Hostage

by Don Brown

  Of course, for this to work, news of the deal could not be leaked. If the terrorists knew that Quasay was spared the death penalty to testify against them, then Diane might be doomed. Still, Zack felt a strange sense of relief.

  Thank you for possibly opening this door, Lord.

  "I can make a recommendation on your request, Commander Quasay, but the decision on whether to cut such a deal is not mine. That decision would most likely be made in Washington. But I suspect that for such a proposal to fly, two things would be necessary. First, we would need to hear everything you know about Islamic Glory, and second, you would have to agree to life in prison."

  "Agreed on both counts." Quasay did not bat an eye.

  "Very well. I'll message Washington, inform Judge Norgaard of what's going on, and get back to you with an answer."

  "Thank you, Commander."

  "Bailiff, please remove this man from my sight."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  Courtroom 4

  Israeli District Court

  West Bank Division

  Four hours later

  Commander Brewer." Judge Norgaard looked out over the packed courtroom. "I understand the parties have reached a sentencing agreement?"

  "That is correct. We have, Your Honor."

  "May I see it?"

  "Permission to approach the bench?"

  "Yes."

  Zack handed Judge Brewer the terms of the agreement. The judge examined them, then looked at Quasay.

  "Commander Quasay, as I understand this agreement that trial counsel just handed me, the government is not going forward with the death penalty and is instead recommending that you serve a sentence of life in prison, in return for you voluntarily agreeing to waive any and all rights to a possible appeal. I understand that this arrangement is your proposal and that you have been advised by counsel against accepting this agreement. Is that right?"

  "That's correct, Your Honor," Quasay said.

  "Miss L'Enfant, is it correct that you have advised your client against this arrangement?"

  "Yes, Your Honor. This is his proposal and is against our advice to him."

  "Commander, do you realize that by waiving any and all appeal rights, you would never be able to challenge any ruling of this court, and as a consequence, a sentence of life in prison would remain the permanent sentence which you must serve?"

  "Yes, I do, Your Honor. This is my idea and my wishes."

  "Has anyone said anything to coerce or induce you into entering this agreement?"

  "No, sir."

  "Has anyone made any promises to you to cause you to accept this agreement?"

  "No, sir."

  "Lieutenant Commander Brewer, are these terms and conditions acceptable to the government?"

  "Yes, Your Honor. The government recommends that the court accept the terms of the agreement."

  "Very well. I find the terms of the agreement are freely and voluntarily entered into between the defendant and the government, that no hidden threats, inducements, or promises have been made to the defendant that would make this agreement involuntary, and that the agreement is in the best interests of both parties, and so the terms contained herein are approved.

  "Will the defendant and counsel please rise and face the court?"

  Quasay rose with Jeanette L'Enfant. La Trec did not rise.

  "Lieutenant Commander Mohammed Quasay, United States Navy, this court sentences you as follows: to be reduced to pay grade E-1, to forfeit all pay and allowances, to be dishonorably discharged from the naval service, and to be confined in a military prison for the remainder of your natural life.

  "Is there anything else from the defense?"

  "No, Your Honor," Jeanette L'Enfant said.

  "Is there anything else from the government?"

  "No, Your Honor," Zack said.

  "Very well. This court is adjourned."

  "All rise."

  CHAPTER 65

  King David Hotel

  Jerusalem

  Zack was almost buoyant in the back of the Hummer during the ride from the courthouse back to the King David Hotel. Not because he had again beaten one of the world's greatest lawyers, but because he hoped that a life sentence might spare Diane.

  He had been sure, barring a miracle, that the death penalty for Quasay would have meant the end for Diane. He had asked to be spared the task of essentially driving the nail in Diane's coffin.

  And just when it looked as if he would have to argue for Quasay's execution, this!

  He thought of Abraham, raising the sword to slay Isaac, and then, when the Lord saw that he would be obedient, mercy.

  The Lord had provided a solution that was in everyone's best interest. Already, Quasay had given enough information to allow NCIS to root out other terrorist cells that had been implanted in the navy. Details of Operation Islamic Glory had been spelled out. The last five hours, since Quasay's declaration that he was firing Monsieur la Trec, had been a bonanza for navy Intelligence.

  How the Lord's ways are so far above the thoughts of man. How he remains in control!

  The Humvee stopped in front of the King David. Zack and Wendy stepped out, again under heavy guard, and again under a barrage of flashbulbs and reporters' questions.

  "Commander, was any deal cut with Quasay for information?" someone from the press corps shouted.

  Zack saw a podium of microphones set up in the lobby to satisfy the press corps. A navy public affairs officer, a full commander, intercepted Zack and Wendy.

  "Public affairs wants a brief statement, Commander Brewer. Nothing fancy or elaborate is necessary. This request comes from Washington."

  "Yes, sir," Zack said. With Wendy at his side, he followed the commander to the makeshift podium. He squinted in the bright glare of television lights.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the United States Navy, let me say we are very pleased with the result of this court-martial. You heard the plea agreement read in open court earlier today. This arrangement will save the government the time and expense of a lengthy appeal, while at the same time ensuring the terrorist who co-opted U.S. Navy missiles will never again see the light of day. The man directly responsible for the missile attack on the Dome was convicted. The other man responsible for the attack is dead. Justice was served. That is all."

