by Henry Porter
Thus she distracted herself thinking of the foundation and consciously recalling what she had experienced in those hours, and in a few minutes she had regained a measure of calm and, more importantly, purpose.
Lucas and Speight came in together and sat down. Lucas said they would have to abandon the morning’s planned session, but that not all was lost. He looked around.
‘I understand that we do have a witness in the room who can help this committee’s deliberations. Would Mrs Anastasia Hisami please stand up and be recognised.’
Anastasia rose. ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Lucas. ‘I am going to put it to the members present that we call you forward.’ He looked along the benches and received several nods from both Democrats and Republicans. ‘Please come and take your place,’ he said.
She went forward with the bag and sat down at the table, propping it against her chair. She placed her hands together, briefly noticing the dreadful state of her nails, and nodded to Lucas.
‘I want to draw the committee’s attention to the fact that you lost your husband just forty-eight hours ago, and that you have agreed to continue, as far as you are able, giving the evidence that Mr Hisami was providing when he and Mr Steen began to sicken from the poisoning that killed him and was almost certainly a contributory factor in your husband’s passing last Friday evening. I first wish to convey the condolences of the committee to you, but also to state our gratitude that you have chosen to return so soon and support the democratic process that we all believe in. I thank you, Mrs Hisami, for that.’
So far, Speight had only looked up from his papers once and he hadn’t acknowledged her during a brief sweep of the room, where there was now much activity. Journalists were competing for seats while photographers took up positions on the floor in front of her. TV cameras were being set up left and right. If there had ever been any doubt in her mind, she now knew that every word she said would be on the record.
Harry Lucas held up a hand to suggest he would not start until everyone had found a seat and the slight hubbub had died down. She looked round and saw Samson and Naji enter. Samson was having a word with one of the officers and pointing to the front. The officer was shaking his head. He left Naji with Zillah and took one of the chairs on the aisle three rows behind her. She saw Ulrike shepherding a group of five people, two women and three men, including Herr Frick, into the back row.
She occupied herself by taking the copies of her statement from the bag, laying them face down on the table in front of her and squaring them off neatly.
‘Settle down,’ said Lucas to the room. ‘I am now going to turn it over to the Ranking Member for his opening statement.’
‘Thank you,’ said Speight slowly, and looked up from his papers. ‘I want to associate myself with the chair’s remarks. I was saddened to hear of your husband’s death, Mrs Hisami, and I endorse the chair’s sentiments about the courage you show in coming here so soon after. Yet I feel bound to warn you that the process of democratic inquiry is not always kind, even in these woeful circumstances. I must press you on the matters we were addressing when that shameful attack took place. You understand that?’
She nodded but felt her hands suddenly grow cold, a sign of anxiety she hadn’t managed to shake off even with therapy.
‘You will recall that I was pursuing a line that connected your husband’s activities in support of Kurdish forces this year to his period as a commander of considerable daring and ruthlessness in the 1980s, when, as a young man, he took part in actions against Saddam Hussein’s forces and was closely associated with the CIA.’
‘That is true,’ said Anastasia. ‘A senior officer testified in a hearing in New York to challenge my husband’s detention by the Immigration and Customs Enforcement two and a half years ago. My husband worked closely with the CIA and during that time was an important ally of America.’
‘But the fact is that ICE lawyers got the wrong massacre in that hearing, and your husband was allowed to walk free. The Agency’s informants made a mistake on the dates and doctored the written evidence as well. Is that true?’
Samson saw Anastasia’s head go down. She said nothing. Had Speight tricked her into believing he was somehow on her side, only to revisit the allegation surrounding the massacre? He was aware of a slight disturbance behind him and looked around to see a tall man, well dressed and with an air of entitlement, moving to two spare seats on the right of the public area. It was Jonathan Mobius, and he was followed by Mila Daus. She was wearing a well-cut two-piece in dark, smoky blue. Samson thought – Berlin Blue.
