Hostage

by Don Brown

  "It doesn't stop there. Brewer has been decorated by the secretary of the navy twice for his work in prosecuting highly publicized rape cases, and he first cut his teeth against Lieutenant Colcernian in a highly publicized rape case involving the niece of U.S. Senator Roberson Fowler."

  "Yes, I remember reading about the case," la Trec said.

  "Then, of course, moncher, there was his most impressive victory against your friend Mr. Levinson."

  "Yes, I must say I rooted for the young chap in that one." La Trec grinned. "Okay, so we know this naval officer has a flair for the courtroom. But there has to be a weak link in the chain. I want to know what he struggles with."

  "As I said," she continued, recrossing her legs, "his strength is oral argument. He knows their rules of evidences and is extremely quick on his feet, both in meeting unexpected objections and in dealing with the media."

  "Any video on him?"

  She received a CD from the dossier. "There. Pop it in. Have a look."

  La Trec placed the CD in his computer.

  "This is from his closing in the Olajuwon court-martial."

  The large, flat computer screen showed a frozen picture of a U.S. Naval JAG officer, standing in what looked like the well of a courtroom. After a click of the mouse, Brewer began to move and speak.

  "If Harry Houdini were in this courtroom today, he'd be proud . . . proud to see the world's greatest lawyer borrow the most fundamental technique of trickery from the world's greatest magician and bring it into the courtroom.

  "Mr. Levinson seeks to hold out Harry Kilnap as the visual distraction while hiding behind his back the cold, stark truth of cold-blooded murder!"

  The screen paused.

  "So," la Trec said, "he is not afraid to go after a high-profile opponent in his closing argument."

  "Not in the least bit intimidated," Jeanette replied with a sparkle in her eye.

  "Run a little more," he ordered.

  "Magic might be great for the stage, Mr. Levinson, but it won't work in a court of law. Not in this court anyway. Not when the cold, hard evidence against the defendants is so compelling, so condemning."

  The screen paused again.

  "Hard-hitting, isn't he?" la Trec said.

  She smiled and raised a brow. "Check out the climax of his closing."

  "And the religion we condemn is nothing more than a perverted philosophy that seeks to maim, kill, terrorize, and intimidate as a means of advancing its goals. A perverted philosophy -- in the name of religion -- the defendants have adopted and put into practice by taking the lives of American servicemen and innocent civilians.

  "Send a strong message that murder, terrorism, and treason will not be tolerated. Not in my navy.

  "Return with a verdict of guilty.

  "Thank you."

  "Enough!" la Trec snapped. "So obviously, he is a powerfully talented courtroom advocate. I'm not interested in his strengths. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. I'm interested in his weaknesses. What do you have for me?"

  "He doesn't show weaknesses, but they are there. Trust me." A comely wink.

  "Show me."

  She got up, walked around behind him, and started to lightly massage his shoulders. "His weakness is Delilah."

  "What are you talking about, ma belle?"

  "Commander Brewer is a Sampson in the courtroom, but like Sampson, his weakness is a woman. His Delilah is Lieutenant Diane Colcernian. Trust me on this. I know."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Call it womanly instinct." Her fingers dug deeply into his shoulders. "And you yourself have said that mine has never been wrong."

  "Hmm," he mused as she nudged her nose along the right side of his neck. "So what are you saying, my dear?"

  "You're the smartest lawyer in the world, Jean-Claude. I think you can figure this one out."

  As she kissed him behind the ear, he picked up his cell phone and dialed the number for Abdur Rahman.

  LCDR Zack Brewer's residence

  4935 Mills Street

  La Mesa, California

  Zack was home alone, looking over his notes, when the doorbell rang. He checked his watch. Wendy was a few minutes early for their trial preparation session. He tossed the folder on the glass coffee table and opened the front door.

  A delivery man stood in front of him holding a clipboard. "Lieutenant Commander Brewer?"

  "That's me."

  "I have a package for you, sir."

  "Okay."

  "Sign here, please."

  The courier handed Zack a blue pen. He signed his name and took the manila envelope, which included his name and address but no return address.

  "Thank you, sir."

  As the courier puttered away in a Toyota Tercel, Zack reached into the envelope. He pulled out a photograph, facedown.

  He turned it over.

  Oh dear Jesus.

  The eight-by-ten color photograph showed Diane, in civilian clothes, sitting on a stool in what appeared to be a cell block, with a black blindfold over her eyes. She was surrounded by two men wearing black ski masks and olive-drab fatigues, pointing Uzis at her head.

  Zack felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. He heaved for breath. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He almost collapsed onto the sofa. For a moment he tried to breathe. Then he reached into the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. It was a handwritten letter, printed in black ink.

  Dear Lieutenant Commander Brewer,

  Congratulations on your selection by the navy to prosecute yet another high-profile court-martial.

  As you can see from the attached photograph, however, unfortunately, your favorite trial partner appears to be preoccupied at the moment and, consequently, will be unable to join you.

