Word of Honor (61 page)

"All fight!" Tyson stood. "All right, Vince. Enough. For God's sake, enough."

Both men stood in silence for some time. Then Corva walked over to Tyson and, to Tyson's utter amazement, embraced him.

Tyson stiffened, not knowing what to do. He hadn't been embraced by a man or embraced a man since ... Vietnam. He moved his arms awkwardly and patted Corva on the back.

Corva stepped away. "Sorry ... you know how Italians are.

Tyson cleared his throat. "Oh, it's all right. I was getting . . .

emotional too. "

Corva took a deep breath. "And those were only the offenses that are indictable today-the murders. There were other things-4he beatings, the sexual ... well, you know." He looked at Tyson. "Why did I let him do it three times before I put a stop to it, Ben? Why?"

Tyson replied, "Because you didn't believe what you were seeing the first two times."

Corva nodded quickly. "Yes. Yes, that was it. I guess . . . ...

Tyson rubbed his face and said wearily, "Is that about it? I mean, are we finished here?"

Corva began packing his briefcase. He said, "This is Monday night . . . the Article 32 hearing convenes Friday

WORD OF HONOR * 473

morning. I guess we ought to talk about that next time. See what we can do about not getting you indicted."

Tyson said, "I might be a free man by Friday afternoon.

Corva nodded. "Might be."

"And they will probably release me from duty the following week. "

"Probably."

"Except none of that is going to happen, is it?"

"Probably not."

Tyson could see that Corva was both upset and drunk and had become taciturn.

Corva picked up his briefcase and walked to the door. He said, "I tried to get you a pass to meet me in the city tomorrow. But I think Colonel Hill thinks if you skip out, his career will be over. And he's fight."

"I'm not running."

"I know that. But they don't know you. So I'll be here tomorrow, sometime before noon. Will you be here?"

Tyson forced a smile. "Call my secretary, and she'll give you my schedule for the morning."

"Right." Corva opened the door and drew in a long breath. He looked back at Tyson. "I broke my rule. About war stories. Sony."

"It's okay."

"Won't happen again. " He stepped onto the stoop. "Kiss your wife good-bye when she leaves for work tomorrow. Kiss your son too."

"Can you drive?"

"No. I'll take a cab." Corva walked unsteadily down the path.

Tyson watched him turn toward the main gate. He said softly to himself,

"God, do we all have blood on our hands? Did anyone return from that place with his honor intact?"

Corva, he thought, like so many of them, had seemed to come through it without a scratch until you looked inside his head.

The rain beat heavily against the windows. Tyson

threw the morn-

and turned on the television, then shut it off. He poured himself another coffee but did not drink it, then lit another cigarette and stubbed it out. "Damn 38 it!"

- He stared at the broken windowpane and smelled the damp cool air that blew in. He paced the length of the living room: five paces, turned around, five paces. He dropped to the floor and did thirty push-ups. He stood and wiped his face with the sleeve of his gray sweat suit. The sweat suit was grimy, and he wondered if he was allowed to go to the post Laundromat, or if he had to send his son after school or his wife after work.

His eyes focused on a bud vase atop the TV in which was a single yellow tea rose. Somehow the idea of that flower in this dismal place offended him.

Marcy's efforts

474

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to make the place a home angered him. He picked up the vase and went to the front door as the door bell rang. He stood motionless, resisting the urge to answer it quickly. It was probably Corva, and he could stand in the rain awhile. Good for his character. The door bell rang again. Tyson waited a full minute, then opened the door.

Vincent Corva hurried in and closed his umbrella. He looked at the vase and tea rose in Tyson's hands. "For me?"

Tyson opened the door again and threw the bud vase out on the lawn.

Corva said, "Hell of a day for the first day of school. I had to march my kids to the bus at gunpoint. - He took off his black raincoat. "Reminds me of a monsoon I once walked in for two months. Did you have the monsoon up north?"

"I don't remember." Tyson took Corva's raincoat and hung it in the minuscule coat closet.

Corva observed, "Everything is small here. This place is so small you have to go outside to change your mind." Corva moved into the living room.

Tyson looked at his watch. "It's noon. What kept you?"

Corva put his briefcase on the coffee table. "Traffic. I said before noon."

