The Last Judgment

by Craig Parshall

  “I’m not sure who he was talking about…”

  “He must have meant the accused because you said they had just been talking about Mr. Amahn.”

  “I’m just not sure who, or what, he meant…”

  “You must be sure about this—you will not leave this courtroom until you are very sure—”

  Will was up on his feet, objecting loudly that the prosecution was “harassing the witness, and engaging in repetitive questions in an apparent attempt to wear down Miss Solomon.”

  Judge Mustafa intervened. But rather than sustain Will’s objections, he launched into his own questions of the witness, asking her in several different ways whether Khalid seemed to be saying that Gilead Amahn would be giving some kind of signal.

  In the end, Susan Solomon admitted confusion about the whole incident. Whether the prosecution had really gained ground with their cross-examination was unclear to Will and Nigel. But Samir Zayed’s grinning exhuberance at the end of the day left no doubt how he was feeling about his capital case against Gilead Amahn.

  The two lawyers then met with Bill and Esther Collingwood, who had attended the day’s proceedings. Having missed the prosecution’s case and Will’s cross-examinations, they were confused about the evidence. But it was not confusion that their faces expressed. It was grief. They were stunned that the case was still progressing against their son…and from what they had seen in court, the prosecution’s case seemed to be gaining momentum.

  Nigel urged them not to judge the whole case by one day’s testimony. And Will stressed that the defense still had crucial evidence to present—particularly Gilead’s.

  “He looks just awful,” Esther lamented, ignoring what the two lawyers had just said. “Doesn’t he, Bill? He looks just miserable. He’s lost weight. There are dark circles under his eyes, and no spark in them.”

  Her husband had to agree. Then he said he knew Will and Nigel were doing their best, and they would leave them alone to prepare for the next day’s testimony.

  They worked late. Then Will caught a cab back to the hotel and trudged up to his room. He lay down on the bed for just a moment, but fell asleep in his clothes. Court was to convene at one in the afternoon the next day, which would leave him free to travel over to the jail and spend the morning with his client, going over his anticipated testimony.

  The bright Jerusalem sunlight would break into Will’s room far too soon the next morning. The end of the case was approaching. He had to keep pushing. Keep praying. Not give up.

  And somehow, he needed to convince Gilead Amahn of the same thing.

  66

  WILL SPENT SEVERAL HOURS in the tiny jail conference room, preparing Gilead for his testimony. His client was hesitant and tired, and was having problems focusing his thoughts. The stress of the months of imprisonment and his concern over the trial and the looming possibility of a death sentence had been wearing him down.

  “One thing I wanted to clear up.” Will glanced down at his notes. “When you visited Jerusalem last year, you said you took a side trip to Jordan. Exactly where did you go?”

  Gilead looked at his lawyer blankly. “What did you say?”

  “Gilead, I know you’re under a lot of pressure, but you’re going to have to focus.”

  Will repeated the question.

  “Well…I visited my namesake.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Gilead region on the east side of the Jordan River…my mother named me after it.”

  “That’s interesting. Tell me about that.”

  “My mother visited there with her family when she was a teenager. She said, having grown up in a flat, desert part of Egypt, she found the Gilead region so beautiful…mountains and trees and streams. She always remembered that trip—wanted to return some day—but…well…never got the chance…”

  His voice trailed off as he remembered his mother.

  “You know,” Will said gently, “it must have been hard for you—no that’s not the right word. Horrendous—devastating—to see your mother burned to death in front of your own eyes—and you, being just a boy. My Andy…I think what it would be like for him to see that…I can’t imagine it.”

  Gilead nodded, took a deep breath, and continued.

  “It was…I was just numb for so long—then the hate and anger started building up. I was a handful for my father. Then we moved to America and he came to Christ, and we started going to church together, and then I accepted Jesus into my heart—and things started changing. Slowly…and then faster and more decidedly, I had this feeling that my mother’s death could not have been in vain. Her martyrdom for the Lord Jesus at the hands of the Muslims there in Cairo had to have been for something. I felt that God was picking me to deliver the message to the same people who killed her.”

  “I can understand that—”

  “Only—I felt that I was to be bold. No matter what the cost…or the risk.”

  “Do you think you were right?”

  Gilead’s face was troubled.

  “I believe I was called to preach the gospel to the Muslims. I believe God loves me and saved me through Christ. And that His Word is powerful and perfect. But…beyond that…I have so many questions now…”

  He couldn’t speak for a few seconds. So Will gently intervened.

  “You were telling me about how your mother named you after the Gilead region…”

  Gilead nodded.

  “When I went there last year, I went up on one of the mountains—a quiet place with a beautiful vista. I sat under a tree, and I had my Bible with me. I read Jeremiah—I think it was chapter eight—God is giving his message to Israel through His prophet. And the Lord is quoting the people who are saying, ‘The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved!’ Then God replies, ‘Is there no balm in Gilead, is there no physician there?’ The Gilead area had this famous medicine—this special balm that could heal all kinds of sickness. But the people just wouldn’t go there to get healed. So I thought to myself…If people won’t go, then I will go and bring the healing balm of Jesus to them…”

  His voice cracked a little. “When I was up there on that mountain I thought of my mother, and I just cried like a baby.”

