Darkroom (35 page)

“No. It doesn’t. Not a night passes that I’m not haunted by the faces of those I’ve killed. You’d think that twenty years of clean living might mitigate some of that, but it doesn’t. But why is God punishing my little boy? It’s the sins of the father revisiting the son, I tell you.”

Carrick is suddenly quiet. I didn’t expect it, but something’s changed in his demeanor. The rage has been replaced with—I don’t know—resignation. “Some sins are unforgivable, aren’t they?”

“Indeed.”

“And everything you’ve done for Colson, you did to protect your family.”

“Precisely.”

“Dammit, Mortimer, that’s what it was like for me too.”

“What are you on about?”

Carrick tells me about Colson’s blackmail for the past three decades. As he does this, a bridge of solidarity forms over the gulf of suffering each of us has experienced and caused. A perverse solidarity at that.

“In a strange way,” says Carrick, “if one could remove the emotions, I’d say you and I have more that unites us than divides.”

“I’ve nothing against you or your daughter personally. And if it makes any difference whatsoever, I am sorry.” I pull a hunting knife from the sheath on my belt. This makes him back away abruptly. “I’m going to release you now.”

Confused, he blinks. “How do you know I’m not going to turn around and kill you?”

“I don’t.” He cuts the plastic tie wraps from my wrists. Then the duct tape strapped around my ankles. “But I trust you won’t.”

We eye each other with suspicion, but at the same time, we’re
two lost soldiers, once opponents, now facing a common enemy.

Rubbing his wrists, Carrick doesn’t attempt to hurt me. Nor does he flee. “My wife used to quote this verse from the Bible: ‘For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.’”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That’s the problem with eidetic memory. I can recall perfectly all the images I see, all the words I hear, but not necessarily their meaning. She quoted that verse every time we got in an argument. I think she was reminding herself not to get into personal conflicts. But to do battle with her own personal demons.”

“A wise woman.” I offer him a cigarette, which he declines.

“Beyond her years.”

“Listen, Peter. Right now, I daresay we share similar goals. If Colson’s willing to kill me, and anyone who could possibly expose him, there’s nothing to stop him from going after Nicole and Bobby. He’s already after your daughter. No matter what happens to you and me, we must protect them.”

“Agreed. But how do you stop the most powerful man in the world?”

“There is a way. But it’s going to cost us.”

84

CNN.com

AP Press Release

The nation witnessed a landmark event in American history yesterday as Independent candidate Richard Colson won the election for president of the United States. History will mark him as the first Independent Party candidate elected since George Washington.

Coast to coast, victory parties ran straight through the morning, hailing the man everyone believes will lead the nation out of these troubled times of economic, military, and cultural decline.

President Bush called President-elect Colson this morning to congratulate him and offer the cooperation of his office for a smooth transition until his swearing-in on January 20, next year.

The mood around the country is one of excitement. Young and old, people of diverse cultures all have expressed great expectations for Colson, who has been called “the California Maverick,” and still remembered by Vietnam veterans as “Thundering Rick.”

85

GRACE TH’AM AI LE

Del Mar, California: November 5, 2007

My doctor has found a massive tumor in my brain. It is malignant and inoperable. They are amazed at my strength, considering the pain.

All I can say is “His grace is sufficient for me.” But I know my time draws near. I have already exceeded my predicted survival period. I believe this is because I have unsettled business to attend to.

I have come to realize that the spiritual gifts that were given me were for one reason: to help others. For some time, I believed they were mostly for personal benefit—wisdom, comfort, direction, reassurance. Until now, what I failed to see was that these gifts were also there to reveal truth to me.

One of the greatest truths I have come to understand is that I must forgive Peter. Even now, he has not told me what he holds in his heart—or perhaps what in his heart holds him.

I suppose I rationalized, thinking,
How can I forgive him for something he doesn’t admit?
It is not just the classified business meetings, but the choices he made. The distancing from his family. For this, I must forgive him.

And I do.

If there is one thing I can impart to my beloved husband and daughter it is this: Seek the truth. It will set you free.

I have.

I have requested that a letter I wrote to Xandi several years ago be sealed and given to her only after my death, along with this journal. Perhaps when the time is right, my exhortation will shed more light for both her and Peter.

I pray they will find both truth and freedom.

I had one last vision, lying here in my bed, while my husband finally fell asleep in the chair by my bed. It was a glorious vision, too beautiful for words. It’s Peter’s Pacific sunset, the open window to the eternal.

No longer afraid.

I am coming home.

86

AP Press Release

COLSON ADMINISTRATION’S PLAN FOR

GITMO CLOSURE

An unofficial leak from the Colson team indicates that the closing of the Guantanamo Bay Detention Camp will be high on the list of executive orders under his new administration.

In his proposed plan, some of the suspected terrorist detainees will be released, while the majority of those remaining will be tried in United States criminal courts.

Denouncing the idea of creating a new court to handle the cases most entangled in highly classified information, the Colson administration will provide added information-security measures and safeguards for detainees, to prevent any abuse endemic to closed and anonymous military tribunals.

At the same time, the plan is said to ensure the security of classified information pertaining to national security. Advisers directly involved
with this plan spoke on condition of anonymity because it has not yet been finalized.

This plan rides on the heels of the recent arrest of domestic terror suspect Xandra Carrick. Daughter of famed photojournalist Peter Carrick, Ms. Carrick has been charged with conspiracy and an assassination attempt on President-elect Colson. In addition, she has been charged with the murders of at least two veterans who served with Colson during the Vietnam War.

Carrick is also accused of murdering her father. Details have yet to be released, but a spokesperson for the prosecution speculates that the murder charges will be accompanied by terrorism charges.

Colson’s plan to transition away from military tribunals will not take effect until the order is signed after his inauguration in January.

