Word of Honor (70 page)

WORD OF HONOR 0 541

Levin did not respond.

Tyson stood and rubbed his neck. "My God, I was a commuter in May - " He laughed. "I'm glad it's happening fast. Not much time to brood over it."

Levin said, "There is one item on that charge sheet that disturbs me. "

"What is that, Colonel?"

"The endorsement."

"What endorsement?"

"On page two," said Levin, "where it says 'subject to the following instructions.' It is here that the convening authority usually gives special instructions to the court."

"What sort of special instructions?"

"Usually a limit to the punishment that the court can impose. It is within the power of General Peters or the chain of command right up to the Commander in Chief to state a maximum punishment that can be awarded.

For instance, in a capital crime, this space--he pointed to a line on the charge sheet-"will often state something like . . . the death penalty may not be imposed. . . . "

Tyson picked up the charge sheet. There was nothing written in the place provided for special instructions. He looked at Levin. "Are you telling me I could be shot?"

"Well . . . that's highly unlikely. An impossibility actually . . . . But I'm disturbed that General Peters didn't exclude the death penalty as a possible-"

"You're disturbed? Colonel, I'm outraged."

"Well, of course you are. It's a threat. I'm really surprised . . .

usually the government, the Justice Department, or someone will offer the accused some sort of guarantee in a capital crime-in exchange, of course, for something else. But I'm not qualified to talk about that. I do know, however, that no court-martial board is going to impose the death penalty. "

"How do you know that, Colonel? If the chain of command didn't instruct General Peters to exclude it, this courtmartial board which has been constituted --Tyson tapped the convening orders--may take that as a sign that the death penalty is precisely what the chain of command wants. "

"That's an interesting observation," admitted Levin. Af-542 0 NELSON DEMILLE

ter a moment, he added, "But any sort of command influence, even subtle influence, is illegal."

"That's reassuring. I'm sure Colonel Gilmer's recommendation to indict was based solely on the facts." Tyson gathered the paperwork and stuffed it into the envelope. "If there's nothing further, I'll leave you to your work."

Levin cleared his throat. "There is one thing further. You are, as of now, confined to your quarters. Confined means confined. You may not leave unless there is a medical emergency. If you feel you have a need to leave your quarters for any other reason, you must put a request in writing directed to General Peters at Fort Dix. "

"He's the guy who wants to shoot me. And I don't even know him."

Levin poured Tyson another drink. "It's not personal. There is nothing personal in any of this."

"That's the horror of it, Colonel."

Levin swallowed half his drink. "Yes. I'm sorry about the confinement.

I put in a good word for you, but when the honchos came here from Dix and looked at all the blanks in the sign-in book, the shit hit the fan."

Levin finished his drink. "Could have been worse. Could have been jail."

Tyson took some of his Manhattan. He said quietly, "May I walk in my backyard?"

Levin looked down at his desk a long time. "I'm sure no one will mind that." He added, "The confinement to quarters won't be too long--only until the conclusion of the trial."

Tyson nodded. "Then I go home. Wherever that may be.-

"Yes, then you go home." Levin went to the window and contemplated the white clinging mist that carpeted everything below the second floor of the building. He said, "I've seen so many wonderful places in my life.

I found peace once in a Swiss village. A peace that I never felt before or since." He sipped his drink, then drew on his cigar. "At the end of the Book of Numbers, chapter thirtyfive, there is a mention of creating six cities of refuge, places where a suspected killer may go to live in peace until passions cool and justice may be done. 'Then the congregation shall judge between the slayer and the revenger of blood.'

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Between the murderer and the man who killed for justifiable revenge or in the heat of the moment."

Tyson didn't reply.

Levin turned, put his glass on the desk, and put his cigar in the ashtray.

"Your passport is in the middle drawer of my desk. I'll be back in five minutes. You'll be gone by then so I'll say good night now. No need to salute. " He extended his hand, and Tyson took it.

Levin turned and left the room. Tyson came around the desk and opened the middle drawer. His blue-and-gold passport lay on top of a cigar box. He looked at it awhile, then closed the drawer.