  "But, Commander. Commander! . . ."

  Zack stepped away from the microphone bank, waved, smiled, and with Wendy at his side, walked away.

  The elevator reached the second floor, and Wendy gave him a congratulatory hug.

  "I'm going to my room to freshen up and change into civvies," she said. "Want to grab a bite a little later?"

  "Sure. Maybe we should track down Shannon, Captain Rudy, and Commander Awe and see if they want to go too."

  He turned, walked down the hall, then inserted his room key into the electronic receptacle. The two marines guarding the door came to attention.

  "At ease, gentlemen," he said as the security light on the door flashed green and he pushed it open.

  "Shannon. Captain Rudy."

  They were sitting on the sofa waiting for him. Their faces were uniformly solemn. Something was wrong. He could sense it.

  "Sit down, Zack," Captain Rudy ordered.

  "Is everything okay?"

  "I think you should sit, Zack," Rudy repeated. Zack complied. "Shannon, tell Zack what we know."

  "It's about Diane, Zack."

  Oh dear Jesus.

  "What about her?"

  "We believe she's dead."

  No. Please.

  "What do you mean you believe she's dead? Either she is or she isn't! What are you saying, Shannon?"

  "Calm down, Zack," Rudy ordered in a calm voice.

  "U.S. intelligence operatives in the Tora Bora Mountains in Afghanistan caught wind of a small caravan of armed Arab men moving through the mountains with a redheaded woman fitting Diane's description. They followed the group high into a mountain range. Apparently the group spotted t
he operatives."

  "Wait a minute, Shannon. What do you mean when you say 'U.S. intelligence operatives'? Are these Americans you're referring to?"

  "Unfortunately not. And that's part of the problem. They were Afghani nationals working for the CIA. Anyway, the group that had the woman fitting Diane's description spotted the operatives and started firing. The operatives fired back. The firing escalated to mortar and rocket attacks. When it was over, the cave from which the rebel group was firing had collapsed.

  "Several bodies were found of Islamic fundamentalists linked to terror groups. A CIA forensics team was choppered in. Diane's body was not found, but hair samples were. A DNA match showed the hair to be hers. We believe she's buried in the rubble deep in that collapsed cave, Zack."

  Zack felt numb. His worst nightmare was unfolding. "Why can't somebody dig through the rubble and see if she's there? I mean, if we haven't found a body, she could still be alive, right?"

  "Zack, there are tons of heavy rocks collapsed in that cave. They cannot be removed by hand, and the altitude and the steep incline are such that we can't get the heavy equipment up there."

  "I don't buy that!" Zack fumed. "If we can put a man on the moon, we can get a bulldozer up the side of a mountain."

  "Zack, it's too late. Even if we could get a bulldozer up there, which we can't, no one inside that cave could have possibly survived. Anyone inside would have been buried under tons of boulders, and even if they hadn't been crushed by the rocks, they would have suffocated by now."

  "How do you know that, Shannon? Have you been out to the site?"

  "No, I haven't."

  "Then what kind of an intelligence agent are you, anyway?"

  "Zack, that's enough," Captain Rudy said. "Shannon, show him the pictures."

  She handed him a manila envelope with twelve eight-by-ten color photos taken from the site.

  "Oh dear Lord," Zack said, studying the photos one by one. Lifeless legs and arms were protruding from the rocks. Tears flooded his eyes.

  "I'm sorry, Zack," Shannon said. "We've lost her."

  CHAPTER 66

  The Lawn

  University of Virginia

  Charlottesville, Virginia

  From his wooden chair behind the podium on the steps of Charlottesville's famed Rotunda Building, a building that had been designed by Thomas Jefferson himself, Zack listened as the president of the University of Virginia eulogized Diane Colcernian.

  "She was a woman of great intellect, of great character . . ."

  Zack swallowed hard, combating the tears with all his might. He was up next, and it wouldn't look right for a United States Naval officer in full service dress blues to take the podium as an emotional mess.

  "She bore the name of her great-great-great-grandfather, Diane Jefferson Colcernian, and she bore his wit, and forethought, and . . .

  Refocus, Zack.

  He gazed at the sea of students gathered on the Lawn, the long, rectangular grassy area at the heart of the university's academic center. Their eyes were locked attentively on their president, whose words he was tuning out for the sake of emotional self-preservation.

  His imagination rewound to her college days, when she was an undergraduate here. And when in the distance, behind the crowd of two thousand or so students, he saw a redheaded coed strolling across the Lawn at the opposite end, her books in hand and an orange sweater tied around her neck, he felt himself smile. And felt himself wishing he could have known her during her college days and law school days. That would have given them another seven years.

  He flicked a tear from his right eye. It splatted on the brick just to the right of his shoe. Blinking rapidly, he looked up at the deep blue Shenandoah sky just above Cabbel Hall at the opposite end of the Lawn.

  The cool crispness of the mountain air and the blazing colors of autumn leaves reminded him that life is cyclical, and somehow, somewhere, someday, he would see her again.

