The Simple Truth (44 page)

A collective gasp went up from the general public’s seats as they heard this, and the spectators started talking to each other. Perkins actually had to bang his gavel, an almost unheard-of event.

As Fiske sat there and listened, it occurred to him how important this case was. Rufus Harms had filed an appeal with this Court. Was he also seeking to sue the Army? Something terrible had happened to him while in the military. Certain men had done something to him that had ruined his life and resulted in the death of a little girl. Rufus wanted his freedom, wanted justice. He had the truth on his side, Rufus had proclaimed. And yet even with the truth, under the current law, it didn’t matter. Just like Sergeant Stanley, Private Rufus Harms would lose.

Knight continued, secretly well pleased with the audience’s reaction.
“The psychologist was employed by the CIA. The CIA and the Army had undertaken a joint effort on the study of the drug’s effects, because the CIA had received reports that the Soviet Union had stockpiled the drug and the Army wanted to know how it might be used against its soldiers in wartime. That sort of thing. Stanley, who rightly blamed the Army for destroying his life, sued. His case finally made it to the Supreme Court.”
She paused.
“And he lost.”

Another gasp came from the public.

Fiske looked around at Sara. Her eyes were still fixed on Knight. Fiske peered over at Ramsey. He was livid.

“In effect, what you’re asking is for this court to deny to Barbara Chance and similar plaintiffs one of the most cherished constitutional rights we possess as a people: the right to our day in court. Isn’t that what you’re asking? Letting the guilty go unpunished?”

“Mr. Anderson,”
Ramsey broke in.
“What has happened to the men who perpetrated these sexual assaults?”

“At least one has been court-martialed, found guilty and imprisoned,”
Anderson again promptly replied.

Ramsey smiled triumphantly.
“So hardly unpunished.”

“Mr. Anderson, the record below clearly establishes that the actions for which the man was imprisoned have been going on for a very long time and were known to higher-ups in the Army, who declined to take any action. In point of fact only when Barbara Chance went to the local police did an investigation ensue. So tell me, have the guilty been punished?”

“I would say it depends on your definition of guilt.”

“Who’s policing the military, Mr. Anderson? To make sure what happened to Sergeant Stanley doesn’t happen again?”

“The military is policing itself. And doing a good job.”

“
Stanley
was decided in 1986. Since that time we’ve had Tailhook, the still-unexplained incidents in the Persian Gulf War, and now the rape of female Army personnel. Do you call that doing a good job?”

“Well, every large organization will have small pockets of trouble.”

Knight bristled.
“I rather doubt if the victims of these crimes would describe them as small pockets of trouble.”

“Of course, I didn’t mean — ”

“When I alluded to extending immunity to police, firemen, hospitals, you didn’t agree with that, did you?”

“No. Too many exceptions to the rule disproves the rule.”

“You recall the
Challenger
explosion, of course?”
Anderson nodded.
“The survivors of the civilians on board the shuttle were entitled to sue the government, and the contractor that built the shuttle, for damages. However, the families of the military personnel on board were denied that right because of the immunity granted to the military by this court. Do you consider that fair?”

Anderson fell back upon the old reliable.
“If we allow lawsuits against the military it will unnecessarily complicate the national security of this country.”

“And that’s really the whole ball of wax,”
Ramsey said, pleased that Anderson had raised the point.
“It’s a balancing act, and this court has already determined where that balance lies.”

“Precisely, Mr. Chief Justice,”
Anderson said.
“It’s bedrock law.”

Knight almost smiled.
“Really? I thought bedrock law was the constitutional right of citizens of this country to seek redress of their grievances before the courts. No immunity from suit was granted to the military by any law of this country. Congress did not see fit to do it. In fact, it was this court in 1950 which invented, out of broadcloth, such specialized treatment, and they apparently did so, in part, because they were afraid that allowing such suits would bankrupt the U.S. Treasury. I would hardly call that bedrock.”

“However, it is the controlling precedent now,”
Ramsey pointed out.

“Precedents change,”
Knight replied,
“particularly if they’re wrong.”
Ramsey’s words truly irked her, since the chief justice had no problem overturning precedents of long standing when it suited him.

