by Randy Singer
Parcelli grunted his frustration, as if this law student couldn’t have asked a dumber question. “Professor Kumari and Mr. Hoffman spent hours together before Hoffman turned Kumari over to the Chinese mafia so they could torture the professor in their attempt to obtain the algorithm. The only person who knew the algorithm at that point was Kumari. I think it’s pretty obvious.”
“You can’t say for certain that Kumari didn’t tell someone else about the algorithm before he came to America, can you?”
“Not for certain.”
“In fact, wouldn’t it make sense for a man like Kumari to let somebody else in on his secret just in case something happened to him?”
“Objection, calls for speculation.”
“Sustained.”
Isaiah nodded in Carzak’s direction, the way you might pat an opposing player after a good tackle. “In any event, if Kumari did tell somebody else about the algorithm, that person could have conveyed the information to Mr. Hoffman a good while after Kumari was killed. Isn’t that possible?”
“Highly unlikely. But anything’s possible.”
“Or Kumari could have buried the information someplace and told only Hoffman about its location. So Hoffman wouldn’t have technically had the algorithm when you asked him about it. Isn’t that possible?”
“Unlikely.”
“But possible?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“And finally, Kumari could have sent the information to Hoffman by some delayed technique—by a time-triggered e-mail, or the U.S. mail; we all know how slow that is, or—”
“That’s enough, Mr. Haywood,” Judge Torriano interjected. “The court gets the point.”
Professor Snead, like a color commentator, leaned over to whisper in Jamie’s ear. “Cutting us off—that’s a very good sign.”
It took Carzak about ten minutes to undo the damage that Isaiah had inflicted during his hour of questioning. Carzak first established that Parcelli actually liked the Hoffmans and certainly didn’t want anything to happen to them. But, Parcelli testified, in his experience, successful witness protection depends first and foremost on the witness. If the witness tries to scam the government, as Parcelli feared the Hoffmans had done, or if the witness reestablishes contact with the criminals who were after him or her, not much could be done to help.
“Did you personally help investigate the circumstances surrounding the computer-generated letter that Mr. Johnny Chin received, purportedly from Clark Shealy, a man also known as David Hoffman, offering to sell the algorithm to the Chinese mafia?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did you find any indication whatsoever that such letter came from a source other than Hoffman himself—for example, the marshals’ office of the United States government?”
“No. There is no such evidence.”
Without providing further details, Carzak directed Parcelli’s attention to the witness protection program in general. There are over seventy-five hundred witnesses and about ten thousand family members who have been part of the program, Parcelli said. The feds, including the marshals’ office that the Hoffmans were accusing of leaking information in this case, had never lost a single witness unless that witness contacted his former associates, as Hoffman had done with Johnny Chin.
Parcelli then testified about his conversation in Washington, D.C., with Isaiah Haywood. Even though Hoffman had tried to sell the algorithm to the mob, the government was willing to overlook that conduct, relocate the Hoffmans, and provide them with new identities, subject to only one condition: the Hoffmans must turn over the algorithm to the government. Obtaining that algorithm was, Parcelli said, a matter of national security.
“What would happen if Mr. Hoffman sold that algorithm to a member of an organized-crime ring?” Carzak asked.
“Among other things, that crime ring could access sensitive financial secrets and quite possibly cripple the entire Internet,” Parcelli said.
“Come on,” Carzak said. “That sounds a little melodramatic.”
“That’s not the half of it,” Parcelli answered. He had the look of impending doom as he turned solemnly to the judge. “Even though this is a closed proceeding, I’m not authorized to say anything more.”
50
When Isaiah rested his case, Carzak surprised everyone by calling Johnny Chin to the stand.
“Where is the witness now?” Judge Torriano asked.
“The marshals have him in a holding cell.”
“Very well, then.”
A few minutes later, Jamie watched Chin limp down the aisle of federal court, wearing an orange jumpsuit, handcuffs, and ankle chains, escorted on each side by a federal marshal.
