“Well, what about Kumar?” pushed Zak.
“Here’s the problem,” Dana began, lowering her voice. Kumar was sitting by himself in the living room, just a few feet away. “He says he was part of all of it. He can describe what he saw and did. If the jury does not believe him, he will make no difference. If a jury does believe him, okay, but he’s a drug runner and a terrorist. He will have admitted to being instrumental in the worst terrorist attack in history. He had a hand in murdering 20,000 people. It doesn’t matter so much that now he’s got a conscience and wants to come clean. He had a choice. He could have walked away and he didn’t.”
“And if you ask me,” said George, “I call bullshit on how he didn’t think that 20,000 people would die. He’s a smart guy. With how the Colorado River was managed, he knew there was a likelihood of multiple downstream dam failures. He didn’t stop to think that there were multiple cities at river level? Laughlin? Havasu City? Yuma? I think he knew about the profit Yousseff was planning to make playing the markets. He was part of that. Who knows how many hundreds of millions were made. Those prosecutors will cross-examine the crap out of him. Even if he’s believed, he’ll come across as an evil guy with crocodile tears.”
“But he could acquit my client,” said Dana. “Sounds like Lestage had very little to do with it all, other than letting his mine be used for what he thought was another drug shipment. Maybe Kumar will say that Lestage was a bit player. Maybe the jury will believe him.”
“Why would you want to acquit Lestage?” asked George. “The guy’s a creep.”
Dana paused for a few seconds before she answered. “Because it’s my job, George. Distasteful though it might be, I have a role to play in this. That’s how our system works. You know that. From what Zak and Richard say, you’ve had plenty of skirmishes with the law in California.”
“Little skirmishes,” George said. “And if I ever took a shot at a guy in a boardroom or wherever, it’s because he richly deserved it.”
The dinner went on for several hours as information was exchanged, processed, and dissected. It was close to midnight before George, Turbee, and Khasha went back to a suite of rooms they had rented in a large luxury hotel a block from the courthouse. George took pity on Richard and Zak when they described the rat and cockroach infested hotel where they were staying, and he booked two more rooms on the same floor.
Turbee had a successful evening. The hard drives were rich with information.
46
They flipped open their passports as they went through security. Dan Alexander had a red-and-gold diplomatic passport, and explained to the agent that he was, in fact, the director of TTIC, an intelligence agency of the United States of America, and that the two Marines with him were his bodyguards and hence the guns they had strapped in shoulder holsters. He had several lawyers in tow, and some higher-order State Department executives. There was some head-scratching on the part of the Canadian customs officers, but one of them recognized Alexander from news articles and, giving due respect to the diplomatic passport, let them through. They exited the small terminal. The group required four taxis.
“Where to, gentlemen?” asked the cabbie.
“Courthouse, please,” Dan ordered. “How long?”
“We’re half an hour away.”
“Step on it,” Dan said. “This is a national security matter.” Given his last experience, Dan had no tolerance for cabbies.
“Yes, of course sir,” said the cabbie, crinkling up his nose. He was accustomed to people he picked up at the private terminal talking about matters that were of huge importance accompanied by a request for speed. The cab careened out of the parking lot and raced along the main access road toward downtown Vancouver. If the cops nailed him, he would be sure to have the very important people in his cab explain to the cops that this was a national security matter. That might work.
They arrived at the courthouse, paid the cabbie—no tip—and marched into the grand central foyer. They were pointed toward Courtroom 401 and were about to enter when two large sheriffs blocked their progress.
“What is going on, gentlemen?” asked one of the sheriffs. “You have weapons, I see. Do you have a permit to carry handguns?”
Dan Alexander could not tolerate the bureaucracy of lesser mortals. “I am the director of the Terrorist Threat Integration Center of the United States of America. These two gentlemen are my bodyguards. I have business in this courtroom.”
