by Randy Singer
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Well, use your BlackBerry next time. O’Malley tells me those doohickeys are as good as a phone, even over there. They’re safer anyway.”
“Takes too long,” Nikki said. “And besides, I can’t get reception here.”
“Is everything all right with Rasheed and Mobara?” Nikki heard concern in Bella’s voice. An unauthorized phone call usually didn’t portend good news.
“Everything’s on schedule,” Nikki assured her. “How’s the trial going?”
“I ate lunch with Brad and Sarah, but I’ve been at the office since. They said it was more of the same. One high-paid expert after another. Strobel apparently told Ichabod that he would finish tomorrow morning. We’ll put Shelhorse on as a rebuttal witness tomorrow afternoon and then Rasheed on Monday.”
“Any chance that Ichabod will hold court on Saturday?”
“She hasn’t mentioned it, and I think she would make a lot of jurors upset if she did. We’re safe betting on Monday.”
“With Ichabod you never know. Is Brad sure he can stretch Shelhorse out through the entire afternoon on Friday? I mean, if he gets done early, we would have to rest our case without putting on Rasheed.”
“Don’t worry, Nikki. Brad said he’s got six hours of questions for Shelhorse if he needs ’em.” Bella was starting to sound defensive.
Nikki had what she needed. “Give my best to Brad and Leslie,” she said.
“Okay. Be careful, Nikki.”
“Right. Careful’s my middle name.”
Nikki hung up and looked at her watch. It was now 10:30 on Thursday night in Riyadh. She was eight hours ahead of Norfolk time. She checked her notes and phone numbers. The timing would be critical. And the timing would be tight. Everything would have to work just as she had planned.
* * *
O’Malley had planted his own bugs in the phones at Carson & Associates on Wednesday night while he supposedly swept the office for bugs. He monitored the calls all day Thursday. He took his cue from the phone call between Nikki and Bella.
He stopped by Carson & Associates a few minutes later. He greeted Bella and began his rounds, letting her know he would be checking each phone. When he was finished, he declared the office clean and told Bella that he had a few hours to kill. He talked her into going to court with him to watch some of the afternoon testimony. Anything she had to do at the office, he assured her, could wait.
They rode to court together, and for a few minutes they enjoyed watching Brad get after another one of Strobel’s expert witnesses. But suddenly O’Malley remembered that he was running late for an appointment. Bella assured him she could get a ride back to the office with the trial team at the end of the day.
* * *
Dr. Nancy Shelhorse enjoyed her work as an expert witness. Toxicology, her daily work, could be dry stuff. The same could not be said of serving as an expert in a high-profile case. And the pay wasn’t bad, either.
Shelhorse had once heard a lawyer describe a perfect expert witness as a glib person with a résumé and a suitcase. She qualified on all three counts. Shelhorse was a natural teacher, serving as an adjunct at the University of Richmond Medical School and teaching clinical courses to residents. She also had the credentials. She was experienced and board certified, and she had published enough peer-reviewed articles to bring down several trees. And in this case, like so many others, she was testifying outside the Richmond area, where she lived and practiced medicine. For some strange reason, lawyers and juries seemed to believe that nobody could be an expert unless they traveled great distances to testify or at the very least were not one of the “locals.”
She was not just qualified; she was also prepared. The prior night she had driven two hours to Norfolk so she could spend another night rehearsing her testimony with Brad and Leslie. They had run through several mock cross-examinations, but the lawyers couldn’t put a dent in her testimony. Brad finally declared her bulletproof and sent her back to Richmond. She planned to return again tomorrow—Friday morning—and wait in the hallway outside the courtroom until she was called to testify. She was looking forward to it; she had so much to say.
For that reason, the message she received at the hospital at 3:30 on Thursday afternoon was both a disappointment and a surprise. Her assistant said someone from Brad Carson’s office had called and indicated they might not need her to testify after all. According to the caller, she should check her e-mail as soon as possible, where she would find a full explanation.
