Battlemind Page 11

  We hadn't had too much time to go over stuff, but Jefferson remembered at least one thing I told him. He stood at attention and said, "Sir, yes, sir."

  "Thank you for the courtesy, Sergeant Jefferson." Hackworth motioned with his hand. "Please remain seated."

  Jefferson sat, and Hackworth kept reading. "You have the right to be represented by your military defense counsel, Captain - (he looked down, raised an eyebrow) Maximillian Alejandro O'Donnell. You may also be represented by a military attorney of your choosing if such counsel is reasonably available. You also have the right to be represented by a civilian counsel provided by you at your own expense. Do you understand these rights?"

  Jefferson leaned over and whispered to me, "What does he mean I can choose my military lawyer?" All eyes were on us.

  "You can request a different Army lawyer, by name, if you know one," I said.

  "Should I do that?" Jefferson asked.

  "Do you know any military lawyers, aside from me?"

  "No."

  "Okay. Then answer the judge."

  Hackworth's face contorted like he smelled a rancid piece of meat. Jefferson stared at the legal pad in front of him. After 20 seconds, Hackworth spoke. "Is there a problem?"

  "No, Your Honor," I said.

  "When you or your client are asked a question, answer the question," Hackworth said through clenched teeth.

  I turned to Jefferson. "Answer him," I said under my breath.

  Jefferson snapped to attention. His chair slammed back, punching a hole in the drywall. Someone in the audience snickered. "Out!" Hackworth pointed to the spectators. "Whoever laughed, get out." A young JAG lawyer in the front row stood, his face flushed with embarrassment. He grabbed his coat and dashed out of the room. Hackworth pointed at Jefferson with two fingers. "I'm not going to repeat this. Stay seated unless I tell you to stand."

  Jefferson froze, like an opossum in the middle of the road, watching a life-ending pick-up coming around the curve. I pulled Jefferson back into his chair.

  "By whom do you wish to be represented?" Hackworth repeated, his tone bordered on shouting.

  This time I hooked two fingers over Jefferson's belt to keep him from standing. A bead of sweat formed on his brow. I pointed to the nametag on my chest. "By O'Donnell," Jefferson said.

  "You mean Captain O'Donnell?" Hackworth asked.

  "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." Jefferson displayed a look of relief that made me wonder if he thought he'd survived the hard part.

  Hackworth kept grinding. "I would like counsel to introduce themselves and state their qualifications." I sat directly across from Paine. He stood and droned away, ad nauseam, about his education, experience, and Army career. Then, he briefly introduced his squad of associates. I noticed Reggie had managed to make it and was now seated in the second row.

  Somewhere along the way, I stood and introduced myself. Then, Hackworth headed into the Article 31 rights of the accused, the Army's version of Miranda - only no one can say them from memory. For the next 10 minutes, Judge Hackworth rambled on about the rules and procedures and listed the evidence he would consider. When he finished, he turned to me.

  "Defense, do you have any objection to my consideration of this evidence?"

  I found my first opening to launch a counterattack. "You only mentioned some of the evidence," I said. "Please order the Government to hand over all the evidence in their possession. You have to ensure a fair hearing. I cannot defend this case without having all the evidence."

  Hackworth was flustered, but he tried to appear calm in front of the audience. "Captain O'Donnell, can you point to a specific document that you don't have?"

  "Your Honor, how can I point to a specific document that I don't have if I don't know what I don't have?"

  "Denied." Hackwork gave an exaggerated head shake. "You're asking me to go on a wild goose chase. I hope your defense strategy is more solid than that." A few of Paine's paralegals giggled.

  I did not remove my eyes from Hackworth. I had him where I wanted him. "Your Honor, I demand all the classified documents in this case. I want the complete investigative file, with no redactions. I want a list of every person that entered Sangar Prison from June 2002 through December 2002. That includes military, civilian, CIA, OGA, everyone. I want Nassar's medical records. I want the duty rosters, so I can determine if Jefferson was even working in the facility on the dates charged. This evidence is relevant and may be useful in defending Sergeant Jefferson."