“That is all well and good, sir, but we cannot permit weapons inside a courtroom, especially with a high-profile case like the Lestage trial. You will surrender your weapons now, and then you may enter.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m the director of TTIC and I have business in this courtroom. Let me pass.” He peeked through the narrow glass window in the courtroom doorway and saw Turbee on the stand, testifying. “That man who is on the witness stand right now is disclosing state secrets. He must be arrested and stopped.”
As Dan Alexander was ranting, several other sheriffs and RCMP officers converged outside the doorway to the courtroom. They surrounded Dan and his guards. An RCMP sergeant, a man of immense size, looked down at the three intruders. “What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” he asked.
Dan resumed his speech about his rank, matters of national importance, his personal importance, and various other topics to impress upon the RCMP officer that this was an issue far beyond his rank. The sergeant let him bluster for a bit and then interrupted him. “Do you have any ID, sir?” he asked.
Dan took out his diplomatic passport and showed it to the sergeant, who scrutinized it with care.
“Fair enough. You may enter, but these two Marines must surrender their weapons to us. No guns in the courtroom, other than the ones the sheriffs are carrying.”
Dan was inclined to push the issue, but the senior Marine, seeing they were outflanked, outmanned, and outgunned, nudged him. “We’ll give them our guns, sir. We should be fine in there.”
Dan relented and the two Marines unhooked their shoulder holsters and handed them to the sheriffs, who promptly opened the double doors for the group of three. A couple sheriffs slipped inside the courtroom as well, ostensibly to provide security, but in reality to see what would take place. They all knew Judge Mordecai’s temperament, and with the director of whatever on a rant, interesting events were sure to unfold.
Judge Mordecai saw the small entourage enter the packed courtroom. He allowed Dana to continue to question Turbee and completely ignored Dan, who was now standing, flanked by several lawyers, in the well of the court. When Dana wrinkled her brow and paused, trying to assess the latest bargein, Dan struck.
“My name is Daniel Alexander the Third and I am the director of the Terrorist—”
Judge Mordecai spoke, not in any way acknowledging the presence or existence of Dan and his supporting armada. “Time for the morning adjournment,” he said, banging his gavel, rising from the bench, and departing through the rear door, leaving Dan sputtering in midsentence.
Dan took a second to compose himself and spotted Turbee, who appeared terrified, slipping lower in the witness stand. “You,” he said, pointing. “You are coming with me now. Arrest him,” he said, turning to his two Marines.
The Marines appeared a little unsure of themselves when the large RCMP officer and several sheriffs stepped between the witness box and Dan. “Sir,” said the sergeant, “you are intimidating a witness. That is a crime under our criminal code. Now leave this courtroom during the morning adjournment and we will lock it up for fifteen minutes. Mr. Turbee, you can stay here while we escort these gentlemen out.”
“Don’t you be threatening my witness,” said Dana, who was standing beside Turbee.
Dan salaciously eyed her up and down, as though she were an aperitif.
“And don’t be a pig. Sheriffs, can you escort this pervert out of the courtroom please?” With that, a furious Dan and his entourage were shooed up the stairs and out of the courtroom. One
of the sheriffs was on the radio. “Jimmy, send another half dozen sheriffs to 401. We have a situation developing.”
The clerk had to bellow “Order in the court” twice. Sheff and Archambault were asking Dan intense, whispered questions. Penn-Garrett was consulting with Dana and was pointing out cases in the Annotated Criminal Code and a second volume, Criminal Evidence. Judge Mordecai had to bang his gavel (the clerk now had a supply) several times, and after a further, unsuccessful “Order in the court,” he stood up and yelled.
“Will everyone please shut the hell up? We have half a dozen things going on at once here. Now you, Mr. Alexander, sit down in the gallery. I’m sure the sheriffs will find you a chair. Now where were we?”
Lee Penn-Garrett rolled out of the counsel area and back into the gallery. The court clerk threw the green flag on a contest that would be as tumultuous as the last three laps at Daytona—anyone could wreck at any time. In fact, it was typical for most of the field to wreck before the winner, threading through haze and smoke and flame, bashed and battered, crossed the finish line.
Dana gave the prosecutors a hard bump. “M’lord, I want to put Mr. Daniel Alexander the Third on notice that I intend to call him as a witness.”