Chin climbed into the stand looking sullen, casting angry looks at everyone in the courtroom, including Allan Carzak. His eyes were sunken and his skin drawn, as if death couldn’t wait for the coroner’s pronouncement before beginning its facial reconstructive work.
“Good morning,” Carzak said.
Chin did not respond.
Like a smiling dentist rooting out wisdom teeth, Carzak pried information from Chin question by question. First, Carzak laid a solid foundation, having the witness describe how a bounty hunter named Clark Shealy had apprehended Chin when Chin was working for the Chinese mafia. Then Carzak took Chin through a careful series of yes or no questions.
Yes, Clark Shealy contacted Chin while Chin served time in San Jacinto. Yes, Shealy asked Chin to contact the Chinese mafia, the triads, about buying an algorithm Shealy had obtained from a man named Professor Moses Kumari. No, Chin had not contacted the mafia, going instead straight to the Department of Justice with the information.
Carzak ended the testimony by introducing a computer-generated letter into evidence. “Is this the letter you received from Mr. Shealy?” Carzak asked.
Chin barely glanced at it. “Yes.”
“When did you receive this letter?”
“Sometime near the end of February.”
Carzak looked at Isaiah. “Is Counsel willing to stipulate that this letter arrived on February 26, or do we need to introduce the affidavit from the custodian of San Jacinto who logs in the mail?”
“I don’t stipulate to anything,” Isaiah said. “And the affidavit is inadmissible hearsay.”
“What?” Torriano said. Anger flashed in her eyes before she apparently recalled her obligation to maintain neutrality. “I mean, objection overruled. You can’t argue that your affidavit comes in as evidence but the one introduced by the government does not.”
“I just did,” Isaiah mumbled.
“And stand up when you address the court,” Torriano barked.
Isaiah stood. “We object, Your Honor.”
“That’s better. Objection overruled.”
“I could have achieved that result sitting down,” Isaiah said.
Jamie’s stomach flipped. Just what she needed. Carzak the Magnificent trying a flawless case for the government, and Isaiah going into his smart-mouth routine.
“What?” Torriano asked, her neck muscles tight.
“Nothing, Your Honor.”
“I have no further questions, Judge,” Carzak said.
Isaiah shot up from his seat. Wellington had provided Isaiah with some research on Chin as well, cataloging all the charges the government filed against Chin during its prosecution of the Manchurian Triad. “Murder one, assault with a deadly weapon, conspiracy to commit murder, three violations of the RICO Act, four counts of wire fraud, and one count of extortion—is that everything, Mr. Chin?”
“Close enough.”
“You’ve killed men for money, but you want this court to take your word about a letter you allegedly received from my client?” Isaiah was practically shouting.
“You don’t have to take my word,” Chin said. “The letter is right there.”
“Which could have been typed by anybody on any computer,” Isaiah responded. “Including one of your mob buddies on the outside.”
“Is that a question?” Chin asked.
“Isn’t that possible?” Isaiah spit back.
“Anything’s possible.”
“That’s what Mr. Parcelli says, too. Wonder who wrote these scripts.”
“Objection!”
“Sustained.”
Isaiah didn’t even slow down. “I notice that one of your conspiracy convictions was for your part in plotting a revenge killing. Is that true?”
“I’m an innocent man, sir.” Chin smirked as he said it—a man serving three life sentences with nothing to lose. “A victim of the system.”
“Speaking of your expertise in exacting revenge, I also noticed you walk with a limp. Did my client have anything to do with that?”
“Your boy shot out my kneecap and tried to pull out my teeth,” Chin snorted.
“And you hate him for it, don’t you?”
Watching Isaiah, Jamie found herself on the edge of her seat. He loved aggression, loved the stage. He had the gift. She wondered if she would ever be this good.
“I hate his guts, Counselor. I hate his lawyer’s guts. I hate the system for protecting a man who tortures and maims. But does that mean I fabricated this letter? Afraid not. My methods are much more direct.”
