by Don Brown
He listened to her response before continuing. "Yes, ma'am," he said. "I understand. I'll notify the chief of staff and awaken the president. I'll get on it right away, ma'am."
CHAPTER 46
LCDR Zack Brewer's Residence
4935 Mills Street
La Mesa, California
Midnight, PST
Despite Captain Rudy's order that they get back to work on the case, and despite their attempts to carry out the order, their efforts to comply had not been successful.
Maybe they should have gone somewhere other than back to his house, which was all too much a visual reminder of the photograph and letter he had received some six hours earlier.
Despite the strain, they had discussed the legal grounds on which la Trec might move to dismiss. Zack felt he would try to resurrect the International Criminal Court garbage he had smeared across the UN Security Council.
By midnight, Wendy was starting to nod, and Zack suggested they wrap it up. He helped her get her papers in her briefcase, then walked her to her car. She yawned as she stepped in and slid beneath the wheel.
"You okay to drive?"
"Sure," she said, smiling.
"I'm following you home."
"Zack, that's sweet, but you don't have to do that."
"You're sleepy; I'm not. I'm following you to make sure you're okay, and if necessary, I'll harass you on your cell phone to keep you awake all the way to the BOQ."
"You are persuasive. I see why they call you the navy's best litigator."
An hour and a half later, after having driven to the Bachelor Officers' Quarters at the North Island Naval Air Station, Zack pulled back into the driveway of his La Mesa home.
He got out of the car, closed the door, his heart pounding like a jackhammer. A Pavlovian reflex, no doubt. Just being here brought back the heart-wrenching moment when he received the envelope. Would it happen again? Would someone bring him a photograph of her dead body?
Get hold of yourself, Zack!
Stepping onto the front stoop, he pulled out his keys and jiggled the front door open. There were no more envelopes.
He dead-bolted the front door behind him, stepped into his bedroom, unbuttoned his khaki uniform shirt, and in his T-shirt and khaki uniform pants, lay down on the bed. The light from the living room lamp cast a pale light on the blades of the ceiling fan.
Lying on his back, he concentrated on the slow-moving fan, hoping the motion would tire his eyes and help him get to sleep.
What if they're outside? That thought jolted him. He reached into his bedside drawer and gripped his nine-millimeter Glock. Working the action, he laid the gun on his chest, then tried the eye-circling game again.
An hour later the digital clock showed 2:30 a.m.
The eye-circling game wasn't working.
He got up, laid the gun by his bed, then threw his uniform shirt back on. Thirty minutes later, the Mercedes rolled into the empty gravel parking lot at the summit of Mount Helix.
He cut the bright halogen headlights, and everything went dark. But in a moment, his pupils adjusted, and with the glow spilling over from the spotlighted thirty-six-foot cross, the images of the parking lot and the amphitheater came into focus.
Technically, the park closed at sundown, but Zack felt something tugging him beyond the low gate. He straddled it, hopped down, and walked across the amphitheater to the stone wall.
Looking west, the twinkling lights of San Diego spread across the vast vista below the mountain. Sweeping searchlights beamed into the sky from Lindberg Field, twelve miles or so straight ahead, from Brown Field, to his left just north of the Mexican border, and from MCAS Mira-mar, off to his right. Off in the distance, beyond Lindberg Field, the distinctive, silhouetted image of the Point Loma Peninsula jutted into the dark waters of the Pacific.
Zack lay down on his back on the stone wall at the edge of the park. A shooting star shot across the twinkling celestial canopy above the lit cross, visible in the right side of his peripheral vision.
"Father, at this very moment, more so than at any moment in my life, I feel a small semblance of what your Son felt that night in the garden of Gethsemane.
"Not that the terrible weight on my shoulders compares with the incomprehensibly heavy burden that caused him to sweat drops of blood that night, but for me, Father, your weak, earthly son, this burden is heavier than anything I have ever felt."
He sat up, turned away from the city lights, and faced the illuminated white cross.
"Father, out of sheer undeserved mercy, you gave me a remarkable talent for courtroom advocacy, for which I am grateful. And years ago, when I was accepted into law school, I told you that I would dedicate my profession to you and prayed that you would use my vocation for your glory.
"And since that day, Father, you have blessed me with success I never could have dreamed of and never could have achieved on my own. Indeed, Father, on my own, I would have failed miserably. Apart from you, I am nothing. And when I have strayed from you, I have fallen on my face, as I deserved to do.
"Father, for reasons I thought I may have understood, but now confess I don't understand, you brought Diane Colcernian into my life. At first we fought like cats and dogs. And then we became friends, Lord, and then we became more. Our feelings for each other grew. And although we never discussed it, I have wondered -- and maybe Diane has too -- if we were born for each other.
"But now, Father, after all that, if I obey the lawful orders of the officers above me, I could cause her to be slowly tortured and murdered. I don't believe I can do this. I feel that I just want to disobey this order and let them court-martial me. I know you would have me obey the orders of my superiors, but how can I, Father? How can I? How can I kill her, Lord? I want her back. Please, Father . . ." His voice cracked and his tears streamed.
After a few minutes, he continued.
