GITMO, July 17.
It was July 17 at Guantanamo Bay, and convicted felon and inmate James Boasberg wasn’t having an enjoyable day. Then again, an imminent trip to the gallows seldom engenders feelings of merriment and optimism; the rope has humbled the most obstinate Deep Staters, and Boasberg was no exception.
As reported previously, Boasberg was convicted of treason on July 11 and sentenced to hang to death. His courtroom decorum—a contemptuous, rage-fueled tirade—was unbefitting a judge who had capriciously meted out injustice but couldn’t stomach a spoonful of his own medicine. The cantankerous old bastard even thought he had the right to appeal the verdict.
Upon returning to his cell, however, Boasberg shed his veneer of courage and lost his nerve, declaring he didn’t deserve to die, and when he covered his face with his hands and started to cry, his jailors mocked him. They had nicknamed him “Judge Death,” not because he was scheduled to hang but because his skin was so pallid he looked as though he had been exsanguinated and embalmed.
“You look like you got one foot in the grave already,” one guard told Boasberg. “We’re doing you a favor.”
That unrefusable favor came at noon on July 17. Boasberg had been sulking in his cell as guards arrived to retrieve him for his one-way journey to the gallows, where Rear Admiral Lia Reynolds and a cavalcade of military brass awaited his arrival. Again he begged the admiral to reassess the verdict, saying capital punishment was incongruous with a “civilized, progressive society.” She wouldn’t entertain his plea, so he appealed to the officers standing beside her.
“You people—you can’t abide by this. It’s unlawful. Trump should be standing here, not me. You’ll all pay.”
“You have no power to negotiate here,” the admiral told him.
A handcuffed Boasberg was standing on the pivoting door that would soon open beneath his feet.
“If you have more grievances, now’s the time to air them,” said Admiral Reynolds.
But Boasberg sighed and fell silent, gazing skyward as if seeking divine guidance or pondering the profundity of his life’s choices. The hangman gagged and bagged him and then slipped the noose around his neck.
The swinging door opened, and he dropped, his legs twitching spontaneously. A foul stench filled the air; he had evacuated his bowels.
A Navy physician checked Boasberg’s vitals and told Admiral Reynolds he was dead.