“What?” Mordecai’s spectacles dropped to the tip of nose, and he eyed Dana as though she were a spider under a magnifying glass. “You want to place the American director of TTIC on the stand?”
“No way, Judge,” Dan protested. “I have a diplomatic passport. I have immunity. Diplomatic immunity.” Dan was edgy. The chemical stimulants he had taken as his plane was landing were beginning to wear off.
While the argument was raging, the sat phone Dan was carrying rang. He looked at the phone screen. “Excuse me for just a minute, Judge. I need to take an important call. It’s the president of the United States—”
“Seriously, Mr. Alexander? You march into my courtroom, in the middle of a jury trial, intimidate a witness, and then you ask us all to wait while you take some call? Is that correct?”
Dan completely ignored Judge Mordecai.
“Fine, then,” said the judge. “Sheriffs, please take that cell phone from this impertinent individual and hand it over to Madam Clerk.”
After a bit of a scuffle, this was accomplished. “Madam Clerk, please mark that cell phone as the next exhibit and put it in an exhibit bag, please. What exhibit number were we at?”
“Exhibit 71, my lord.”
“Hey, you can’t do that. That telephone contains highly sensitive national security information. Give it back,” Dan said.
“I can’t do that, I’m afraid,” said Judge Mordecai.
“Why not?”
“It’s an exhibit in a trial. This trial. And the rules of court stipulate that an application is required to return it to you.”
“An application to who?”
“To the trial judge, of course.” The corners of Judge Mordecai’s mouth turned up slightly. His eyes twinkled.
“Would that not be you?”
“Mr. Daniel Alexander, now I see why you are the director of a government agency. That is an absolutely brilliant deduction.”
“Then I apply to have my phone returned to me.”
“Application denied. Now please keep quiet while we are having a discussion as to whether or not I can make you testify.”
“But my phone—”
“The trial judge has ruled. If you don’t like that ruling, well, you’ve got a bunch of lawyers with you, and I’m sure Mr. McPhail is still around here somewhere. You can always appeal that order. They’re a couple of terraces up and to the left. They’re off-kilter most of the time, but you and your attorneys can give that a shot. Now please be silent while Ms. Wittenberg, Mr.
McSheffrey, and I are having a discussion.”
“Screw this. I’m leaving and taking this puke kid here with me to Leavenworth.” Dan opened the gate and moved menacingly toward the witness box. Turbee saw him coming and ducked down below the rim.
“Sheriffs, do your duty,” the judge bellowed. Three of them grabbed the director and pushed him back into the public gallery. “I can impound your phone and I can also impound you, sir, and that option is starting to look rather attractive.”
“I am not subject to any order of this court,” Dan bellowed.
“That is the gist of my argument, m’lord. He is,” said Dana.
“What is the nature of the evidence you wish to extract from Mr. Alexander?”
“He testified at the inquiry into the Glen Canyon Dam attack. He knows that Yousseff Said al-Sabhan is the key man, and he deliberately covered that up. He knows that Leon Lestage only played a bit role and had nothing to do with the terrorist attack.”
The viewing audience was growing exponentially. CNN caught it almost immediately, referring to it as “breaking news.” The president, who had attempted to call Dan and tell him to shut up, was advised within seconds.
“So you say he has personal knowledge, not hearsay knowledge, not consensus-of-the-committee knowledge. We’ve been through those things. I trust you learned a few things along the way here.”
“Yes, my lord. He has personal knowledge.”
“Well, then, do I have jurisdiction over a man with a diplomatic passport?”
“Ordinarily, you might not. But he has walked into this courtroom, and by doing so, he has attorned to the jurisdiction of this court. He’s here, I can ask him to give evidence.”
“Like hell I’m going to testify in this joint,” said Dan. “This place is a joke. I’m leaving. We’ll just wait until Turbee here is done. He can’t be on the stand forever. My plane is waiting for you, Turbee.”
