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  Tyson sat up. “—where the deserters and draft-dodgers went? I should go to Sweden when all the draft-dodgers have been given a presidential pardon? Where’s my presidential pardon?”

  “It is rather ironic if you think about it—”

  “Fuck you, Brown! Fuck you and whoever sent you.”

  “Not so loud, please.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, goddamn it! I’m an American citizen, and this is my country. Fuck Sweden and fuck the Army!”

  Brown glanced around the pool area. “Calm down.”

  Tyson lifted himself out of the chair. “Listen, Chet, or whatever the fuck your name is, tell your bosses this: I may be a suspected mass murderer, but I am also a certified war hero. I have two fucking Purple Hearts—” Tyson pointed to the white scar tissue that disfigured his right ear, then to the thick purple line that curved around his kneecap and ran down his shin. “I have a fistful of medals and commendations. I am also a husband, a father, and a hardworking taxpayer. I am a respected member of my community, and I have never knowingly broken the law in my life. If something did happen in that shithole eighteen years ago, something that maybe lasted thirty minutes of my forty-year life, then . . . then. . . .” Tyson found his heart was beating heavily and his fists were clenched. He glowered at Brown, who was sitting very still.

  Brown spoke in a soft voice. “This was the first war in our history that produced not one certifiable, media-anointed, publicly acclaimed war hero. Not one.” Brown stood. He stared at Tyson for some time, then added, “Hey, you have to understand, my friend, there are no bad guys in this piece. Not me, not Van Arken, not the folks in the White House, not the media, and not even you. There is only the system. The law.”

  Brown touched Tyson’s arm gently and cocked his head toward the locker room. As they walked, Brown said, “No one has anything against you personally. Everyone I spoke to wishes you well. But you have to understand, Ben, the military needs this one. You’ve read the Peers Commission report on My Lai, haven’t you? Well, everything that General Peers said was wrong with that case, from beginning to end, will be right with this case. No cover-ups, no legal blunders, no undue command influence, no congressional whining, no journalistic Monday-morning quarterbacking, no fuckups. Just justice. Even if we have to script it and fake it. Okay?”

  They reached the door that led to the locker room and stopped. Tyson said, “Tell them I’m a fighter, Chet.”

  “I will.” Brown rubbed his stomach. “You are.” Brown glanced around. “I’m going to do some laps. You have to get going.” Brown hesitated, then said, “There’s more. You see, Ben, you can hurt the Army, the government, and the country if you want. So if you’re going to fight, fight fair. If you’re going to run, run clean.” Brown continued, “No swipes at the Army or the President or the system. No criticism of the Army justice system, no going on about the immorality of the war. No talking to reporters. No opening of old wounds.”

  “That’s it? Or that’s not it?”

  “Almost. We want you to accept a JAG-appointed defense counsel.” Brown glanced at Tyson, then continued. “We don’t want you retaining an F. Lee Bailey. You couldn’t control a hotshot civilian lawyer. The deal wouldn’t work with a civilian. You see, a civilian would drag it out, try to get all kinds of publicity for himself. We want the trial concluded before the reporters from the Times and the Post get their pens uncapped. We don’t want the continuing saga of Ben Tyson on the nightly news. Neither do you.” Brown continued, “Though you can’t plead guilty, you can at least refrain from calling witnesses, cross-examining government witnesses, and that sort of thing. There’s nothing irregular about not offering a defense. In fact, military court-martial boards look favorably on that. They’ll probably hand you one to ten for being a gentleman. And you won’t do a day of it anyway. As long as you accept this offer. Okay? Do you understand what is required of you? We’ll remind you of what is required from time to time as certain situations arise.” Brown added softly, “It’s not a bad deal, Ben. It guarantees you won’t be imprisoned. Will you think about it?”

  “Sure.”

  Brown smiled, then gave Tyson a hard look. “If you turn this deal down, there will be no hard feelings. But do not mention this conversation to anyone. Not your wife, your lawyer, or anyone. If you do and we find out, then . . . then it becomes personal.”

  Tyson nodded.

