Counterplay

by Richard Aaron

  Kumar was busy overhauling Zak’s prosthetic forearm. He clucked with amazement at the tiny servomotors that controlled forearm, wrist, and finger movements. His engineering brain poked through the wiring controlling the communications hub that had allowed Zak at Inzar Ghar to connect the arm to the comm-link. He shuddered at the compressed spring that controlled a wicked dorsal blade. He had the device hooked up to the ship’s DC power supply, and had a couple of fans blowing air across the mass of wiring and electronics.

  As he was prodding various electric and mechanical parts of the device there was an arc of electricity that flashed between two points of the prosthesis, followed by a shower of sparks and a puff of acrid-smelling smoke. Suddenly through the speaker came a dial tone, followed by a sequence of sixteen rapid keyboard tones. Before Kumar could respond, Richard had snatched the prosthesis from him.

  The TTIC control room was just beginning to settle down after another Dan rant. Rumors began drifting through the control room about Dan’s interdiction at Ronald Reagan National, and his brief sojourn thereafter at Guantanamo Bay, compliments of the Republic. There were whispers about Turbee’s role in the episode. Neither Turbee nor George advertised their involvement, and the whispers remained whispers. Turbee, however, was certain that Dan was plotting revenge.

  Dan Alexander had laid out the latest directive from the Oval Office, which was to find an exotic ship by the name of the Allegro Star and, once found, to relay the coordinates to the acting DDI. Kumar Hanaman was on board. He was a dangerous terrorist and an individual who had for whatever reason undertaken a campaign of disinformation to show that Yousseff Said al-Sabhan was the true directing mind behind the Colorado attack. The Allegro Star was to be found and taken out, no questions asked. It did not matter that Richard Lawrence and Zachariah Goldberg were likely on that ship as well.

  Yousseff himself had provided photographs and blueprints of the Allegro Star to the Americans. Turbee had been given the specific task of programming a bot search that would coordinate the many American satellites flying above the Indian Ocean and have them commence a systematic grid search looking for a craft with the dimensions and configuration of the Allegro Star.

  As Turbee was creating the necessary flowcharts for such a task his cell phone rang. “Yes?” he answered hesitantly.

  There was a brief pause. “Turbee? Is this Hamilton Turbee?” came Richard’s voice over the sat phone connection.

  “Yes. Richard? Is that you?”

  Richard pieced together what had happened. “Turbee, listen carefully. Get to one of the side boardrooms before you talk.” Turbee did so, and Richard, in due course, continued. “We were trying to repair Zak’s arm, and we must have accidently tripped a call-the-last-called-number instruction on the sat phone. Zak, Kumar, and I are safe. We have left Karachi Harbor in an experimental ship called the Allegro Star. We are heading toward the Indian Ocean.”

  “I’m not supposed to be talking to you,” Turbee whispered. “The entire American military is after you guys. They say you’ve gone rogue. The instructions are to sink your ship with the three of you on it.”

  “Turbee, we are going to put an end to that. Before we are done, everyone will know who the real rogues are.”

  “That may be so, Richard. But these guys are serious. They have arrested Liam. Marched him right out of here in handcuffs. The admiral himself has been arrested. According to Dan they were both dirty. Getting Kumar out of Inzar Ghar was a rogue operation. I’m not sure where it’s going.” Turbee was speaking quickly but softly, terrified that he would be overheard or that the call would be intercepted by some other agency.

  “Turbee, they are going to search by drone and satellite. Try to direct them away from us, Turb. We’re off the west coast of India heading southeast. Try to get them to prioritize other areas. We’ll survive this.”

  “Okay, Richard.”

  “We may need your help here again in a day or two. We will call again.” Richard disconnected the call.

  Turbee pocketed the phone and returned to the control room. He had a glazed expression on his face. George, sitting beside him, noticed his friend’s disquiet. “Hey, Turbee, are you okay? You’re looking a little off.”

  Turbee shook his head. “George, I’m feeling kind of sick.”

