The Accused (9 page)

Brooks continued. “The ship's captain stonewalled me at first. It took me six hours and a dozen different phone calls from the
Hale
before I was able to interrogate the other four men. As you know, Thompson was seriously injured—he was shot at the scene—and was down in the sick bay. He was doped up, and I decided not to interrogate him until later. The other three wouldn't talk until they got direct orders from Marlowe.”

“See—this is the kind of zombie commando stuff I don't like. Those guys were military personnel, presumably under the jurisdiction of the United States Marine Corps. This was a military investigation. They shouldn't be taking their orders from their former commanding officer—an officer who is confined to quarters and who's being investigated for multiple specifications of possible capital murder.”

“Well, the point is, Colonel Marlowe did give them the go-ahead to give statements.”

“That's correct—but only after demanding that any charge be placed on him—and that no charges were to be preferred against the members of his unit. That's arrogance.”

“Some folks might call it leadership,” Brooks countered, smiling.

“And what would you know about leadership over at NCIS?” The colonel gave a sardonic chuckle.

The special agent smiled again, opened his file, and pulled out his investigative report. As he scanned it he summarized his findings out loud.

“So, the hit list starts with the statements from three of the team members. All three confirmed they were positioned outside the house under Colonel Marlowe's command that night. They all confirmed that Marlowe gave the order. They all indicated he was in charge of making a decision based on the recon reports he had. They said he knew the rules of engagement because he had explained it to each of
them—and those rules clearly indicated, on this assignment, that the ‘locate and destroy' mission against the AAJ was secondary to the avoidance of civilian casualties. That the house was clearly a civilian home on the edge of the jungle—according to the members of his team, the colonel stated that his main source was the CIA operative who he ended up gunning down inside the house. All three confirmed there were shots fired by one of the terrorists who had exited the house.

“And that's when Marlowe gave the order to open fire. They also confirmed that Marlowe had thermal imaging, but no one knows what he saw. Which raises the question, why he didn't see that some of the bodies were different shapes—that there were two children in there? And finally, the colonel was the first one, and the
only
one, who actually entered the building.”

“That's crucial,” Stickton commented. “At least two of his team members confirmed—I think it's in one of the statements that you took—that Marlowe ducked in the house quickly, and ten seconds later he was out of there ordering the rest of his team
not to enter
the home or inspect the casualties. But of course, there is also the hugely important factor regarding what Marlowe did immediately after he exited the house.”

“One thing that puzzled me,” Brooks broke in. “How did the federal police arrive on the scene so soon? It was my conclusion they were on the scene within five minutes of the shooting. I thought the Mexican police were left out of the loop on this thing. They got there even before the helos showed up.”

“Don't know,” the trial counsel said. “As I looked over the reports from the federal police—that's number two on my memo here—I didn't come up with a straight answer. But you know the way the Mexican police operate. There's so much inside stuff—so much partnership with the criminal elements…deals cut with the local drug gangs…they probably knew about the operation going down even though the U.S. government didn't tell them.”

“That's another thing,” Brooks noted. “I had a question about the diagrams of the scene and the location of the bodies as indicated in the federal police reports. “

With that he pulled out the diagram of the room drawn by the Mexican police. Five stick bodies—four civilians and one terrorist—were noted in various positions. A photograph was also attached.

“The diagram—even the photograph—shows the bodies arrayed around a kitchen table in the middle of the room,” Brooks continued. “It just seemed to me that—taking the trajectory of the bullets as they were coming from two directions—this kind of a configuration would be a rather strange way for the bodies to drop.”

“Which means what?”

“I'm not sure,” Brooks replied. “Just an observation.”

“Well—from what I can see—each of those bodies took multiple hits. Twenty, thirty shots or other fragments into each body. So,” Stickton continued, “because we know that the bullets in the bodies belong to the weapons fired by Marlowe's men—and because he gave a reckless order—I'm not sure how critical it really is, what the position of the civilians inside the house was at the moment of firing. Plus, that only plays to our advantage anyway. The more obvious their position was to Marlowe, the more culpable he is. But even if their position was hidden from his view, we know that he had a reasonable belief that there might be civilians in the house.”

“You're talking about the tape?”

“Exactly. I've listened to it myself several times. It is clear and unambiguous. One of his men—I think it may have been Master Sergeant Rockwell—suggests some closer recon before they start a full-scale assault. Anyway, Marlowe says no, gives the order—and it's clear on the tape: ‘I'm assuming the risk of collateral damage here—fire!' ”

Special Agent Brooks glanced down at his notes. Then he looked out the window of the barracks building. Glancing back at Stickton, he spoke. “I just feel like there's something we need to know about what was going on inside that little shack ten seconds before the firing began.”

“Disagree—my focus is somewhere else.”

“Oh?”

“My focus is on Colonel Marlowe's knowledge when he gave the order to rain down death on Carlos Fuego, and on Carlos's wife and two little children.”

Brooks looked at the photograph taken by the Mexican police and shook his head with a grimace.

“Something else that doesn't add up—Fuego had been a close friend of Marlowe's for more than ten years. Marlowe was the best man at his wedding.”

“Carlos Fuego was also a CIA operative within Mexico,” Stickton rapped out. “Let's not forget that little detail.”

Brooks hadn't forgotten that fact. But in the big picture, it really didn't matter to him. Certainly, after he had investigated Caleb Marlowe's background…his decorated service…his character…he didn't believe that this marine would coldly execute his best friend along with his family just because they were in the way of his counterterrorism mission.