Anderson said,
“With all due respect, I think the military is better suited to handle this matter internally, Justice Knight.”

“Mr. Anderson, do you dispute this court’s jurisdiction or authority to hear and decide this case?”

“Of course not.”

“This court has to determine whether serving your country in the military ironically carries the price of stripping away virtually all protections one has as a citizen.”

“I wouldn’t phrase it quite that way.”

“However, I would, Mr. Anderson. It’s really a question of justice.”
She locked eyes with Ramsey.
“And if we can’t deliver justice here, then I truly despair to think of where one could find it.”

As Fiske listened to these impassioned words, he looked again at Sara. As though she somehow knew he was looking, she glanced at him.

Fiske had the strong sense that she was thinking the same thing he was: Even if they somehow solved this whole mystery and the truth finally came out, would Rufus Harms ever really find justice?

Josh Harms finished his sandwich and then idly smoked a cigarette as he watched his brother doze in the front seat of the truck. They were parked on an old logging road in a dense forest. Driving through the night, they had finally stopped because Josh could barely keep his eyes open, and he didn’t trust his brother to drive, since Rufus hadn’t been behind the wheel of a vehicle for almost thirty years. Besides, when they were on the road, Rufus, for obvious reasons, had to be in the back of the truck. Rufus had kept watch while his brother had dozed and now Josh had taken up the sentinel.

They had talked during the drive about what they were going to do. Much to his own surprise, Josh found himself arguing that they shouldn’t go to Mexico.

“What the hell’s going on with you? I didn’t think you’d want any part of that. You said you didn’t,”
Rufus had said in wonderment.

“I didn’t. But once we made up our mind — hell, once I made up
my
mind — then all I’m saying is we should stick to it. I don’t like being no wimp on shit like that. If you’re going to do something, then you should do it.”

“Look, Josh, if Fiske hadn’t thought real fast, we’d both be dead right now. I don’t want you on my conscience.”

“See, that’s where you ain’t thinking. Hell, it ain’t going to get any worse than it is. Why don’t we see what we can do to help it get better? You were right: They deserve what’s coming to ’em. Seeing those two boys at Rider’s office, I almost shot ’em down in cold blood, and I ain’t never done nothing like that in my whole life. Fiske and that woman, they stood up for us. Maybe they’re shooting straight.”

Rufus had stared at him.
“And you don’t have a problem with them?”

“What the hell, you think I’m racist?”
Josh had pulled out a cigarette as he said this, a grin lighting his face.

“I can’t figure you out, Josh.”

“You ain’t got to figure me out. I ain’t figured me out, and I’ve had a long time to do it. All you got to do is decide if you want to go to Mexico or you want to stick it out. And don’t worry about me. If there’s anybody that can take care of himself, then you’re looking at him.”

That had done it, and as soon as his brother woke up, they were going to head back toward Virginia, hook up with Fiske and see what they could do. If it was proof that was needed, then they could get proof, somehow, some way, Josh believed. They had the truth on their side, and if that still didn’t count for something, then they might as well go ahead and get themselves shot up.

Josh eyed the surrounding woods. The leaves had already started to turn here, and the way the sunlight cut and dipped through the foliage presented a pleasing combination of colors and textures. He often sat in the woods when hunting; he’d find an old log and rest his bones, taking in the simple beauty of the country, a marvel that didn’t cost you a dime. After coming back from Southeast Asia, he had avoided the woods for several years. In Vietnam, the trees, the dirt, everything around you meant death by some of the most ingenious methods the Vietnamese could devise. He checked his watch. Another ten minutes and they would have to be on their way.

He looked back out the window and squinted as the sunlight reflected off something and hurt his eyes. He sucked in his next breath instead of letting it go, spit his cigarette out the window, started the engine and put the truck in gear.

“What the hell,”
Rufus said as he was jolted awake.

“Get your gun and keep your damn head down,”
Josh hollered at him.
“It’s Tremaine.”

Rufus gripped his pistol and ducked down.

Tremaine charged from the woods and opened fire. The first shots from the machine gun hit the tailgate of the truck, blowing out one of the lights and riddling the frame with holes. A cone of dirt kicked up in the truck’s wake and momentarily blinded Tremaine, who stopped shooting and ran forward, trying desperately to get a clear field of fire on the truck.

