“Do you believe in God?” Will asked.
Hornby paused. “Don’t know. Never had the chance to get a story from him.”
“You may end up doing exactly that,” Will replied, “before the dust settles in all of this.”
40
IN A SMALL, UNASSUMING OFFICE IN Newport News, Virginia, several Naval Intelligence officers were meeting with the Deputy Director of Operations for the CIA and two of his field agents.
Abdul el Alibahd had been tracked by the CIA as he departed Uzbekistan. American intelligence agents then later received reports that he was in Khost, a location in Afghanistan with a history involving old terrorist training camps. That is when he disappeared.
Alibahd had always been able to finance his worldwide travel, along with his terrorist cell groups, through complex channels of investments and disguised funds. To the American intelligence community, he had come to embody terrorism at its most effective and most dangerous: As one of the richest men in the world, he possessed unlimited but well-hidden sources of cash; he had access to terrorist camps around the world that provided him ‘safe houses’; he had control of strike groups that could pick up and move locations on less than ten minutes notice; and he possessed a fanatical devotion to a violent purpose.
The supervising Naval agent was explaining information his unit had received on possible routes of travel for Alibahd.
“The thread in all of our intelligence is that Alibahd may be planning an unusual excursion by sea,” he said.
The deputy director was intrigued by that. He put his finger on several points on the world globe that stood on the desk and commented, “This guy is almost always landlocked in his paths of escape; he scurries between the countries that give him refuge—from Northern Africa through most of the Middle East, to Afghanistan and Pakistan in the east and Uzbekistan to the north, and as far west as Turkey. Taking an ocean route doesn’t make any sense.”
“Gee,” one of the agents commented ironically, “why don’t we simply call up Iraq or Saudi Arabia and ask them to explain this to us? Aren’t they part of our new ‘partnership for peace’? I thought the Arabs were going to catch Alibahd for us, right?”
After the chuckles quieted down, the deputy director put his hand on the globe and spun it slightly.
“Gentlemen, there’s a lot of blue on this globe. If we don’t catch him boarding a specific vessel, or at least locate the right harbor, the ocean is going to hide him pretty well. We do know one thing for sure—our bad guy is on the move. But where is he going, and why?”
41
AS A RESULT OF HIS CONVERSATION WITH Jack Hornby, Will was committed to continue his representation of Angus MacCameron up to the bitter end. Will called Tiny Heftland and told him about the arson and the shooting of his dog. Tiny offered to secure a full-time bodyguard but Will only scoffed at the idea.
He gave Tiny his temporary address at the Robert E. Lee Motel, where he was staying until the insurance company began paying off on his fire loss. The claims adjuster indicated that the fact that arson was involved would slow down the process, but that as soon as Will was cleared as a suspect (a “mere technicality,” they said) they would get some money to him to cover his temporary lodgings. In the meantime, Will was going through his savings and his money-market account fast. Soon he was going to be seriously strapped for cash.
The motel where Will was staying was populated by truck drivers, transients, and traveling construction workers. The first night he was there the temperature dropped, and he tried to adjust the old-fashioned stand-up radiator. But the fitting for the pressure knob came off and steam and boiling water spewed over the room. He drifted off to sleep to the sounds of country music in the next room, an arguing couple upstairs, and a loud drunk out in the parking lot.
The second night a caravan of carnival workers checked in.
The man at the front desk was round and short, with a gravelly voice. Each night Will would ask if he had gotten any messages during the day. The man would give him a look that seemed to say, “You expect me to take messages too? That’s gonna cost you extra.”
After a few days, however, Will began to adjust to his downscale lodgings. He struck up a few interesting conversations with some of the truckers. One fellow and his wife were long-haulers from Texas who traveled with a little white poodle. Another guy had a huge lighted cross on the grille of his truck and wore a black T-shirt that said “Truckin’ for Jesus.”
And there were some other lighter moments.
One night the telephone rang. Will picked it up. At the other end was the soothing voice of a woman.
“Hello. I don’t know if you remember me,” the prerecorded message began, “but I’m your psychic advisor. We talked not too long ago. Remember? You had a concern about money. Well, I’ve got some great news for you. All you have to do is call me back at the private number I’m going to give you, and I will give you a free three-minute psychic reading. I think that you are really going to be surprised with what I’m going to tell you! Remember—this is my private number, so don’t give it out to anyone else! Here it is: 1-900…”
Will’s belly laughs could be heard all the way out into the parking lot, where a few drunks and prostitutes were congregating.
When Will had made it into his office the day after his meeting with Hornby he had had a short telephone message from Dr. Mary Margaret Giovanni. She hadn’t left a message but simply stated that she wanted Will to call her. She gave her telephone number where she was teaching at Catholic University. Will, hoping that she would be willing to testify for them, called her back immediately. Then he got the bad news.
“I am not interested in being an expert witness on your case,” Dr. Giovanni said firmly. “I admit that the issues are fascinating—I’ve always disagreed with Albert Reichstad’s conclusions about the 7QA fragment. But I will not, cannot, be an expert for your client—for this Reverend Angus MacCameron.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve looked into his background. This man is a fundamentalist preacher type. He’s said some very nasty things about the Catholic Church.”
