I stepped in. “Wait. Let’s go back to the word celebrity.”
She gave me a playful jab in the arm. “Don’t be so modest. Some of your cases have gotten a lot of coverage. You’re a big shot, Ben.”
“I am so not.”
“You are.”
“I haven’t done anything except plod through courtrooms and try to keep my head above water.”
Christina laid a hand on my arm. “That’s Ben for you. He never thinks anything he’s done is of any importance.”
“Yeah,” Julia said. “Well, I know where that comes from.”
The two women exchanged a look.
“I confess I’ve wanted to meet you,” Christina said. “But I’m surprised to see you tonight, out of the blue, without warning.”
“Did I come at a bad time?”
“Oh, no, no,” Christina said, simultaneous with my “Well, we were playing Scrabble .
“I’ve been wanting to see you two for a long time,” Julia explained. “Especially since I heard you’d married. How did you ever get this waffley wishy-washy worrywart to commit?”
“You can’t believe how hard it was. Or how long it took.”
“I can imagine.”
“But you’re dodging the question. What brings you here tonight? I mean, I’m glad to see you, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. It’s your house, too.”
I cut in. “After Mother passed, we tried to find you—”
“No worries, Ben. I don’t want the house. I couldn’t live here. Gives me shivers. Frankly, I don’t know how you stand it. But if you don’t mind, I might stay a few days. Are you using my old bedroom?”
“Actually,” I said, “we’ve got that closed off.”
“Oh.” She looked at me. “Of course.”
Christina’s eyes narrowed. “Ben told me it was to save on air conditioning.”
Julia sat on the oversize sofa. We followed her lead, sitting on either side of her. “Ben, I know you’ve seen Oz.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“I’ve stayed in touch with him, too.”
“How do you manage to stay on good terms with your exes?” Christina asked. “Every time I broke up with someone, they started acting like I was demon spawn.”
“Don’t get me started. His father currently has custody of Joey, in case you’re wondering. He convinced a judge he could provide a more stable home.”
“Didn’t you fight it?”
“I tried. But he hired one of those—” She stopped herself. “Never mind.”
“You can say it,” Christina said. “Divorce lawyers. Here we call them the second-floor Mafia.”
“I get it. Put the money in the bag or you’ll never see your kid again. He hired some big old windbag bully, who filed motions and subpoenas and discovery requests I didn’t understand. I ran out of money to pay my attorney after the first month. They told the judge I was a horrible person. I didn’t know how to defend myself.”
“So he got Joey?”
“It would be more accurate to say he bought Joey.” Her face twisted up in a way I found difficult to describe. The bitterness was plain.
I brought the subject back home. “Julia, I know you liked Oz in high school. But he’s a different person today. In fact, he might be . . . dangerous.”
“And yet you talked to him.”
“Like an attorney to his potential client. I don’t want you in the line of fire.”
“But you’re putting yourself there, aren’t you?”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I know you. You haven’t changed that much from the scrawny kid who tried to save the robin with the broken wing. Anyone could see it was hopeless. But you didn’t stop trying.”
“It fell out of its nest.”
“Yes, well, didn’t we all. I hope you’ll represent Oz. He’s been through some seriously rough stuff. I mean, he’s been tortured, for God’s sake. He needs a friend.”
Christina leaned in. “It doesn’t have to be Ben.”
“Isn’t that what Ben does?” I loved the way these two women talked as if I were in another room. “Defending the defenseless? Taking cases no one else will take?”
“It’s different now. He’s married. He has a family.”
Julia’s face brightened. “Which reminds me! I want to see the girls!”
“In the morning,” Christina said levelly. “They’re asleep. I know we just met, Julia, but you need to understand something. Ben has two girls who depend upon him. He can’t risk our security, not to mention our income stream, on some political hot potato.”
“So you’re okay with the government holding citizens for an indefinite period of time? Torturing them? Even when they’ve never been charged with a crime?”
“I haven’t opposed him taking the case, but—” Christina drummed her fingers on the coffee table. “We should get some sleep. Can we continue this discussion in the morning?”
“Of course.” We said a few more words, and I showed Julia to the guest room.
“That was quite a surprise,” I said, returning to our bedroom.
“Not as surprising as what I’m about to do.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I’m about to play quixotic,” Christina explained.
“Oh.” I scrutinized the board. “Once you play that bingo, the game will be over.”
“Yup. You’re toast.”
“What kind of person looks at a rack of letters and sees quixotic?”
She just smiled. “The kind who’s married to you.”
13
Monday morning I was in the federal courthouse the moment it opened. I had a case to file and a few docket calls on other cases. An hour later I was back in my office.
Where sixty-seven phone messages awaited me.
“I guess the word is out,” I murmured.
Tanya pursed her lips. “If by that you mean people know you filed Oz’s suit against the CIA and the Justice Department, then the answer is yes.”
“I assume most of these people called to offer their support.”
