by Don Brown
Marianne placed her left hand on the Bible, raised her right hand, and was sworn by the bailiff as Zack studied his notes.
“Your witness, Trial Counsel.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Zack said. He stood and walked to the podium, which was positioned between the prosecution and defense tables. He laid his notes and a clean legal pad on the podium.
“State your name, rank, and duty station, please.” He spoke softly, trying to put Marianne at ease.
“Ensign Marianne Lynne Landrieu. I’m currently assigned as Deputy Public Affairs Officer for the United States Naval Air Station, North Island, Coronado, California.”
“How were you commissioned, Ensign Landrieu?”
Marianne smiled slightly and turned to the members.
Marianne smiled slightly and turned to the members. “By direct appointment upon my graduation from the Naval Academy last May.”
As the statement settled, Zack glanced at the president of the panel, a Navy captain who was also an Academy grad, and noticed a slightly raised eyebrow from the four-striper.
“So you’ve been on active duty just a little over a year?”
“Yes, sir.” Marianne looked back at Zack. “I’ve been on active duty fifteen months, sir.”
“Ensign, tell us a little bit about what led to your decision to join the Navy.”
Diane jumped to her feet. “Objection! Relevance.”
“Overruled,” Judge Reeves said. “I’ll allow some limited background information on the witness.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Zack knew they were jockeying for the first appearance of favoritism with the military judge. “Ensign Landrieu, I’d asked about your decision to join the Navy.”
Marianne turned toward the jury again. “Yes, sir. Military service is a family thing. My father was a naval officer. My uncle works with the armed services in Congress.”
“Objection!” Diane was back on her feet.
“Grounds, Lieutenant Colcernian?”
“Relevance, Your Honor.” A bit of a whining, pleading tone. “I don’t see what her family has to do with this case.”
“Lieutenant Colcernian, as you know, it is customary in most trials, and in trials before this court, to allow a limited amount of background information concerning witnesses.” Reeves paused, his voice resonating throughout the courtroom. “You, of course, will be allowed to cross-examine this or any other witness on any such background information.
Now having said that”—Judge Reeves turned back to Zack—“how much more background information do you intend to elicit, Trial Counsel?”
“Not much, Your Honor. Just a few more questions.”
“Very well. The objection is overruled. Move along, Lieutenant Brewer.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Zack nodded to Judge Reeves, then looked back to Marianne. “Ensign Landrieu, before the objection, you’d mentioned that your father was a naval officer?”
“Yes, sir. My dad is a retired surface warfare officer. He spent six years on active duty, on a frigate, and fourteen in the reserve before retiring.”
“And you mentioned your uncle?”
“Yes, sir. Uncle Pinkie spent some time on active duty as an intelligence officer.”
She was making him draw it out of her like she wasn’t overly anxious to reveal the identity of her famous uncle. It was achieving the objective, but it was almost as if she had over-rehearsed. Zack wondered just how long she had practiced her words, her expressions, in front of the mirror. He quickly pushed the thought from his mind.
“And I believe you mentioned your uncle does some work with the armed forces in Congress?”
“Yes, sir, my uncle is on the Armed Services Committee.”
“The Senate Armed Services Committee?”
“Yes, sir.”
Zack could see the jury with his peripheral vision. With that news, a few eyebrows shot up and heads turned. Some members leaned forward, their attention riveted on the witness.
“Do you mind if I ask your uncle’s name?”
“Not at all. His name is Roberson Fowler.”
“The United States senator?”
“Yes, sir. My uncle was very helpful when I expressed my interest in joining the Navy. He encouraged me to select a naval career.”
Zack let the response settle for a minute.
“Ensign Landrieu, I’m sorry to have to bring this up, but I need to ask you some questions about the evening of May twenty-fifth. Is that okay?”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
Office of the Staff Judge Advocate
Commander, U.S. Naval Air Forces
Atlantic Fleet
Oceana Naval Air Station
Virginia Beach, Virginia
Monday, August 4, 1430 hours (EST)
Harry Kilnap paced back and forth in the reception area outside the office of the Staff Judge Advocate, United States Naval Air Forces, Atlantic Fleet, currently occupied by Captain David A. Guy, JAGC, USN.
“Mr. Kilnap, I’m sure Captain Guy will be right back,” the secretary said. “He stepped out for coffee. He’s never gone for more than ten minutes.”
“Try him again on his mobile phone. It’s an urgent federal matter.”
The secretary, a petite, gray-haired woman, flashed him a perturbed look. Before Harry could respond, Captain David Guy walked through the front door of the reception area with a large cup of black coffee in his hand.
Captain Guy looked surprised. “Harry, what’s up?”
“We need to talk.”
Captain Guy raised his eyebrow. “Harry, I’ve got a report due on the admiral’s desk in an hour. Is this the same kind of ‘urgent’ you had in Georgetown?”
“Captain, I admit it was at least somewhat speculative. But this info is smoking-gun urgent. Trust me.”
David hesitated, then said to his secretary, “Hold my calls—unless it’s the admiral—until further notice.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Come in, Harry. This better be good.” David motioned Kilnap into his office and closed the door. “Have a seat.” Kilnap sat and reached into his briefcase to retrieve the tape recorder as David continued. “So tell me about this smoking gun of yours.”