  “You said you are dealing with some questions now,” Will prompted quietly.

  The young man lifted his head and looked deeply into Will’s eyes.

  “Maybe it’s lack of faith. Or because I had so little discernment. I let myself get surrounded by members of a cult…they urged me on…meanwhile, I didn’t realize they were just using me as a front for their plans…to murder all those people…so much death and destruction…”

  “And you’re blaming yourself?”

  “I’m now doubting almost everything about my ministry. Maybe none of this would have happened if I hadn’t decided to fly to Cairo…to try to reach the city for Christ…the same people that had persecuted my mother. Maybe things would have been different. And if that’s true—then everything I tried to do is turning to dust…”

  Gilead had his face buried in his hands.

  Will leaned forward and grabbed his client’s arm, speaking to him in a voice filled with quiet intensity.

  “I’m thinking about this one particular prophet of God—for a while, fabulously successful. And then one day he found himself arrested and thrown into this dank, foul dungeon. He probably looked back at his life, much as you have. At one time his preaching along the Jordan River had attracted huge crowds. Everybody came. Peasants. Royalty. Soldiers. You know who I’m talking about—John the Baptist. He had spoken powerfully, pointing the way to the appearing of Jesus, the Promised One. Throngs of disciples had followed him.

  “But then one day Jesus publicly appears. And they all start following Jesus. And John turns around, and the next thing he knows, his followers have dwindled down to nothing. And then King Herod throws him into prison. So, before they execute him—remember how it goes?”

  Gilead looked up into Will’s face.r />
  “John in the dungeon, and he starts questioning,” Will continued, “whether Jesus is the One—and John’s disciples carry his doubts from his prison cell to where Jesus is preaching. And Jesus gives him the answer and tells them to take the message back. And the message for John is very simple—that the blind are seeing, the lame are walking, and the poor are having the gospel preached to them. That’s the message. God’s plan is being carried out. He is in control. His love is at work.”

  Then Will looked into Gilead’s eyes and asked his last two questions of the day.

  “So, what you have to ask yourself is this. Has the saving message of Christ been preached through you? And if it has—then are you willing to trust the rest to God?”

  67

  GILEAD’S DIRECT EXAMINATION WENT WELL. He looked rested and confident as he answered Will’s questions. He vehemently denied any knowledge about the true theological agenda of Louis Lorraine, Yossin Ali Khalid, or any of the others who had befriended him in Jerusalem.

  He was, he said, guilty only of naïveté in trusting those who turned out to be fiends rather than friends.

  But Samir Zayed’s cross-examination was cutthroat.

  “Do you mean to say that you were just a poor, naïve little boy who got caught up with the wrong bunch?”

  “I lacked discernment,” Gilead answered, “but I had no intent to be part of their awful plot—”

  “But you admit to visiting the al-Aqsa Mosque the year before…”

  “Yes.”

  “And then it is bombed.”

  “Yes.”

  “You hold these so-called Bible-study meetings with the Knights of the Temple Mount—and they end up being terrorists and murderers?”

  “I did not know that—but my answer to your question is yes.”

  “You preach on the streets of Jerusalem about Jesus predicting the rebuilding of the Temple of the Jews as a sign of His Second Coming—and you add that the Muslims will have to be removed from the Temple Mount for that to happen—and then—BANG! Explosions rock the Temple Mount at your very signal.”

  “I did not intend to give any such signal—”

  “But the Knights of the Temple Mount took it to be a signal…”

  “I could not read their minds.”

  “No, but you knew their plans…”

  “No, never.”

  “Why did you accept their adulation as their promised messiah, the reincarnated Caliph al-Hakim?”

  “I never believed I was any such thing—”

  “Then why, after the explosions, did you hop in a cab and go to the famous Golden Gate and enter the city through that newly opened gate—the gate through which the promised messiah—as everyone knows—is supposed to enter Jerusalem upon his return?”

  “I was driven there…there was gunfire…I was simply running for my life.”

  “But you got into the taxicab driven by a member of the Knights of the Temple Mount, who drove you directly to the Golden Gate.”

  “It seems planned, I know…but I was just running for my life…”

  “Coincidence…after coincidence…after coincidence—Mr. Amahn, how many coincidences do you believe that this tribunal will accept before they find you guilty and sentence you to death?”

  Gilead paused only an instant before he answered.

  “Just as many as God allows.”

  Zayed waved his hand, scoffing and dismissing Gilead’s testimony with contempt.

  Will returned to the podium.

  “About the Golden Gate—you are a student of Scripture—where does it say that Jesus will enter the city through that gate?”

  “It doesn’t,” Gilead answered. “I talked to several Bible scholars and some very learned rabbis when I visited Jerusalem last year. About the walls of the city, and the various gates and so forth, and their history. I was told that the business about the messiah returning through the Golden Gate is not mentioned in the Torah or the Midrash either, or in any other of the Jewish writings…apparently it is more of a legend, I guess.”

  Will sat down.

