Code Name: Camelot (Noah Wolf #1)(12)

Mathers stood there and stared at her CO for a long moment. “Sir, with all due respect, I’ve been here long enough to qualify for transfer back to the US. I’m going to apply for the transfer today, and I hope you approve it.” She saluted, then executed another perfect about-face before walking out the door. Willis sat there and watched her go, knowing that there was nothing he could say or do to make her feel any better. Damn it, he thought, most lawyers get at least a few years under their belts before all their ideals are ripped away from them. Maybe I should have kept that case for myself, instead of giving it to a newbie.





FOUR

Death row at the US Disciplinary Barracks, which was better known as “The Castle,” didn’t look like anything you’d see in movies. Noah wasn’t placed into a cell with bars, but into an actual room. There was one bed, bolted to the floor and the wall, a table with one bench seat attached to the wall beside it, a set of shelves, a stainless steel combination sink and toilet unit, and a shower stall. He was allowed to make purchases from the commissary, including food, snacks and candy, pencils and stationery, playing cards, and personal hygiene items, and the prison library brought a book cart around three times a week. He would be allowed to select up to four books at a time to keep in his room.

For a man who had been sentenced to death, this almost seemed like easy street.

He’d been given a mattress, a pillow, sheets, blankets, towels and such just before he’d been escorted into his room, so the first thing he did was make up his bed. That occupied less than three minutes, and he didn’t know when he might get a chance to get the books, but there was a small tablet of paper and a couple of pens on one of the shelves, so he sat down and began to write some letters.

During the time he’d been incarcerated in Iraq, Noah had not been permitted to write any letters to friends back in the states, on the theory that the situation made him a security risk. Now that he was back in America, though, he’d been told that he could write to anyone he wanted. He had very few friends, but he wanted those that he did have to know the truth of what had happened to him.

He picked up a pen and stared at the paper for a moment, trying to decide whom to write to, first. His grandparents had kept in touch with him over the years, but he wasn’t sure that he was ready to tell them what was going on. His friends from the first foster home he lived in had remained loyal to him, especially Molly, but she was a genius, and would immediately start trying to figure out some way to help him. Considering her career in a government think tank, he didn’t really think it would be a good idea for her to get involved in his problems.

Jerry, his best buddy from those days, had grown up to become a rocker. He was front man for one of the most popular rock groups going, named The Question. He was rarely anywhere near home, and the letter might take months to even get to him. Jimmy, the other boy he’d befriended back then, was doing time himself, after getting caught up in an investment scam that tried to hide money from the IRS. He had two more years to go on a five-year federal sentence, so Noah figured that his own sentence would probably be over before Jimmy got out.

The only one left to write letters to, then, would be Jerry’s sister, Lizzie. Lizzie and Noah had exchanged a few letters over the years. Even though she was married, he knew that she still harbored a bit of a crush where he was concerned, but he also knew that she would make sure everyone else who needed to found out the truth. He sat there for a moment, and then began to write.

Lizzie,

First, let me apologize for not writing sooner. I’ve been in a situation where I wasn’t allowed to write letters back home to anyone, until now, and I hope you understand and forgive me. Believe me, it wasn’t my choice.

I’m afraid I’ve gotten myself into some trouble. It’s a long story, and I’ll tell you, but the gist of it is that I found myself in a position where I had to kill some of my own men. Please believe me when I say that it was absolutely necessary, and I saw no other choice.

However, when I reported the incident that led to it, other men who should have been prosecuted for their own crimes all concocted a story of their own, and laid all the blame on me. I have been court-martialed, convicted and sentenced to death. I’m filing an appeal, but there really isn’t much hope that I can prove my innocence, or even prevent my own execution.

Noah went on to explain the whole story, including just who Lieutenant Gibson’s father was. He cautioned her not to try to get involved, and to make sure she got that through to all of the others. There was nothing they could do to help him, and any attempt to do so would only blow up in their own faces. He didn’t want that, and had already accepted the inevitability of his fate.

It took him a little over an hour to write the letter, and he folded it up and put it in the envelope, leaving it open as he was required to do. He slid it through the slot in his door, so that one of the guards could take it to the mailroom. Then he sat down at his table again and began thinking about what he should do next.

He’d only been there for a couple of minutes when he heard the keys outside, and his door opened.

“Noah Foster?” One of the guards stood there in the open doorway, just looking at him.

“Yes,” he said. He hadn’t expected anyone to come to talk to him just yet, so his senses were on high alert.

The guard nodded. “I’m Lieutenant Spencer,” he said. “I’m in charge of this unit. I make it a point to come and meet everyone assigned here. You getting settled in okay?”