  Brown said, “I’ll call you.” He extended his hand. “No hard feelings.”

  Tyson took Brown’s hand. “When I drove my heel into your solar plexus, it was not personal, Chet. I was acting out my rage against the system.”

  Brown laughed. He turned and walked toward the pool. Tyson watched him jump in, then passed through the door to the locker room. Yes, he thought, justice will be done, even if it has to be scripted and faked.

  CHAPTER

  13

  General William Van Arken stood behind a podium that bore the crossed sword and quill pen emblem of the Judge Advocate General’s Corps. He addressed the four officers seated before him. “Although we have no authority at present to investigate the Tyson case, we may choose an investigating officer to contact Mr. Tyson on the day he receives his recall orders, to inform him that charges are being contemplated against him, and to inform him of his rights.”

  Van Arken looked at the three men and one woman seated in the row of writing desks in the small lecture room located in the third side of the Pentagon. Van Arken’s adjutant, Colonel Sam Spencer, sat directly in front of him. To Spencer’s right was Lieutenant Colonel Eugene Pellum, Van Arken’s special legal counsel. To Spencer’s left was Captain Lorraine Connelly from personnel. Next to her was Lieutenant Jack Gibbs, Van Arken’s aide. Van Arken said, “As you know, the Uniform Code of Military Justice recommends that in felony cases, the investigating officer be a major or higher rank. Therefore I’ve asked Captain Connelly to assemble the microfilmed files of approximately twenty-five such officers who may be suitable to conduct this investigation.” Van Arken motioned to the projection screen behind him.

  “I’ll remind you,” he continued, “that in the interests of fairness, we should not discuss this case as such, but we can make references to certain facts that are relevant to the task of choosing an impartial investigator.” He looked at his legal counsel. “Colonel Pellum?”

  Pellum nodded. “Let me also remind everyone that just as we have the sworn duty to choose an investigator who will not be prejudicial toward the suspect, we should also choose someone who will not be sympathetic toward him.”

  Colonel Spencer added, “As we know, any JAG officer should be impartial and acceptable. However, in this case it would be appropriate to consider candidates.”

  Captain Lorraine Connelly said, “We should perhaps first come up with a profile. Credentials, requirements, character traits, and so forth. Then we can narrow the field.”

  Van Arken nodded in agreement. “Well, what are we looking for?”

  Colonel Pellum replied, “Ideally, the investigating officer should be as free from negative or positive bias regarding the Vietnam War as possible.” He smiled grimly. “That would either be someone who is young or someone who has spent the last two decades on the moon.”

  Lieutenant Gibbs spoke. “Maybe the investigating officer should be someone who has decided not to continue his military career.” He hesitated before adding, “Someone who has nothing to lose and nothing to gain. An officer who won’t feel . . . pressured to come to a conclusion that he feels will please the Army.”

  Van Arken didn’t reply.

  Colonel Spencer nodded. “That’s a good point. No one can accuse us later of bringing in a gung-ho hatchet man who’s trying to make rank.”

  Several heads nodded. The discussion continued for some minutes before Van Arken said, “In summation, then, everyone feels that this officer should not have served in Vietnam or even have been in the service during the Vietnam era. That would obviously be consistent with him not bein
g a career officer. He should in fact be too young to have even been involved in college activities, pro- or antiwar during this period.” Van Arken reflected a moment. “There can’t be many men in that age group who are majors and who are not continuing their military careers.”

  Captain Connelly said, “I think someone who is fulfilling a four-year tuition assistance obligation will meet these requirements.”

  Van Arken mulled over these suggestions. This was not precisely what he had in mind. He said, “I want a man who will project a good image for the Army and for the Judge Advocate General’s Corps.”

  No one responded.

  Van Arken said, “Well, let’s begin going through the files.” He pressed a button on the podium to signal the man in the soundproof projection room.

  “Excuse me, General.” Captain Lorraine Connelly spoke. “May I make a suggestion?”

  The lights dimmed, and the screen behind Van Arken brightened. The General looked at Lorraine Connelly in the reflected light of the screen. “Yes?”