  Hackworth was unfazed. "O'Donnell, unless you can show me some case law that requires them to hand over this supposed evidence, and I use that word loosely, then I again deny your request."

  As we bickered back and forth, terror overtook Jefferson, who visualized the prison bars closing on him. He'd been understandably nervous going into the hearing, but I assured him that he would get a fair shake. I was wrong. Jefferson was screwed. We hadn't even begun to hear testimony, and he was already being railroaded.

  By this point, the hearing room was standing room only. Onlookers filled the seats and lined the walls. In the corner of the room, I saw a striking young woman with black hair. Our eyes met, and she smiled softly. I was intrigued. She seemed out of place in a courtroom packed with soldiers and frumpy reporters. I wondered who she was.

  "This is unacceptable," Hackworth said, bringing me back to reality. "I don't want anyone standing during this proceeding. It's distracting. We're in recess until someone finds more chairs."

  During the break, Reggie approached me. Without acknowledging his father, Jefferson walked out of the room, flanked by his two guards. Reggie wore the same red silk shirt as the night before, and he reeked of cheap perfume and sex.

  "How's it looking so far?" he asked.

  "Terrible," I said. "A bunch of people are about to testify that your son is a murderer."

  Chapter 42

  After I talked to Reggie, I ran to the restroom. I was last in a long line at the only functioning urinal. When I reentered the hearing, Hackworth loudly cleared his throat and lit into me. "O'Donnell, this is the last time you'll delay this proceeding." Before I could answer, Hackworth ordered the prosecution to call their first witness.

  Paine stood and spoke like he was announcing a prizefight. "The United States of America - calls Sergeant - Gary - Trott - to the stand."

  A dumpy, 28-year-old man with a chipped front tooth and deep acne scars entered the room. Paine directed him to the witness chair.

  "I hate this guy," Jefferson whispered, as Trott raised his right hand and swore to tell the truth.

  When I read the case file, my initial impression was that Trott was a liar. In his first interview with CID, he claimed to know nothing about detainee abuse at Sangar. Three years later, Trott signed a 15-page sworn statement, accusing half of his platoon, including Jefferson, of abusing prisoners. Trott's allegations were light on detail and heavy on hearsay, gossip, and speculation, but the Army took them as Gospel.

  Paine smiled at Trott and asked his first question. "Sergeant Trott, are you still on active duty?"

  "Not for long," Trott responded.

  "Why is that?"

  "I am getting medically discharged. I have PTSD."

  "Bullshit." Jefferson coughed into the crook of his arm.

  Paine spun around and pointed at Jefferson. "Your Honor, did you hear that?"

  "Huh?" Hackworth glanced from side to side. Thankfully, no one else had heard it.

  Paine stared at Jefferson through squinted eyes. After a long pause, he continued in a soft voice, "I am sorry to hear about your PTSD. Is that a result of your deployment to Sangar, Afghanistan?"

  "Yeah." Trott nodded. "After what I saw over there, I have nightmares. My wife, she, she left me." Trott's eyes moistened.

  "Objection," I said, rising to my feet. "Sergeant Trott's marital problems and supposed PTSD, while lamentable, are irrelevant."

  Paine gave me a dirty look and said to Hackworth, "His PTSD was caused by what he witnessed at the pris
on, including actions taken by Sergeant Jefferson."

  "Overruled," Hackworth said. "Captain O'Donnell, you will refrain from impugning this soldier's service to our country or degrading his war wounds. God knows he's seen a lot more action than you. Colonel Paine, please continue, but don't get into the details of his psychiatric diagnosis. That would be an invasion of his privacy, and we don't want to re-traumatize him."

  I sat down and asked Jefferson, "What's Trott's story?"

  "He's a damn malingerer," Jefferson replied. "He tried to get out of the Afghanistan deployment, claimed his mother was dying. Turned out, she died six months earlier. At Sangar, he had light-duty because he 'hurt his back,' climbing an abandoned guard tower. We all knew he'd go up there to whack off. He hid in his tent and played cards the whole deployment - except for when he was taking out his own shit on the prisoners."

  "What do you mean, taking out his own shit?"