“M’lord, now I have a concern that Mr. Alexander is going to leave the jurisdiction. He says he has his own plane. He says he’s leaving. He just threatened a witness who is actually on the stand. In your presence. Mr. Daniel Alexander is a witness, an important witness, actually, who is flipping you the bird.”
“Anything to say about that, Mr. McSheffrey?” The judge turned his eyes on the lead prosecutor.
“Are you out of,” raged Dan, “out of your fucking mind, Judge? You are going to place the director of an American intelligence agency in a foreign jail cell while there are terrorist attacks being plotted around the globe?”
“First of all, you told me you were Mr. Daniel Alexander the Third. Therefore, logically, you are not Mr. McSheffrey. Now you’ll have your chance. Just shut up until I give you permission to speak. The next outburst and I will either gag you or fine you, or both, and I don’t care if you’re Jesus Christ or Mohammed. In this courtroom, the common law, the law of criminal evidence and procedure, applies. That, and of course, my rulings.”
McSheffrey nodded. “I’m not sure what Mr. Alexander can say that’s not hearsay, but if my learned friend says he has some evidence, I won’t stand in the way. And Ms. Wittenberg is right about the jurisdiction point. Anyone in this room is subject to the court’s jurisdiction.”
“Mr. Alexander, your turn.” A smile was sneaking out.
“Here is my diplomatic passport.” Dan waved it in the air. “You have no right to judge me or to hold me, and I’m leaving. If this is the Canadian justice system, it’s completely nuts.”
“Nuts, huh? Maybe. The Court of Appeal, definitely. Sheriffs, put this man in cells. Ms. Wittenberg wants to question him, he has relevant evidence to give, and he has openly flaunted my rulings. He will try to leave here. He has his own plane. Toss him in jail until Ms. Wittenberg is ready to call him. Oh, and by the way, take away his diplomatic passport. Hand it to the clerk. We will mark that as Exhibit 72. Then we’ll adjourn for the day. Compose ourselves some.”
Six sheriffs surrounded Dan. The two Marines looked like they might get into it, but they saw the number of sheriffs and RCMP officers in the room, and they demurred. The director of TTIC was taken out the side door by the officers, yelling threats as he went. “I will bomb this fucking courthouse to the ground,” he yelled. “I w
ill flatten Vancouver. Does anyone know what a GBU-57 is? I will drop a dozen of them on this place. Does anyone know what a fucking MOAB is? I’ll drop a hundred of them on this place. I will . . .” The door closed, and they could still hear Dan raving as he was taken through a warren of halls and stairs to the holding cells. The tantrum went viral on the internet. Google reported millions of searches for “GBU-57” and “MOAB.”
There was total silence in the courtroom. Total silence until deep-throated laughter came out of the prisoner’s dock. It was Leon, laughing almost uncontrollably. “What a show,” he said. “What a carnival.” He was choking with laughter. Even some members of the jury were laughing a bit.
As the court began to thin out, Khasha approached the well. “Where did Turbee go?” she asked.
Everyone looked over and Turbee was not in the witness box, at least until one of the sheriffs walked over. “Poor guy is curled up in fetal position on the floor of the stand. He doesn’t want to get up.”
47
Ten minutes later, Judge Mordecai was in the chief justice’s office. “Did I go too far, Allan?” he asked, somewhat sheepishly.
“Nah, Shawn. You did the right thing. You have to control your
courtroom, and if someone is sitting there who can give evidence, and tells you that he’s leaving, and insults you, and then intimidates a witness, you had no choice. I would have done the same.”
“Good.”
“You maybe should tone down the language some, but those rulings, with the cell phone and this Daniel Alexander character, were completely correct. Hilarious, but correct. The late-night talk show crowd will go completely mental. I probably would not have made those rulings, but you did, and they are supportable in law. You can exhibit someone’s cell phone. You can order anyone in your courtroom to testify.”
“I thought so. Good.”
“Not all is good,” said the chief justice. “I have already received a call from the minister of justice. Apparently the president called our prime minister, who talked to the justice minister, who said we need to let Mr. Alexander and Mr. Turbee go.”
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