Tyson left Levin's office with the envelope of legal documents. He walked out into the vaporous night and headed back to his quarters. A pair of headlights appeared out of the fog behind him and lit the way. The vehicle stayed with him as he walked slowly down to the officer housing units.

He reached his front door, and the vehicle stopped at the curb. Captain Gallagher's voice called out in the damp air. "Good night, Lieutenant Tyson."

"Go fuck yourself, Captain Gallagher."

Tyson entered the house and pulled the door shut behind him, realizing he would not open it again until the morning of his court-martial.

I shall tell you a great secret, my ftiend. Do not wait for the last judgment. It takes place every day.

-Camus

Ben Tyson opened the fron1door of his housing unit and walked

CHAPTER down the path. The MP

driver saluted, and

opened the rear door.

Tyson took off his

billed officer's cap and

slid in beside Vincent

Corva.

Captain Gallagher,

42 in the front passenger

seat, turned his head,

smiled, and said, "Where to?"

Tyson didn't reply, but Corva said, "Take us to church."

The driver pulled away from the curb. He drove slowly toward the U.S.

Army Chapel on the comer of Roosevelt Lane and Grimes Avenue.

Within two minutes they approached the large redbrick chapel, with a long adjoining office wing. The, extensive chapel complex had been built during the brief period when Fort Hamilton was the Army Chaplain School.

As the staff

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car approached the chapel from the south, Tyson regarded the wide lawns and maple trees now a rich golden yellow. Beyond the chapel's single spire rose the gray suspension tower on the Brooklyn side of the Verrazano, Bridge.

Tyson noticed that there were nearly a hundred people milling around the chapel steps.

The staff car jumped the curb and drove across the lawn, stopping directly in front of a small doorway in the north office wing of the chapel. Captain Gallagher turned to Corva and Tyson. "They want you to use this door."

Corva replied, "Is that why you drove across the lawn and stopped right in front of it?"

Gallagher bit his lip. "Yes, sir."

Corva opened his door and slid out. Tyson followed. They stood in the crisp October morning sunlight, between the parked car and the door. Tyson looked over the roof of the car. "Why are all those people standing there?"

"Because they can't get in. It's by invitation only. But they'd like to say they were part of it. So they stand there.

Tyson didn't reply.

Corva added, "In fact, they must be military or military dependents, because this base has been off limits to all civilians as of last night.

Except those who work here, of course, and those with trial passes."

"We should have charged for the trial passes, Vince."

"Right. Would pay my fee."

Tyson realized the people on the chapel paths were looking at him. Some waved, some took pictures. They would have gotten closer, but there were about a dozen MPs cordoning this section of the lawn.

Corva said, "Enough photo opportunities. Let's get inside." Corva reached for the door, but it was pulled inward by an MP wearing a polished white helmet and a white pistol belt from which hung a holster and .45 automatic pistol. Corva waved Tyson through the door.

Tyson removed his hat as he entered the long white corridor. There were doors on either side, and above each door was a wall bracket from which hung red signs: CHAPEL ACTIVITY SPECIALIST; CAPTAIN SMYTHE; BLESSED SACRAMENT; and finally a sign that was marked RABBI ELI WEITZ, MAJOR, CHAPLAIN

CORPS.

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Corva stopped at the door. He said to Tyson, "When I drove in, there were literally thousands of people around the main gate with signs proclaiming everything from 'Free Tyson' to 'Shoot the Bastard.' " He paused. "There are a lot of emotions running loose out there, Ben. Lots of old questions, but I don't see anyone with any answers."

"That's because the questions are wrong."

Corva knocked on the rabbi's door, then opened it.

Rabbi Weitz, a heavyset man with gray curly hair, rose from his desk. He was wearing civilian clothing, a brown flannel suit. "Good morning, gentlemen." He shook hands with Tyson and Corva.

Corva said, "It was good of you to offer us your office, Rabbi. "

"Offer? I didn't offer anything. They said, 'The court needs offices.' We drew lots, and mine said 'defense.' So I'm saying good-bye. But I wanted to say hello first. " Rabbi Weitz picked up his attach6 case. "How long will this last?"