"Father, is there a way you can raise someone else up to prosecute this case? Will you please move on the Israeli government to consider another American they trust to handle this? Will you please change the president's mind about insisting on me?
"I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't ask to be the part of a diplomatic solution in a tense international standoff. Please, Father, if it be your will, take this cup from me. Please, please . . ." The tears were flowing again. He waited a few more minutes, wiped his eyes, and lay back down on the stone wall again.
He looked into the heavens. "But not my will, Father," he prayed slowly, "but your will be done. Give me the strength to follow your will, whatever that may be."
For the first time in days, a supernatural peace came over him.
"Thank you, Father. In the almighty name of Jesus of Nazareth, the Risen Savior and the Mighty Prophet of God, amen."
Zack closed his eyes and fell asleep.
CHAPTER 47
Office of Lieutenant Commander Zack Brewer, JAGC, USN
Navy Trial Service Office
Building 73
32nd Street Naval Station
San Diego, California
At the first signs of the gray, luminescent hue pushing back the stars, evidence that the sun was on its way somewhere over the eastern horizon, Zack's eyes opened. By the time the long orange rays of the morning sun had crested the mountain, he had driven home, showered, shaved, thrown on a set of fresh working khakis, and started to head down westbound California Highway 94 toward the naval station.
Zack checked his watch as he accepted and then returned the salute from the petty officer at the main gate of the 32nd Street Naval Station. Five minutes to eight. If he hurried, maybe he could get to the Navy Trial Service Office before colors.
Four minutes later he parked the 320 in his reserved spot. As he exited his car, he was stopped dead in his tracks -- along with every other person and every car on base -- by the sound of whistles blaring over the naval station loudspeakers.
Colors.
Zack came to attention, facing the nearest American flagpole, in this
case, the flagpole in front of the NTSO. With the first note of "The Star-Spangled Banner," in accordance with naval customs and tradition, he snapped a sharp salute, holding the salute as the enlisted flag patrol hoisted Old Glory up the pole.
On board the USS Ticonderoga, moored at Pier 1 across the street, Zack saw dozens of sailors on deck, also frozen in salute; dozens of officers and enlisted men along the piers and sidewalks and decks held their salute. The scene was being repeated not only throughout 32nd Street, but at every U.S. Navy command and ship in the Pacific standard time zone at that very moment.
Zack held the salute until the last chords of "and the hooome of the braaave," then, with whistles blowing again, snapped down the salute just as crisply as he had rendered it. Cars started moving again, men and women resumed walking, and Zack headed into the NTSO, into his office, where he was met by his boss, a coffee-swilling Commander Bob Awe.
"Zack, the skipper wants you in his office right now."
"Aye, sir." Zack tossed his officer's cover on his desk and followed Commander Awe to Captain Rudy's office.
"He just came in, sir," Captain Rudy said, apparently into his speaker phone, then motioned for Zack and Commander Awe to come in and sit down.
"Zack, is that you?" A familiar male voice came over the speaker phone as Zack settled into the chair in front of Captain Rudy's desk. Zack couldn't quite place the voice, but if Captain Rudy referred to the speaker as "sir," then that was good enough for him.
"Yes, sir, this is Lieutenant Commander Brewer."
"Zack, this is Mack Williams."
And then, stunned recognition.
"Mr. President?"
"Yes, I think I'm still on the government payroll this morning."
Zack's eyes widened. He glanced at Captain Rudy, who smiled slightly and nodded his head.
"It's an honor to speak with you again, Mr. President."
"As one JAG officer to another, the honor is mine," the president said.
"Thank you, sir."
"Were you able to get any sleep last night?"
"Believe it or not, Mr. President, for the first time in my life, I slept outside on a park bench."
Zack saw Commander Awe raise an eyebrow at that remark.
"A park bench?" the president said. "Sounds like you couldn't have slept much."
"Maybe a couple of hours."
"I know it probably won't make you feel better, but just for the record, your commander in chief was up all night too. I've been on the phone with our intelligence people and with the prime minister of Israel working on the problem presented by the despicable letter and photograph that you received last night."
Zack took a deep breath. "Thank you, sir. I really appreciate that."
"Before I brief you on what I've been able to learn, is there anything I can do for you, Zack?"
Zack thought about that for a second, then realized that as a lowly lieutenant commander, he did not have the luxury of thinking too long, given the time schedule of the commander in chief. But for Diane's sake, it was now or never. Do it, Zack.
"There is one thing I'd like to ask you about, sir."
"Fire away, Commander."
"Sir, I would like to exchange myself for Diane. They would take me, and do whatever they want to me, but release her. Is there any way we could open up some sort of back-channel communication, maybe through one of our Arab allies, to make that happen?"
There was a moment of silence from the speaker phone.
"Zack, I'm not surprised at your request. I admire you for it, and I think if I were in your position, I'd feel the same way.
"You know as well as I do that every man and woman who puts on America's uniform does so knowing that he or she may have to pay for that privilege with his life. I wore the uniform with that knowledge, and I know you do, and I know Lieutenant Colcernian does.