  Back on the Allegro Star Richard looked at Zak, shaking his head. “They’ve lost their minds in DC. They’ve arrested two sterling patriots. Liam and the admiral are accused of going rogue. Buckingham was right. The admiral wanted Kumar out of Inzar Ghar so he could talk. Tell the world who was really behind the Colorado attack. If they’re prepared to arrest people like that, they will blow us out of the water the first chance they get.” “So what the hell are we going to do?” asked Zak.

  Richard looked at him and shrugged.

  32

  Another day was about to unfold in Courtroom 401. Dana’s computers were set up, but no little Trojan had appeared. There was no Lee Penn-Garrett in the courtroom and no magical order from the Court of Appeal. Tired as a cliché, weak from jail, cold, dirty, and unshowered, she slouched toward the counsel table. She had come to rely on Penn-Garrett. As the clerk bellowed, “Order in the court,” Dana stood up and frantically scoured the entire gallery. No octogenarian attorneys armed with appellate orders. She was on her own.

  “Holy cow,” said McGhee, not even bothering to whisper. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  “You been dumpster diving?” chimed Danson.

  Judge Mordecai gave her a piercing glare. “Continue with cross-examination,” he said, nodding in Dana’s direction.

  “Yes, my lord,” said Dana, slowly rising to her feet and walking to the end of counsel table, where she preferred to be while on her feet. She gave her third computer a 180-degree turn, so that if Turbee were inclined to make an appearance she would see it.

  Once again Dana was flustered. Looking for her notes, she knocked over her water glass. The desk surface in front of her became a lake, with clusters of notes and documents floating between texts and computers, flotsam in the Great Pacific Garbage Patch.

  “Do you need a moment to compose yourself, Ms. Wittenberg?” the judge asked sarcastically.

  “No, no, my lord, I’m good. The night in cells composed me wonderfully,” she said as she fished her cross-examination notes out of the current with one hand and plucked Kleenex after Kleenex from the clerk’s box with the other, hoping to soak up most of the mess. The entire peanut gallery saw the clumsy move, and a titter murmured through the crowd.

  “She’s got to be doing this on purpose,” Archambault whispered to Sheff. “Some kind of theater deal maybe? Cutting-edge lawyering?”

  “Maybe she’s trying to gain the sympathy of the jury,” Sheff responded in muted tones. “Who knows? Who cares?”

  Dana had prepared to examine Indy on the missing documents, but PennGarrett was nowhere to be seen. She had hoped that Turbee would feed her a few questions, but was unaware he was awash in a guilt crisis. She had notes prepared, notes that were now unreadable because of the latest water glass disaster. She began, somewhat aimlessly, to ask Indy further questions about the Lestage mine.

  “You’ve testified about all of the drugs and guns that you found in Devil’s Anvil,” Dana began.

  “I have,” he responded calmly.

  “Millions of dollars of Canadian money, American money, cocaine, heroin, and marijuana. That’s what you found.”

  “I did.”

  “Why is she going over this?” said McGhee in a loud whisper. “She’s repeating the case for us.”

  “Again,” Archambault added. “When you’re doing your own trials, think of how she’s working, and then do the exact opposite.” Snickers waxed and waned.

  Dana heard the remark but persevered. “All of this was toward the end of the long tunnel that that connected southern British Columbia to northern Montana?”

  “Yes. That was the mine. That was the hole in the border that the FBI and the RC
MP had been trying to find for years.”

  “And it’s clear that the storage areas for these drugs and money were about one hundred meters in from the south inlet of the tunnel?” “Yes, that number sounds about right,” Indy said.

  “And that means that the stash of money and drugs—”

  “Don’t forget the guns,” Indy interrupted with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Yes. Right. Money, drugs, and guns, that stash was entirely on the American side of the border.” “Yes,” said Indy.

  “M’lord,” said Dana, “I move that . . .” “Overruled,” snapped the judge.

  “But m’lord, you don’t even know what motion I was going to make.”

  “Yes, I do. You were going to move that all of this evidence of guns, drugs, and money be excluded because the RCMP exceeded the bounds of their jurisdiction by entering onto foreign soil to impound all of this material.” “Yes, I guess that’s the motion,” Dana replied.