Yet two things seemed undeniable and painfully clear. First, that Marlowe had given the crucial order. And second, that four innocent people who had no business being there, had been directly in the line of fire.

For Brooks, this was reason enough for charges to be initially preferred. And for Colonel Stickton, it was enough to seek referral to a general court-martial…and then await the boost to his career that he felt would most certainly result.

13

T
HE SKY WAS BLUE, AND THERE WAS A CRISP FEEL
to the morning air as Will wandered out onto the front porch. He looked out to the Blue Ridge Mountains that softly bordered the horizon. The cloud bank that had covered the foothills and the valleys at first light was beginning to dissipate.

He sipped from his steaming mug of coffee. Then he descended the stairs and walked around to the backyard.

There, Fiona was crouched down in the flower garden that wound along the back of the house and up to the path that led to the woods and fields beyond. She was wearing a sun hat and one of Will's work shirts with the shirttails hanging out, reaching down to mid-thigh.

She had been digging furiously with a hand trowel but stopped when Will approached.

“Hey, mister.” She glanced at the large mug in Will's hand. “Okay—be honest—am I making decent coffee yet?”

“Honey,” he said, assuming his television commercial voice, “have you switched brands? This is one great cup of coffee!”

“Oh, come on,” Fiona said playfully, “tell me the truth. The first time I made coffee for you, you said it was far too weak. I have to keep reminding myself you prefer it like battery acid.”

“All right,” he replied with a smile. “Here's the straight scoop—you really do make a great cup of coffee. I have no complaints in that department. Now that I think about it, I have no complaints about my life with you at all.”

He bent down and kissed his wife slowly, full on the mouth, and then moved his face back, still keeping it close to hers.

“Life with you is great. I'm really glad we've got a quiet weekend together. Aren't you?”

Fiona nodded and smiled broadly.

“So what are you thinking as you're digging out here in your garden?” he asked.

“You know, it's funny the things that go through your mind when you're working outside. I love working with my flowers. Digging in the moist ground. The smell of the earth. You know what keeps going through my mind?”

Will shook his head.

“I keep thinking of Pearl S. Buck—
The Good Earth
.”

Then she cocked her head slightly and looked deep into Will's eyes. “So, my darling, what's on your mind this morning?” She suspected there was some silent interior struggle—but he wasn't letting on to it.

“Until I am at least halfway into my first cup of coffee,” he replied, “I doubt if you'd find a single brainwave on an EEG.”

His wife smiled back at him with a look of complacent disbelief. He felt a twinge of guilt. He was not being honest with her—not really. And he knew she was perceptive enough to detect it.

He had awakened that morning, as he had several previous mornings, overwhelmed with thoughts about Audra's murder—and the fact that an accomplice was still on the loose. He had tried to push those thoughts out of his mind. He worried that this had become an obsession—a psychological quicksand from which he found himself unable to escape. He had prayed to God for a mind that would be purified of the rage and the crushing guilt that seemed to overwhelm him.

He stood up slowly.

“I think I'm going to grab my chainsaw and cut up some of those hardwoods that have fallen. They'll make good firewood.”

Fiona nodded and went back to her digging, thinking that perhaps hauling around tree limbs and cutting through logs would be a good emotional relief for her husband, if nothing else.

Will picked up the chainsaw in the garage. He put on his leather work gloves and, laying the chainsaw in the wheelbarrow, made his way up the path, stopping when he reached the middle of the woods that rose gently up from the back of the house.

He started trimming the small branches off a felled tree and then laid it on a stump and started cutting the trunk into segments, the wood fragments spitting out from the whining blade.

Will loved the smell of freshly cut wood.

After he had cut up the entire tree he clicked off his chainsaw and took a moment to glance down at Fiona, who was still digging busily in the ground. He glanced off into the distance where the sun was illuminating the soft mountaintops in a variety of velvet green colors.

But then, out of nowhere, a thought intruded. He had tried to contact Captain Jenkins at the DC police department during the week and had been told he would be back on duty that Saturday. Will had wanted to get an update on the investigation.

Why don't you give it a rest?
he thought to himself.

He grabbed his axe and began quartering the freshly cut logs. As he brought the blade down onto the round end of each log, cracking it in two, his mind kept gnawing on the same thought.

Finally he tossed the axe down, stripped off his gloves, and tossed them into the wheelbarrow. He walked down the woods past Fiona and into the back door of the house.

Picking up the phone, he dialed the DC police department. A dispatcher answered. She indicated that Captain Jenkins was in and asked Will to hold. After a few seconds the captain answered.

“Counselor, what can I do for you?”

“Just wondering whether there's anything new on the investigation. I'd really like to know what you folks are doing about getting an ID on that second man.”

“Like I said before,” Jenkins said, with a bit of fatigue in his answer, “we will let you know when there are any new developments. We're going through all the standard stuff. We're doing due diligence—going back over the original file on this case. Reviewing everything. We've got a couple leads. Nothing significant. But if anything pops, I promise we will give you a call immediately. Now until then, why don't you go on with your life? Enjoy your marriage to your beautiful wife. Keep up with things in your law practice.

“You know, this could be a very long and tedious process before we're ever able to get a positive ID. What we are really doing here is reopening a cold case file. Rest assured—we are tracking down every lead. Now, let us do the worrying. I will let you know the minute we get any further information.”