March 12th, 2007
RangeMan Trenton
My father used to say, the past always tells. As a kid, I had laughed. 'Tells what?' I'd ask. As an adult, I learned that past doesn't just tell. It comes back, demands things of you that you couldn't possibly give.
The phone rang three times before I heard a gruff 'hello.'
"Papa," I said, instinctively reverting back to the Spanish I had grown up speaking.
There was silence. I talked anyway.
"I got a subpoena today to testify in Milutinovic's trial," I said.
"I thought the prosecution was done." The first words he had spoken to me in eight years.
"It's for the defense," I said.
My father didn't say anything for a moment. "Carlos," he finally said, "I know what happened that day you went to Djakovica, which was the stupidest thing you've ever done. I know what those damn Serbian soldiers did. And I know what you did. You have a choice here. You can help defend that smug son of a bitch, or you can tell the truth and actually do the right thing for once in your fucking life."
A click is all I heard to alert me that my father had hung up.
The receiver slipped through my fingers, falling crooked on the cradle.
I picked up the paper from the desk and read it again. The subpoena that had the potential to destroy the life I had built.
A tinny computerized voice drifted through the receiver saying 'if you'd like to make a call, please…'
I anchored the phone receiver in the cradle, severing the last of the connection to my father. Connection. Who was I kidding? There hadn't been a connection between my father and I for eight years now. Not since Djakovica.
My father was, is, a great man. A man who should have inspired me to greatness as well. Instead, I had resented him. I'd hated being compared to him. Always being asked if I was Manoso's son, and being judged on that fact, first and foremost. He's the most honorable man I've ever met was a phrase I heard over and over again while in the Army. You must be so proud to be his son. In the end, he made no secret of the fact that I let him down.
I looked back at the subpoena.
Command Sergeant Major Manoso:
You are hereby summoned to testify before the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia, under the authority of the United Nations, regarding events occurring on or about 31 March to 3 April 1999, in or around Kumanovo, Macedonia and Djakovica, Kosovo.
Council for the defense of President Milutinovic has requested this summons.
That was the line I had dreaded seeing, the line that could destroy everything. The Council for the defense. I was being asked, no required, to defend a man who had blithely ordered the slaughtering of millions.
I finished reading the notice.
You are required to arrive in The Hague, The Netherlands, on or before 1 September, 2007, and register with the United Nations. Your testimony will begin on or about 3 September, 2007. Please allow 4-6 days for your testimony. If you need assistance in making accommodations, please contact the Office of the Prosecutor at 31+(0)70-512-4867.
This issue is a binding order. Failure to comply will result in notification to the United States Military Justice system.
I tossed the paper back on my desk.
…
"I don't know what to tell you, Carlos. They can't force you to testify. They can request that you go, they can threaten, but under international law, you cannot be compelled to talk."
I ran a hand through my hair and adjusted the phone on my ear as I listened to my lawyer. "The subpoena said something about notifying the military justice system."
"Sure. They'll send a letter saying that you didn't comply. And JAG will drop it in your file. That will be the end of it. The military doesn't want their soldiers testifying about things that happened during a war. In fact, testifying could land you in a whole heap of trouble with the Army."
"What kind of trouble?"
"At the very least, you'll lose your government contracts. At worst, you could be court marshaled. I'm sure they can come up with something about revealing classified information."
"But if I don't go, I'm helping the defense."
"That's the point. The defense council isn't stupid. They know that no American soldier is going to testify. They're going to use the fact that you didn't show up to implicate you, say that you were an accomplice, or worse, say that you instigated the whole thing.
"Look," Jonathan continued, "Djakovica was a nightmare. They still haven't found all the bodies. No one knows who killed who or who ordered what or who turned a blind-eye. All Milutinovic has to prove is that he didn't know what was happening and he's off the hook. He needs to prove that someone else started the massacre. Who better to blame than some rouge American Army Rangers who weren't supposed to be anywhere near Djakovica and showed up carrying a grudge. Fuck, Carlos. I told you when it happened that this was going to come back to haunt you someday."
"So what do I do?"
"Nothing. You shred the subpoena."
"Milutinovic could get off. And I go down in the history books for committing genocide."
"They would be allegations only, and I doubt the information would make it's way into fourth grade history. Milutinovic is going to get off regardless. I've been watching the trial. They don't have enough."
"And if I testify, if I say what happened in Djakovica, what happens then?"
"Milutinovic gets the gas chamber for crimes against humanity, you get a firing squad for treason."
"They're not going to execute me."
Jonathan sighed. "No. But you'll lose RangeMan. They'll strip you of every government contract you have. You'll be a pariah. You'll be lucky if you get a job as a night security guard at the mall."
"But Milutinovic gets convicted."
"Possibly. Maybe. It'd still be a long shot. And it wouldn't change anything. Milutinovic didn't pull a trigger, Carlos. Ten thousand Serbian soldiers marched through Djakovica. And where are they now? They're sitting at home, drinking German beer and fucking their fat wives."
"But there would be some justice at least."
"Milutinovic getting the gas chamber isn't justice. It's a political ploy to make the world feel better. You have employees to think about. Clients. You would lose everything if you testify, and for what? So one sick, old man dies a few years early?"