  She said, “I suppose it isn’t proper for any of us to propose a candidate, but that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “Whom do you have in mind?”

  She replied, “Major Karen Harper.”

  There was a stillness in the darkened room. Captain Connelly added, “Some of you may know her. I met her when we worked together in Germany.” Connelly paused, then said, “I included her file among the ones we’re going to consider. Why don’t we look at it first?”

  No one responded.

  Captain Connelly spoke into the silent darkness. “Major Harper fills the initial requirements that we’ve agreed on. In addition, she is very thorough. Good attention to detail. Fine judgment, shows outstanding initiative, and her personal appearance is always up to standards.” Lorraine Connelly could see in the dim light that the General seemed to respond positively to these military buzz words. Taking heart, she continued, “Colonel Pellum made a humorous comment about finding someone who spent the last two decades on the moon. Well, more importantly, it would be favorably viewed if the investigating officer has spent the last month in a media vacuum. It so happens that Major Harper is recently returned from a thirty-day leave, which she spent in the Far East. I doubt if she bothered to pick up any American papers there.”

  Van Arken said curtly, “Choosing an Army investigator is not like jury selection. I don’t think a JAG officer believes everything he—she—reads in the papers.”

  Colonel Spencer, Van Arken’s adjutant, interjected, “Still, General, I like that idea. So will the media.” He turned to Connelly. “Do you know of her personal history?”

  Captain Connelly replied, “Yes, sir, I believe she comes from a large family. Rural people. Farmers, I think. Ohio.” She was tempted to add “heartland,” but resisted the overkill and went on. “Her undergraduate work was at Ohio State, as her file will show. I believe her education was touch and go because of finances. She entered American University Law when she was in her mid-twenties, and Defense picked up the tab.”

  Lieutenant Gibbs mumbled, “In exchange for four years’ hard time, like me.” He laughed to try to slough off the ill-considered remark.

  Van Arken presided over the silence for a while, then abruptly pressed the intercom button on the podium and spoke to the projectionist. “Let’s have Harper, Sergeant.”

  Within a minute the first page of the file was projected on the screen.

  The five officers read the page on the screen. Colonel Spencer said, “She’s presently assigned to the JAG School in Charlottesville. That’s close to us here, but not too close. And she can hop on a shuttle to New York whenever necessary.”

  Colonel Pellum commented, “Her ETS is July sixteenth. That gives her enough time to complete the preliminary investigation and not have to stick around for the consequences.”

  Lorraine Connelly said, “The file will show she’s successfully conducted Article 31 and 32 investigations. Also, she’s a remarkable interrogator—”

  “Meaning what?” asked Van Arken curtly.

  “Meaning, sir, she gets at the truth. Suspects—men, I suppose you’d say—talk freely to her. She’s not abrasive, officious, or intimidating—”

  “I don’t want anyone who’s going to be soft on Tyson.”

  Lieutenant Colonel Pellum said, “General, Tyson is obviously a bright man. He knows he can cripple an Article 31 investigation in the two seconds it will take him to exercise his right to remain silent. I think, though, that if a woman called on him . . . Not to be sexist, but it may help. At this stage we’re only empowered to conduct this informal inquiry. So we’d like to get the most out of it until such time as we can proceed further.”

  Van Arken saw the others nod in agreement. He said bluntly, “Tyson may not take kindly to being investigated by a woman.” He hit a button, and the next page appeared. The five officers read the pages of Harper’s file as they rolled across the screen. Van Arken commented, “She is unmarried.” This elicited no response. Van Arken said into the intercom, “Sergeant, go on to the photograph.”

  The film advanced quickly, then stopped at a blurry file photograph. The projectionist adjusted the focus, and the screen filled with a black-and-white picture of a woman with light, tousled hair. She had a wide smile, big eyes, and freckles. No one spoke until Lieutenant Gibbs commented, “Looks like someone I’d let in the door.”

  There were a few chuckles. Van Arken heard Gibbs say something else and caught the word wife. There was some further laughter. Van Arken snapped, “At ease.”

