The Summer House

Chapter 102

All right, Captain Allen Pierce thinks, standing nervously in front of the judge, let’s make sure this happens. From his leather briefcase he takes out the Army-issue laptop, places it on top of the judge’s bench, powers it up. The screen pops into view.

He starts checking the icons, goes through the Applications folder, finds the one for Skype, double-clicks. The icon rotates, rotates, rotates.

“Counselor...” the judge says.

He feels himself warm with embarrassment, remembering the first time he argued a case before a military tribunal and realized ten minutes in that he had forgotten a key folder of paperwork back in his apartment.

“Just a moment, Your Honor,” he says, clicking on the keyboard, hearing the titters and giggles from the spectators, knowing the sheriff is probably enjoying his every painful moment.

Someone stands next to him. “If I may, Your Honor, I believe I can fix this,” comes Huang’s voice.

“And who the hell are you?”

“Dr. John Huang,” he says, gently pushing Pierce aside and going to the computer. “I’m an Army lieutenant.”

“Well,” the judge says, “I guess if anyone can fix a computer, it’s someone like you, huh? And this thing... Skip. You can actually talk to someone in Afghanistan?”

Huang says, “Yes, sir. Skype.”

Pierce feels sweet relief pour through him as the familiar log-on page pops up. He goes to his iPhone, copies the address onto the Skype page, and the tone of its ringing sounds. He taps a key and boosts the volume, and—

A screen pops up, dark but visible.

Sweet God, it’s the major.

And he looks horrible.

A tired-looking Major Jeremiah Cook peers at him, his face lined, worn, and with a growth of beard. Pierce maneuvers the laptop so his own face pops up within the screen.

“Captain Pierce,” Cook says, “is the hearing for Staff Sergeant Jefferson concluded?”

“Almost, sir.”

“Is the judge nearby?”

“Right here, sir,” he says, rotating the screen so Judge Rollins can see Major Cook. “This is Judge Howell Rollins.”

The judge leans in and says, “I’ll be damned... Who is this?”

The major coughs, grimaces. “I’m Major Jeremiah Cook, with the US Army Criminal Investigation Division, operating out of Quantico. I’m leading the team investigating the alleged involvement of the Rangers in the murders that happened last week in your county. Your Honor... thank you for allowing me to speak to you.”

The judge says, “And where the hell are you, anyway?”

Pierce looks back at the spectators, and those who can see the screen are leaning forward. It’s so quiet that besides the hiss of the computer’s speakers, the only thing he can hear is the gentle whir-whir of the large fans overhead.

The screen fades in and out. Cook says, “I’m at an observation post on a mountaintop somewhere in southern Afghanistan... pretty damn close to the Pakistan border. I’ve just interviewed a key witness who has vital information about this case.”

The video screen vibrates and then settles down, as a muffled boom is heard.

Cook looks up. “Sorry,” he says. “There’s a squad of Taliban coming up the north side of the ridge, and they’re laying down some mortar rounds. I’ve got to make this quick...”

Pierce sees that the arrogant and angry face of the judge has changed to something else entirely. “Go on, Major, go on,” the judge says. “Why are you in Afghanistan? What does anything over there have to do with Sullivan County and my court?”

Another boom, another shake of the screen, and Cook continues, voice tired and strained. “During the course of our investigation, we learned that the Ranger fire team that was arrested in Sullivan County had been accused of committing a similar crime in a small village in Afghanistan. It seemed to be too much of a coincidence. I flew here and found out that this charge was false, that it was a setup by the local Taliban to accuse the Rangers of war crimes.”

Rollins says, “Major, you’re not telling me that the Taliban came over here and tried to do the same thing again, are you?”

“No, sir, not at all. But I believe that false accusation served as a... template, or an inspiration for someone down the line. I know the staff sergeant is pleading guilty, in exchange for letting his two surviving squad members go free. I believe he’s doing this out of dedication and loyalty to his men. But please, Your Honor, please don’t accept his plea. I’ve gathered information over here that I believe is vital to what’s going on in Sullivan County.”

Pierce hears other voices coming out of the speakers, and Cook turns, nods, and says, “They’re approaching the outer wire now, Your Honor.”

“Hurry up, Major, tell us what you found out,” the judge says, leaning farther over his bench.

“A couple of months ago, the Rangers were sent home early from a regularly scheduled deployment. That happened days after the Rangers discovered a US citizen raping an Afghan civilian in a private home in a small village. A young boy.”

Moans and sounds of disgust come from the spectators, and with three sharp blows from his gavel, the judge quiets down the conversations.

“People!” he yells. “I got a goddamn American soldier under fire, trying to tell us the truth here, and the next person who opens his or her damn mouth is gonna regret it!”

Pierce is staring at the screen, willing the video to remain in view, for the signal not to cut out, and the judge says, “Go on, Major, please.”

Cook says, “It’s my belief, sir, that the Rangers were sent home early, and that they were falsely accused of killing these civilians, to keep their mouths shut about what they witnessed. And what they witnessed was your congressman, Mason Conover, committing this crime, while under the escort of a Georgia National Guard captain, Emma Williams, your county sheriff.”

Another boom from the computer, the screen goes blank, and the courtroom erupts in shouts and yells.