“Then you are more naive than you look. Some want to interview you. Some want to educate you. A few want to kill you.”
“Lovely.”
“You need to start returning those calls,” Tanya said, as I slid the pink slips off the spindle. “Our phone lines can’t handle many more. Neither can I.”
“Getting receptionist’s ear? A strange malady that only affects law office personnel.”
“The worst was Nancy Grace.”
“You talked to Nancy Grace?”
“Yes, and she sounds just like she did on television.”
“So you got to chat with a big deal. Guess you didn’t know how many perks there would be when you took this job.”
She pushed some more paper my way. “If Brad Pitt calls, I’ll be impressed. Speaking of celebrities, FOX News called. They want an interview. If I were you, I wouldn’t do it.”
“I never do interviews about pending cases, but just out of curiosity, why not?”
“Because I listened to them during my break, and they’re already talking about how this case demonstrates the dangers posed by terrorist sympathizers. They’re hinting that your client is linked to an international terrorist ring. Allegedly.”
“Based on what evidence?”
“An unnamed source. And an interview with a so-called expert who said he didn’t think the government would’ve held Omar without a good reason.”
“That’s fair and balanced.”
“I know the receptionist doesn’t normally get a vote, but I think you should drop this case.”
“You’re right.”
“I am?”
“Yes. The receptionist doesn’t get a vote.”
“Ben, some of these people are complete cranks, and they sound kinda nuts. They say we’ve got to blow up terrorists and their accomplices. Before they blow us up.”
“Do any of
these people realize Oz is an American? Not to mention white?”
“I don’t even think FOX News has twigged onto that yet. But I’m not sure they’ll care.”
“Whatever. We’ll be okay.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not on the front lines. Some whack job goes postal and comes through the office door, I’ll be the first one he sees.”
“And when he realizes how lovely you are, not to mention how white you are, his anger will fade, and he’ll perceive the error of his ways. Probably ask you to marry him.”
“Sometimes I think you are completely twisted.”
The outer door slammed. Oz raced through. He looked breathless. Sweat ran down the sides of his face. “Ben, you need to lock that door.”
“I’m fairly sure that would be bad for business.”
“I’m not joking. Do you know how many reporters are swarming on the street outside?”
“I didn’t see anyone when—” I stopped. “But I came from the parking garage.”
“On the street you’ve got maybe forty people desperate for a sound bite. All the local stations. Some national.”
“Already?”
“Yes. Someone recognized me, and they went into attack mode.” We both heard the crystal chime of the elevator. “They’re he-e-e-e-e-e-e-ere.”
A throng appeared on the other side of the acrylic outer office doors. A few carried minicams.
“Ben,” Tanya said. “Tell me I can lock the doors.”
I hesitated. “We don’t want to appear to be hiding anything. Or from anything.”
“Ben,” she repeated, a decided edge in her voice. “Tell me I can lock the doors.”
Safety first, my mother always said. “Do it.”
Tanya sprung up, key chain jingling. Oz and I followed her movements, though I wasn’t sure if Oz was following the keys or the thong peeking out over her slacks.
The crowd hit the door seconds after Tanya locked it. A few shouted questions.
I had to do something. But I wasn’t sure what.
Christina emerged from her office and gave me a wry look. “Would this be an example of you keeping the case on the down low?”
“Saying ‘I told you so’ is so petty.”
“It’s all over the Internet,” Christina informed me. “You went viral about ten minutes after you filed. For possibly the first time in your life, you’re trending. Blogs, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. People are videoing their ill-informed opinions and posting them on YouTube. Personally, I prefer the Jenga-playing kitty.”
The crowd outside the door got louder. And angrier. I’ve always felt lawsuits should be tried in the courtroom, not in the media, especially given telejournalists’ proven difficulty grappling with issues requiring more than thirty seconds of discussion. But I also recognized that this story was going to make the news, and I didn’t want the first image my potential jurors received to be Oz and his lawyer cowering behind locked doors while some newswoman intoned gravely that they “declined to comment.”
I told Oz to wait for me in my office. I walked to the front doors. The noise level dropped, but to their disappointment, I did not unlock the doors.
“I’m sorry,” I said, loud enough for them to hear, “but I’m conducting a private and confidential consultation. I can’t allow anyone in the office at this time.”
“Will you be giving a press conference?” the brunette in front shouted.
“No. We’re raising serious constitutional issues best addressed by the courts, not infotainment—”
“Roger Thrillkill has announced a press conference at noon at the state capitol.”
That seemed rather sudden. But not completely surprising. Thrillkill probably started marshaling his forces the instant I left his office.
“I’m sure he doesn’t want this case tried in the media any more than—”
“He says he will release evidence demonstrating that your client was questioned properly and that he is involved with terrorists.”
In other words, he was going to try the case in the media. He didn’t have enough evidence to press charges in court, but he had enough to convict someone on television. “That’s not how I roll, and I won’t be baited into—”
“Can we take that as an acknowledgement that your client is guilty?”