  "Whooping their motherfuckin' asses," Jefferson said as if I was stupid.

  I made a mental note to get more details from Jefferson during a break. Meanwhile, I focused on Trott's testimony.

  "Sergeant Trott, why did you have the courage to come forward in this case?" Paine asked.

  "My momma always told me to do the right thing." Tears welled up in Trott's eyes. "I couldn't sit by and let Army soldiers mistreat prisoners. It's wrong."

  In his testimony, Trott described Nassar as docile, terrified, and weak. On one occasion, Trott said he overheard Jefferson brag about beating prisoners and getting away with it because "It's my word against the word of a terrorist."

  "Tell us," Paine said to Trott. "Did you ever witness Sergeant Jefferson strike a detainee?"

  "Yes, unfortunately, I did," Trott replied.

  "Tell us about that?"

  "Well, I was on duty one night. It was pretty late. I heard a ruckus, and I went to check it out."

  "What did you see?"

  "I saw a prisoner tangled in a six-foot wall of concertina wire."

  "What is he talking about?" I said to Jefferson.

  Jefferson shrugged.

  "Then what happened?" Paine asked Trott.

  "Jefferson started hitting the detainee. Poor guy kept thrashing around. Blood sprayed everywhere."

  "Did Jefferson provide the prisoner with medical care?"

  "No." Trott shook his head. "He tore him from the wire and hogtied him."

  "Why didn't you report this abuse earlier?"

  Trott lowered his head. "I was afraid of what Sergeant Jefferson and his friends would do to me if they thought I was a snitch. They were called the 'Meathead Platoon' for a reason. I can fend for myself, but I'm not as big as them."

  Everyone in the room looked at Jefferson. Some nodded.

  "What was the 'Meathead Platoon?'" Paine asked.

  "The Crash Team guys. Jefferson's friends. We called them the 'Meatheads.' They were all jocks. All they did was lift. They always hung out together, at the gym, at chow. They wouldn't let anyone into their circle, and they made fun of anyone that wasn't part of their squad. I heard they were all juiced up on 'roids, and I believe it. They were aggressive. Ya know, 'roid rage."

  "Objection. This is absurd," I said. "Now, this hearing is about steroids? Are you kidding me?"

  "Sustained. Move on," Hackworth said, granting us a rare victory.

  As Trott told his tale, Jefferson scribbled "he's lying" on a yellow legal pad and slid it to me. I pushed the notepad back and continued to listen to Trott's version of events. His in-court testimony varied widely from his original statement to CID. Then again, he had a couple of years to fabricate new details. Throughout his testimony, Judge Hackworth maintained eye contact with Trott and nodded as if he believed every word.

  When Trott finished, the judge said, "Defense, it's almost chow time, how long will your cross-examination take?"

  "Sir, it could take a while," I said. "It really depends on how forthcoming the witness is when answering my questions."

  "Fine," Hackworth said and rolled his eyes. "We'll start at 1200 hours. Does everyone understand?"

  Hackworth stared at me until I acknowledged, "Yes, Your Honor."

  Chapter 43

  During the lunch break, Reggie went to buy us some sandwiches at Subway. I stayed behind and met with Jefferson.

  "That piece of shit, Trott, is lyin' his ass off," he blurted out as soon as I closed the door.

  I held up my hand, telling him to stop. "We only have an hour," I said, "and name-calling is not going to help."

  Jefferson crossed his arms and raised his chin. His macho man routine was getting old. "I don't know what to tell you, Captain. That concertina wire story never happened. I swear."

  "Tell me everything you know about Trott and make it quick." After listening to Jefferson blather for five minutes, I cut him off. "Why would Trott lie about you? What's his motive?"

  "The feud." Jefferson put his head in his hands. "It's all about that fuckin' feud."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  Jefferson stared at the floor. He must have thought it all sounded juvenile. He was wrong. It sounded idiotic. "At Sangar, we had our separate groups," he said. "They nicknamed me and my boys the 'Meatheads.' We were real soldiers. We wore our hair high and tight and spent our free time liftin'. Know what I'm sayin'?"

  I nodded. "What about Trott?"