  Zayed returned once more to the podium.

  “You consulted with Christian scholars about the Golden Gate?”

  “Yes.”

  “And consulted with Jewish rabbis about the Golden Gate?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “You showed a very great interest in that gate for someone who says he was not planning to enter through it himself, pretending to be some kind of messiah.”

  “Just a historical interest, nothing more than that.”

  “Then why,” the prosecutor demanded, “did you not put the same question to a Muslim cleric as well?”

  Gilead thought for a moment, then answered hesitantly.

  “I’m not sure…I don’t know…”

  “Well, I know,” Zayed said scornfully, “and I think that the members of this tribunal know the answer to that as well.”

  As the Palestinian prosecutor finished his examination, Will surveyed the judges for some glimmer of sympathy for Gilead’s side of the story.

  But scanning their faces, he found none.

  68

  “WHILE AT THE FBI, I SPECIALIZED in what you might call domestic terrorism…both homegrown groups that used violence, like white-supremacy groups, and cells in the United States that were suspected of being part of international terror networks.”

  “You investigated the use of explosives in crimes of violence?”

  “I did. Prior to my work at the Bureau, I was in the bomb squad of the Boston police. When I joined the FBI, they naturally tapped into that experience. Later, I taught explosives-investigation techniques at their training school at Quantico, Virginia. After I left the Bureau, I also worked on a private-contract basis with the Israeli police in trying to construct a strategy to foil suicide bombers.”

  Mike Michalany was a stocky, red-haired man with a friendly manner—but an underlying no-nonsense approach to bombs and those who would use them. With experience in hundreds of criminal cases involving explosives, he looked comfortable as he sat in the witness booth.

  “And presently,” Will continued, “you are president and CEO of Intellitek, an international security firm?”

  “Yes. We specialize in providing intelligence data and safety systems to global corporations and multinational companies. We help business folk stay safe as they expand operations in foreign sites.”

  Will led Michalany through a series of questions about his investigation, as an expert for the defense, into the Temple Mount attack, including his visit to the site, his meetings with Israeli officials, his review of both Israeli and Palestinian police reports about the incident, and his “contacts with acquaintances within the FBI, and some foreign law-enforcement agencies regarding the bombing.”

  The witness described his conclusions about the material used for the bombing.

  “The explosives used were a species of C-4 plastic explosives, with the operative agent being something called RDX. But the particular type of plastic explosive used was Semtex. That is a harder-to-obtain variety—it originated in the former Czechoslovakia. Terrorists like the stuff because it is higher grade and packs a more lethal punch. It’s the most powerful non-nuclear explosive in the world.”

  “How would a terrorist group—or anyone for that matter—obtain Semtex?”

  “Two primary ways. First, you could try to get it from either a terror group or a rogue state that deals in terror, like Libya—but that’s difficult if you don’t have the terrorist credentials. The other way is to go directly to the source. That would require that you have some entrée into the criminal syndicates operating within the Russian Federation. And, of course, you need a whole lot of cash to buy that amount of Semtex.”

  “Did you utilize FBI contacts within the Russian Federation to find out whether a large quantity of Semtex had exchanged hands within the months prior to the bombings?”

  “I did.”

  “We’ll return to
that issue in a minute. Changing gears, did the United States formally participate in the investigation into the Temple Mount attack?”

  “Well…the federal government made a policy decision to send FBI agents merely as ‘consultants’—primarily to the Palestinian Authority…”

  “How about sending FBI agents over to assist Israel’s Mossad in investigating the bombing, as well—since a number of Jewish citizens were also killed?”

  “There was…a high-level policy decision from our government not to do that…it was a somewhat controversial decision.”

  “A decision at how high a level?”

  “At the very highest level in Washington.”

  “Did you evaluate the detonation apparatus used in the two vehicles—the one manned by Louis Lorraine and the one by Yossin Ali Khalid?”

  “I did. It was a very sophisticated wireless computer and keyboard system sending a signal to remote switches, which then ignited blasting caps, which ignited the Semtex plastic explosive.”

  “Exactly how sophisticated was that system?”

  “So advanced that, when I reviewed the Israeli police and Mossad data which described it, I was immediately convinced that the Knights—remember that they had no technical experience in explosives—must have had the system rigged for them by some outside provider.”

  “A minute ago I said we would return to the issue of the Semtex—whether your FBI contacts within the Russian Federation were aware of any large purchases of that plastic explosive just prior to the bombings. What did you learn?”

  Michalany glanced down at his notes. Then he looked up at Will, smiling.

  “That there was a bulk delivery through the Russian criminal syndicate—to some outside entity.”

  “Which entity?”

  Samir Zayed’s torso was stretched forward over the prosecution table, tensed like a guitar string.

  All three of the judges had their eyes riveted on Michalany.

  In the crammed media room down the hall from the courtroom, Jack Hornby was now standing up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. When he had heard, some days before that Warren Mullburn might be called to testify, he had caught the next flight to Jerusalem. The journalist figured that the deadline for his almost-completed article on the billionaire would have to wait. He intended to catch the last act of this drama in person.