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  "No."

  "Could it have been 20 different prisoners?"

  Paine threw up his arms and objected.

  Hackworth overruled him.

  "Let me repeat," I said, "could you have beaten 20 different prisoners?"

  "No," Trott said.

  "Then how many did you beat?"

  "I don't remember?"

  "Was it too many to count?" Trott went from looking nervous to psychotic. He stared at the microphone in front of him and didn't answer. "Did you understand my question?" I asked. No answer. Trott's breathing grew heavier like he was about to hyperventilate. "I think we need to read him his rights," I said to Paine.

  "Why would we read him his rights?" Paine replied.

  "He just confessed to prisoner abuse, a war crime the last I checked."

  "You promised me this wouldn't happen." Trott pointed his finger at Paine. "You lied. Fuck you all! I want a lawyer."

  Paine's jaw dropped as he waited for Hackworth to intervene, but the judge said nothing.

  "I have no further questions," I said and sat down.

  "Let's take a 20-minute recess," Hackworth said. "Prosecution, be prepared to call your next witness."

  Paine, still fuming, snatched the file from his desk and stomped out of the room.

  Getting Trott to plead the Fifth and demand a lawyer on the witness stand was a devastating blow to the prosecution. After he requested counsel, the only way to get him to testify was to officially offer him immunity, which immediately cast suspicion on everything he said.

  Chapter 45

  During the recess, I went back to our makeshift office with Jefferson. Ten minutes later, a loud knock on the door interrupted our conversation. Special Agent Bronson poked his head in and said, "Paine wants you in his office - now."

  "We're busy," I said.

  Bronson huffed and slammed the door. I resumed discussing strategy with Jefferson. Five minutes later, Paine pushed the door open. "Captain O'Donnell," he said in a docile tone. "May I please have a word with you?"

  Well, he did say, "please." I left Jefferson with his guards and followed Paine down the hall. He whirled as soon as I cleared his office's door frame. "Captain O'Donnell, who is your supervisor?"

  "Major Dill," I said. "Why?"

  Paine scurried to his immaculate desk and started flipping through a directory of Army JAG lawyers stationed around the world like he was searching for a contact lens in tall grass. A cordless phone was tucked under his arm. "What's his first name?" Paine asked.

  I smiled. "Dick."

  "Dick?" Paine squinted.

  "Yes, his name is 'Major Dick Dill.'" Paine thumbed through the directory - no success. "Here's his number," I said, holding up my Blackberry.

  Paine snatched the phone from me and pounded it like he was tenderizing a steak. He glanced over at his couch, where Major Hanna Weiss sat scowling. "Make a note, Hanna," Paine said. "I want O'Donnell's supervisor to know how he's behaving at this hearing. His conduct is unethical and borderline criminal."

  "You're tattle-telling on me? What is this, elementary school?" I said. Paine ignored me and stared at the phone in his hand. No answer. "You're not going to reach him," I said. "He's on a seven-day Caribbean cruise."

  Weiss chimed in, "Yeah, right, smart ass."

  Paine resumed his investigation of the directory and repeated the assault on the phone. He listened about a minute – 10 rings, I guessed. "Doesn't your commander have voicemail?" he asked.

  "No, sir. He doesn't believe in it," I said.

  Paine obviously thought I was joking or lying. I knew Dill never answered his phone, and I knew he refused to set up his voice mail. He always maintained plausible deniability. After two more attempts, Paine hung up.

  "You reach him?" I asked.

  "I know you think this is funny, O'Donnell," Paine said. "Just wait."

  "You could try the bar at the O-Club," I said. "I have that number, too."

  A vein in Paine's left temple throbbed. Even if Paine could have connected, wherever he was in the world, Dill was probably 60 percent through a 12-pack.

  Paine waved his hand at me. "You're dismissed, O'Donnell."

  "Sir? You cannot dismiss me. You can end the meeting, but you cannot dismiss me. I don't work for you."

  Paine studied my face as he thought of a comeback. I wanted to stay a little longer to see if the vein in his temple would pop. "O'Donnell, get the hell out of my office."

  "May I have my phone back, please?" If an NFL scout had seen my catch, I'd have gotten a try-out.