  Not to fret, however, as I am sure that Lieutenant Colcernian will have her hands in this case and will be with you in heart.

  Yes, and to ensure that this will happen, here is what we are prepared to offer for your peace of mind.

  A motion to dismiss this case will most likely be made by your opponent, much in the way Mr. Levinson moved to dismiss the last court-martial you were involved in.

  If the motion to dismiss is denied, that is when Lieutenant Colcernian will have a hand in helping you.

  You see, as we understand American court-martial procedures, after the motion to dismiss is denied, you will get to make an opening statement to the members. Please be advised that at the moment you begin your opening statement, we will begin to, with the use of a sharp knife, amputate Lieutenant Colcernian's right hand. We will take our time, of course, ensuring the amputation process lasts precisely as long as your opening argument.

  Then, when you deliver what will undoubtedly be a spellbinding closing argument, as you always do, we will repeat this procedure with her left hand. Won't that make for the most exciting argument you have ever delivered?

  But wait.

  There is more!

  We understand that after closing argument, the jury will deliver a verdict. If the verdict is not guilty, we will release the handless Lieutenant Colcernian to return to freedom. But if the verdict is guilty, we will use our blood-stained knife to amputate her ears.

  But even after that, there is still hope for the beautiful lieutenant. If the defendants are spared the death penalty, then we will return the handless, earless lovely into your arms.

  But if either of these pilots is condemned to die, then we will proceed to slowly slit the good lieutenant's throat.

  It all should be interesting, should it not?

  Thank you, so much, for your consideration of this matter.

  We look forward to working with you through the resolution of this case.

  And may Allah the benevolent be glorified in all actions.

  Peace be unto you,

  A soldier of Allah

  Eastbound California Highway 94

  Approaching Lemon Grove Avenue exit

  East San Diego County

 
Wendy tapped the brakes on the rental car, reacting to the slew of brake lights, an illuminated eastbound snake of traffic, now stalling in the late afternoon sun just west of the Lemon Grove exit.

  She glanced down at her wristwatch: 5:45. She picked up her cell phone and hit speed dial. His answering machine came on. Then a beep.

  "Hi, Zack, I'm stuck here on 94. I'm coming up on the Lemon Grove exit. I won't be there for probably another fifteen minutes. See you then. Bye."

  Why was she disappointed he hadn't picked up? After all, she had worked with him at the NTSO all day today. And all day the day before. And three hours the night before that.

  Today they had checked witness lists, traced documents on the educational funding of the pilots, and worked on potential cross-examination. When, earlier, Zack had to run to the military courthouse to deal with a guilty plea, they agreed to meet up again at his home in La Mesa, where they might grab a bite to eat, then work again until midnight.

  In less than two days, she would be flying with him to Israel to take on a case that, no matter what the outcome, was bound to forge them together and perhaps change their lives forever. It was a pleasant thought.

  She tried not to think about Diane. She had seen the pain in his eyes when discussing her disappearance. The great trial pit bull Zack Brewer had shown his emotional side over Diane's vanishing. His eyes had welled with tears several times at the mention of her name.

  She prayed Diane Colcernian would survive. But for the good of the country, Wendy had to keep his mind off her. The nation could not afford to have Lieutenant Commander Zack Brewer distracted or slipping into depression on the eve of this court-martial.

  Am I really trying to keep his mind off her in the name of the national interest? Or for my own interests?

  She reached down and punched the radio on as, finally, her car reached the Spring Street exit.

  The voice of a woman announcer: "More fallout today from the United States' controversial decision to prosecute the two pilots implicated in the missile attack on the Dome of the Rock. A number of the president's democratic opponents held press conferences criticizing the administration's refusal to adhere to the wishes of the UN Security Council. Among the most vocal of those critics, to no surprise, was the Reverend JamesOn Barbour of the Society Against Racial Discrimination. Here's what the Reverend Barbour had to say today from a press conference outside SARD headquarters in Chicago."

  Barbour's voice came on the radio: "Why is it the United States has so cavalierly rejected this proposal from the great government of France? Is it because this administration has something to hide? Why is it this administration is so reluctant to submit to the sovereign authority of the United Nations?

  "Other nations have done this already, but this administration wants to play cowboy on the stage of world politics. Is it because they have done something which they do not wish us to know? If the Williams administration truly has nothing to hide, then why not turn the matter over to the International Criminal Court to be judged by all nations!

  "The Bible says the truth shall set you free. And I call upon this administration to submit to the UN, that great sovereign organization of nations, and to tell the truth!"

  Enough of that buffoon. Wendy killed the radio as she pulled onto Mills Street. Zack's silver Mercedes was parked in the driveway, and even the sight of his car made her heart jump.

  What's wrong with me?

  She got out of the car, walked to the front door, and rang the doorbell.

  No answer.

  She rang again.

  Same result.

  She turned the doorknob. It was unlocked.

  I wonder if I should just open it. Surely he won't mind. After all, he is expecting me.

