The Last Judgment

by Craig Parshall

  “Don’t worry, Will,” Mira said warmly. “You will do your best. I know you will. That’s all that can be asked of you.”

  The two shook hands, and Will exited the Orient House Palace. As he descended the steps, he was greeted by screams and cries from the group of protestors still assembled outside the front gates. But his mind was now fixed on Mira’s theory. What if she was right? What if Israel had had some part, no matter how covert and obscure, in the massacre of several hundred Muslims—not to mention a dozen Orthodox Jews at the Western Wall?

  He didn’t want to believe it. And he saw little evidence for Mira’s speculations.

  On the other hand, he knew his duty as his client’s trial advocate. It was that precise duty that weighed on his mind. When he took on Gilead’s case he had pledged to himself to zealously defend him against all odds—and against all outside influences.

  More than thirty years before, Will had raised his right hand in a courtroom and had been sworn into the practice of law. He remembered his oath. It had hung for years on his law office wall in Monroeville, Virginia. He knew the words by heart:

  I will never reject, from any consideration personal to myself, the cause of the defenseless or oppressed…so help me, God.

  And now he wondered what price would ultimately be exacted from him before the final judgment in this case was entered.

  50

  BACK IN HIS HOTEL ROOM in downtown Jerusalem, Will was sitting alone at the desk. It was nine in the evening, and he had finally gotten around to eating his room-service dinner, which by then was only slightly warm.

  He looked at his watch. It was mid-afternoon back in Virginia. Andy was still in school, and when Will glanced at his pocket home planner he was reminded that Fiona was supposed to be in a meeting in Washington with her concert manager, her agent, and a recording executive.

  Trying to break away from his work on the case for a few minutes, Will glanced through a few English-language Jerusalem papers he had picked up. One of them had a front-page article on Gilead’s case, announcing the pretrial hearing that had been scheduled for earlier that day.

  But all of the headlines were zeroing in on another issue, an immensely volatile one. Debate had been raging in the Knesset over control of the Temple Mount plateau. Since the destruction of the Dome of the Rock and the al-Aqsa Mosque, some of the conservatives in the Israeli parliament, like the Temple Mount Faithful Movement Party, were calling for Israel to wrest control from the Muslim Waqf.

  In response, the Arabic factions in the Knesset, like the Arab Democratic Party and the Israel Islamic Movement, were decrying that as proof of an “Israeli conspiracy behind the bombings.”

  Meanwhile, the moderates were fearful of any Israeli move for control, debating whether to yield to the United Nation’s call for an international committee to administer the one-million-square-foot area.

  And the area itself, still in ruins, was caught in nervous stalemate. IDF, UN peacekeeping troops, and the Palestinian police were jointly patrolling it in a tense standoff and were barring any entry.

  Then a noise interrupted Will’s reading. He glanced at the other end of the room and noticed that a plain manila envelope had been shoved under his door. He ran over, swung the door open, and looked down the hall both ways. It was empty.

  After closing and relocking the door, he took a closer look at the envelope. It contained a single magazine page—from something called International Security and Intelligence Quarterly. On one side was a short article about a patent recently approved by the U.S. Patent Office. Will glanced again at the envelope, which did not bear a room number or any other writing. His initial impression was that it had been delivered by accident.

  Then he looked more closely at the article.

  The gist was that a patent had been granted for a computer-security program designed to detect attempted unauthorized entries into computers employing quantum encryption systems. That encryption process had been heralded as a virtually unbreakable type of privacy protection for computers—but after reading the article a second time, it was clear to Will that someone might have learned how to compromise the quantum-encryption process. Hence the need for a refinement—namely, the newly patented detection system.

  It was an interesting diversion. But to Will, it seemed meaningless for now. He put the article back inside the envelope and tossed it aside.

  He rubbed his eyes. Jet lag and fatigue were starting to set in. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the carafe, knowing he would probably have to pull an all-nighter in order to construct the discovery disclosures that were to be filed with the tribunal by the end of business the next day. He had to give a general outline of his defense, just as the prosecution already had done. If any critical elements were left out, he might well be prevented from bringing that evidence in at the trial.

  But he needed to make any calls to the States now, while it was still during working hours back there.

  He placed a call to the NYU anthropology department, asking to be connected to Dr. Daoud al-Qasr, the expert referred to him by Len Redgrove.

  After a few transfers, Will was speaking to the Egyptian professor, who apologized that he only had a few minutes to talk before his next class.

  “I did review the materials you sent to me,” he remarked, “and I must say this case appears to have some issues I could address. They are—how should I say—within the general province of my expertise.”

  “And as I understand it,” Will glanced at his notes and the biography info he had found on al-Qasr, “your field is in socio-cultural anthropology of the Near East, with an emphasis on ancient religions and their current-day influence on Arab people groups—do I have that down accurately?”

  “You do indeed. You have been doing your research on me,” al-Qasr remarked with a little laugh. “I’m here for a short teaching assignment before I return to the University of Cairo.”

