The Tears of Dark Water (62 page)

Megan took a step closer to him. “But you moved the ship, Captain. You moved the ship without telling him when he was counting the money.”

Redman’s nose began to twitch. “The proximity of the ship wasn’t relevant to the deal. Your client overreacted. He treated it as an excuse to ignore his obligations.”

Megan didn’t blink. “Isn’t it true that Paul Derrick told you not to move the ship?”

The SEAL commander’s twitch increased. “That was his advice, yes.”

“The most experienced hostage negotiator in the United States government told you not to move the ship, and you ignored him, correct?”

Redman’s eyes filled with loathing. “In my mind it was imperative to reinforce to the pirates that they weren’t the ones in control.”

Megan lowered her voice a notch. “But isn’t it true that
you
weren’t in control? They had the hostages, and you couldn’t reach them.”

At once, Redman lost his composure. “We
were
in control! We had jets and helicopters and snipers and small boats and a ten-thousand-ton warship. We gave them the chance to do the right thing. They chose to go down in flames.”

This was the opening Megan had been waiting for. She went for the jugular. “Paul Derrick predicted it, didn’t he? He told you the hostages were in danger, and you ignored him a second time.”

For an instant, Redman looked like he was about to lash out again, but he managed to rein in his emotions. “Ms. Derrick, I don’t care what you think of me. I would have given my life to save Daniel and Quentin Parker. We were four miles from the Somali coast and drifting toward Mogadishu. We were out of time. The pirates broke their word. I had to act.”

It was a good response, better than Megan expected, but it wasn’t enough to save him. “Yes, you did,” she said. “You just made the wrong choice.”

After lunch, Clyde Barrington called Mas to the stand. The bailiff brought the pirate into the courtroom through the back door and showed him where to sit. He was dressed in a mustard-yellow jumpsuit and rubber sandals, and his hair looked like it had just been cut. The scar on his right cheek was beige in contrast to the toffee-colored complexion of his skin. He smiled at the jury with his teeth, then looked around at the judge and the stenographer and the lawyers and the packed gallery before his eyes landed on Ismail. Megan saw the wordless exchange take place, the dare Mas presented—
Talk all you want; who are they going to believe?
She wanted to wring his neck.

For the next two hours, Barrington led Mas through the story of the hijacking, the negotiation, the ransom drop, and the shooting with the assistance of Sado, the white-haired interpreter. As Megan had feared, the young Somali was a powerful witness, and the jury hung on his every word, especially when he fingered Ismail, whom he called “Afyareh,” as Daniel’s killer. When the prosecutor finished his examination, Judge McKenzie called a fifteen-minute recess and then assembled everyone again.

“Ms. Derrick,” the judge said, “we’ll go until you’re finished.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Megan said.

She stood up and went to the podium, feeling the tension in the courtroom. Hundreds of eyes were on her, waiting to see how she would confront Ismail’s accuser.

“Your father didn’t name you Mas,” she began. “That’s a nickname, isn’t it?”

“
Ha
,” he said, and Sado interpreted: “Yes.”

“What does Mas mean in Somali?”

The pirate grinned and spoke a handful of words. “It means snake,” Sado said.

“Any particular kind of snake?”

“No.”

Megan surveyed the jury. “Have you ever seen a spitting cobra?”

Mas nodded. “It is red like desert rock.”

Megan tilted her head. “Spitting cobras eject venom from their fangs, don’t they? They shoot for the eyes and they’re remarkably accurate.”

“Yes,” Mas affirmed.

“If a person gets venom in his eyes, do you know what happens to him?”

Mas looked at her keenly. “He goes blind.”

Megan smiled, speaking her next words to the jury. “A
mas
that inflicts blindness. How intriguing.” When she saw Clyde Barrington about to object, she moved on quickly. “Gedef, the leader of your pirate crew, was your cousin, correct?”

“Yes,” Mas replied. “His father and my father are brothers.”