Sensing what Tremaine was trying to do, Josh cut the wheel to the left and the truck went off-road and onto what appeared to be the dry remains of a shallow creek bed. It was a good move for another reason, as Rayfield came flying down the road in the Jeep from the other direction, trying to box the truck in.

Rayfield stopped to let Tremaine climb in and they went after the truck.

“How in the hell did they catch up to us?”
Rufus wondered aloud.

“Ain’t no sense wasting time thinking about that. They’re here,”
Josh shot back. He glanced in the rearview mirror and his eyes narrowed. The Jeep was more nimble and better built to maneuver through the woods than the bulky truck.

“They’re going to shoot out the tires and then they got us like sitting ducks,”
Rufus said.

“Yeah, well, Vic should’ve shot those tires out first thing. That was his second mistake.”

“What was his first?”

“Letting the sunlight hit his binoculars. I saw that long before I spotted that little bastard.”

“Let’s hope they keep making mistakes.”

“We count on ourselves, and hope that’s enough.”

Back in the Jeep, Tremaine hung out the side and fired his weapon. The machine gun wasn’t really worth a spit long-range, although in close quarters it could take out an entire platoon of men in a few seconds; he wanted just two. He slipped the machine gun strap off his shoulder and pulled out his sidearm.

“Get as close as you can,”
he barked to a very nervous-looking Rayfield.
“If I can take out one of their tires, they’ll plow right into a tree and our problems are over.”

Rufus looked back through the window in the camper and saw what Tremaine was attempting to do. He slid open the glass separating the cab from the interior of the camper and drew a bead on the Jeep. He had not touched a gun in almost thirty years, basic training with a rifle his last experience with a firearm. When he fired, the explosion pierced his ears, the truck’s cabin immediately full of the sickening fumes of burned metal, flashed powder. The bullet shattered the rear glass door of the camper shell and then flew at the Jeep like an angry, metal-jacketed hornet. Tremaine ducked back into his vehicle and the Jeep swerved a little.

“Hit anything?”
Josh asked.

“Bought us a little time.”
Rufus’s hand was shaking, and he rubbed at his ears.
“I forgot how loud these things are.”

“Try firing an M-16 for three years. They’re real loud, especially when they explode in your face. Hold on.”

Josh cut the wheel to the right and then to the left to avoid several trees that had toppled across the creek bed. Beyond was a mass of scrub pines, oaks and brambles. With the Jeep closing in, Tremaine was again taking up his shooting position. Josh cut the truck to the right and through a narrow cleft in the trees and brush, leaves and slender branches slapping and tearing at the truck. But the maneuver had its intended effect because Tremaine had to duck back inside the Jeep to avoid having his head torn off by a tree limb.

The Jeep slowed down. The narrow lane ahead opened up a little, and Josh decided to take advantage, hoping Rayfield was losing a little of his nerve.

“Hold the wheel,”
he shouted to his brother.

Rufus gripped the steering wheel hard, alternating between looking at his brother and eyeing where the truck was heading.

Josh pulled his pistol and scanned the trees ahead. They were on a fairly level bit of ground now, so the truck didn’t rock as much. He gripped the pistol with both hands, doing his best to figure distance and speed, and then selected what he wanted: a thick oak branch high up on a forty-footer. The branch was at least twenty feet long and four inches thick, with other, smaller branches growing from it, and it hung directly over the narrow lane. What had drawn Josh’s attention was the fact that the branch was so long and heavy it had started to crack where it was attached to the trunk.

Josh slid his arm out the window, kept it parallel to the truck, took aim and started firing. The first bullet hit the tree trunk directly above where the branch joined it. Having now gauged the trajectory, Josh continued to fire, and each bullet after that hit squarely at the juncture of branch and trunk as the truck hurtled closer. For him it wasn’t that extraordinary a display of marksmanship. As a game, he had been shooting at tree branches since he was old enough to carry a.22 rifle. Scaring coons and squirrels, having fun. Still, he had never attempted it in a moving vehicle with two men shooting at him.