"It's after noon. Five after."

"Your secretary said for lunch." He looked at Tyson. "Are you stir crazy?"

Tyson didn't reply.

Corva opened his briefcase and took out a brown paper bag. "My wife made sandwiches. Italian cold cuts, provolone, and caponata. I want you to taste this."

"I'm not hungry. I'm bored. I can't even take a walk in this fucking weather. -

"Well, you have to walk to post headquarters to sign in. That's a nice break in the day." Corva began unwrapping the sandwiches.

"Fuck post headquarteKs. I haven't signed in for three days. -

Corva looked at him. "Hey, don't break the rules of your arrest, Ben, or they will put you in confinement. That means the slarnmer. All they need is an excuse."

476 * NELSON DEMILLE

"At least there are people to talk to in jail."

Corva shrugged. He spotted the coffee carafe and a clean mug on the end table. He poured himself some coffee. "I want you to sign in after we are done here."

"Fuck them. They're not going to throw me in the slammer, and you know it."

"Why not?"

"Because they're worried about their image, that's why."

Corva put cream in his coffee. "I wouldn't count on that." He added, "And if you wind up at the Fort Dix stockade, I damn sure don't want to drive down there to see you. And that place is grim, buddy. Also, it's in New Jersey, and you wouldn't be caught dead in New Jersey." He smiled.

Tyson didn't acknowledge the humor.

Corva sat in the armchair and opened his briefcase. "Did you kiss Marcy and David this morning?"

"No. - He lit a cigarette. "No one was in a kissing mood. David was sulky.

Marcy was trying to contain her exaltation at going back to the office. She almost floated out of here. Also, I slept on the couch. It sucks, Vince."

"Oh, I know."

"What am I supposed to do when she goes on a business trip? It will only be David and I here. And I can't even take the kid anyplace. - He picked up his metal ashtray, filled with cigarette butts, and heaved it at the opposite wall.

Corva pretended not to notice as he fifled through his papers.

Tyson sat down on the far end of the couch. He said, "I told them to stay in Sag Harbor, then go home to Garden City. But, no, they wanted to share my martyrdom and mortification. Now they're as screwed up as I am."

Corva picked up a piece of paper and said absently, "Sorry about last night. -

"Oh . . . tell you the truth, I was so drunk, I don't remember much."

Corva nodded. "My wife was pissed off because she wanted the car today. I had to promise to stay sober and drive it home."

"Don't let her push you around. You fought a war."

"I don't think anybody gives a shit, Ben."

WORD OF HONOR * 477

"Right.

Corva slid a wrapped sandwich across the coffee table and unwrapped his own.

Tyson opened his wrapper and lifted the long piece of Italian bread. "What the hell is this?"

"It's eggplant, capers, olives, tomatoes, and some other good stuff.

Beneath that is provolone. Then Genoa salami, prosciutto, capocollo, mortadelia-"

"This will put a hole in my stomach. I could taste that fucking strega when I woke up."

Corva bit into his sandwich. He spoke between mouthfuls. "Anyway, the hearing convenes at nine A.M. in the Jackson room. It has some of the features of a grand jury except there is no jury---only the Article 32

investigating officer, this fellow who took over from Harper, Colonel Famley Gilmer." He peered at Tyson. "Where do WASPs get these names?"

"Family names. Had a friend at school named Manville Griffith Kenly."

"Christ. What did you call him?"

"Shithead." Tyson picked up his sandwich and bit into it. He chewed cautiously, then nodded. "Not bad. . ~ ."

Corva glanced at his notes. "Anyway, Colonel Gilmer is supposed to be impartial, like Harper. He is not supposed to be perfecting a case for the government. But he knows who pays him every month. Also, he is conducting a different sort of investigation than Harper did. Mostly he's reading her report, coordinating the efforts of the Army CID and the FBI in locating witnesses, using government resources to try to turn up any documentary evidence in the Army records bureau, and writing letters abroad regarding Sister Teresa. In addition, he's speaking to the newly appointed Army prosecution team and calling me when the mood strikes him. On the phone he sounds like an all-right guy, but you can tell he's nervous about fucking up. He's so cautious that when I say, 'How are youT he says, 'Allegedly fine.' "

Tyson smiled for the first time that day.

