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Harvest House Publishers - Craig Parshall

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215 pages

English

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The Accused confronts attorney Will Chambers with the terrifying temptation to avenge the brutal crime that shattered his past.Enjoying a Cancun honeymoon with his wife, Fiona, Will is ambushed by two unexpected events: a terrorist kidnapping of a U.S. official...and the news that a link has been found to the previously unidentified murderer of Will's first wife.The kidnapping pulls the attorney into the case of Marine colonel Caleb Marlowe, who stands accused of the murder of civilians during a secret attempt to thwart the kidnapping.Abandoned by the U.S. government, the colonel is ping-ponged to the International Criminal Court, with Will arguing his defense. When treachery drags Will and Marlowe toward vengeance, they must askIs forgiveness real?

Informations

Publié par	Harvest House Publishers
Date de parution	01 juillet 2003
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9780736960403
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0050€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from the New American Standard Bible , 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. ( www.Lockman.org )
The verses in chapter 61 are taken from the New King James Version. Copyright 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Cover by Left Coast Design, Portland, Oregon

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author s imagination or are used fictitiously. It is the intent of the author and publisher that all events, locales, organizations, and persons portrayed herein be viewed as fictitious.
THE ACCUSED
Copyright 2003 by Craig L. Parshall
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Parshall, Craig, 1950-
The accused / Craig Parshall.
p. cm. -(Chambers of justice ; bk. 3)
ISBN 978-0-7369-1173-3 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-6040-3 (eBook)
1. Chambers, Will (Fictitious character)-Fiction. I. Title.
PS3616.A77A64 2003
813 .54-dc21
2003004365
All rights reserved . No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means-electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other-without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author s and publisher s rights is strictly prohibited.
Dedication
To the memory of my father, Richard Palmer Parshall, who served as a catapult officer in the United States Navy in World War II on the USS Makin Island, a Casablanca Class escort aircraft carrier, during the fierce battles in the Pacific theater.
And to my father-in-law, Vince DiFrancesca, who ably served as a PFC in the United States Army Air Force in the same war, on the Marianas and other Pacific islands.
And finally, to my brother, Richard Parshall, who served in Vietnam as a first lieutenant in the United States Army, and whose return-as was regrettably true of too many of our brave soldiers in that conflict-was greeted with far less honor than his dedicated service deserved.
Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Missing Witness
About the Author
Custody of the State
Acknowledgments
Much like the first two novels in this series, this one is a legal thriller and a love story of sorts-as well as a spiritual odyssey. But unlike the others, it is a tale of war. It describes the journey of a military hero faced with enduring the personal, as well as the geopolitical, crucible that results from a tragic exercise of judgment during our War on Terrorism. As a result, I relied heavily on the expertise of men who have served our nation in the armed forces, and whose keen insights, I hope, have kept this tale within the bounds of realism. I am profoundly in their debt.
David Tanks, a 25-year military veteran and an expert in matters of missile and satellite defense, as well as national security, gave me superb pointers on overall military logistics-as well as some great technology information. Thomas Rumping, a retired Marine Corps intel officer, combat pilot, and counterterrorism expert, and now a defense and security consultant (and an aspiring author in his own right), was incredibly helpful-especially in the operational aspects of the military assault that leads to the criminal case at the center of this story. And I also owe much thanks to Lt. Col. M.J.K. Maher, U.S.M.C., Judge Advocate-Marine Corps HQ. My experience in criminal defense of U.S. Marines at Quantico has been, admittedly, very limited-and Lt. Col. Maher filled in the numerous lapses when it came to the Article 32 proceeding. I have tremendous admiration for the U.S. Marine Corps, the other branches of service, and our intelligence agencies. I hope this story confirms that admiration. If there are any failures in military accuracy, they are solely mine-and are not the responsibility of these men who shared with me their time, expertise, and the fruits of their brave service to our nation.
Marilyn Clifton, as always, brought her Marine Corps experience-and her paralegal acumen-to bear on this project, more, perhaps, than any other to date. I am in debt to her and to Sharon Donehey, who slaved on this manuscript under crippling deadlines. Lastly, thanks to Janet, my wife, for lovingly putting up with the life of a lawyer/writer. Our life together continues to inspire the most important things that are written here.
1
I NSIDE THE BLACK HOOD that was tied over his head, Frederick Kilmer, United States Secretary of Commerce, was sucking in the stale air. His face was dripping with sweat in the moist heat of the Mexican jungle. He was tied up in the back of a vehicle-that much he knew. And it was moving fast over potholes and ditches, jarring his teeth together with each bump. Wherever it was, this road was not paved.
He also knew that two of his captors were with him as well. He could hear the two Middle Eastern men banging their automatic weapons on the metal surface he was sitting on and talking excitedly together.
In his dark, confused world, Kilmer was clinging to the image of his wife with her gentle smile, who was still back in their condo in Bethesda, Maryland. And the image of his two lovely daughters, who were attending college-sitting in the quiet safety of a classroom somewhere, listening to a lecture on Restoration literature or perhaps on the current theories of political science. The idea of never seeing his family again was almost too overpowering to comprehend.
But he was smart-and he knew the score. And he knew these terrorists had gotten this far-and they were not afraid to go further. To find some forsaken part of the Yucat n jungle-haul him out-and then slowly torture him while one of them grinned behind the eyepiece of a video camera, capturing his gruesome death for all the world to witness. That was the worst part-the thought that his wife and daughters might see that.
Kilmer did not know that the driver of the old, rusty pickup truck they were in and the man on the front seat next to him-separated from the camper shell on the back by a window-were both heavily armed Colombians. Unlike the others, they were in it strictly for the money. Speeding in front of the truck driven by the Colombians was a late-model Mercedes with four other Middle Eastern men.
In just a mile or so both vehicles would arrive at an even narrower dirt road that would lead them to a path through the nearly impenetrable Yucat n interior, within a canopy of jungle so dense that helicopters could not find them.
But before that, the Mercedes began slowing down unexpectedly. Up ahead, at the side of the road, there was a crumbling, deserted caf with empty windows, sagging walls, and a faded sign that read Mucho Gusto! Beside the caf there was something in the road. The pickup truck slowed too.
Then the drivers saw it. A taxicab with its hood open-and jumper cables leading from its engine to under the open hood of an old bus. The bus and the cab were blocking the entire width of the road-so close to the thick, vine-covered trees on both sides that no car could pass.
A Mexican man of medium height was standing in front of the taxi. A taller man, with his back to the approaching vehicles, was bending over the engine of the bus. He was wearing a straw hat and a multicolored poncho.
The leader, in the Mercedes, stuck his head out and motioned frantically back toward the Colombians as the vehicles stopped about fifty feet from the taxi and the bus.
The Colombian driver jumped out with his weapon in this hand, yelling and cursing. Move it now or you die! he screamed. Soon the other man dashed out of the truck, joining in the yelling.
The man in front of the taxi nodded solemnly, looked at his companion, and raised his hands slowly over his head-moving around to the other side of the car.
But the bigger man did not move-his back was still to the Colombians.
The Colombian driver fired a round-sending two bullets through the multicolored cape and missing the man s torso by inches.
But the man in the hat and the cape did not move, except to turn slightly to view the bullet holes in the fabric-much like a bull would glance at a fly on his flank.
Neither the Colombians nor the terrorists in the Mercedes were looking toward the rear-where an American special operations agent in black assault coveralls