  Will explained his dilemma—that he had only into the next day to lay out the general contours of his defense in writing for the court and opposing counsel.

  “Can you say,” Will continued, “that Gilead Amahn did not share the same radical theological beliefs of the Knights—and therefore could not have been a knowing leader in their attempt to hasten the coming of their prophesied Golden Age by destroying the Temple Mount structure?”

  There was silence on the other end. Will tried again.

  “In other words, would it be your opinion that Gilead could not have been their ringleader—because he didn’t share their religious beliefs?”

  “Well, my expertise is in ancient Middle Eastern esoteric religions—where those religions still hold some cultural sway on present-day Arab groups.”

  “Exactly—like the Druze religion,” Will said.

  “Yes.”

  “And the Knights of the Temple Mount—a breakaway group from the Druze—you’re one of the few experts around who can speak authoritatively about this very small subgroup…”

  “While that is correct, I have to warn you,” al-Qasr explained, “that I am not an expert on what you are contending is Mr. Gilead Amahn’s true religious preference. In your cover letter to me you describe him as a ‘conservative evangelical Christian, theologically’—I really cannot speak to that…”

  “I understand,” Will replied, “and I have another expert, Dr. Tyrone, from Southern Methodist University. He’s going to address whether Gilead Amahn fits the description that you just quoted. But if we assume all that, and if Gilead was a conservative evangelical Christian on the day of the bombing—why would anyone believe he had been accepted as a leader in this secret, very esoteric cult?”

  After considering the question, the professor said he had only one opinion he could give, and he gave it reluctantly.

  “I can only say that given the esoteric, mystery-religion features of the theology of the Knights, and their very secret structure, they would be very slow to accept any hard-line Christian—someone very fixed in his
belief—into their group…or at least as a leader of their group. They would have to verify over a long period of supervision and instruction, you know, that such a person was a true convert to their group…”

  Dr. al-Qasr then apologized, saying he had to run. Will knew he would have to be satisified with that.

  “Will you fly over here to testify for us?” the attorney asked quickly before al-Qasr hung up.

  There was a sigh at the other end.

  “You know I am a Muslim.”

  “I know that,” Will replied quickly. “Will you testify for Gilead Amahn?”

  Another pause.

  “I’ll think about it…probably…most likely—if I can work it into my schedule.”

  “I did mention the trial date in my letter, and I indicated the dates I would be calling you as a witness.”

  “You may have written about that, but—so sorry, counselor—I really have to go.” The professor hung up.

  Will looked at his rough-draft listing of potential expert witnesses. Dr. al-Qasr’s name was at the top—but with a question mark jotted next to his name. Will took his pen and crossed out the question mark. Time was short. And though al-Qasr might have been less than committal, Will would have to hope and pray that he would come through by the time of the trial.

  His other experts were a surer bet. Dr. Edward Tyrone would testify that Gilead’s theological beliefs were “mainstream evangelical,” and despite his belief in a literal “end-times” scenario based on biblical prophecy, such beliefs excluded acts of terrorism by definition. Explosives expert Mike Michalany would give the opinion that Gilead, with no known experience in terrorism, could never have been the ringleader of a bombing attack that was so technologically sophisticated.

  Which led to a critical question—and it came burning into Will’s mind like a searing iron.

  If the Knights of the Temple Mount had had no experience in terrorism—no engineering talent for destruction or mayhem—then they could have obtained the wireless detonation system and huge quantity of C-4 explosives necessary from only a very narrow range of possible outside sources.

  But not from Islamic terrorists—that was certain. Then from who? Who had both the motive as well as the means to provide the material, technology, and organization for a massacre on the most contended-over piece of geography in the world?

  Will jotted down on his rough-draft list of witnesses, “Joe Doe, or Jane Doe—presently undetermined and unidentified conspirators who planned, provided equipment and technology for, or provided other material support for, the bombings.”

  Until Will was able to answer those questions, that generic description would have to do. Back in the States, of course, a prosecutor would call that a typical defense attorney’s trick—threatening to call, in favor of the defense case, the “true culprit” of the crime.

  And Will knew the truth—that as a trial strategy it was like raising an impressive but little-honored flag—often run up the flagpole, but rarely if ever saluted.

  As Will continued to evaluate and scrutinize the details of the case against Gilead, as well as his potential defense, he felt a growing sick feeling in the hollow of his stomach. He considered the judges who would decide the case, and the geopolitical stakes involved. And he was well aware of the wealth of circumstantial facts already lined up against Gilead. Given all of that, Will knew it would not be enough to simply argue that his client was an overzealous evangelical Christian who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, saying the wrong things at exactly the right moment in history to touch off an explosion that would decimate Islam’s third holiest site, along with several hundred praying Muslims.

  No. That was not going to wash. From everything Will had read, Gilead seemed to fulfill the bizarre, eclectic prophecy of the Knights of the Temple Mount—the coming of a messiah to Cairo at the precisely predicted time, a messiah who also matched the characteristics of the deified Caliph al-Hakim, who had disappeared there in the year 1021. What were the odds that Gilead had simply and innocently “stumbled” into that role? No, the evidence suggested that Gilead had run headlong into playing that part.