"The hardest part about this job is making decisions about life and death. Personally, I'd rather give my own life than make a decision, knowing the consequences of that decision will mean the loss of life for someone's loved one. But like every president who has occupied this office before me, and especially in times of war -- and make no mistake, we are at war here -- my personal desires have to give way to what's best for America. Personally, I would truly rather sacrifice myself if it meant freedom for Diane. And I would in a heartbeat, if it were that simple.
"But for the good of the country, to try to ensure there won't be other kidnappings, to try to contain the power these evil monsters have, I can't do that. Do you understand, Zack?"
"Yes, sir."
"And while, as your president, I appreciate your willingness to make a personal sacrifice for Diane, even with your life, the problem is that we would have to negotiate with these terrorists to bring about that swap. And I don't know if they would accept the terms even if we tried.
"But we can't try, because the mere act of negotiating with them would be a reward to them for an unconscionable criminal act. That would set a precedent that anytime they wanted to bring us to the table, all they've gotta do is go kidnap a naval officer, or any other American, for that matter. Negotiating with them would lead to more deaths, to more torture. We can't do that. Do you understand my reasoning?"
"Yes, sir," Zack said. "Not only do I understand, but for what it's worth, I know it's the right policy."
"Zack, you should know two things. First, the CIA has been analyzing the letter and the photo, and Director Early informs me that this threat appears legitimate."
"I understand." Zack felt another lump in his throat.
"Having said that, we are devoting the full resources of the United States government to locating Diane, and if we can find her, we're going to do everything we can to go get her. But realistically, I can't promise we will be successful. Oftentimes, these animals act before we can do anything about it. But I can promise we will be diligent, relentless, and prayerful in our efforts to bring her home."
"Thank you, sir."
"Secondly, Zack, I spoke with Prime Minister Rothstein and shared with him copies of the letter and the photograph. He is as incensed about this despicable act as I am. I also discussed with him the possibility, given these circumstances, of having someone else prosecute these cases."
"Yes, sir?" Please take this cup from me, Lord.
"Zack, I'm sorry, but the answer is no."
A pause. A numbness.
"I understand, sir."
"Under the circumstances, I feel you're entitled to an explanation. First, the Israeli government is in a tough position politically. Their people think these pilots should be put on trial by an Israeli court. They say it's a question of Israeli sovereignty. And frankly, I can see their point. If somebody attacked a building in America, we would want to try them here in America, and indeed we have done that. If the Israeli government were to accede to our demands to turn over these pilots, that government could fall in a specially called election. Plus they're worried about an attack from Syria or maybe even Egypt if we brought the pilots back here to the States.
"For the most part, the Rothstein government has been very good in working with us. We can't afford to see that government fall, Zack. We need a government that is fully cooperative in Jerusalem.
"The only acceptable political solution to the majority of Israelis, short of putting these guys on trial themselves, is to have you go there and prosecute. The prime minister tells me that has not changed.
"Not only that, but the prime minister made another good point. If we back down and change prosecutors now, that would send a signal of weakness to these terrorists that their intimidation tactics can affect our policy. And frankly, we can't show one iota of weakness to them."
"Yes, sir."
"So, Zack, I need you to go back at this with a renewed determination. You've got another world-class defense attorney as your opponent. We know how good Mr. la Trec is. But I've seen you in action. I've got confidence in you.
"Your job is to go to J
erusalem and bring back a conviction. My job is to find Lieutenant Colcernian. You do your job, Commander, and I'll do my very best to do mine.
"Good luck, and Godspeed, Commander."
"Thank you, Mr. President."
CHAPTER 48
USAF C-17 Globemaster III
Special Mission 427218
Altitude 5,000 feet
Eastern Mediterranean
Their journey from San Diego began courtesy of the United States Air Force, which at the president's order had dispatched a sleek olive-drab C-17 to the North Island Naval Air Station to pick them up for the first leg of their twelve- to thirteen-hour flight.
In addition to Zack and Wendy, who would be sitting at counsel table and facing the cameras of the world, the official prosecution team included Zack's trusted military paralegal, Legal man First Class "Pete" Peterson, who had been with Zack through the Olajuwon court-martial; Legal man First Class Kim Benedict, who was Diane's military paralegal but was now temporarily reassigned to Wendy; and Captain Rudy and Commander Awe, who were along to provide whatever support Zack and Wendy might require.
Also aboard was a team from the Naval Criminal Investigative Service headed by Special Agent Shannon McGillvery, a petite strawberry blond and an eight-year veteran of the NCIS. Shannon was Zack's favorite NCIS agent. Her personality reminded him of a friendly stick of dynamite. He always preferred working with her on major general courts-martial because she was tough and smart. Plus they got along great. Shannon was one of Zack's jogging buddies, frequently joining him on 10K runs from the naval station down along Harbor Drive to the Broadway Pier and downtown San Diego and back.
A few times, Diane had joined them on the gorgeous waterfront run, but the threesome usually would become a twosome about three and a half miles into the run, as Diane, probably the strongest runner in the JAG Corps, would pick it up, leaving Zack and Shannon in the dust for the last leg of the run. That was okay with Zack, because he used the time with Shannon to talk about the cases he was prosecuting, many of which she was a witness in or had investigated.