  “It’s overruled.”

  “But it was clearly on foreign soil. We do not have jurisdiction to enter the USA to start making criminal searches.”

  “Look, Ms. Wittenberg. You know well that we voir dired this evidence before the trial started, and I ruled that it was admissible. It is properly before the jury. Your Mr. deFijter himself made the pitch for exclusion, and he lost. You’re not going to reargue it now.”

  “But m’lord—”

  “Don’t ‘but m’lord’ me. Continue.”

  She tried yet another track. “On November 19, 2017, you attended a meeting with the various RCMP officers and FBI agents who were involved in this case, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what was the consensus of that meeting?”

  “Objection,” said Sheff and Archambault simultaneously.

  “Hearsay,” said Sheff, nudging at Archambault to sit down. “Double hearsay. Multiple hearsay. Consensus of the meeting? That doesn’t even make sense. I don’t know where to begin. This is Evidence 101. Consensus? Give me a break.”

  “Ms. Wittenberg,” interjected the judge, “maybe the weather is derailing you, but really. Consensus? Try something else, would you? I have never yet thrown anyone in jail for stupidity.”

  “Stupid” was a high school phrase. Stupid, string bean, ugly, scarface, zit kid. Stayed home from the prom. All of it. The depression from the death of her mother and the rock-bottom drug and alcohol world of her father. “I will rephrase,” Dana replied, nearly in tears from the humiliation.

  Sheff stayed on his feet. “There is no possible way that such a question could be rephrased. My learned friend simply cannot go there.”

  “No you can’t. Just move on.” Mordecai was looking for his gavel, and then realized it had been destroyed in an earlier ruling.

  “Okay. Corporal Singh . . .”

  “It’s—I don’t mean to give you a hard time here—” began Indy, “but it’s Inspector Singh.”

  “Yes, of course. Now, Inspector Singh, you did not find any Semtex in Devil’s Anvil mine, did you?”

  “Actually, counsel, we did. One brick. It was sitting on a ledge near the mine opening.”

  “But, you can’t be sure that it was the same Semtex that was stolen out of Libya and was used to blow up the Glen Canyon Dam, can you?”

  “I can’t, but our analysts in Ottawa working with the FBI crime lab can.

  And it was the same.”

  “That’s hearsay,” said Dana, looking forlorn. “You didn’t do the analysis.”

  “Ms. Wittenberg,” interrupted the judge, “we did this last week. Forgotten already?”

  Dana groaned inwardly. McSheffrey and his team had her so flustered at this point that she felt incapable of asking any sensible questions at all. As she stumbled through her cross-examination, she glanced at her third computer. The now semifunctional online computer.

  She turned it on. To her delight, Turbee had suddenly made an appearance and was sending her questions. Not only was there a list, but Dana grasped the significance of the questions. Sighing with relief, she started.

  “Now, Inspector, would you agree with me that legally a conspiracy is an agreement between the conspirators to perform an illegal act?”

  Sheff was up. “Objection. Calls for a conclusion of law.”

  “You’re correct, Mr. McSheffrey, it does,” the judge agreed. “But it’s a simple little conclusion, mentioned by you in your opening address to the jury. Let’s give Ms. Wittenberg one. I’ll give you the next one. Go ahead, Inspector Singh.”

  “Yes. Agreement and illegality. That, loosely stated, defines the essential elements of the crime.”

  “And the illegal act,” continued Dana, “was the destruction of the Glen Canyon Dam, and all of the chaos that followed it.”

  “Yes, that would be it. Of course there is much more to it than that. Transport of explosives. Money laundering. Importing and exporting prohibited substances and weapons. Terrorism. I could list fifty different things, not to mention more than 20,000 counts of murder.” Danson snorted and McGhee snickered.

  “Yes. That would surely be an illegal act. But what about the first part? You need to prove that a group of people plotted this, agreed to do this, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “So who were the co-conspirators in this case?”

  “There were four characters who died in the bombing. Ray, Sam, Hank, and Jimmy. I have the full names in my notes if you’re interested, and they were all from Afghanistan. They were what we call a ‘sleeper cell’ from Los

  Angeles. I also have their Afghan names, if you need them.”