  Captain Connelly regarded General Van Arken in the glare of the projector’s beam. She could see that Van Arken was deep in thought. Lorraine Connelly had heard that Van Arken was not amused by the off-color jokes his junior officers were making about Tyson’s wife. Lorraine Connelly strongly suspected, too, that General Van Arken was not favorably disposed toward a man with a wife like that.

  Colonel Spencer’s voice broke the stillness. “General, I know the choice of a woman could cause some problems; but if it’s image you’re after, then there’s a good image for you.” He pointed at Karen Harper’s picture. “Looks like she stepped out of a Coke ad.”

  Van Arken rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Putting a woman in charge of the investigation, he understood, could very well enhance the image of the JAG Corps. It would also defuse recent criticism regarding the postings and promotions of female personnel in his command. The Pentagon would be pleased.

  Lieutenant Gibbs seemed to read Van Arken’s thoughts. “This might give some credence to the recruiting slogan ‘Be all you can be.’”

  Van Arken eyed Gibbs with some annoyance, then continued his ruminations. He realized that if Harper bungled the investigation, it might not reflect too unfavorably on the mostly male and mostly career officer corps. And if Major Karen Harper ran into trouble with the investigation, the White House could be pressured to quickly authorize the formal, grand jury type investigation, with subpoena powers, a working staff, and assistance from the Army CID and the FBI. There was, of course, the possibility that Major Harper would find no evidence to recommend that charges be forwarded to a grand jury. But Van Arken didn’t think that was a strong possibility, given the nature of the allegations. Van Arken looked at the officers in front of him. He had the impression they favored assigning this Harper woman to the case. The General said, “Does anyone have any objections to this officer serving as the Article 31 investigating officer in the matter of Benjamin Tyson?”

  No one objected.

  Van Arken stared at Captain Lorraine Connelly in a way that suggested he thought she’d stuck her neck out and had better be prepared for the consequences. Van Arken said, “All right. Major Harper it is.”

  Van Arken turned and stared at the photograph of Karen Harper still projected on the screen. Beyond the fresh good looks and the warm smile, he thought he saw some strength of character, some keen intelligence; a result, he imagined, of the hard climb from rural
poverty to an education, a law degree, a military tour of duty. He, too, had been born in rural poverty on a Pennsylvania farm not eighty miles from where he stood now. And like Karen Harper, he reflected, he had made the climb alone, without marrying. Dependents got heavy when you started so far down in the hole that it took half a lifetime just to reach ground level with everyone else.

  General Van Arken turned back to the people in the small dark room. “Captain Connelly, you will not communicate this decision to Major Harper. On the day Tyson receives his recall orders, Major Harper will receive her orders assigning her to temporary duty as investigating officer. No one here will divulge anything that was said. No one here will have contact with Major Harper until her investigation is completed. If there is nothing further”—he met everyone’s eyes—“then thank you for coming. Dismissed.”

  CHAPTER

  14

  The old Volvo rolled east on Montauk Highway, through Southampton, then Water Mill. Tyson turned left at the Methodist Church and headed up Scuttle Hole Road. The late afternoon sun lay mellow and pleasant over the well-tended and prosperous potato farms. Scuttle Hole Road intersected with the Sag Harbor turnpike, and Tyson swung north.

  He turned his head and spoke to David, who shared the rear seat with cartons and suitcases. “David, do you remember any of this?”

  “Sort of. It’s real nice.”

  Within ten minutes they entered the old whaling village of Sag Harbor. Stately homes with widow’s walks lined lower Main Street, then at the Civil War monument the street widened into the business district.

  Tyson joined the line of slow-moving traffic. The sidewalks were crowded with a happy-looking mixture of families, singles, gays, townsmen, fishermen, farmers, and yachtsmen from distant ports.

  The Volvo continued slowly. Tyson scanned the storefronts, looking for the bookshop. In the front window was a hand-lettered sign announcing BOOKS BY LOCAL AUTHORS. Tyson was surprised to see there were nearly two dozen scribblers in local residence. There among the books he spotted the distinctive scarlet cover of Hue: Death of a City.