“Dr. Giovanni, I have personally reviewed everything my client has ever published. I know that he has levied some criticisms against the Vatican—but then again he has also attacked almost every other denomination and sect in the civilized world as well.”
“Attorney Chambers, your client practically called the Vatican the whore of Babylon. I myself have had some disagreements with the Holy Father and the leadership in the Vatican. But I am still a loyal and devout Catholic.”
Just then a delivery courier stepped into Will’s office with a slender overnight envelope. Will signed for it and glanced at the sender’s address as Dr. Giovanni continued to express her concerns about MacCameron. The letter had been sent by J-Fox Sherman. Will ripped open the envelope and scanned the letter inside as he was listening on the phone.
Will interrupted Dr. Giovanni.
“Doctor, I can understand, I really can. But I’ve got two things to say. Just hear me out if you would. First, MacCameron’s bark is worse than his bite. Actually he is a rather charming—though somewhat eccentric—fellow. I’ve read his writings. What he wrote is that, in his opinion, and taking literally the reference in the book of Revelation to the creation of a kind of religious Babylon in the ‘end times,’ he believes the Vatican may play an important role. He also believes that nearly all denominations within Christianity will be duped into this new religious Babylon as well. I don’t know if that clarification helps.”
“It doesn’t,” she replied.
“Well then, let me give you the second reason for you to rethink your position.”
Will raised the letter from J-Fox Sherman closer to his eyes, making sure he was reading it correctly.
“Doctor, how would you like to be the first human being in the world, outside of Reichstad’s own research team, to inspect and analyze the 7QA fragment?”
There was sile
nce on the other end.
Then Dr. Giovanni asked, “You are talking about the actual fragment—not a replica or a copy?”
“I am talking about the very thing itself, yes.”
There was another silence.
“Mr. Chambers, have you ever been to Israel?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, I have spent much of my life there, and in various parts of the Middle East. Down near Jericho there is a place where, according to popular belief, the Mount of Temptation is located. Where Jesus was tempted by the devil. Are you familiar with that story?”
“I didn’t used to be. But I’ve been brushing up on my New Testament lately. Forty days and nights in the wilderness. The devil appears and offers some tempting business options to Jesus.”
“Yes,” she continued, “the devil takes Jesus and shows him all the kingdoms of the world and promises to give them all to him; all Jesus has to do, in return, is bow down and worship the devil. Why do I feel like I am at the Mount of Temptation right now? You are offering me the most prized opportunity any antiquities scholar could have. But I simply will not deny my faith.”
“Angus MacCameron is not the devil,” Will shot back, “And I am not one of his demons, I’m just his lawyer. I know sometimes people get those two roles confused.”
Giovanni laughed as Will continued.
“Doctor, you don’t have to agree with his position on theological matters. You only have to be willing to tell the truth about 7QA after you study it—and tell the truth about Albert Reichstad. That’s it. If you want to say from the witness stand that you detest what MacCameron has said about the Vatican—or anything else—be my guest. Just be willing to present your informed expert opinion about Reichstad’s interpretation of 7QA.”
Will could tell that Giovanni was softening.
“Let me think about it a little bit more. I have a lecture I’m giving this afternoon. I will call you back after that. It was good talking to you, Mr. Chambers.”
Will looked back at Sherman’s letter again. In it, Sherman had conceded that Reichstad would have to produce the original 7QA for inspection.
But the letter was attached to a motion that Sherman was filing, asking Judge Kaye to place numerous restrictions on the time, place, and manner of the inspection. If Will opposed the motion it would simply eat up the clock that was ticking rapidly toward the trial date. That was exactly what Sherman wanted. By the time the motion had been argued and decided by the judge, it would give precious little time to Will’s expert—if he had one—to inspect the two-thousand-year-old fragment before trial.
On the other hand, would Dr. Giovanni be willing to tolerate the complicated restrictions that Sherman wanted to place on their scientific analysis of 7QA, even if she agreed to be Will’s expert?
Will decided he would present the issue to Dr. Giovanni when he talked with her later that day.
As he pondered that, a Federal Express courier walked into the office with two large packages. They were both from Sherman’s office. Will had a good idea what they were.
Inside was Sherman’s massive, five-hundred-page Motion for Summary Judgment, which he had just filed with the court, asking Judge Kaye, in effect, to give Sherman and his client a slam-dunk victory in the case before even getting to trial. Will had less than two weeks to mount his written reply.
But Will was scheduled to take Reichstad’s deposition in a few days. Perhaps he could blow the case wide open with Reichstad’s own testimony; if so, he could attach the deposition transcript to his written reply to the court.
Yet he also knew that Sherman and his troops would prepare Reichstad as if he were about to be examined by the French Academy of Science. Cracking Reichstad open in the deposition would be nearly impossible.
Will was deep into his review of Sherman’s motion papers when he received a telephone call from his expert in voice and recording analysis. He had finished his study of the cassette tape containing the message from Dr. Richard Hunter, and had arrived at his conclusion regarding the part of the tape where Hunter mentioned either “the fragment,” or “the fragments.”