At that moment, he saw a woman he knew to be working for Zillah Dee leap up and hand something to Daus, who shook her head and gave it back to her. He knew this to be a shiny black Chanel powder compact that would be spirited away for fingerprint analysis. He kept his head down but allowed himself one more look at Daus. She was saying something to Mobius, who nodded and smiled. Then she smiled, closed her eyes and threw her head back. If the circumstances had allowed, there would have been a hearty laugh to accompany all this. Martin Reid had done a good job. They had come to watch the public evisceration of Anastasia and were evidently looking forward to it.
‘In your own time,’ said Speight quietly.
‘Yes, sir, I’m thinking,’ Anastasia replied, and remembered his remark about the silent alliance between bridge partners. ‘Never assume your partner has made a mistake.’ She had no option but to trust him, yet it was a few seconds more before she finally answered his question with a simple, ‘Yes.’ There was a murmur around the room.
‘Thank you for that,’ said Speight, so quietly that the stenographer looked up. ‘Can you tell us exactly what your husband’s involvement was and how that connects to the allegations that he supported the Kurds?’
‘My husband was involved in the execution of forty Iraqi soldiers in early 1995. It’s true that the information provided to the court in New York was erroneous and the evidence brought by ICE, in effect the Department of Homeland Security, was a clumsy forgery. Documents were altered in a font that did not exist at the time of their creation.’ She looked down again. ‘However, I can confirm that my husband took part in a war crime. He was commander of a group operating in Northern Iraq. Forty Iraqi soldiers surrendered to his company and they were all executed.’ Samson caught Daus’s quiet look of triumph.
‘On his orders?’ pressed Speight.
‘Yes, I only learned the full facts after his death.’ She stopped. ‘It explained a lot to me. I believe it weighed on Denis his entire life and was the driver in the enormous amount of charitable work he undertook. I looked at the figures over the weekend. He gave away nearly 3 billion dollars.’
‘And that massacre, that war crime, is why he changed his name from Karim Qasim to Denis Hisami?’
‘Yes, I believe so.’
‘But you say there’s no connection between this atrocity and his recent support for the Kurdish people.’
‘They weren’t motivated by the same fanatical nationalism, if that’s what you intend to imply. The murder of those young men was committed during a fast-moving battle taking place on many fronts.’ She paused. ‘Denis was an American patriot, but he was also Kurd and believed in the right of the Kurdish people to self-determination. After the Kurds helped the US track down Saddam Hussein and successfully fought ISIS, albeit with the loss of eleven thousand lives, America abandoned them to the Turkish forces. Denis believed that the recent attacks by the Turks on Kurdish lands were laying the ground for the genocide of his people, and he decided to do something about it.’
‘He gave his people money.’
‘Yes, for medical supplies and infrastructure.’
‘And weapons?’
She was looking down. ‘Yes.’
‘How much?’
‘From the notes he left, I would estimate it was two hundred million, a quarter of which was designate
d for medical aid.’
‘And you have learned all this since your husband’s death.’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘I thank you for your candour, Mrs Hisami. This is obviously an extremely difficult time for you.’ As Speight said this, his attention went to Harry Lucas, who was listening to a thin, hawkish-looking man with an entirely bald head. Samson felt his phone vibrate with a message. It was from Zillah: ‘Something’s going down.’
Before he could look up, four men had moved behind Anastasia. She turned her face to them with a look of pure anger. One man had his hand on her shoulder. It was shaken off.
Lucas exploded. ‘This is an outrage. I have to inform members of the Committee that this is Mr Selikoff, the Director of Homeland Security, who informs me he is carrying out an interdiction to arrest our witness and seize material that he claims is vital to national security.’ He stood up and faced him. ‘But this is Congress, sir, and the Executive does not have the power to interrupt proceedings, still less to arrest a witness giving evidence. You will leave this committee room now.’ He pointed to the door. ‘Go now!’