  I walked down the hall with my head down. Not out of shame. I was trying to get a handle on the situation. A pair of shapely legs blocked my path. Judging from the length of the skirt, civilian legs.

  "My name's Roselyn," the woman said. "My friends call me Rose." I must have jumped back a little because she laughed. "I don't bite," she said, followed by a grin. "Very often."

  I noticed the "Press" badge around her neck. "I can't talk to the media," I said.

  "We'll see about that." She touched my hand and glided away down the hall. When the tingling finally subsided, I realized I was holding her business card.

  Back in the hearing, Paine called Special Agent Bronson as his next witness. Bronson breezed through his testimony, which was predominantly hearsay and speculation. He summarized what he thought the other witnesses would say and laid out his personal theory as to why Jefferson was guilty. Objecting was pointless because, in an Army Preliminary Hearing, the rules of evidence did not apply. Everything was admissible, hearsay included.

  At the end of Bronson's testimony, Paine picked up a large box of documents and plopped it on the table in front of Colonel Hackworth. "The prosecution offers the entire Report of Investigation into evidence," Paine said.

  "You really want me to read this?" Hackworth asked. "I'll be here all night."

  "Yes, please," Paine said.

  Hackworth rubbed his temples and turned to me. "Captain O'Donnell, do you object?"

  "Yes, I do," I replied.

  "On what basis?"

  "I have not reviewed that box of papers." I nodded in the direction of the box. "So, I don't know what's in there."

  "He's playing games," Paine said. "He has all these documents."

  "I'm not taking his word for it," I gestured at Paine with my thumb.

  Paine stood and pointed at me. "That is the last time you're going to attack my integrity, Captain O'Donnell."

  Hackworth stepped in and said to me, "You can review these exhibits during the next break."

  "How am I supposed to review thousands of pages during a 10-minute break?" I asked.

  "Well, you better read fast," Hackworth said. "Government, call your next witness."

  Paine faced Hackworth and put his hands on his hips. "After what happened with Sergeant Trott, our other witnesses don't want to testify. They don't want to be falsely accused by Captain O'Donnell."

  "Are you saying they're unavailable?" Hackworth asked.

  "Yes," Paine replied.

  "Then I declare them officially unavailable, and I will consider their sworn statements."

  "Sir, I object. They're not unavailable," I said. "They are sitting across the hall, in the witness waiting room."

  "Not anymore," Paine said. "They departed after the lunch break."

  "They're all staying at the Fort Custer Inn. They can be back here in 15 minutes," I said.

  Hackworth squeezed his hands together and leaned toward me. He spoke in a low snarl, "These witnesses are no longer willing to testify, and they are not physically in this building. Therefore, I find them unavailable for the purposes of this hearing."

  I held up the Manual for Courts-Martial and said, "According to Rule for Court Martial 405(g)(4)(B), you cannot consider the sworn statements of witnesses over defense objection."

  "Unless they're unavailable," Hackworth responded. "Next time, read the rest of the rule. Now, does the defense have any witnesses?"

&n
bsp; "Yes. I'd like to call the witnesses from the prosecution's list," I said, "the ones they didn't call."

  "Denied," Hackworth said. "Do you have any other evidence to present?"

  "No, sir."

  "Then, you have until 2000 hours to review the prosecution's documents." Hackworth slid his chair back and stood. "We are finishing this case tonight," he said and walked out of the room.

  I called Annabelle before I started reviewing the mountain of paperwork. She did not answer, so I left her a message letting her know I was working late.

  Chapter 46

  After sifting through the voluminous investigative report, my eyes were burning. I did, however, come across dozens of documents I had not seen before.

  At 2000 hours, Hackworth reopened the hearing. To no one's surprise, he said, "I will consider the prosecution's evidence. Also, I recommend adding the following charges: maltreatment of prisoners, failure to follow Army regulations, dereliction of duty, false official statement, and obstruction of justice."

  Jefferson's eyes were the size of coffee cups. "What does that mean?" he asked me.

  "He wants to add more charges," I replied.

  "How can they do that? They've already charged me."

  "Under the UCMJ, they can."