“It’s really very clear to me,” he told Will. “I am very certain.”
“Well, which is it? Fragment—or fragments?”
“Whatever it means to you and your case—and I really have no idea what your case is about—but in my opinion…”
That was when Will heard someone call out his name in the lobby.
Will interrupted his caller, and poked his head around the corner. It was attorney Jacki Johnson, standing in the lobby. Will smiled and asked her to grab a seat.
“I’ve only got a few minutes…” Jacki said.
Will assured her that he would be off the phone in a second. Then Will returned to his caller.
“All right. Give it to me. Which is it? Fragment or fragments? Singular or plural?”
“Will, you’ve got more than one ‘fragment.’ When I slowed it down under my voice analyzer it showed a definite ‘s’ at the end of the word. That guy on the phone said ‘fragments.’”
After the call Will stepped quickly into the lobby where Jacki was pacing. He hugged her, and she smiled and stepped back and took a long look at him.
“I didn’t expect to see you in such good spirits! I heard about your house. That was terrible. I was so sorry for you. I thought of the parties with you and Audra. The good times we had out there. I just can’t believe it.”
“They killed Clarence. That was the icing on the cake.”
“Oh no—who?”
“I don’t know.”
“What are you saying? Was this arson or something?”
“The fire marshal is convinced it was. And whoever did it put a bullet into my dog too. It seems pretty obvious to me.”
“Who would have done this?”
“Jacki, I think they were after me. They wanted me out of the way.”
“But who?”
“I’m not sure. I think it has something to do with the case I’m handling for MacCameron.”
“Well, I want you to know,” Jacki said, “that I was up in U.S. District Court in D.C. the other day when one of Sherman’s legal associates filed a motion with the clerk that looked like it was the size of the New York City phone directory. I took a peek at it and recognized the caption. It’s that MacCameron case, right?”
“Yeah, Sherman’s motion just came into my office today.”
“You have no secretary?”
“Nope.”
“No paralegals—no clerks?”
“Not a one.”
“Are you trying to work yourself up to a heart attack, or would you prefer a stroke? Or do you plan on maybe hanging yourself from the light fixtures when you finally realize you can’t handle this case alone?”
Will chuckled. He missed having Jacki around.
“So, I was talking to Howard—by the way, he says hello and expects to see you at the wedding. Anyway, I told him about the motion. You know what my loving fiancé says to me? Can you believe it? He asks me if I still have any ‘personal leave’ coming my way from the Hadley Bates law firm. So I tell him, sure, I have almost two weeks. Then, get this—he says—well, then, why don’t you take some of your personal leave time, and go down to Monroeville and help that poor guy Will Chambers? He needs you on this case. Can you believe the nerve?”
“Sounds like Howard. I can’t imagine that you would let him boss you around like that,” Will replied with a smile.
“Well, if we were married I wouldn’t. But hey, the wedding is still more than a month away. So, I think I’m going to let him enjoy the illusion that he can call the shots. So, what do you say? When can I come down here and start helping you with this case? I mean, if you can guarantee my safety. I don’t want somebody to start shooting at me because I’m helping you!”
“There is only one way to make sure,” Will replied, in a serious and steady voice. “You need to stay entirely in the background on this. That’
s the only way I will accept your help. No one can know you are helping me. In fact, I want you to do everything on this case out of your home. Don’t come to my office again. I don’t want to take any chances.” Will broke into a grin. “You know, you really are a peach, Jacki. And I think you’re way too good for Howard. You tell him that, for me.”
“Oh yeah, keep it coming, keep it coming! Flattery always works on a woman.”
“No, I mean it,” Will said. “You are a wonderful friend. I don’t think I ever told you how much I appreciated working with you all those years. And I think you put up with a lot with me. I was a tough guy to work with.”
Jacki looked at Will more closely.
“Something is going on with you, Will, I can see it,” she declared. “Despite all of this stuff coming down on your head. I think I see some humanity peeking through again. The old Will is coming back.”
“I’m not sure it’s the old Will,” he replied. “I feel like I’m on some kind of strange journey to somewhere. I’m not really sure where I’m going. But one thing I will do. I’ll let you know when I get there.”
42
AFTER JACKI JOHNSON LEFT, WILL FELT a renewed sense of optimism. Before she had volunteered her help, Will had been wondering how he could possibly defend against Sherman’s Summary-Judgment motion, continue the rest of the work on the case, and still deal with the huge amount of work necessary to finish his property damage claim for the fire. And then there were the rather sinister undertones to the fire investigation.
Will had begun to see the focus of the arson investigation shift toward him. The investigators wanted to know why he had been in New York, and whether he had any proof that he had been there on the day of the fire. Will had indicated that he had had a “confidential meeting,” and that he was not at liberty to divulge it. He had no intention of breaching his promise to the public defender.
The investigators had then explained that they knew he had been terminated from his law partnership. Perhaps, because of financial stress, he might have had a motive to set the fire himself. Will was outraged by their suggestion. Did that also mean, he argued to them, that he shot his own dog with a gun equipped with a silencer? Did any of that make sense?
The Resurrection File Page 25