  "Trott ran with the 'Outcasts.' They kept to themselves mostly. Piss-poor slackers. They hated the other guards, especially me and my friends. They were like vampires. They hid in their tents when their shifts were done and listened to some kind of weird, satanic music."

  "You mean like Goth?"

  "Yeah, somethin' like that."

  "You guys push 'em around, Sergeant?" I asked. "A little like high school?"

  "Yeah. We were pretty much assholes to 'em, but they deserved it."

  "Now it's biting you in the ass, huh?"

  "Seems that way."

  "Go on," I said, barely disguising my disgust for professional soldiers who act like infants.

  "The third group was the 'Cool Kids.' A bunch of entitled dickweeds. Most of these losers lived with their parents. They joined the Army Reserve for free college money. They played a lot of grab-ass and gossiped like a bunch of little bitches. They ruined a few good careers from what I heard."

  "How did the groups get along?"

  "Like shit," Jefferson said. "The Cool Kids manipulated the Outcasts; they were nice to their faces but talked trash about them behind their backs. All the witnesses against me are Cool Kids, except for Trott."

  "Why is that?"

  "We ran that prison and cracked down on the shitbags that didn't follow the rules. We were by-God soldiers, and they hated us for it. After the investigation started, they ganged up and decided to screw us."

  What a coincidence, I thought.

  After Jefferson finished telling me his conspiracy theory, I needed some fresh air. I headed outside and found Reggie in the hallway. He waved me toward him. "These motherfuckin' snitches are all talking and sharing stories," he said, pointing to a gaggle of witnesses standing near the water fountain. "They were promised sweet deals if they helped the prosecution."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, for starters, Sergeant Trott, that rat, won't get prosecuted if he testifies against Tyler."

  "How do you know this?"

  "During the break, I've been at the smoke pit bullshittin' with these cats. They don't know I'm Tyler's dad. They think I'm one of the good guys." Reggie grinned and flashed the badge in his wallet.

  "They think you're a cop?"

  He chuckled. "That's how the game is played, brother."

  I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned. It was the court reporter. "Excuse me, sir. The judge wants to get started."

  "Okay," I said, "I'll be right there."

  I turned to face Reggie. "I gotta go."

  "Sure thing." Reggie nodded. "I'll stay out here and keep my ear to the ground. You
get in there and give 'em hell."

  Chapter 44

  After the break, Trott retook the witness stand. While waiting for Hackworth to restart the hearing, he fidgeted in his chair and picked at a scab on his arm. Trott was a loose cannon. There was no telling what he would do, especially if the prosecution put more pressure on him to embellish his story. I had to shut him down.

  "Captain O'Donnell," Hackworth said, "proceed with your cross-examination."

  I stood with a stack of papers in my hand and pretended to read from them. "Sergeant Trott, according to the investigation, you hit multiple detainees while working in Sangar Prison?"

  "What? I duh-duh-don't understand," he said.

  Paine rose. "Objection. Sergeant Trott is not on trial here, Sergeant Jefferson is."

  Hackworth turned to me and said, "What does this have to do with Sergeant Jefferson?"

  "Multiple guards saw Trott abusing prisoners. I believe he is lying to shift the blame away from himself."

  Trott looked like he was about to have a panic attack.

  "This is preposterous," Paine said as he jumped to his feet. "Sergeant Trott is not under investigation. He's a disabled veteran, about to medically retire. I find Captain O'Donnell's insinuations highly offensive."

  "Alright. I'll give the defense a little leeway, but you better connect the dots, and quickly," Hackworth said.

  I went back to questioning Trott. "Did you ever hit a detainee while working in Sangar Prison?"

  "Well, uh, once or twice," he replied.

  Game on.

  Paine huffed loudly and threw his pen on the table in protest. I noticed Hackworth did not admonish him.

  "Specifically, how many different detainees did you strike while at Sangar?" I asked Trott.

  "I, I, I do-do don't remember," he said.

  "You don't remember?" I paused while maintaining eye contact. "Was it more than 10 prisoners?"

  "I do-do-do don't know," Trott stuttered.

  "You don't know if you beat more than 10 different prisoners?"