Of what? He’s never been charged. “No, you may—”
“Why are you siding with the terrorists?” a tall man in the rear shouted.
“I’m not. I’m siding with the Constitution.”
“If the prosecutor can prove your client is a terrorist, will you drop the case?”
“If they had credible evidence, they would have charged him already.”
“So you’re siding with the terrorists.”
“No one has even been charged—”
I felt a tug at my sleeve. Christina. “Ben, you’re needed urgently.”
I turned, more than a little annoyed, mostly at myself. “What is it?”
“That private and confidential meeting you mentioned. We’ve started. We need your expertise.” She smiled at the reporters. “We’ll let you know when we’re ready to make a statement.”
She tugged me away from the doors.
“What are you doing?” I asked, as soon as we were out of sight.
“Saving your bacon.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, the point of not talking to the press is to not talk to the press.”
“I wasn’t talking to them.”
“You gave them three separate sound bites, which they will edit to make you look evasive and disreputable.”
“I can deal with the press.”
“That explains why you were handling it so masterfully. Now go to your office and stay there till the vultures have left the desert.”
“Thank you, but I do not need a handler.”
“Even Don Quixote needed Sancho Panza. You have people in your office waiting for you.”
“People?” That caught my attention. I knew Oz was here. Did he bring friends? I gave her a kiss on the cheek—a reminder that I loved her even when I felt crabby—and headed down the corridor.
Oz waited in my office with two others—a petite woman with dark hair that flowed past her shoulders, and a young man. Unlike Oz, she was undeniably of Middle Eastern descent, and also undeniably beautiful. Her eyes had a darkness that seemed both haunting and haunted. The kid looked like he didn’t want to be here.
I stood awkwardly in the doorway. “May I ask . .
Oz grinned a bit. “They snuck in through the parking garage. I mentioned Mina before, remember? My girlfriend. And this is her little brother, Kir.”
Ah. “Nice to meet you both, but this is a confidential meeting. You don’t need to be present.”
Mina shook her head, letting the hair dance freely about her face. “No, you want to talk to me.”
“I’m sure I would love that, but right now we have to—”
“Seriously. You want to talk to me. Right now. I’m the one those fools outside are looking for.” The olive-skinned beauty smiled. “I’m the terrorist.”
14
There are moments in the practice of law when your head spins with so many potentially conflicting interests, all of which you are supposed to mentally balance lest you incur the wrath of the Bar, that even the most ethical person can be confused and the mightiest brain can be addled.
This was one of these moments. “Ma’am, I will have to caution you against making any self-incriminatory remarks. Since we don’t have an attorney-client relationship, I could be compelled to testify in—”
Her expression was uncomfortably close to a sneer. “Relax, Counselor. I have not confessed to anything.” Her English was excellent, vernacular and easy to understand, only a trace of an accent. “But I am trying to give you insight into what this case is truly about. Why they held Omar for so long. And why they will come after you with everything they’ve got.”
Needless to say, that stim
ulated my interest. “Oz, do I have your permission to talk to this woman?”
“That’s why I brought her.”
“Your personal relationship will not protect her in court, and the attorney-client privilege will not extend to her.”
“Got it, Ben. Do your lawyer thing.”
“This is serious, Oz. You saw that vampiric throng outside? There’s already an enormous amount of interest in this case. We’ve had phone calls from national markets. That’s likely to increase. It’s going to affect both of you. And possibly create some unsavory temptations.”
“I’m not quite sure I follow—”
Mina cut in. “He’s afraid I’ll sell what I know to the National Enquirer for a million bucks.”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “I don’t think that’s going to happen. Maybe you should just hear her out, Ben.”
“If you wish, Miss .
“My name is Mina Ali. I am from what was once one of the most prominent Iraqi families, under Saddam Hussein. After your government murdered him, my family suffered for the association.”
“Wasn’t he executed?”
“Call it what you will. You invaded our country and replaced our leaders. After a show trial, he was killed.”
I opted not to get distracted by politics. “How did you come to the United States?”
“My family had money, some of which has survived the invasion. And my brother lives here. His name is Abdullah Ali. I believe Oz has mentioned him.”
“Oz’s boss. The one the feds think is a terrorist.”
“Precisely. I had both of the essential qualities for emigration—money and connections. This has allowed me to come to the United States. But I also . . . attracted unfortunate attention. Both in Iraq and here.”
“Did you know Nazir?”
“At first—only by reputation. And later, in a much more . . . personal way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Unlike Nazir, I never made a profitable realignment. And that cost me dearly.”
“How so?”
“I was arrested, after the Hussein regime fell out of power. They accused me of spying against them.”
“Was it true?”
“Of course it was true. I was attempting to survive. The Americans invaded us. The country was in chaos. As you will recall, the formal fighting was of short duration. Sadly, unofficial acts of warfare continued. Bombings and suicide missions and the pointless loss of life.”
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