Anxious to know what was happening, and knowing it would take thirty minutes to get from the hospital to her office, Shelhorse asked her assistant to log on and retrieve any messages from Carson & Associates.
“Here’s what it says, Doctor: ‘We are truly sorry for the short notice and the change in plans, but the trial has taken some interesting twists this afternoon. As a result, we will not need your testimony. In fact, we believe the defendants will try to contact you and somehow subpoena you and force you to testify. This would be very damaging to our case.
“‘You have done nothing wrong. But this is a complicated and unexpected occurrence that could greatly work to our advantage so long as you cannot be found or forced to take the stand. Accordingly, we will pay for your full day tomorrow at your customary hourly rate, but we would ask that you find a secluded place for all of tomorrow and Saturday, do not tell ANYONE where you are going, and do not communicate with anyone until Saturday night.
“‘We can assure you that there is no subpoena for you to testify as a witness at this time. But please do not attempt to contact us after you receive this message. If Mr. Strobel is granted a court subpoena for your appearance, and you call us, we would be forced to disclose your whereabouts. I know that this is an extraordinary request, and we would not make it if it were not absolutely necessary. Thanks for your understanding. We will be in a position to explain fully our strategic reason for doing this when we call you on Sunday.’
“And then at the bottom, there’s a note that says ‘From the Handheld BlackBerry Device of Nikki Moreno, Legal Assistant, Carson & Associates.’”
Shelhorse was shocked. It took her a minute to gather her thoughts.
“Are you still there?” her assistant asked.
“Does this make sense to you?” Shelhorse responded.
“Not really. But I don’t understand how trials work very well, either.”
“When was the message received?”
“The header says 2:47 this afternoon.”
Shelhorse thought about the implications. She was insulted to think that the defendants somehow thought they could now turn her testimony to their own advantage. She saw her moment in the spotlight slipping away, her escape from monotony closing off, her expected career boost imploding.
“I can’t believe Strobel would have issued a subpoena for my appearance already. I’m calling Carson.”
Shelhorse pushed the End Call button on her cell phone and dialed the number for Carson & Associates. She heard the recorded and dreary voice of Bella give her the extensions of the various staff members. Shelhorse pushed the numbers for Brad Carson. His voice mail told her how important her call was to him and asked if she would leave a message.
“Brad, this is Nancy Shelhorse. What in the world is going on with regard to my testimony tomorrow? Call me back on my cell as soon as you get a chance. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll just assume Strobel has issued a subpoena for my appearance, and I’ll lie low as you suggested on Friday and Saturday.”
Shelhorse hung up the phone and shook her head in disgust. “Lawyers,” she mumbled with heartfelt disdain.
* * *
O’Malley’s appointment took him straight back to the offices of Carson & Associates. He parked himself at the receptionist’s desk and patiently monitored the phone numbers that registered on the switchboard every time an outside call came in. He also periodically checked everyone’s e-mail and voice mail.
At 3:38
the phone rang. The receptionist’s screen reflected a Richmond originating number. O’Malley listened intently as he heard Brad Carson’s phone ring on an internal line. The call had been transferred.
He waited a few minutes, then logged on to Brad’s voice mail using the passwords Bella had provided him weeks ago. He listened to the message from Shelhorse, deleted it, and left the offices of Carson & Associates, locking the door behind him.
37
NIKKI MORENO’S WAKE-UP CALL came bright and early, just a few minutes before noon. She mumbled her thanks to the operator without enthusiasm and slid lower under the sheets. Slowly, room 703 came into focus, and she began to review the challenges of the next twelve hours. She forced herself out of bed, one leg at a time, and shuffled over to the sliding glass door that led to her balcony.
Her head throbbed, and her stomach was in knots. Her mouth was dry as cotton, her nose stuffed up—she basically felt like scum. She looked down at the dresser and cursed last night’s bottle of scotch that was the source of this morning’s pain. She had been lonely and wired last night, unable to sleep. To comfort and calm herself, she had allowed herself a few too many shots from the bottle that had made the transatlantic trip in her garment bag. If her first trip to Saudi Arabia had taught her anything, it was that she would have to bring her own booze to this parched country or go without.