“You wanted the government to cut you a deal. You figured you could kill two birds with one stone.”
Carzak came to his feet again. “Judge, I’m trying to be patient. But that’s a speech, not a question. As Mr. Haywood knows, the government didn’t give Mr. Chin anything in exchange for his cooperation. Not one day off his sentence.”
Isaiah stepped toward the witness. “But you thought they would, didn’t you, Mr. Chin? You thought they would.”
“Counsel!” Torriano barked. “Move away from that witness. This is not Boston Legal; this is federal court.” She glowered as Isaiah took a baby step or two away, never losing eye contact with the witness. “Mr. Carzak’s objection is sustained.”
After a few seconds of attempted intimidation, Isaiah stalked back to his place behind counsel table. “No further questions,” he said, and his tone conveyed the rest of the sentence—for this piece of trash. He plunked himself in his seat and placed his chin in his hand, the picture of disgust.
Jamie leaned toward him. “You made your points,” she said.
“I suck,” Isaiah responded.
51
“No pressure,” Snead said just before Jamie rose to deliver the closing argument, “but it’s all on you.”
Wellington leaned forward, sticking his nose between Jamie and Snead. “Can we get a quick recess?” he asked. “I just thought of something.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Snead grunted.
But Jamie, who had been impressed with Wellington’s work, thought the kid was at least entitled to a minute of their time. Ignoring Snead, she stood. “May I have a minute to confer with Co-counsel, Your Honor?” Jamie asked respectfully.
Judge Torriano studied Jamie for a moment, possibly remembering what it felt like as a young woman trying her first case in federal court. The hard eyes melted a fraction; iron became lead. “We’ve been going all morning,” Torriano announced. “Let’s take a five-minute break.”
The Southeastern team huddled as soon as the judge left the bench. The storm brewing in Snead’s eyes was all the warning Jamie needed not to cross him again. But Wellington didn’t seem to notice.
“What did Stacie Hoffman tell you about the algorithm?” Wellington asked Isaiah.
“Not much. She said her husband obtained a copy but not until after he gave his sworn statement to the police.”
“Did she say what the algorithm might be used for?”
“No. She just said this Indian guy supposedly developed a formula that would crack a lot of Internet security codes. She didn’t go into any detail.”
“Did she say anything about prime numbers?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
As Isaiah thought about it, Jamie considered the irony of what she was watching. Last week, the two were sworn enemies. Now . . . partners, one step away from friends.
“Yes, Wellington. I’m sure.” Isaiah sounded edgy.
Okay, maybe associates was more accurate, Jamie thought. Partnership might come with time.
“We’ll need to call Parcelli back to the stand,” Wellington insisted. “There are a few questions you’ve got to ask him about that formula.”
Isaiah gave Wellington a look, a twisted face that conveyed his feelings better than words would have—Are you crazy? But he was obviously starting to trust Wellington. His work on this case had been exquisite, his pleadings a thing of beauty. Why doubt him now? Besides, what did they have to lose?
“I say we give it a try,” Jamie said.
“I agree,” Snead said, still frowning.
“A cracker conspiracy,” Isaiah said.
52
“Plaintiff recalls Agent Parcelli,” Isaiah said. Though he tried to sound confident, Jamie could tell his heart wasn’t quite in it.
“For what purpose?” Allan Carzak asked pleasantly. All of his sugar was starting to sicken Jamie.
“To ask him some questions about the type of algorithm in question.”
“That information is protected by national security concerns,” Carzak countered.
“I agree,” Torriano said before Isaiah could even warm up his arguing muscles. “Plus, that line of inquiry is irrelevant. If your client has the algorithm, he doesn’t need this witness to describe it. If your client doesn’t have the algorithm, testimony about its nature is irrelevant.”
What? Jamie felt like she had just witnessed a masterful case of doublespeak that would take her a month to unravel.
