Against All Enemies (28 page)

“You can pray on the way to Khartoum,” al Gimlas replied. “You’re taking the pilots there on General Assam’s plane.”

“When?”

“Whenever Assam decides to leave.”

4:00
A.M.
, Friday, July 16,
The Farm, Western Virginia

The ringing phone woke Art Rios from a sound sleep. “Mr. Rios, this is Agnes. You need to tell Mr. Durant that the Sudanese are going to move the pilots to Khartoum for a trial.”

“Damn,” Rios muttered. “We’re too late.”

“Maybe not,” Agnes replied. “Please have Mr. Durant call me. He does have direct access to the President, doesn’t he?”

5:07
A.M.
, Friday, July 16,
Hurlburt Field, Fla.

The order for Gillespie’s team to deploy came down an hour later. The command post made two phone calls, one to the 20th SOS and one to the DCC, the deployment control center. Within thirty minutes, the DCC was set up and operational, ready to process the deploying aircrews and support people. While the DCC was going through its drill, the 20th notified the troops who would be going. On the surface, it was a routine duty day. Deployments were such a normal part of the 16th Special Operations Wing’s business that they made the complex and difficult task look simple.

Four hours later, the advon team, the advanced command and control group who would precede the main force and the Pave Low helicopters, were airborne on an HC-130P and headed across the Atlantic. Only an astute observer could distinguish the HC-130P, which had been modified for inflight refueling of helicopters, from a normal C-130. Its arrival at Bangui would excite little attention. But it would be a far different matter for the C-5B Galaxy transports bringing in the main force. Consequently, the C-5s were scheduled to arrive during the night when darkness would provide some cover.

Lt. Col. Gillespie floated like a duck on the calm surface as his contingent deployed. But underneath, he was paddling like mad to stay afloat. The plan called for six helicopters, four primary and two backup. But he was going to get only four. The 20th had the helicopters, but budget cuts and lack of modernization had cut into the Air Force’s airlift fleet. He was only going to get two C-5s instead of the three he needed. Gillespie had to live with the dilemma of most commanders: his political masters were not giving him the wherewithal to do his job. But at the same time, they expected the 20th to do as much as ever. The old joke about being able to do more and more with less and less until they could do everything with nothing had ceased to be funny.

Capt. Lee Harold, Gillespie’s second in command for the operation, stormed into his office. “Four Pave Lows? Do those shit-for-brains know what two birds do to the numbers?” The so-called
numbers
were the product of hard experience and quantified the probability of success. “So who’s gonna raise the bullshit flag?”

Gillespie ran his hand through his red hair. “I ran it up the flagpole an hour ago. They hear it. But who’s gonna say
no?
”

“Situation normal,” Harold grumbled. He omitted the “all fucked up.”

“How’s the prep coming?” Gillespie asked.

“The Pave Hogs are ready. Blades and transmissions off, tails folded. We can stuff them on board as soon as the C-5s land—if they’re in commission.” Another fact of life was the age of the C-5s. The Galaxy was getting difficult in its old age and broke down with ever-increasing frequency. Unfortunately, there were not enough of the newer C-17 Globemaster III’s to meet airlift requirements. “Son of a bitch,” Harold groaned. “It seems like we’re unwanted stepchildren.”

“Until they need something done,” Gillespie allowed. He allowed a tight smile. A little bitching and moaning went with the territory and was good for the troops.

The phone rang and Harold fell silent as Gillespie answered. He hung up. “Two C-5s are inbound and will be on the ground in fifteen minutes. Both are in commission and good to go.” He stood up, ready to leave.

“Maybe we make it look too easy,” Harold said.

“Without a doubt.”

10:00
A.M.
, Friday, July 16,
Whiteman Air Force Base, Mo.

Sutherland made a show of checking his watch hoping Williams would take the hint and declare a recess. They were still locked in voir dire as Cooper relentlessly grilled the tenth panel member. A note from Blasedale.

Sutherland nodded and came to his feet during one of Cooper’s ponderous pauses. “Your Honor, may we take a short break?” He received a grateful look from the spectators as Williams declared a fifteen-minute recess.