  "Such bullshit," Jefferson mumbled under his breath.

  Hackworth's head swiveled toward us like the Terminator. "Accused and counsel, please rise." His voice quaked with rage.

  Jefferson and I stood and faced Judge Hackworth.

  "Captain O'Donnell, this is a formal proceeding, not a pool hall," Hackworth said. "Your client better control himself, or I will remove him, and we will continue in his absence. Am I clear?"

  "Yes, sir," I said.

  "Good. Now be seated," Hackworth continued. "Based on the credible evidence presented by the prosecution, I find there is probable cause, and I recommend forwarding this case to a general court-martial."

  I was on my feet. "What credible evidence?" I said. I left out the "Your Honor" part on purpose. "There were only two witnesses. Trott was a lying criminal, and Special Agent Bronson's testimony was entirely hearsay. The defense has been denied every request-"

  Hackworth cut me off. "Careful, Captain. Whether you like the decision or not, you are still an officer in the United States Army and will conduct yourself as one."

  I realized how close I was to trouble, so I throttled back on the tone. "Your Honor," I said, "I object to your ruling. You have not even reviewed the stack of documents on your desk."

  You could break rock on Hackworth's jaw. "Tread lightly here, O'Donnell," he said. "If the next words out of your mouth even remotely hint at collusion, I will have your bar license."

  Jefferson slowly dug his elbow into my thigh. "I don't need a roommate, Captain," he whispered out of the side of his mouth.

  "For the record, I will be filing a written objection," I said.

  Hackworth smirked. "Do as you will, Captain O'Donnell. Just remember, people in Hell want ice water."

  After the hearing, I met with Reggie privately. "What the fuck happened in there?" Reggie wasn't loud, but his voice shook with fury. "They beat the shit out of you."

  I had nothing to say. Reggie was right.

  "Son," he said, suddenly more empathetic. "I asked around. You're not a bad lawyer. Everybody who knows you says you're a smartass, but no one says you suck as a shyster."

  I ignored the age-old vocational insult. "Thanks," I said.

  "You got the shit kicked out of you." Reggie moved his head closer to mine, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "I can help you, counselor." I didn't respond. Somehow, I doubted Reggie had graduated from law school in the time since he'd left my Fort Arnold office. He moved closer. "I can level the field."

  "How?" I said.

  "Boy." The right side of Reggie's mouth twitched. "You must not remember my 20 years in the Dallas PD - most of it undercover." I acted confused, but I wasn't. I didn't want to hear what I knew was coming. "What do ya need?" he asked. "Someone to disappear? A witness to change his mind? A little nose candy to show up in someone's pocket?"

  "I need you to back the fuck off and go home. So far, you've been nothing but a distraction, and I don't need any more distractions."

  "I see how it is." Reggie crossed his arms and let out a grunt.

  "Nice knowing you, Reggie." I hoisted the box of evidence and lugged it out of the room.

  Before I hit the door, I heard Reggie's voice behind me. "Call me if you change your mind, counselor."

  Chapter 47

  After I left Reggie's company, I took a cab to Mariana's, a Mexican restaurant a few miles from Fort Custer. I sat sipping a beer at a sticky tabletop. Just then, bells tied to the front door rang. I looked up. It was Rose, as expected. Rose was tall and lithe, she walked with the assurance of a woman who knew everyone in the room was, or soon would be, looking at her.

  I was there against my better judgment. After Rose gave me her card, I checked out her blog. To say her early content was tripe was an insult to tripe. I read one bland, retreaded gossip story followed by another - TomKat and Scientology, Brangelina, Jessica Simpson, and Nick Somebody I didn't know. The occasional news story contained mostly innuendo. At least three times in each story, the line, "As this reporter has learned," appeared. Rose seemed to have studied at the Hedda Hopper School of Rumormongering.

  Then, in the Summer of 2005, the content in her articles took on weight. Almost overnight, she had something interesting to say. She wrote about the war in Iraq and Sangar Prison - a place few people in America had ever heard of. She mentioned "government secrets" and promised her readers a "big story to break at any moment."

  Rose approached me, smiling. "Hi there," she said and slipped into the chair next to me.