This morning—or was it this afternoon already?—she wished she had gone without.
Nikki took her time showering and primping, as if slow movements would calm her stomach and stop the pounding in her head. Today she would be as inconspicuous as a tattooed Latino could be in Saudi Arabia. She wore no makeup and threw on the hated abayya that Sa’id had given her on the first trip. She could not possibly wear the head covering in the heat, but she would try her best not to be noticed. She would not carry a briefcase. She would not look men in the eye when she talked. In fact, she would avoid talking whenever possible. She would focus on her plan and nothing else.
* * *
At 9 a.m. in Norfolk, Bella hit the panic button.
Shelhorse was nowhere to be found.
She was supposed to meet them in the hallway outside the courtroom at 7:30. But she was late. Experts were always late. That part irritated Bella but did not panic her. But now Shelhorse was beyond late. Something serious was wrong. And Bella was frantic.
Brad had been at it for more than an hour and was running out of cross-examination questions for Strobel’s last witness. While pretending to listen to an answer, he scribbled a note and handed it to Bella. I can make this last till ten, no more. Go find Shelhorse.
Bella hustled into the hallway and repeated her earlier series of phone calls. She called Shelhorse’s office and left her third urgent message of the morning. She called Shelhorse’s cell phone. Another recording. Another message. No answer at the home phone. No response to the page. Bella was going crazy.
It was now 9:15. Bella stared at the pay phone. Another minute ticked by. The firm’s voice mail. Maybe Shelhorse had an accident or some other unexpected occurrence and had left a message. Bella turned in her Day-Timer to the page containing the passwords she had given O’Malley.
She started with her own phone, then Brad’s, and then Leslie’s. She heard plenty of messages, including a sweet one from Leslie to Brad, but nothing pertaining to Shelhorse.
Nikki’s messages, of which there were many, proved far more interesting. Bella listened with sordid amusement to the personal calls from the various men who didn’t seem to know that each other existed. But it was a business call that riveted her attention. She played it back several times and wrote it down word for word.
“Ms. Moreno, this is Chad Hamilton again. We’ve been playing some serious telephone tag lately. And rather than continuing to trade calls, let me just give you the bottom line. One point five million. Take it or leave it.”
Bella raced back into the courtroom. Brad was still methodically questioning the witness and taking increased heat from Ichabod to move his cross-examination along. When Brad saw Bella plop back down in her seat at counsel table, he gave her an expectant look. Bella frowned and shook her head no. Brad returned to his questioning, rehashing some turf he had already covered.
“No message from Dr. Shelhorse anyplace, and she doesn’t answer any of her phones,” Bella whispered to Leslie. “It’s like the woman just dropped off the face of the earth. So I called our office to check voice mail messages. Look at this note. It was a message left on Nikki’s voice mail.”
“Did you go into my voice mail too?” Leslie whispered before looking at the note.
“Just read the note,” Bella said, louder than she intended. Ichabod glared at her. Bella mouthed a silent sorry.
“Don’t you ever go into my voice mail,” Leslie warned.
“Just read the note.”
As Leslie read it, she furrowed her brow. “What do you make of this?” she whispered.
“I thought you might know.”
Leslie didn’t. She gave Bella a blank shrug, then retreated to her thoughts while the witness droned on.
“Here’s what I want you to do,” Leslie whispered at last. “Go back to the office. On the way, call O’Malley and have him meet you there. Keep calling Shelhorse. If you find out anything, buzz my BlackBerry. When you get to the office, you and O’Malley go through everyone’s e-mail and see if that helps. I’m not accusing Nikki of anything, but we’ve got a missing witness and a strange phone message.”
“Okay,” Bella said, frowning. “I knew we couldn’t trust her.”
