor had already reached the panel truck, its engine running, and opened its back doors.
"Senator Claxton just finished a press conference, Commander. She criticized U.S. Marines for firing into the peace-lovin
g crowd this morning, saying they had assembled spontaneously to assert their right of free speech."
Zack initially decided to ignore the reporter's comment. But as he put one foot into the panel truck, the thought of U.S. Marines sacrificing their bodies for this country in hellholes like Guadalcanal, Iwo Jima, and Okinawa overtook him. He could've ignored anything, he decided in the heat of the moment, except potshots against God, country, Diane Colcernian, or the United States Marine Corps. Boiling rage rose inside him. He turned and pointed at the reporter who had made the statement.
"Peace-loving, you say? If Senator Claxton had been in the car with me when we tried driving to work this morning, she would have seen how peace-loving this spontaneous crowd of protestors really was." He made quotation marks with his fingers as he uttered the words peace-loving and spontaneous. "Look, as we tried crossing Harbor Drive to enter the naval station, the senator's peace-loving crowd clogged the public streets to the point that no one could go anywhere. And I guess it would have been okay if it had stopped there. But, ladies and gentlemen, it did not.
"I tell you now -- "Zack paused and surveyed the quizzical looks on their faces. Several scribbled notes on legal pads. "When our car rolled into the intersection, we were swarmed by an angry mob. They surrounded us, climbed on the trunk, climbed on the hood, on the roof, beat against the glass, and shook and rocked the car as if they were trying to flip it over.
"I don't condone firing into a crowd of civilians. In fact, I condemn it. But I also condemn mob violence. If somebody hadn't done something, I'd be in a morgue right now.
"I didn't care as much about my own life as I did about that of the NCIS agent who was in the car with me. And there were NCIS agents in the cars in front of and behind us. And two cars ahead, there was a San Diego County deputy sheriff who happens to be a good friend of mine. If anything had happened to them because of that out-of-control mob, I would have cared, believe me."
"But, Commander," said an attractive, young blonde reporter, "what about some lesser means of dispersing the crowd? Don't you think the marines should have used tear gas?"
"The marines? For Senator Claxton, or anyone else for that matter, to take a potshot at the nation's finest fighting force, the United States Marine Corps, without having all the facts at her disposal is irresponsibility at its highest form.
"All members of Congress should, before they are sworn in, go through boot camp at Paris Island."
That comment brought furious scribbling.
"How do you respond to comments made by Mr. Webster and also by Senator Claxton that this court-martial is a political prosecution and is all about keeping gay Americans out of the military?" This came from Zane Jones, anchor for the local NBC affiliate, KSDO Television.
"Ridiculous," Zack said. "Gay Americans already serve in the military."
A young African-American reporter stepped forward. "But doesn't 'Don't ask, don't tell' intimidate many from serving their country?"
"That's a question for the politicians. I'm no politician. I'm just a naval officer trying to serve my country. But if you think for one minute this is a politically driven trial, I can assure you it isn't. It may be politically driven by the defense -- which has another agenda -- but it is insulting to suggest the prosecution is politically driven.
"As I said in court just an hour ago, this case is about a single act of homosexual assault aboard a U.S. Navy submarine. Nothing more. Nothing less.
"Such conduct undermines good order and discipline in the U.S. military, which in turn, undermines the security of the United States. Even if 'Don't ask, don't tell' were abolished, such conduct will be dealt with severely as long as there is a military justice system.
"For someone to come in now and make a sick attempt to construe this trial into something it's not -- that's despicable."
"Commander! Commander!" The pretty blonde had her microphone in his face again. "Are you suggesting that Senator Claxton is despicable?"
Watch your tongue, Zack. Or at least quit while you're ahead. "I made no such suggestion about the senator or anyone else. What I meant was that the act of casting unfounded and unsubstantiated aspersions against United States Marines, or trying to co-opt the defense of a court-martial for political gain -- when the purpose of the court- martial is to preserve good order and discipline in the military -- now that's despicable."
"But, Commander, weren't your comments in fact aimed at Senator Claxton, even if you did not use her name?"
"I've just explained that in my previous answer. Thank you all for coming today. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment off base."
Zack stepped into the van and took a seat in back. Mike Wesner closed the door, and in thirty seconds, the yipping cacophony of reporters faded.
CHAPTER 28
Senator Claxton's suite
Claxton campaign San Diego County headquarters
Hotel del Coronado
1500 Orange Avenue
Coronado, California
The junior senator from Vermont sat at the small breakfast table in the corner of her suite, nursing a Bloody Mary. Her press secretary, Mary-Latham, had just seated herself across from her when the intercom buzzed.