Corva continued, "In the hearing itself, Gilmer is sort of a judge, jury, and moderator. However, there are instances when he performs some of the functions that are

478 * NELSON DEMILLE

performed by a district attorney in a civilian grand jury. He does not have to literally change hats for this, but I always thought it would be good comic relief if that were required.'

"Christ, Vince, no wonder they won't let the press in.'

Tyson sprawled out on the couch. "I'm practicing my military bearing for the hearing. Continue."

"Right. There will also be a court reporter present. We will be present, and most importantly, the prosecuting team will be present. We will have an opportunity to see the face of the enemy. There are three of them."

"There is one of you."

"I could ask for one or two Army-appointed lawyers, if you'd like."

"Do you want them?" asked Tyson.

"I prefer to work alone."

Tyson considered a moment. He said, "Wouldn't it be better from the standpoint of appearances and psychology if we had JAG lawyers in uniform present?"

Corva picked a piece of cheese out of his sandwich and chewed on it. "Well, it would look good to Colonel Gilmer and to any court-martial board that is convened to hear your case. However, the presence of Army defense lawyers in uniform will give the subtle appearance that we concur with this whole travesty of justice. You have to be in uniform, of course, but I want you to somehow look and act like a civilian, with a civilian lawyer, who is being tried by a military tribunal. That is very un-American looking, and that's the way I want it."

Tyson rubbed his jaw in thought. "Okay, just you and me, Vince. Do you know anything about the prosecution team?"

"Yes, I know they are a very tough bunch. Their names are Colonel Graham Pierce, Major Judith Weinroth, and Captain Salvatore Longo."

Tyson put his head back on the couch's armrest and stared up at the ceiling. He observed, "The Army is an equal opportunity employer."

"So it seems," Corva said. "The real problem is Colonel Pierce. "

Tyson lit a cigarette and blew smoke rings into the air.

WORD OF HONOR e 479

He flipped his ash on the floor. "What do you know about him?"

Corva thought a moment. "You want it straight?"

"Sure. 11

"Okay. . . . First, he does mostly murder cases. He, like Van Arken, was on the prosecution staff in the Calley case. Before that he was an Army prosecutor at Long Binh. He tried capital cases there too. Sent a good many GIs home early. To Leavenworth. He is a prot6g6 of Van Arken and, therefore, a prick. He may one day be the next Judge Advocate General.

Tyson sat up on the couch. He looked closely at Corva. "Tell me more."

"All right . . . he is an accomplished trial performer but no buffoon, and the jury will never sense what a performer or a prick he really is. Only another lawyer can spot those sterling qualities. Also, he is a genius in the true sense of the word. I've seen him introduce pages of documentary evidence, then without looking at it, quote long sections verbatim. He could be a stage actor."

Tyson leaned for-ward, his eyes on Corva.

Corva went on, "When he approaches the bench over some point of law, he can quote from the Manual for CourtsMartial, the UCMJ, and case law, chapter and verse, the way a Holy Roller can quote from the Bible. But he's not pedantic. He's quick-witted and has an analytical mind. He can switch tactics when he senses something isn't working, like a good battlefield tactician. Thinks on his feet."

Corva went on in a quickening voice. "He smells the weak points in the defense and attacks those weak points until he breaks through. Then when he's behind your lines, he blows up your ammo dump, pisses in your water wells, and eats your food. Then if you try to retreat, he blocks you, turns you around, and pushes you into the arms of an ambush. If you attack, he makes a strategic withdrawal, then outflanks you and surrounds you. And he doesn't let up until you raise the white flag. Then he's magnanimous, like it was all just a jousting tournament, and he comes over to you wanting to shake hands and buy you a drink."

Tyson said, "Sounds like he might be a bit of a problem.

480 * NELSON DEMILLE

Corva drew a deep breath. "Well, I didn't mean to scare you. "

"Not at all."

"I mean," continued Corva, "he is not invincible. He can be beaten."

"Has he been?"

"No. He's never lost one."

"Then you both have perfect records."

"Right. But I'm due for a miracle."

"That's right." Tyson stood, went into the kitchen, and came back with a bottle of Sambuca. He poured a few ounces into his and Corva's coffee mugs. "This is the first and last drink you're getting here."