87

XANDRA COLSON

Naval Consolidated Brig
Marine Corps Air Station, San Diego, California

It’s been about a week since I was transferred to the Marine Corps Air Station’s Brig. I’ve heard people here refer to this place as NAVCONBRIG. According to the staff, it’s home to the Department of Defense Women’s Correctional Facility, the only one in the military that is designated for female offenders.

I’m dazed, uncertain of what to do. Everything’s happening so fast. I can only imagine that Dad is gone. God only knows what kind of evidence Colson has manufactured to pin his death, and the deaths of the other vets, on me.

Colson’s managed to keep his atrocities hidden for thirty-five years, and with all his political power, virtually limitless personal resources, and an unprecedented approval rating as a senator that’s sure to transfer over to his presidency, there’s no way I’m going to beat the charges.

I’ve been here overnight in a six-by-twelve cell with a tiny window in the door and another on the outer wall. I wasn’t permitted a phone call. I was told it is a privilege, not a right. Who would I call, anyway? Even if I knew lawyers on the West Coast, I’m broke. I’ve declined counsel by a military defense lawyer, but I shudder to think what kind I’ll get from the list of civilian criminal defense attorneys.

The cell door opens, causing my heart to climb into my throat.
A pair of armed guards stands at the door as the female uniformed staff steps in. “You have a visitor.”

The chains on my feet scrape the ground as we walk through the hall and arrive at the door to a conference room. I’ve never had my hands cuffed before, and when I see the young man seated at the desk, I make a pathetic attempt to hide them. These chains make me feel like an animal.

He stands, nearly trips in his haste to meet me at the door. “Ah, Ms. Carrick! John Morgenstern.” He extends his hand to shake, but because of the manacles, all I can offer are my fingertips.

Which he actually takes and wiggles. “Pleased to meet you. I’m your appointed counsel for the tribunal next week.”

“Next week? How’s that possible?”

“Yeah, I tried to get a continuance, due to the ridiculously short discovery period. But look who we’re up against. Doesn’t work that way.”

“Figures.” I’m led to a table where I sit, with my chains fastened to an eye screw in the floor.

John Morgenstern rubs the bristles on his unshaved face and rolls his eyes. “I’m going to let you know this up front. I’m a first-year associate at my firm, and my boss, a senior partner, threw me into the lions’ den because no one else would touch this case. And I—being at the portion of the totem pole where the sun don’t shine—was handed the short straw in this month’s
pro bono
lot.”

“I would think they’d be happy to sink their teeth into a high profile case like this.”

“You would think. But the fact is, Lawrence S. Goldman, president of the National Association of Criminal Defense Lawyers, has advised its eleven thousand members not to act as civilian counsel for tribunals like this.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, there’s no way I can guarantee attorney-client privilege. Everything you and I discuss is monitored by the government for intelligence purposes. On top of that, I can’t say a word to the press without permission from the DOD. Not exactly
a gag order, but it covers more than just classified information that might be involved in the trial.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“While my hands are tied—and most would argue that I can’t provide a zealous or ethical defense under tribunal rules—with me, you have one thing going for you.”

“Your charm? Don’t tell me. You could sell the Brooklyn Bridge to the pope, and he’d buy the extended warranty with it.”

“You’re something.” He chuckles and wags a finger at me. “I was going to say that the advantage of having me as your attorney is that I hate to lose.”

“As opposed to being represented by someone who loves to?”

“I’ve never lost a criminal case yet.”

“How many have you won?”

“Did I mention that I graduated with honors, top of my class at Cornell Law?”

“John, please tell me you’ve won all your cases.”

“Okay, look. I second chaired for Jody Bauer of Bauer & Associates for all but one of them. So in a way, they weren’t all my losses. And our clients got significantly reduced sentences because they pled out.”

“Somehow, you’re not inspiring a great deal of confidence.”

“But I won my first case just last month. It was a capital, and I got my client a full acquittal. Made one heck of a closing argument. I can do this.”

Sitting silent, staring into his sea-green eyes, I’m at a total loss. I don’t know if asking for a more experienced attorney will do much good, even if I were allowed. But he’s representing me for free, and that’s all I can afford. It’s John Morgenstern or an appointed military attorney.

88

I’m going crazy in here. For the past three days, I haven’t spoken to anyone but interrogators about the most insane charges imaginable. “When did you first make contact with al-Qaeda?” “Who was your cell leader in Iraq?” “Where did you get the materials for the dirty bomb you intended for the presidential inauguration?”

These are the charges.

The imagination behind the elaborate fabrication of evidence is worthy of a Tom Clancy thriller. Nothing I’ve said seems to help. What good is it for a suspected terrorist to explain that the president-elect is a mass murderer? The truth is doing anything but setting me free.

My first hearing is today. I’m frustrated to no end that I’ve been able to speak with John Morgenstern only twice. He says he’s trying to limit our communication due to the monitoring. I’ve told him my side of the story, even the visions I’ve had. But I can’t tell if he believes me or not. He just takes notes and once in a while says, “Hmmm …”

I’ve just finished breakfast. Eggs and a biscuit served on a plastic tray. So far, life as a detainee isn’t as bad as one might imagine. By far the worst part is the anxiety, the isolation. Plenty of
time for my thoughts and feelings and imagination to get well acquainted. That isn’t a good thing.

I miss Dad. Did we ever reconcile? Everything happened so quickly, and now he’s gone. I never got to tell him how much I really do love him, despite the troubles we had. But now that I understand why he had to distance himself, all those years of resentment seem to wash away, leaving regret in their wake. How awful it must have been for him to carry around that kind of guilt all those years. And with his photographic memory, it’s no wonder he couldn’t sleep. All those horrific memories from Bình Sơn, alive in his head. He never got to redeem himself.