  “No, that’s fine, Inspector. What were the ages of these gentlemen?”

  “I have that in my notes, also, but they were all in their mid to late twenties.”

  “Who else was involved in this agreement?”

  “There was, of course, your client.”

  “How do you know this? Surely not from Ray, Sam, Hank, or Jimmy. They all died when, or shortly after, the bomb was detonated. So none of them told you that my client, Leon Lestage, was involved, correct?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “In fact, no one has told you that, correct?”

  “I do not have any direct, personal knowledge of that fact. I know that he did hang around the Devil’s Anvil mine, because I met him there once.”

  “You would agree with me that a person living at a place does not constitute ‘hanging around,’ yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you agree with me that the person who lived there and appeared to be familiar with the interior of the mine was Dennis Lestage, the brother of the accused, Leon Lestage.”

  “Yes, counsel, that is correct.”

  “Who else was involved in this agreement?”

  “Other people will testify to this. There were a number of drug kingpins from Kandahar Province in Afghanistan who were involved in the financing of the mission. I do not know their names, but there were a few of them.”

  “Now of all of the people you mentioned, did any of them inculpate Leon Lestage?”

  “Implicate? Is that what you mean?”

  “Yes, Inspector. Did any of these conspirators that you mentioned name Leon Lestage as one of the group?”

  “Not to my knowledge, ma’am.”

  Dana looked at her computer screen and the questions continued to scroll across the page. Turbee wasn’t half bad.

  “Well, then, what evidence do you have that Leon Lestage was a part of this agreement?”

  “It’s mostly out of my bailiwick, and there will be other people who will testify to this, but there were a fair number of emails directed to Leon’s computer. We have emails from a drug lord in Afghanistan and we have a number of emails from the Los Angeles cell. Ray, Hank, Sam, and Jimmy sent him dozens of emails as they were waiting for the Semtex to come through the mine and into the US.”

  “You know that emails can be cooked up, don’t you?”

  �
�What do you mean?”

  “A virus can be introduced into the computer and make it appear that an email was sent when it wasn’t. If you actually had possession of the computer, you could load it up with all manner of emails that were apparently, but not actually, sent.”

  “Yes, I suppose that is true.”

  “In fact, I intend to call a witness who will testify in this courtroom that those emails were falsely planted, to create a false trail.”

  “Oh are you now?” Cynicism registered on Indy’s face and in the cadence of his answer.

  “Yes, I am. Now, if the emails are tossed as being unreliable, what kind of case do you have left?”

  Sheff was on his feet and was going to object on the bases of speculation, calling for a conclusion of law, hearsay, too, if you looked hard enough. But as sometimes will happen even in the most perfectly choreographed trial, a witness—even an experienced witness—can blurt something out and that thing can turn into a lynchpin for the defense.

  “Not much of one, I’m afraid.”

  Then the objections came, and were allowed, and the jury was instructed to ignore Indy’s blurt. This, of course, promptly piqued the jury’s interest. One even wrote down, “No emails, no case.”

  “I am now showing you Crown Exhibit 16.” Dana reached for a large pencil drawing lying on the exhibit table. It was a two-by-three-foot poster containing sketches that had been prepared by a forensic artist in Los Angeles.

  “Do you know how this was prepared?”

  “Yes. You heard from my colleague, Corporal Catherine Gray, last week. She became a passenger in the box van with the Semtex, and ended up outside a building on Wahweap Bay, which is part of the Lake Powell Reservoir, created by the Glen Canyon Dam. She testified that she saw eight people working there, packing the Semtex into some kind of strange casing. These are the sketches that were produced.”

  “Were there ever names attached to the four older men, the ones that are drawn here?”

  “Yes, actually, there were. It is always difficult to ID someone from a forensic sketch, but the top figure is apparently a gentleman by the name of Kumar. Kumar Hanaman. An engineer from Pakistan who owned companies in Karachi and California. Among other things, they built small commercial submarines. We do not know who the other three are.”