Kilnap slid the black, standard Sony tape recorder onto the center of the JAG officer’s desk. “Captain, this is a recording of a conversation between our suspect, Petty Officer Sulayman al-Aziz, and a Muslim U.S. Navy chaplain, a Lieutenant Commander Mohammed Reska.”
“I’m listening.”
Harry pushed the play button. “The first voice you will hear is Reska’s, followed by al-Aziz.”
“So, my friend. What is it that has you so upset?”
“The investigation.”
“The investigation?”
“We’ve had NCIS agents snooping around the hangar. They have been asking questions about who had access to the plane just before it flew. Why would they be snooping around if they did not suspect foul play?”
“Calm down, my son. We are talking about an aircraft incident.
Surely such investigations are routine.”
“Yes, of course they are routine. But by agencies such as the Navy Safety Center or NAVAIRSYSCOM. Those are the groups that are supposed to investigate when a plane goes down. But the NCIS? That’s a criminal investigative agency. Commander, that’s a little too close to the situation. Why would Allah allow this?”
“Remember what we discussed going into this, Petty Officer. We are at war. Allah has already given you a glorious result to your mission.You have destroyed an instrument of war that would have been used against many of our Arab brothers. This morning, there are Muslim families who will keep their fathers for a while because of your heroic act. But remember what we discussed earlier. We must be prepared for martyrdom. If Allah will allow you to be of further service, then so be it.But if he allows detection by the enemy and martyrdom, praise be to Allah!”
“But, Commander, this cannot be Allah’s will.
You yourself said I had a special calling. I had been placed in a unique position among my brothers. Although this mission was a success, I cannot accept such a limited role in this jihad. It makes no sense. None.”
“My son, Allah’s ways are far above ours. I too hope for more glory for you. But as I said, we must be prepared for martyrdom now.”
“This I cannot accept. This is not what we discussed, Commander.
I must go!”
“Sulayman, sit down.”
“Good-bye, Commander.”
“Sulayman . . .”
Static buzzed, and Kilnap turned off the recorder.
Captain Guy leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Wow.” He paused, shaking his head slowly. “Tell me exactly where and how you got this recording, Harry.”
“This morning, about 0400, I set up surveillance in the parking lot outside VFA-115. Al-Aziz came off his shift around 0600. I followed him out of the air station, maintaining visual contact, until he turned his vehicle into a Shoney’s parking lot off Dam Neck Road.
“I followed him in. Took a booth close by just to see what he was up to. I brought along some electronic recording equipment just in case. You never know. When he went to the head, I planted a small microphone just under the table where he was sitting.
Captain Guy nodded.
“He came back and sat down. Then a few minutes later, this lieutenant commander chaplain type came in and sat down at the al-Aziz booth. They got in a heated conversation. So I got up and went to the head. When I came out, I walked by their booth and saw the chaplain’s name tag. I wrote it down, and later I confirmed that Lieutenant Commander Reska is a Muslim chaplain attached to the Norfolk Naval Station.
“The microphone was transmitting to a receiver with a recording device located in my car in the parking lot. I had no idea what they were saying until I went back to the office and played the tape.”
David leaned back, and for a moment he didn’t speak. “And you had no idea the chaplain was going to show up?”
“I had no clue. Just blind luck. Hey, sometimes you get a lucky break.”
“Hmm.” David mused. “Interesting.” His arms remained crossed.
“So what do you think, Captain?”
“Well, without doing any research on it, I don’t think there’s a reasonable expectation of privacy in a public restaurant.”
“I don’t follow you, Captain.”
“Just thinking like a defense counsel, Harry.”
“So you think this would be of interest to a prosecutor?”
“Harry, if this came down the pike like you said it did, then you may have just busted this case wide open.”
Kilnap felt pleased with himself. Who would ever know how it really came down the pike?
CHAPTER 25
Navy-Marine Corps Trial Judiciary
Building 1
32nd Street Naval Station
San Diego
Monday, August 4, 1400 hours (PST)
From her chair at the defense table, Diane glanced at the gold clock on the mahogany wall behind the empty bench. Fourteen hundred hours on the money.
She looked at Marianne, who was already sitting in the witness stand, waiting for the judge. The ensign’s eyes were swollen from crying before the break. Diane locked eyes momentarily with the government’s star witness.
“All rise!”
With a rumble sounding like a brief stampede, the packed gallery stood as Captain Reeves stepped onto the bench of Courtroom 1.
“Court will come to order. Please be seated,” Captain Reeves said. “When we recessed, I believe that the government had finished its direct examination of the witness and the defense was about to begin its cross-examination?”
Diane stood. “That’s correct, Your Honor.”
“Very well, you may proceed.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Diane fired a sarcastic glance at Zack, then focused her attention on Landrieu.
“Good afternoon, Ensign Landrieu.”
“Good afternoon, ma’am.”
“You claim that on the night in question, my client came up out of nowhere, pulled you into the bushes, and raped you?”
“Something like that.”