* * *
Nikki arrived late because she couldn’t communicate with the cab driver and he didn’t have the foggiest idea where he was going. Sa’id’s office was not exactly center city with the top-tier firms. Nor was it in an industrial or office park where the second-tier firms were located. Instead, the one-story law office was on an out-of-the-way side street flanked on one side by a small Laundromat and on the other side by a cramped restaurant that also sold groceries in bulk—the Riyadh equivalent of a deli.
Narrow alleys separated the three bland, stucco commercial buildings. All needed repair, Sa’id’s especially. The numbers on his building had long since disappeared, exacerbating the problem for the already confused cab driver.
When Nikki finally arrived at 5:20, Sa’id greeted her warmly at the front door.
* * *
He pulled the nondescript black sedan over and parked a block away from the building. He immediately radioed the others.
“She just entered the lawyer’s office,” he reported. “Can’t tell if she’s armed.”
“You may be getting some more company soon,” came the reply. “Wait there.”
* * *
Once Nikki was inside, Sa’id introduced her to Hanif. Immediately, Nikki noticed his striking resemblance to Rasheed. Sa’id explained that Hanif wanted to ride to the embassy with them to see his brother off. Hanif, all smiles, shook Nikki’s hand with unbridled enthusiasm.
Sa’id shared his building with three other tenants, all with small offices adjoined by a common hallway. Sa’id took Nikki and Hanif to his cramped office to view the videotape Sa’id had made. His prior shoddy work aside, the man had done a good job with this. Hanif split his attention between the tape and the front window of the office, where he separated the blinds with his fingers at eye level to watch for his brother.
On camera Sa’id was passionate and earnest, clearly presenting the case against his own government. Nikki was impressed that a devout Muslim would put his reputation on the line to gain religious and political freedom for a Christian couple he did not even know. Sure, so it wasn’t much of a reputation. But still . . .
Despite Sa’id’s roly-poly build, unkempt and gnarly beard, annoying habits, and awkward attempts at flirtation, Nikki liked the little guy. He seemed to have no God-given talents or graces, that is, aside from a sunny disposition and a huge heart. Even those traits probably weren’t worth the
sixteen hundred Saudi riyals per hour he was hauling down. But in the grand scheme of things, he had exceeded her expectations.
Nikki thanked Sa’id for the excellent work on the tape and watched him beam. She then tucked it inside her loathsome abayya and joined Hanif as he kept watch at the window.
* * *
The Berjeins did not arrive until nearly six.
“How could you be so late?” Nikki fumed. “We’re supposed to be at the embassy in ten minutes.”
Sa’id tried to translate Nikki’s tone as well as her words. The Berjeins looked crestfallen.
“We were being followed,” Rasheed said. “We tried to lose them but couldn’t. We think they are still outside.”
This chilling news caused Hanif to dart back to the window for another look. Nikki leaned over his shoulder. A black sedan contained two men, who were both looking at the building. The one nearest the building was slender and evil-looking, with beady, dark eyes and a signature scar that graced his left cheek and disappeared into his beard. The other agent towered over the first and barely fit in the passenger car seat.
The Berjeins had indeed been followed. And the men out front didn’t seem to care if the Berjeins knew.
They stepped away from the window, and everyone but Nikki began speaking in Arabic at once. She tried desperately to think despite the noise and confusion. She could finally stand it no more and simultaneously stamped her foot hard on the floor and screamed.
“Stop! Just shut up for a minute!” All gave her their undivided attention.
“I’ll call the embassy and get the meeting postponed for a half hour,” she said. She waited for Sa’id to translate.
Then she looked at Sa’id. “How far away is your house and in what direction?”
“North of the city. Forty minutes by car.”
“That’ll never work,” she said, then paused. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.”
She looked from one brother to the other and smiled at her good fortune. Rasheed, the older brother, was taller by about two inches, and about ten pounds heavier. But their similarities swallowed their differences. Same athletic builds, same prominent noses, same huge deep-set eyes underlined by large circles. The male genes in the Berjein stock were strong and distinctive.