“You were close to Gedef before he died?”

The young Somali sat taller in his chair. “He trusted me.”

“But he didn’t put you in command of the second skiff, did he? He gave that job to Afyareh.”

Mas glanced at Ismail and the muscles in his jaw tightened. “Afyareh spoke good English, and he was talented with a gun. He was boss after Gedef.”

“You resented Afyareh for that, didn’t you? In fact, you still resent him for it?”

“No, no,” Mas responded eagerly.

On her internal scoreboard, Megan notched another point. “Let’s talk about your family. Isn’t it true that Gedef’s father was a senior officer in the Somali National Security Service under Siad Barre?”

“Yes,” Mas confirmed. “He was close to Barre.”

“The NSS was the Somali equivalent of the Russian KGB, am I right?”

“Yes,” Mas said.

Megan left the podium and moved toward the witness stand. “I did some reading about the Barre regime. Isn’t it true that the NSS kidnapped people from their homes in the middle of the night, detained them without trial, and tortured them until they confessed to spying on the government?”

When Mas heard the translation, his lips spread into a nervous smile. “I am sure my uncle didn’t do those things. He is a good man.”

Clearly, “good” is a relative term
, Megan thought. “Gedef’s father is still a prominent man in Somalia, isn’t he?”

“He is a businessman,” Mas replied. “He has interests in many things—mobile phone networks,
hawala
money transfer service, livestock, shipping.”

Megan crossed her arms. “Isn’t it true that he was also the primary source of funding for Gedef’s piracy missions?”

Suddenly, Mas’s smile expanded and his eyes shifted toward the corner of the gallery.
I’ll be damned
, Megan thought, picturing the man in the blue-checked shirt.
Ismail was right.

“I don’t know where Gedef got his money,” Mas said at last. “My uncle is not a criminal.”

“What about
your
father?” Megan asked. “Isn’t it true that he invested in piracy?”

“No, no,” Mas replied, his smile swallowing his words.

“Isn’t it true that many of your relatives invested money in Gedef’s missions?”

Mas shook his head. “No, no, no
.
”

Megan stepped closer. “You’re afraid of them, aren’t you? That’s why you’re lying to me.”

“No, no,” Mas responded, his eyes darting around. “I’m telling the truth.”

Megan shook her head in mock wonderment. “You have reason to be afraid of them, don’t you? They think you stole from them.”

Mas looked at her in shock, the smile on his face set in concrete.

“In fact, your uncle isn’t just a passive bystander,” she continued. “He sent a representative from your clan to this very courtroom to see what you would say.” She turned around and pointed at the seat where the man in the blue-checked shirt had been sitting. Her jaw dropped in astonishment.

The man was gone.

All at once, conversation broke out in the gallery. Judge McKenzie sat paralyzed for a moment, then struck her gavel twice and ordered everyone to be quiet. She glared at Megan and called a sidebar. Megan approached the bench with Barrington who looked as unsettled as she had ever seen him.

“What is the meaning of this?” the judge demanded in a whisper.

“Your Honor,” Megan said, “I have reason to believe that this witness is protecting some powerful people in Somalia, people who stand to lose a great deal if they are implicated in piracy. I have a right to impeach him. He’s a criminal and a pathological liar.”

“Are you aware of this?” the judge asked Barrington.

The prosecutor shook his head. “I’m as perplexed as you are, Your Honor.”

“Did you notice the Somali man in the back corner?” Megan asked. “He isn’t connected to my client, but he’s been here every day of the trial. He was here this morning. Now he’s gone.”

The judge nodded. “He walked out just before you asked the question.”

“I don’t have proof,” Megan said. “But I’m certain he’s from Mas’s clan.”

“Those are very serious allegations,” the judge said. “But for the moment they are ancillary to the case. I won’t permit a sideshow. Please wrap this up soon.” She turned to Barrington. “And, Clyde, I suggest you get someone to look into this. I don’t like it.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Megan and Barrington said almost simultaneously.