Selikoff straightened, surveyed the room and began to speak but was quickly cut off.
‘Mr Selikoff, you have to be elected by the American people to make speeches from this platform,’ roared Lucas. ‘Leave the room and remove yourself and your agents from this building.’ He ordered the Capitol Police to escort the Homeland Security agents from the room. Uproar ensued, with members of Congress jumping to their feet, shouting and pointing. Selikoff gave a signal to his men, one of whom reached down to pick up Anastasia’s bag and remove the computer.
‘Put that down,’ said Lucas, now holding the microphone to his lips. ‘Return that to Mrs Hisami.’
They took no notice.
‘Thank you, Mr Chairman and Members of Congress,’ said Selikoff. ‘We will not trouble your proceedings further. We have got what we came for and we will doubtless speak with Mrs Hisami later.’
With that, the five men marched from the room with Denis’s computer, pursued by journalists and TV cameras. Near the door they passed a man wearing a suit that Samson immediately recognised. No one in Washington wore a suit like that. It was Peter Nyman, who turned with an expression of grim satisfaction, but he did not register Samson with his beard.
Samson’s eyes went to Mila Daus, who was leaning forward so that Mobius could speak to her ear. She appeared utterly composed, though was also plainly mystified by what she had just seen. And that interested Samson. He remembered Zillah Dee being categorical that Mila Daus and the government were not working in concert and that they were ignorant of each other’s agenda. She didn’t get up and leave because, like everyone else in the room, she wanted to know what would happen next.
Samson went to Anastasia and crouched down beside her so he couldn’t be seen from the back row by Daus. ‘What do we do now?’ she demanded. ‘They’ve got everything.’
‘You have your notes, and they can’t access the information on the computer.’
‘But the proof!’ she hissed. ‘We don’t have the complete dossier and we don’t have the proof.’
‘Daus is here with Mobius. She’s to your right, at the back. All Ulrike’s people are here, so we can still spoil her bloody day. Go to it. I’m here for you.’
Harry Lucas had brought the gavel down several times. Samson went to his seat. Lucas boomed, ‘This committee will come to order!’ The noise died down. ‘What we have just witnessed is a constitutional outrage, the like of which has never been seen in the history of the Republic. The Ranking Member Mr Speight and I will need to consult the Speaker about the violation of Congress and the challenge to America’s democracy. I propose we adjourn.’
He was about to take the views of both parties when Speight interrupted. ‘If I may, Chairman?’ Lucas nodded. ‘I think it would be advisable to find out why Homeland Security believed it was necessary to storm in here and seize Mrs Hisami’s property before our eyes, and to enquire about the laptop they removed and what is contained therein.’ The slow, modulated Southern voice stilled the room better than Lucas’s gavel and, since every member was asking themselves exactly those same questions, a quick consultation produced a vote to remain in session.
But Lucas insisted that he must confer with the Speaker, leading figures in both parties and the Capitol Police. In the meantime, Room 2172 was in lockdown. People could leave but they would not be allowed back. If they wanted to use the bathroom, that was too bad – they would have to forego attendance at the session. As the only witness, Anastasia was offered the members’ facilities.
She hoped to meet Speight on the way to the washroom but saw no one. Unsurprisingly, Shera Ricard the freshman Democrat Congresswoman representing California’s fourteenth district, who had taken money from both Denis and Mila Daus, had made herself scarce that day.
She had a pee, then sat on the lavatory with the lid down. The hand holding her phone shook. She’d expected Speight to touch on the massacre, for he had hinted as much on the phone, but she had no idea how painful it would be to admit to Denis’s most guarded secret so soon after his death, a secret that she was only just beginning to process. Though it was obvious from Denis’s precise account on the laptop that these were things that he had prepared himself to admit, it still felt rotten and disloyal. She had trashed her husband’s reputation for good, yet the revelations about Daus’s network that justified doing this were now lost. Without the computer and painstaking detail of Denis’s files, no one would believe it. Her testimony was basically useless. But then it occurred to her that the reason she was in this state was Mila Daus. Denis’s death, her kidnap, even the loss of her baby, were all directly Daus’s doing. Samson was right – they could at the very least expose her.