  She pushed open the door and saw him sitting across the room, on the sofa, his face buried in his hands.

  "Zack?"

  He didn't move.

  "Zack!" She walked across the small room to him. He looked up at her. "What's the matter, Zack?"

  "This came by courier just a few minutes ago." He handed her a large manila envelope.

  Wendy stared at the photograph, feeling the blood drain from her face. Lord, help me be strong. "Zack . . ."

  His eyes, filled with raw pain, caught hers.

  She wanted to take him in her arms. Instead, she said, "We've got to get this to Captain Rudy."

  CHAPTER 45

  8 East 4th Avenue

  Coronado Island

  Coronado, California

  Fortunately, from Wendy's perspective, Zack had gotten his emotions sufficiently under control to take the wheel of his car and fight through the remnants of the San Diego evening rush-hour traffic. She did not judge him emotionally stable enough, however, to make the drive alone. So she insisted on riding with him to Captain Rudy's house.

  He had offered no resistance.

  A quarter moon hung over the white stucco cottage on posh Coronado Island as Zack pulled to the curb and parked the Mercedes.

  "Want me to take the lead on this?" Wendy asked as they walked up the brick walkway.

  "Technically, you are senior to me, ma'am."

  "Okay. Say no more."

  They stepped onto the front stoop and rang the doorbell. Captain Rudy, dressed in a golf shirt and blue jeans, opened the door.

  "Zack. Wendy. Please come in." He motioned them into the living room.

  "Sorry to bother you after office hours, Captain," Wendy said, "but shortly after Zack got home this evening, DHL delivered this package to him." She handed him the envelope.

  He pulled out the photo. "Oh dear God, help us." He sat down.

  "Captain, there's more in the envelope."

  Rudy extracted the letter. His face, ordinarily ruddy, instantly paled.

  "Okay. Okay." He ran his hand through his hair. "Listen, we've gotta stay cool here." He sighed heavily. "Zack, how are you feeling?"

  "This has rocked me."

  Rudy took a deep breath. "Okay, Washington needs to know about this immediately." He drew in another deep breath. "I'm going to the naval station." He ran his hand through his hair again. "And then I'll send a flash message to the National Command Authority. Okay?"

  "Yes, sir," Wendy said.

  "Depending on what Washington says, I may notify the FBI. Then I want you two to go back and keep preparing. I don't know how Washington will react to this, but we've got to be ready, as hard as this is, either way. Okay?"

  They both nodded.

  "Zack, are you going to be able to handle this?"

  Zack looked at Wendy, then back to the captain. "Skipper, I don't know whether I can focus under these circumstances. It might be good if someone else prosecutes it." His voice wavered. He fell silent for a moment, then continued, his voice stronger. "But I'm a naval officer, sir. And you know that I will do my very best to carry out all the lawful orders of my superiors."

  Captain Rudy stood, walked across the room, and gave Zack a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I know you will, Zack. You're the finest officer who has ever served under my command."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Okay," Rudy said gruffly. "Let's get back to work."

  "Aye, sir," Zack and Wendy said in unison.

  White House Signals Office

  Old executive office building

  One hour later

  It had been an unusually quiet night. Navy Captain Mike Stacks, duty officer in charge of the White House Signals Office, checked his watch: 11:45 p.m. He sipped his coffee as he walked between the rows of twenty-five military personnel from all five branches of the services, satisfied that all would remain quiet on his watch.

  "Captain, we've got a Flash TS message from San Diego!" one of the air force duty sergeants called out. He referred to a top-secret message requiring the highest priority for action.

  "Whatcha got, Sergeant?"

  The sergeant ripped the top-secret message out of the printer and handed it to Captain Stacks.

  Flash

  T
op Secret

  1. Please be advised that this command has been made aware of an anonymous letter threatening torture and execution of Lieutenant Colcernian in response to the prospective court-martial of navy aviators in Israel.

  2. This command has also been made aware of a photograph of Lieutenant Colcernian, blindfolded, apparently in a hostage situation.

  3. Threatening letter and photograph were initially delivered to the home of LCDR Zachary Brewer, JAGC, USN, who immediately made this command aware of same.

  4. Copies of letter and photograph are being forwarded contemporaneously by scrambled facsimile.

  5. Please advise ASAP.

  Very respectfully,

  A. G. Rudy

  CAPT, JAGC, USN

  "Captain, the fax and photo just came across the fax scrambler."

  Stacks looked at the photo, and his heart sank.

  "Get the national security advisor on the hotline," he told the sergeant.

  A moment later the sergeant handed the receiver to Stacks. "She's on the line."

  "Miss Hewitt," Stacks said, his gaze still riveted to the picture of Diane Colcernian. "This is Captain Stacks, White House Signals Office Duty Officer. I apologize for the late hour, ma'am, but we've got a flash message and a photo from San Diego." He paused. "Lieutenant Colcernian has been kidnapped. They're threatening to kill her if the prosecution of the aviators proceeds."