Corva shrugged. "Can't say. Today is Monday.... It may be wrapped up by Friday."

"I need the office Friday night before services. That's the Sabbath. "

"Yes, sir. I know that."

Tyson asked, "Will you be in the spectator seats?"

Major Weitz walked to the door and turned. "They offered me passes as compensation for commandeering my office. But there is nothing here that I want to see. But good luck, and may the Lord bless you." Rabbi Weitz left his office.

Corva put his briefcase on the rabbi's desk, and Tyson threw his hat beside it. Corva said, "The physical layout here lends itself to a court-martial.

"I still think it's bizarre."

"Where else on post could they do this? We didn't want it at Dix."

Tyson said, "What the hell difference does it make?" He went to the window and peered between the slats of the blinds. There were vehicles, including television vans, parked end-to-end along Roosevelt Lane. MPs were directing traffic.

Corva said, "They had.to call in two MP platoons from Dix, and the city put on a hundred cops outside the gates."

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Tyson turned from the window. "I've never been the center of a public spectacle before."

"Oh, you get used to it."

Tyson asked, "Wasn't there any way to do this in private?"

"I'm afraid not, Ben. I would have liked just enough press and civilian spectators to keep everyone honest. But once the Army bowed to pressure and announced an open trial, then the list of people who absolutely must be there seems to get bigger. The post commander's wife, Mrs. Hill, asked for thirty passes." Corva added, "The chapel holds about two hundred people, but out of common decency the Army is trying to limit the number of actual spectators to about one hundred."

Tyson smiled grimly. "I never saw a hundred people at Sunday services."

Corva commented, "The room they used for the Calley trial held fifty-nine people, and every seat was filled every day of the trial."

Tyson saw that Major Weitz had brewed a fresh pot of coffee and helped himself to a cup. He said to Corva, "Want some?"

"No. You have to consider your bladder. Lawyers get windy. "

Tyson put the cup of coffee down untouched and lit a cigarette. He looked at his watch, then picked up a book and flipped through it for a few seconds until he realized it was in Hebrew.

Corva said, "Everyone has stage fright. Within ten minutes after you're in there, you'll be all right."

"I'm all right now."

"Good. "

Tyson said, "I keep waiting for someone to call this off.

Corva didn't respond.

Tyson looked at his watch again. He searched for an ashtray, couldn't find one, and dropped his cigarette in the coffee cup.

Corva was flipping through a yellow pad of notes.

Heavy-booted footsteps sounded in the corridor. They stopped, and there were three knocks on the door. The door

WORD OF HONOR * 551

opened, and a tall young MP sergeant addressed Tyson. "Sir, will you accompany me, please?"

Tyson picked up his hat, and Corva picked up his briefcase.

The MP, whose name tag read Larson, said, "You can leave your cover here, sir."

"What? Oh Tyson put his hat back on the desk, straightened his tunic and tie, and walked into the corridor, followed by Corva. The MP, Sergeant Larson, overtook them with long strides and led the way.

They came to a cross corridor and turned left. Sergeant Larson opened the door at the end of the corridor, and Corva went through it, followed by Tyson.

Tyson walked behind Corva, across the red carpet of the altar platform. He was aware of the murmur of a large number of people in the pews to his left. Corva indicated a long oak table on the far side of the raised altar floor, and Tyson went around the table and sat in a hard wooden chair.

Corva sat to his left.

The first thing Tyson noticed was that the altar table had been removed.

Across the red carpet from the direction he'd entered sat the long table that would hold the members of the court-martial board-the jury. Seven empty chairs faced him. Tyson looked to his left. The rear wall of the chapel, paneled in light pecan wood, rose two stories to the arched cathedral ceiling. In the center of the wall hung gold drapes stretching from ceiling to floor. Behind the drapes, Tyson knew, was a large recessed area, the presbytery, where the high altar sat beneath a large cross. The drapes were closed for Jewish services and for nonreligious events such as this one. In fact, he noticed, there was no longer anything visible to make this altar area look sanctified; it could have been an auditorium stage, and was no doubt designed to be transformed from religious to secular by the switching of a few stage props.