"So that the truth is told and justice is served."
Jonathan snorted. "Those are nice ideals, Carlos. But an International Court isn't strong enough to serve justice, and we both know it. For millions of Kosovar Albanians, there will never be justice. You playing a martyr isn't going to change that."
"It's the right thing to do."
"It's a stupid, self-serving thing to do. You want something to assuage your guilt for what you did. Blabbing your mouth in front of the tribunal isn't going to do that. Besides, what about Stephanie?"
I bristled. "What about her?"
"Those transcripts will be public record. You want her to know what went down that day? What you did?"
"She doesn't need to know any of it."
"She will if you testify."
I didn't reply.
I heard Jonathan sigh on the other end of the line before he spoke again. "Look, I can't advise you to testify. You'd be destroying your life for an ideal, one that we both know doesn't actually exist. But that blasted moral code of yours… If you're going to do this, you have six months to fortify RangeMan with non-government accounts. Maybe it would survive that way. But you're better off consolidating into one office. I'd suggest Miami."
"You just want to be near the beach."
Jonathan chuckled. "That, and there's enough non-government security in Miami to hold you afloat. And for god's sake, Carlos, don't take Stephanie with you. Don't put the poor girl through this."
I sighed, my heart clenching painfully at the thought of walking away from Steph. "I just wish there was a quick-fix here. An easy way out."
"There is," Jonathan said, his exasperation evident. "Shred the fucking subpoena."
…
I slipped into Stephanie's bedroom, feeling my way through the darkness. I was no closer to a decision on testifying. But RangeMan Trenton was officially closed. The employees I didn't need were let go; the ones I did need were transferred to Miami. Without making a blip in the gossip of the Burg or the Trenton underground, computers, equipment, firepower, and personnel had been loaded onto private chartered planes bound for Miami International Airport.
I had designed RangeMan that way, able to be closed in a moment's notice, to disappear without leaving a trace. I just never thought this would be the reason. We'd been halfway packed up during the Homer Ramos mess, before Steph had accidentally saved the day. Even if she had the power to do so this time, I wouldn't let her. I wouldn't, couldn't, put her through that.
I shouldn't have come here, to this space. I looked at the bed, the one place we had made love. A bed I had slept in when I need her, needed her comfort. I should have simply climbed on the plane with Tank. But I couldn't. I had to see her one last time.
She was sprawled out on the mattress, on her back, a small smile playing on her lips.
I studied her, wanting to remember the moment.
I lay down next to her and ran my hand over her stomach, under the black tee-shirt she wore which used to be mine. She instinctively turned toward me and scooted closer.
Leaning down, I kissed her neck.
"Mmm…Ranger?" she said.
"Hi babe."
She scooted even closer to me, more awake now, but keeping her eyes closed. I grabbed her bottom leg, and slid it under me, so that it was taking up the space between my waist and my hip.
She wrapped her top leg around me, hooking her ankles behind my back.
I kissed her neck again, savoring the taste of her for the final time, and started to pull away. "I have to go, Babe."
She tightened her legs around me and laughed, a sleepy, husky laugh. "No way. You're stuck. You're mine now."
I took a deep breath, cursing myself for doing this to her. "Babe," I said, "I have to leave town. I came to say goodbye."
Her eyes flew open, all traces of laughter and sleep gone. "How long? When will you be back?"
I didn't answer. Instead I watched as understanding changed her features from concerned to hurt.
She jerked her leg from over top of me, and tried to move away. But her bottom leg was stuck, my weight pinning it down.
She jerked again. "Get off me," she said in a hoarse whisper.
I lifted my hip, and she wiggled her leg out from under me. She lay on her back, and closed her eyes.
I ran my finger down the side of her face, and felt her flinch. Closing the space between us, I kissed her cheek, her jaw, her neck. She didn't open her eyes.
I kissed her lips, sliding my tongue across the seam of her lips. She sighed, parting her lips, grating me access. I shifted so that my body was covering hers, my hands cradling her face, trying to give her all the passion and love and regret I felt through one kiss. She made a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a sob before wrapping her arms around my back and pulling me as close to her as I could get.
I ran my hand down her stomach, the inside of her thigh, wanting nothing more than to bury myself inside of her. To pretend, for one moment, that she belonged to me. To pretend that her love for me was unconditional, and strong enough to survive what I was about to do to her.
But I couldn't leave her like that. I drew my hand back up her body, just barely touching the outside of her breast before smoothing the hair off her forehead.
By the time I pulled away, her face was wet with tears, though her eyes were still closed.
"Babe, I…" I trailed off, having no idea how to explain. There was no response.
I stared at her, memorizing her face. I got up and walked toward the door. When I turned back, she had sat up and was staring at me. The emotion I could read in her eyes was one I hadn't seen there before. Betrayal. It seared through me, making me long to change past events that simply couldn't be changed.
"Goodbye." Her whisper floated across the room, swirling through the darkness. Haunting me.
I turned and walked out.
…
I posted this story in its entirety, because I couldn't stand the thought of making you wait between chapters. However, if there's anything that strikes you, or if you have any comments on each chapter while reading, please still review! Oh, and for those of you on my alert list, sorry you got 16 emails.