“Something like that,” Diane parroted. “And how long did all this take?”
“Excuse me?”
“The assault. How long did it take?”
“I don’t know.” Marianne sat forward, looking angry and upset, but her tone was laced with sarcasm. “I didn’t time it with my stopwatch.”
Her comment brought a few snickers from the galley and a laserlike stare from Diane’s eyes directly into Marianne’s.
“Order.” Whap. Whap. Captain Reeves’s pounding gavel echoed though the courtroom. “Order in the court.” Two more gavel raps. “Spectators will refrain from inappropriate public displays of emotion, or will be removed by the master-at-arms.” He paused as the courtroom quieted. “Proceed, Lieutenant Colcernian.”
“Ever drink alcoholic beverages, Ensign Landrieu?”
“Occasionally.”
“The night of May twenty-fifth was one such occasion, was it not?”
Marianne leaned back and let out an audible sigh. “I had a couple.”
“A couple?” Diane paused, looked at the members, then returned her gaze to Marianne. “In fact, you really didn’t go to the Officers’ Club for dinner that night, did you?”
“I didn’t order dinner.”
“That’s because you were seated in the bar, weren’t you?”
Marianne glared back at her interrogator. Then, as her face flushed a slight reddish color, she spoke slowly, in a soft, deliberate voice of restrained anger. “I met a girlfriend from the Academy, Ensign Rogerson, at the bar.”
“You arrived at the O-Club that night at around 2100 hours. Is that right?”
“Approximately.”
“And what were you drinking?”
Marianne hesitated. The redness in her face had not subsided. She looked at Zack Brewer and raised her eyebrows as if to say, “Help me!” or “What am I to say?” From the corner of her eye, Diane saw Zack give Marianne a slight nod.
“I asked you a question, Ensign!” Diane snapped.
“I ordered a martini.”
“A martini.” Diane let her words resonate for a moment. “A martini is a pretty stiff drink, isn’t it, Miss Landrieu?”
“It wasn’t a very big glass. And I wasn’t drunk, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s not what I’m asking, Ensign. Not yet, anyway.”
Zack stormed to his feet. “Objection!”
“Overruled.”
Diane bored in on Marianne and clasped the counsel podium. “What I asked is this: Would you agree that a martini is a pretty stiff drink?”
“Could be, but I wasn’t drunk.”
Diane kept pushing. She fired off a series of questions about the number of drinks and when they were consumed. With each question, Marianne grew even more flustered and sarcastic, insisting she hadn’t been keeping count.
Walking from the podium to the defense counsel table, Diane flipped through a file without looking at Marianne. “If your bar tab records showed that you ordered your second martini at the same time you ordered Ensign Rogerson’s first martini”—Diane pulled two small bar tabs out of her file, held them up in front of her so the members could see, slipped her glasses on, and ceremoniously pretended to study them—“would you have any reason to doubt that?”
“I guess not.” Marianne spoke softly and again looked at Zack Brewer.
“Fact is, you ordered more than one martini, didn’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And so you started your second glass when Ensign Rogerson was imbibing her first?”
“I suppose I did, ma’am.”
“Tell me, Ensign, what is your height and weight?”
“I’m five-six, 125 pounds.”
“Not exactly a heavyweight, are you,
Ensign?”
“I’m a naval officer. I stay in shape.”
“And at some point, Ensign Rogerson had a male visitor?”
“There was a male officer who stopped by, a pilot, Lieutenant Hawley. We were all there for a while.”
“And you sensed that Ensign Rogerson and Lieutenant Hawley had a romantic interest in one another?”
“I don’t know about romantic. But yeah, there was chemistry.”
“Is Lieutenant Hawley a good-looking guy?”
Marianne hesitated a moment. “Sure. He’s nice looking. So what?”
“Lieutenant Hawley is a Navy S-3 pilot, isn’t he?”
“I think so.”
“And so this nice-looking, handsome aviator was paying more attention to your friend than he was to you, wasn’t he?”
“So what?” Marianne snapped. “Hey, it’s not like I can’t get a date.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s not. And we’ll get to that in a minute,” Diane spoke rapidly, jumping to her next question before Zack could object. “Lieutenant Hawley was so enraptured with Ensign Rogerson that you got up and left, didn’t you?”
“I got up and left. I said that.”
“After you drank three martinis. Isn’t that true?”
“That’s not true!” Marianne snapped again, startling several members.
“Oh, it’s not?” Diane shot back. “Well, if the bar tab shows you in fact ordered five glasses of martini, would you have a reason to dispute that?” Diane waved a copy of the bar tab in the air as she asked the question.
Marianne looked flustered. “I did not drink all of them. Ensign Rogerson shared the tab.”
“Right, and you said earlier that Ensign Rogerson had only two drinks, right?”
Marianne hesitated. “I think that’s what I said.”
“And you also said, did you not, that there’s no way Ensign Roger-son had more than two drinks, right?”
Marianne’s face turned redder.
“I guess I said that.”
“So if there are five drinks on your bar tab, and if Ensign Rogerson only had two, that means you had three. Isn’t that true?”
Marianne Landrieu, her face now beet red, turned to Judge Reeves.