She heard voices as two people entered the bathroom. She withdrew her legs so they couldn’t be seen and waited. There was a sound of a tap running, then she heard a woman say, ‘Senator Speight says to tell you that it’s all going to plan.’ There was a murmured response which she didn’t catch. Then she heard the door open and close. The sound of the hand dryer followed. She waited. As soon as she heard the door a second time, she rushed from the stall to look down the corridor. A woman in a floral dress with pale blue cardigan, who had been standing behind Speight for most of the hearing, was walking back to Room 2172. Who had she been talking to? What did it mean when she said it was all going to plan? She went back and rinsed her hands in warm water, noticing an odd mixture of perfume and staleness in the bathroom and returned to the committee room.
Lucas was in position and consulting with the Clerk of the Committee and her deputies. Most of the members had returned, but Speight was nowhere on the dais. Then she saw him, at the far end of the members’ chairs, talking to a tall man with his back to her. Speight seemed to be enjoying himself. He turned to check how things were going, realised he should resume his seat, shook the man’s hand and punched him lightly on the bicep. As he moved away, he threw a look past the man, grinned and raised his hand to someone – just a lift of the fingers, but a wave nonetheless. His interlocutor now turned and Anastasia recognised Jonathan Mobius. The person to whom Speight had semaphored his good wishes could be none other than Mila Daus. That was who the aide had been speaking to.
Anastasia whipped round to Samson, who had seen all this, and made a helpless gesture. He replied by indicating that there was something on the desk in front of her. She found a folded sheet of paper. In Samson’s neat hand were the words: ‘Martin Reid found washed up on bank of Shenandoah on Sunday morning. Reported heart attack after entering cold water on Saturday afternoon!’
She read it twice in disbelief. If Reid was dead – whether by murder, suicide or accident – why was Daus in the committee room? He had been the person tasked with persuading her to attend. Had he had time to make his case to Daus after leaving the meeting with her, Samson an
d Ulrike and before entering the waters of the river? It seemed unlikely. Questions swarmed in her mind, particularly concerning the reassurance she’d overheard in the bathroom. She was about to turn to Samson when Lucas gavelled the room to order and began speaking.
‘Members of Congress, ladies and gentlemen, what we have witnessed today is an offence to the Constitution of the United States of the gravest order. It is without precedent. I have consulted with the Speaker and she has made her feelings clear to the White House. I am pleased to say that we have the support of both sides of the house in our resolve that this committee must now prove to the world that the United States Congress will suffer no trespass or breach of its ancient rights by the Executive branch or any federal agency. I remind everyone in this room that one agency, and one agency alone, has jurisdiction in Congress, and that is the United States Capitol Police, which have powers in the District of Columbia, as well as across the United States, to protect and safeguard Congress and its members. The USCP is the full service – that is, independent – federal law enforcement agency that answers to the legislative branch, not the President. The Speaker and I have instructed the Chief of the USCP to secure Room 2172 for the period of this testimony. We are in lockdown. No one will leave or enter this committee and that restriction will be rigidly enforced by the USCP. That will include certain cable-news channels, which have made urgent applications to the Speaker, the Clerk and my staff.’ He stopped and looked fiercely around the room. ‘This is the second time evidence on these matters has been interrupted by outrage. There will not be a third. I hope I make myself clear.’ He glanced to his left. ‘Ranking Member, you were saying . . .’
Lucas didn’t notice the lanky youth in an oversized jacket walk hurriedly from the back of the room and sit down beside Anastasia with a computer decorated with a sticker that read: ‘The Singularity Starts Here.’