Cooper made a show of walking over to Sandi Jefferson and comforting her. Since she was sitting directly behind the trial counsel table, Blasedale was acutely aware of Cooper’s presence. He deliberately banged against Blasedale’s chair, forcing her to move. Rather than contend with him, Blasedale walked across the room. Sandi was whispering furiously in Cooper’s ear and her eyes kept darting to the trial counsel’s table.
She’s reading our notes
, Blasedale thought.
That’s a mistake
. The recess was over.

Cooper resumed his questioning and finally declared he was finished with the captain. As trial counsel, Sutherland called the eleventh member, also a captain. Again, Cooper went through his litany of questions, probing the captain’s reaction to hypothetical situations. While it was beyond the normal scope of voir dire, Blasedale let him ramble on. Finally, Cooper announced he had no further questions. Only Capt. Knight, the social actions officer, remained.

Blasedale scribbled a note on her legal pad:

She pushed it over to Sutherland and waited. She was certain that Sandi Jefferson was reading it. Sutherland gave Blasedale a questioning look, wondering what she was talking about. He jotted down an answer and shoved the pad back to her.

Blasedale canted her head enough to see Sandi Jefferson make a hand motion. On cue, Cooper called for another short recess and again came over to speak to Sandi. Blasedale moved away as before and watched as she whispered to him. The recess was over and Blasedale remained standing while Williams reconvened the court.

She called for Capt. Knight and Cooper walked around to lean against the front of the defense table. But as trial counsel, Blasedale went first. “Your Honor, the government has two questions for Capt. Knight.” Williams told her to proceed. “Capt. Knight, have you ever used the word
nigger?
”

Cooper’s head jerked up, his heavy mane of hair flying. Capt. Knight looked confused. “Why, ah, ah, yes,” he finally stammered. He looked like he needed to visit the men’s room.

“When was the last time?” Blasedale asked.

“Ah, ah, yesterday.”

“Thank you, Captain Knight. No further questions.” She sat down.

Cooper swelled, his chest expanding. “Your Honor, I too have no further questions.”

Capt. Jordan, the ADC, rose to his feet to intervene but Blasedale cut him off at the knees. “Need I remind the court of ‘one counsel, one issue’?” Williams told Jordan to sit down and excused Capt. Knight. The ADC was writing furiously, trying to get a note to Cooper. But Cooper ignored him. No sooner had the door closed behind Knight when Cooper said, “Excuse Capt. Knight for cause.”

Williams studied Cooper over his reading glasses. “You may enter a challenge for cause after trial counsel enters its challenges.”

“Your Honor,” Cooper said ignoring the note the ADC had shoved to the front of the table. “Capt. Knight’s admission contaminates these proceedings and he should be removed instantly.” A quiet murmur from the spectators indicated they agreed with him.

Williams silenced them with a single look. “I will consider your challenge in due course,” Williams said, expecting Cooper to sit down. The spectators were in shock and the courtroom was absolutely silent. The ten reporters who had drawn the lucky numbers to sit in the room and not the theater were furiously making notes.

Cooper couldn’t help himself. His well-developed sense of the theatrical was so much a part of his personality that he couldn’t shut it off, with or without a jury as an audience. “Your Honor!” he bellowed in outrage.

“Lower your voice, Mr. Cooper.”

“Your Honor, since you refuse to consider a challenge for cause, perhaps you’ll allow a peremptory challenge at this time.”

Williams removed his glasses. “Against Capt. Knight?”

“That is correct.”

“The timing of your request is most unusual, Mr. Cooper. We are not in the business of making case law.”

“This is a procedural issue, Your Honor, not a question of case law.”

“Indeed, you are correct. Capt. Knight will be excused. However, I will note for the record that being excused does not reflect on him personally or professionally in any way.”