Wellington, not surprisingly, had processed it instantly. He was leaning forward again, tapping Jamie on the shoulder, like that annoying kid in junior high who kept borrowing your pencil. “Put me on the stand,” he whispered.
“Huh?”
“Put me on the stand. Qualify me as an expert in mathematical formulas. Ask me these three questions.” He shoved a piece of paper containing some handwritten notes into Jamie’s hands. She showed it to Snead as Isaiah argued about the court’s ruling.
Snead looked as confused as Jamie. He shrugged. Jamie slid down and tugged on Isaiah’s arm. “One minute, Your Honor,” he said.
Jamie told him the plan.
“You’d better know what you’re doing,” he whispered. Then to the judge: “The plaintiff calls Wellington Farnsworth as a rebuttal witness.”
“This is getting ridiculous,” Carzak mumbled.
But Torriano had no choice. A plaintiff was entitled to call a rebuttal witness. “Make it quick,” she snapped.
While Wellington stumbled his way to the witness stand, Isaiah leaned down and whispered to Jamie. “Why don’t you take a shot at this one? I missed that evidence class where we covered the qualifications of experts.”
Jamie began by asking questions about Wellington’s undergraduate degree in applied mathematics, his experience in the patent office, and a thesis he had written as an undergrad about differential equations. She did everything but ask him about his grade in high school algebra. Carzak shook his head in amazement, and even Snead, Jamie’s own supervising attorney, had his hand over his mouth to hide a smirk.
“I’d like to present Mr. Farnsworth as an expert in the field of applied mathematics,” Jamie said at last.
Carzak stood with his arms spread wide. “Judge, you know he doesn’t meet the new standards for experts. For example, he’s never worked in the field of applied mathematics, he’s never published a single scholarly article, he’s never—”
“Actually,” Wellington interrupted, “I’ve published two. In the SIAM Journal on Applied Mathematics, I wrote a report titled ‘Applied Cryptography: Protocols, Source Codes, and Standards,’ and the journal Numerical Algorithms published one of my papers titled ‘Linearizations of Matrix Polynomials.’”
Normall
y, Jamie would have stifled a yawn just hearing the titles. But today, in the combat of the courtroom, they took on an intriguing, almost-magical mystique. This guy is seriously smart.
“I also served as a panelist at the Workshop on Analytic Algorithms and Combinatorics sponsored by the Society for Industrial and Applied Mathematics. Other panelists included professors from Johns Hopkins, Carnegie Mellon, Harvard, and—” Wellington’s tone dropped to a hushed reverence while Carzak tried to recover his panache—“Dr. Gilles Schaeffer from the École Polytechnique in France.”
As Wellington finished his answer, Judge Torriano leaned forward, her chin propped on her fists. She seemed enamored with the whiz kid already.
“Any other questions, Mr. Carzak?” she asked.
“Judge, he still doesn’t meet the relevancy standards in Daubert—”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Her Honor said. “But those standards are primarily a safeguard in jury cases so that jurors don’t get swindled by junk science. This court will not grant Mr. Farnsworth’s testimony any more weight than it is due. But I’d at least like to hear what the young man has to say.”
Carzak sat down, and Jamie heard Snead, sitting behind her, whisper his assessment to Isaiah. “It’s over,” he said. “When a judge lets you qualify a law student as an expert, she’s guaranteed to rule against you.”
Jamie glanced at Wellington’s list of questions. “Mr. Farnsworth,” she began, though it felt weird to call him by his last name, “can you think of any kind of algorithm that would be so powerful and crucial that it would shut down the Internet if it fell into the wrong hands?”
“Objection,” Carzak said, but a curious Judge Torriano overruled him.
“Most Internet security is based on public-key encryption,” Wellington responded. He slid forward in his seat as he warmed to the subject. “Public-key encryption is dependent upon certain one-way mathematical formulas, and the effectiveness of these formulas is in turn based on the unique characteristics of prime numbers. While it is relatively easy to multiply prime numbers together, it is nearly impossible to rapidly factor a large number into its prime components.”