  "Want one?" I pointed to my half-empty beer bottle. She nodded, and I signaled the waiter for two beers.

  Rose pulled out a small note pad and pen and wasted no time. "Was the CIA in Sangar Prison?" she asked.

  "You know I can't talk about the case."

  Her smile faded. "Then why are you here?"

  "I'm hungry."

  Rose smiled again and said, "Me too." She placed her pen on the table and picked up a menu. "I haven't eaten all day." The beers came, and we sipped for a few seconds. Then, she reengaged, "Captain O’Donnell, may I call you Max?"

  I nodded and took another sip.

  "Max, I think this is a CIA coverup, and your client's the fall-guy."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Just a hunch. That's why I need to talk to you. I need more information."

  I held up my hands in mock surrender. "Okay, but I don't know much," I said.

  "Tell me what you know, and I'll see what I can dig up on my end."

  Mariachi music blared on the radio, which made talking easier. We didn't have to worry about eavesdroppers. I reached into my briefcase and pulled out a folder. I opened the folder and passed a blueprint of the prison to Rose. "According to Jefferson, this is where the OGAs kept the high-profile prisoners." I pointed at the diagram.

  "What happened there?"

  "I don't know for certain."

  "Do you know who these OGA people were?"

  "No. I only know nicknames and general descriptions. Not enough to track them down. Rumor is, they were CIA." Rose jotted some notes and slid the blueprint back to me. I took a long pull on my beer. "Something fishy was going on in that prison," I said. "The Army's claiming Jefferson was a rogue guard."

  "You don't think that's true?" She raised her eyebrows.

  "Not at all," I said. "Everything in the Army is done by the book. Literally. There's a manual for everything, from how to clean a rifle, to how to dig a field latrine. Every unit in the Army has a written SOP, a Standard Operating Procedure. Still, I can't find a single document like that for Sangar."

  "How does that help Jefferson?"

  "What if the guards were ordered to abuse prisoners, and those in charge destroye
d the incriminating evidence?"

  "So, Jefferson was obeying orders?"

  "Yeah, maybe," I said.

  "At Nuremberg, the Nazis used the 'obedience to orders' defense."

  I knew that after World War II, thousands of Nazis were prosecuted for committing war crimes. In their defense, many claimed they were merely obeying orders. The "Nuremberg Defense," as it was called, was unsuccessful. "I'm not raising The Nuremberg Defense, but-" My phone rang. It was Annabelle. "I have to take this," I said. "It's my wife."

  "Sure, go ahead."

  I answered. "Hi, honey."

  "Max, it's after 11 here. Why haven't you called?" Annabelle's voice was about 80 percent on the pissed off meter.

  "I called a couple of times today. Didn't you get my messages?"

  "No, I've been busy with the kids."

  I said nothing. I learned long ago that the best way to win an argument with her was to avoid it.

  "I started having contractions today," Annabelle continued. "The doctor said I could go into labor within the next 48 hours."

  As she spoke, our waitress approached and asked, "You want another round of beers?"

  I shushed her away.

  "Max, are you out drinking?" The tension in Annabelle's voice rose.

  "No." I stood and walked toward the bathroom, hoping for more privacy. "I'm having dinner with Jefferson's father." Annabelle let out a long, heavy sigh, and I changed the subject. "The Article 32 was a disaster, but I'll be home tomorrow. I'm on the first flight out of El Paso."

  I heard the line hiccup - call waiting. "That's Mother," Annabelle said. "You know she doesn't sleep when I'm here by myself."

  "I love you," I said. "Goodnight."

  "Bye," she said and hung up.

  I walked back to the table. Rose was waiting with a fresh round of beers. "Everything all right?" she asked.

  "Yeah, that was my wife calling to say goodnight."

  "How long have you been married?"

  "Seven years."

  "Happily?" she asked with a coy smile.

  I hesitated for a few seconds. "I shouldn't be here," I said.

  "Why? We're adults, just having a drink and talking business." Rose slid her chair closer to mine. I wasn't ready, and when I caught a whiff of her perfume, I could feel my body reacting. I slid my chair a few inches back. "Relax," she said, "I'm not rabid."