When everyone was situated again, Megan turned back to Mas. “Do you know the man who was sitting in the corner of the gallery until a few minutes ago?”

The pirate’s plastic smile didn’t slip. “What man?”

Megan traded a look with the judge. Then she moved on. “During the hijacking of the
Renaissance
, did you ever place a call to your uncle on the satellite phone?”

Mas looked at her strangely. “Why would I call him?”

“Did you ever tell Afyareh to call your uncle?”

Mas glanced at Ismail, then shook his head. “
Maya
. Afyareh was boss.”

“You’ve said that before, but I don’t believe you. The whole story you told the jury about the shooting is a lie, isn’t it?”

“No, no,” Mas said, turning his smile toward the jury. “I am telling the truth.”

“Isn’t it true that Afyareh didn’t kill the Captain. You did.”

Mas shook his head aggressively. “Afyareh did it. Afyareh was Shabaab.”

“That’s another lie, isn’t it?” Megan spat back. “You’re aware, are you not, that Afyareh was
kidnapped
by the Shabaab? They forced him to fight, but he escaped.”

Mas kept shaking his head. “Afyareh did it. Afyareh shot the Captain.”

Megan looked at the jurors and saw that they were with her. But they wanted something more—a smoking gun. It was the one thing she couldn’t give them.

“What weapon did Afyareh use on the Captain?” she asked quietly.

The pirate shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Was it the same weapon he used to shoot Quentin, who you call ‘Timaha’?”

Mas blinked. “I don’t know.”

Megan gave him a damning look. “If it turned out that the gun that shot the Captain was different from the gun that shot Timaha, how would you explain that?”

Mas didn’t answer the question. “Afyareh did it,” he said. “Afyareh was Shabaab.”

Megan gave him a look of patent repugnance, and then dismissed him with a wave. “I’m finished with this witness.”

Vanessa

Norfolk, Virginia

July 2012

Vanessa found it strange that in twenty years of being married to a lawyer she had never been to a trial before. She didn’t attend all of the proceedings, just the days Curtis suggested. She watched the witnesses come and go: Captain Masters, Paul Derrick, the SEAL captain, the pirate whose nickname was Mas, the SEAL petty officer who was the first to board the
Renaissance
, the helicopter pilot who airlifted Quentin to the
Truman
,
Dr. Alvarez, who operated on him, Dr. Hancock, who pronounced Daniel dead, and Dr. Carl Attaway, a forensic scientist from the FBI’s Firearms and Toolmarks Unit, who formed the conclusion that two guns had been used, not one. The rest of the parade—the pirates, sailors, investigators, technicians, and scientists—she didn’t care about.

Sometimes the testimony set her blood boiling; sometimes it turned her heart to ice; other times it precipitated a hasty trip to the bathroom to conceal her tears. After the first few days, she found herself confused and emotionally adrift. Paul’s testimony and Megan’s withering cross-examinations of the SEAL captain and Mas had hopelessly muddied the clear river of her judgment. She heard Ismail’s voice ringing in her head:
Back off or we will eat them like meat!
But now she knew the context—the clandestine approach of the
Gettysburg
while the pirates were counting the cash. She felt an indefinable rage toward the SEAL captain for acting preemptively and a deep sense of unease about Mas. What if what Megan alleged was true? Could the government have accused the wrong man?

The hardest part for her was listening to the doctors from the
Truman
describe Daniel’s wounds. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the post-mortem photographs, but judging by the way Curtis stiffened and Yvonne began to cry, she knew they were gruesome. On the flipside, she felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude toward the Navy doctors for saving Quentin’s life. What they had accomplished in pulling her son back from the brink was nothing short of a miracle. After Dr. Alvarez testified, she met him in the hallway and gave him a hug. “I can’t tell you how thankful I am,” she told him. “Because of you I still have hope.”