“Your Honor,” Cooper said, his oratory matching his indignant, but simulated outrage, “this man admitted to using that loathsome, odious, repulsive word, the hallmark of the bigoted and—”

Williams raised his voice, cutting Cooper off. “Enough. We get your point.” He consulted his notes. “For the record, Capt. Knight is a social actions officer and deals with racism and bigotry every day. If you had questioned him, or reviewed his questionnaire with some care, you would have learned that his duties require him to deal with the use of the word you so strenuously object to. Further, if you had listened to your associate defense counsel it would have been drawn to your attention. But it is not for me to question the use of the one peremptory challenge allowed the defense. You, Mr. Cooper, forced the issue.”

Sutherland did a classic double-take. Jefferson was smiling at Cooper’s embarrassment. As quickly as it came, the smile was gone.
Who else saw it
? he wondered.

Cooper stood there, his right hand knotted in a fist. In preparing for trial, he had not thoroughly read the
Manual for Courts-Martial
, which allowed the prosecution and the defense only one peremptory challenge apiece. Blasedale had sensed it and used Sandi Jefferson to draw first blood. Slowly, Cooper turned and faced her. She returned his gaze without blinking.

“Your Honor,” Cooper begged, “may we recess until after lunch?”

“We are in recess until 1300 this afternoon,” Williams said. He rose. “Maj. Blasedale, please join me in chambers.” He marched out of the room.

Blasedale followed him, passing Cooper who was still standing. “You do like eating shit,” she murmured. His gaze drilled holes in her back as she walked out of the courtroom.

“Please close the door,” Williams said when she stepped inside his office. He carefully hung up his robe before sitting down. “Cathy, what in hell do you think you’re doing out there?”

“Turning that asshole into a decent advocate.”

R. Garrison Cooper was waiting in Williams’s chambers when the judge returned from lunch. “Your Honor, may I speak to you
ex parte?
”

Williams gave him a long look. “Does it concern the court-martial or a personal matter?”

Cooper gritted his teeth. “Both, sir.”

Williams gave him a pleasant smile. “Come in while I call Maj. Blasedale and Capt. Sutherland.” He picked up the phone.

“But you spoke to her
ex parte
,” Cooper bleated.

“It concerned her personal conduct and was in no way prejudicial to Capt. Jefferson. In fact, it was the exact opposite.” He asked for Blasedale and Sutherland to join him. The two officers rushed in and sat quietly against the back wall. “Please proceed,” he said.

Cooper sat down. “Sir, I made a terrible mistake this morning because of my ignorance and pride.” Williams nodded, urging him to continue. He liked seeing lawyers eat humble pie, especially in front of other lawyers. “Because of my rash conduct,” Cooper muttered, “I acted in a manner prejudicial to my client.”

Williams played it for Sutherland and Blasedale, “Garrison, for once quit sounding like a cheap suit and come right out and say it. ‘I fucked up and threw my one peremptory challenge away because I hadn’t done my homework and liked the sound of my own voice.’ Well, I am not going to restore your peremptory. But, I am concerned with the rights of the accused—” He paused for emphasis.

Cooper misinterpreted the pause. “Sir, Capt. Jefferson is the victim of a conspiracy.”

Sutherland snorted. “Give it a rest.”

“We’ve been over this before,” Williams snapped. “Do not raise a frivolous defense in my court.”

Cooper couldn’t help himself and he reverted to the theatrics that had become his second nature. “I can feel it in the air. I can sense it. This case reeks of it.” Sutherland allowed a tight smile but said nothing.

Williams shook his head. “However, you have no proof. As I was saying, I am concerned that Capt. Jefferson receive a fair and impartial trial. I will allow you a great deal of latitude on challenges. But you’ve got to make the record. I am perfectly willing to excuse every member for cause. There are approximately sixty thousand officers in the Air Force between the rank of captain and colonel who can serve on this court-martial and, if necessary, you can examine every one of them. But I assure you, if you cannot find at least five, I can.”

Cooper nodded. It was going to be a long day.

1:40
P.M.
, Friday, July 16,
Moisant Field, New Orleans

“You’re a good pilot,” Brent Mather said, making light conversation as they waited outside passport control at the New Orleans international airport. “Where did you learn to fly?”