"Excuse me, Senator." It was the new Secret Ser vice agent, whose name she could not recall, assigned to her detail. "Mr. Gallopoulous and Mr. Khadiija are here."
"Send Mr. Khadiija in alone, please. Tell Mr. Gallopoulous I'll talk to him later."
"Yes, Senator."
Eleanor took another nip of the Bloody Mary, then said to Mary-Latham, "I need to speak with Mohammed in private. I hope you understand. I'll call you when I need you."
"Sure thing, Eleanor."
Mary-Latham stood and walked out, passing Mohammed Khadiija as he walked in.
"Too bad she's not my type," Mohammed said in a mock-sultry tone.
"What the heck happened out there?" Eleanor demanded, then launched into a profanity-laced tirade.
"Eleanor, please calm down. Mind if I order a drink?"
"I don't care what you order -- after you tell me what happened this morning."
"I haven't the foggiest, my dear," Mohammed responded through a devilish grin.
"I thought we had a peaceful protest planned." She glared at him. "You said your people would stay up on the sidewalks."
"Emotions runneth high. This is a topic near and dear to the hearts of many. Of course, you've fanned those emotions with all your 'Neanderthal mentality' comments. You're building quite a fan base in California from what I'm hearing on the streets. Bravo, my dear!"
Eleanor stood, turned her back on him, and downed the rest of her Bloody Mary. "You know, this thing could have turned sour if something had happened to Brewer. He's a conservative icon, and I need to polarize liberals here in California against him. That would be kind of hard to do if he... were suddenly unavailable."
"But things turned out okay, did they not? I mean, you got to make a wonderful speech at a press conference. You beat President Williams to the punch. By the way, I just heard on NPR that he's gong to address the country in thirty minutes. And... and you'll get major league coverage tonight in LA and San Francisco, the cities you'll need to spring the upset in this state against that native son Congressman Warren. All in all, I'd say a good day."
"Look, Mohammed, I appreciate everything you do." She turned around and saw that he had helped himself to a glass of Scotch from the wet bar. "But we must maintain control of this campaign. Things turned out well this morning, but this could have blown up in our faces. If Brewer dies prematurely, especially in a street riot, then we lose control of the media direction, and I've got a wave of conservative sympathy sweeping the nation.
"We got lucky. But we've got to maintain control to make sure nothing blows up. The protests alone as the backdrop to our coordinated defense against the prosecution would have been enough to get us where we need to be in LA and Frisco. Stick with the plan, please. A bloodbath was just too risky."
&n
bsp; Mohammed stood, sipped his Scotch, and walked across the plush carpet to the windows. In front of him spread the expansive view of the Pacific. "Do my ears deceive me? The most ruthless woman in the world, the first woman president of the United States, worried about death and bloodbaths?"
"Who fired the shots, Mohammed?"
That brought a chuckle from the scruffy-faced Middle Easterner. "Why, the marines did. You said so yourself. No?"
"Who fired the shots, Mohammed?"
"And how should I know? What's important is that the voters in the Bay Area think it was the marines. By the time all this is sorted out, you will be the Democratic presidential nominee! And then" -- he took a triumphant sip of Scotch -- "the first woman president of the United States."
"And what do voters in the Bay Area think about Karen Jacoby?"
"Eleanor, relax. This was a vigilante murder. Everybody knows it. No one knows she was a potential problem for us. No one will know, except those of us in the closest circle. That's the way it will remain. Trust me."
"Okay, okay. But listen, Mohammed -- no more deviations from the script. Got it?"
"Eleanor, where is your sense of adventure?"
She slammed her empty glass on the tabletop and glared at him. "I don't know if you've considered this, Mohammed, but I've been around politics a long time. A whole lot longer than your so-called conversion from Islam to homosexuality to Democratic activism." She leaned toward him. "Let me tell you what that means, Mohammed. Politics is a dirty business."
"Dirty?"
"Dirtier than you can imagine. You think radical Islam is dirty? You haven't seen anything. What goes on out of the public's eye makes 9/11 look like a picnic in the park. Get my drift? This was a dirty business before you came along, and if there are any more surprises, you are gone."
"Why, Senator" -- Mohammed poured another drink, forcing a smile over a twisted expression -- "if I didn't know better, I would think you are threatening me."
"Let me put it this way, Mohammed. You aren't the first individual to work for me or my husband and carry out the duties that you do. Now, some of them are still around. Some aren't. The ones who aren't deviated from the script. Some decided to take inside information from our campaigns and use it for political or monetary gain. Some tried blackmailing by threatening to go to the authorities or the press.