High Crimes

“Well, sir, isn’t the usual thing to do to file an After Action Report?”

“Yes, it is. But this wasn’t a ‘usual’ incident, counselor. One of my men had just waxed an entire village full of innocent civilians.”

“In fact, unarmed civilians.”

“As I’ve said, counselor.”

“So why file an MFR? What’s the point in doing that?”

“Because I wanted to get the event on the record. I was sure that Sergeant Kubik would be prosecuted for this, and I wanted to begin preserving records.”

“You mean, creating records.”

“Your Honor!” Waldron shouted.

“I said preserving records, counselor,” the general said crisply.

“General, do you have a copy of the memorandum you wrote that morning?”

“Unfortunately, I do not. It appears to have been lost.”

“How could that have happened?”

He smiled. “Papers are lost all the time, counselor, especially in wartime. Believe me, I wish I had it. Even general officers can be victimized by a large and at times unwieldy bureaucracy.”

She returned the smile. “General, in the memorandum you wrote that morning, did you state that the villagers had weapons, and that was why you ordered your men to shoot?”

“Absolutely not,” Marks said, his eyes flashing.

“You didn’t write that?”

“No, I didn’t, because it wasn’t the case. I didn’t order anyone to kill those civilians, and the civilians didn’t have weapons.”

“Thank you, General.” She stepped back to the defense table, where Embry handed her several sheets of paper. Smoothly she came around to the prosecution table and dropped one in front of Waldron, then handed one to Judge Farrell. “Your Honor, may I approach the witness with what has been previously marked Defense Exhibit C for identification?”

“You may,” Farrell said, looking down confusedly at the document he’d just been given.

She gave the paper to the general. “General Marks, do you recognize this form?”

The general said nothing. For the first time, he appeared to have lost his composure. His face seemed to be going white.

“Is this your signature, General?”

Nothing.

“Is this your handwriting?”

The courtroom was silent, absolutely still, but she could feel all hell breaking loose. Waldron was scribbling something furiously, a note he was showing to Hogan. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a motion at the back of the room, and realized it was the general’s lawyer, Jerome Fine, making some sort of hand signal.

“We can take a recess if you like,” Claire said gently. “We can have a continuance. I have a handwriting expert standing by. We can ask you to copy this document and have it analyzed on the spot.” It was a bluff; she had no such handwriting expert. “I think you know this is your handwriting. Let me remind you, sir, that your immunity does not cover lying under oath, perjury, or false swearing.”

“Yes,” he said at last, staring at her with hatred. His tone, however, was even. “I believe it is my handwriting.”

“Your Honor,” she said, turning pleasantly toward Farrell, “at this time I’d like to offer Defense Exhibit C for identification, and ask permission to publish it to the jury.”

“It is admitted,” Farrell said, “and the words ‘for identification’ will be stricken. You may publish it to the jury now.”

She handed six copies of the document to the president of the court, who took one and passed the others out. Turning back to the general, she said, “Please read that to the court.”

He hesitated, turned to the judge. Annoyed, he asked: “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Farrell said, “I’m afraid you do.”

Marks compressed his lips into a thin line, then turned back to Claire and gave her a poisonous look. Donning a pair of reading glasses, he began to read: “‘In the early-morning hours of 22 June 1985, I was informed by Major James Hernandez that armed villagers in La Colina, El Salvador, had been observed acting with apparent hostile intent toward Detachment 27.’” He cleared his throat. His face was flushed. “‘I ordered free fire based on presence of armed hostiles. My orders were executed, and eighty-seven aggressors were terminated with prejudice. The detachment retired from the scene of aggressor contact and returned to Ilopango. Signed, Colonel William O. Marks, Commanding Officer, Detachment 27. Ilopango, El Salvador.’” He looked up slowly, his eyes flashing with anger.

“General Marks,” Claire said, “is every word of what you just read the truth as you remembered it on 22 June 1985? Or is there anything you want to change?”

For several seconds they glared at each other.

Then General Marks turned to the judge. “Your Honor,” he said, “I’d like to speak with my attorney before I answer that question.”

“Your Honor,” Waldron said, standing, “we need a recess for the witness to consult his attorney.”

“Members,” Farrell said, “will you excuse us?”

As the members were escorted out by the bailiff, the courtroom exploded in a maelstrom of voices.

47

“Your Honor,” Waldron demanded, “I’d like to have the defense counsel state for the record, as an officer of the court, how long she’s had this memorandum, and where she got it.”