  "And now, please welcome, from the U.S. Navy JAG Corps, an outstanding officer, and a close personal friend of Diane's, Lieutenant Commander Zack Brewer."

  A light round of applause turned to a standing ovation.

  Keep it together, Zack, he thought as he stood and shook hands with the university president, then stepped to the podium. Keep it together.

  "Thank you," he said, politely waving them to be seated. "Thank you."

  They sat, their silence giving way to the rustling of trees in the breeze and a few honking horns from McCormick Road along the perimeter of the Lawn.

  "My friends, we are at war. In the ninety days that have passed since the court-martial of Lieutenant Commander Mohammed Quasay, the international situation for the United States has deteriorated.

  "Quasay's conviction and life sentence have not satisfied the howling throngs of angry Islamic-Arab protestors, thousands who pour into the streets of Arab capitals on a daily basis, chanting 'Death to America,' burning both the American flag and President Williams in effigy, and calling for retaliation against American targets worldwide.

  "As you know, in San Francisco, a huge cache of dynamite was discovered underneath the Golden Gate Bridge. Fortunately, it was extracted by demolition experts only hours before an automatic detonator would have sent the bridge into the bay.

  "The cities of Washington and New York have not been so fortunate. Islamic suicide bombers have attacked the metro systems in both cities, resulting in dozens of men, women, and children dead and others permanently maimed.

  "Islamic terrorist groups proudly take credit not only for the murder of innocent Americans in New York and Washington, but also for the Stinger missile attack of British Airways 747, bound for New York, which was blown out of the sky seconds after liftoff from London's Heathrow International Airport. This attack was to 'teach Britain a lesson' for siding with America before the UN Security Council, according to an Islamic group taking credit for the mass murder.

  "In Moscow, the Russian government, obviously hoping to regain grandeur as a world superpower, has courted the Arab States with military and financial aid, obviously hoping to establish a beachhead in the ruins of America's misfortune.

  "This is the state of the war we find ourselves in." He paused to soak in the moment. The next part of the speech would be the hardest.

  "My dear friend, Lieutenant Diane Colcernian, a beloved daughter of this great university" -- he paused, inhaling deeply -- "is both a heroine and a victim in this war." He exhaled, paused, slowing his words.

  "Personally, I've had a hard time over the last ninety days. The truth about Diane's disappearance has been tough. I have hoped against hope that the absence of her body would mean that she would one day walk through the doors of my office, flash her sparkling green eyes and magnetic smile, and suggest that we go for a run along San Diego's waterfront.

  "But as spring turned to summer and summer to fall, I have come to realize that this season of my life, which included the first woman I have ever loved, may be fading into winter."

  The wind blew hard across the lawn, sweeping a few sheets of notebook paper out of book sacks. No one moved.

  "Even so, closure has not yet come. Perhaps soon, but not yet. I am not ready to let go. I cannot let go. Not yet.

  "But before I leave to do what I must do, I want to share a story about Diane." He reached into his U.S. Navy uniform jacket and extracted a sheet of folded paper, unfolded it, and laid it on the podium. "I'm a Carolina grad, and as you know, Diane is from here, UVA." A mild round of applause. "She used to tease me about spending all my undergrad days at the Dean Dome watching basketball games. So I teased her about spending her time in the library."

  That brought a few chuckles.

  "Of course, she really didn't mind me teasing her about that, because it was true. I admired her for her intellect. And one of the reasons she loved the library so much here at UVA is because there is a fabulous collection of original works here by her favorite poet, Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

  "This morning
when I arrived on campus, I visited the Tennyson collection, looking, searching for a few lines of the poet that might stir her heart if she were here.

  "This is what I found, from the poem 'Marriage Morning.' "

  He glanced at his audience. Their eyes were transfixed upon him. Many wiped away tears. He prayed silently for the strength to get through this. Then slowly, deliberately, the words of Tennyson echoed across the lawn.

  "Light, so low upon earth,

  You send a flash to the sun

  Here is the golden close of love,

  All my wooing is done.

  Light, so low in the vale,

  You flash and lighten afar,

  For this is the golden morning of love,

  And you are his morning star."

  Zack folded the poem, tenderly placed it back in his pocket.

  "Good-bye, Diane. You are the light of my life."

  A standing ovation greeted his last words. He waved, shook hands one last time with the university president, then accepted a police escort to the car that was waiting for him nearby.

  Western Union office

  Charlottesville, Virginia

  Two hours later

  With Shannon McGillvery at his side, Zack stepped into the Western Union office and nodded at the white-haired clerk.

  "How much money did you say you wanted to wire, Commander?" She gave him a kind smile.

  "Five thousand dollars, please, ma'am." Zack handed her an envelope stuffed with cash.

  She licked her fingers, then counted each hundred dollar bill with her thumb. "And where did you say you wanted to send it?" She adjusted her hearing aid.

  Zack leaned over, smiled, and deliberately spoke a little louder. "Jerusalem, ma'am." Shannon smiled as Zack slid a piece of paper toward her. "Here's the address."

  "Oh, Jerusalem! Okay, Commander. Just let me get you a receipt."