  It was clear to Will that only one thing could ultimately exonerate Gilead Amahn. Somehow, he needed to reveal who truly was behind the Temple Mount massacre, and even more importantly—why.

  51

  THROUGH THE EVENING WILL PORED over the multiple notebooks full of documents he had collected in the case thus far. Looking for shreds of information…anything…bits or scraps…something to show him what he might be missing in his potential defense. Looking for the answers to those questions that still taunted him. Like the elusive, long-horned desert ibex, sleek and gazelle-like, that stalked the Negev Desert, the answers to those questions stayed just beyond reach, elusive to catch.

  It was nearing midnight when he finished his initial document review. Before he started typing up the pretrial disclosure document on his laptop, he called home—and got the answering machine.

  He tried Fiona’s cell phone. But he got her voice mail.

  He glanced at his home planner. Andy was in a choir concert at school. Fiona obviously had gone there after her meeting in DC. They wouldn’t be home for several more hours. Will got up from the hotel-room desk, stretched, and went into the bathroom to throw some cold water on his face. He poured himself another cup of coffee…it was tepid, nearly cold, but he didn’t care.

  Deciding to take a break for a few minutes, he scooped up the newspapers he had not finished scanning.

  And then, suddenly, as Will glanced at the familiar headlines, he was struck by a thought. It was so self-evident, he wondered why it hadn’t hit him before. Outside of Gilead’s family and his defense team, absolutely no one—and certainly no nation—no political entity anywhere—had any interest in vindicating Gilead’s innocence. To the contrary, there appeared to be a near-universal motivation to see him convicted and executed as a terrorist.

  For the United States, there was the acid-stomach embarrassment of having released its federal detainer against this “terrorist,” and then later aiding his release from a Cairo jail at the request of Will Chambers, no less. But more than that, Will knew the political implications for President Harriet Landow if her administration were seen as sympathetic to someone, like Gilead, who was perceived to be an enemy not only of the Palestinian Authority, but of Muslims everywhere.

  Will read the Washington papers. He had connections on the Hill. He knew that Landow, breaking from the last administration, had taken a hard line against Israel. It was clear she was bent on forcing a Middle East peace plan, whether Israel liked it or not. America would somehow, in some way, be held to account if the chief scapegoat for the Temple Mount murders—a nationalized American and a “radical” Christian “cultist”—got off. The State Department’s recent refusal to talk to Will seemed to bear that out. While the Landow Administration might have only a slight political advantage if Gilead was convicted, it would suffer a truly catastrophic foreign policy injury if he was acquitted.

  Then there was the Palestinian Authority and the Arab League nations. Their position in the case seemed painfully obvious.

  Israel’s stance was more complicated, but just as troubling. Caught in the middle, as always, the tiny nation was being hammered by accusations of showing lack of diligence by not catching the Knights of the Temple Mount before the bombings. Mira Ashwan’s suggestion that its negligence went even farther—even to the point of complicity in deliberately allowing the attack—was publicly shared by several international pundits.

  Thus, why would Israel have any motive to help the attorney in exonerating his client? Like the United States, its resistance to providing any intelligence information to Will seemed to substantiate all of that.

  Even the international Christian community had been brutally graceless. In magazine articles, several of the mainline denominations had pointed to Gilead’s “extremist” preaching as a moral cause of the bombings…if not
a legal one. One prominent liberal Bible scholar had pointed to the case as an example of “why the preaching of Bible prophecy and other end-times nonsense is a threat to social justice, ethnic peace, and religious tolerance.”

  The evangelical groups were guarded at best. Concerned that Gilead might in truth have been subsumed into a dangerous religious cult, and remembering the bitter gall of abortion clinic bombings by self-proclaimed “Christian patriots,” all had decried the violence—but most had taken a wait-and-see position regarding Gilead’s guilt or innocence.

  Will felt as if he and Gilead were together, alone, in the middle of a vast arena. All around, rising from the galleries, and the bleachers, and the box seats, was a collective cry for the conviction and death of this quiet, serious student of Scripture—this young man who seemed to have such a white-hot passion for evangelizing his own people.

  In his fatigue, Will turned back to the newspaper, flipping casually to the inside pages of the article he was reading. Then something caught his eye.

  On the neighboring page to the article he was reading was a photo of Warren Mullburn. He was being greeted by Israeli diplomats during his recent visit to forge a Middle East peace plan. His grin was wide—even ecstatic. His eyes were electric with an inner light of secret enthusiasm.

  Will studied the picture. By now he was exhausted, and his head was spinning.

  He looked at the picture again, his eyes bleary.

  Then he walked to the window and drew back the curtains. It was still dark out. In the distance he saw the white limestone walls of Old City Jerusalem, washed with the golden glow of streetlights. He saw the brash neon security lamps that had been installed on top of the Temple Mount amid the ruins of the bombed-out mosques. And there were the tiny figures of Palestinian armed guards, as usual, crawling over the surface of the Mount.