“That’s an interesting theory, Mr. Alexander,” said Judge Mordecai softly. “A theory that has not been accepted by our Court of Appeal. I’m actually a little surprised they got it right for once. Now you are going to take an oath or affirm, or you will go back to cells to consider your position. We would rather just get on with the trial. Now you have some of this city’s most capable lawyers representing you. I think what we’ll do is we’ll adjourn for five minutes while Mr. McPhail and his army of juniors can talk some sense into you. They’re smart lawyers. I am sure they can convince you to loosen your tongue. We are adjourned for five minutes.”
That proved to be the first wrinkle in a heavily wrinkled day. McPhail and four other lawyers surrounded Dan Alexander in the witness box. “You need to do this, Dan. Especially in front of this judge. Plead national security privilege when you must, but don’t do what you’re doing. This judge will toss you into the slammer for a month.”
“Look, gentlemen, I am traveling under a diplomatic passport. You can’t put me on the stand in some lunatic kangaroo courtroom.”
“Dan, for Chrissakes, show some humility here,” McPhail said. “Answer whatever questions you can, and if one comes too close to a national security issue, we will object on that basis. It’s the only reason we have any standing at all in this trial.”
“You show some humility here, punk,” Dan snapped, most unhappy with his new role in life.
“Dan,” came the sharp whisper of a voice from the gallery. “Dan.” It was Houghton, the president’s national security advisor. He motioned for Dan to approach the railing. The sheriffs, after a short conference, permitted this, and Houghton, who had by this time approached the gallery side of the divider, spoke to Dan face-to-face.
“Houghton, what the fuck are you doing here?” Dan’s face registered surprise, and even a hint of uncertainty.
“Dan,” hissed Houghton, “the president’s starting to go down with this. Media is extremely negative back home. There’s talk of impeachment. Criminal charges even. Don’t be an idiot here. Just answer the questions.”
Dan gave Houghton a long, wicked stare. Dan thought about it and after what seemed like hours, he almost imperceptibly nodded his head; McPhail caught it and turned and nodded to the clerk. “We’re ready to go. Bring in His Lordship.”
The scene opener repeated itself. As everyone, including Mordecai, settled in, the clerk placed the Bible under Dan’s right hand. “Do you swear to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do,” Dan replied, much to the relief of everyone in the courtroom.
Dana stood up, vibrating like an ancient tractor, bringing a sheaf of notes with her. She began tentatively, softly, pausing between questions—basic, simple questions, like name, address, and occupation. She established that he was the director of TTIC, which had closely monitored the Colorado attack. She established that he had been a key witness in the inquiry chaired by Calvin Jones, an inquiry that examined the roots and execution of the terrorist attack. Then came a long, leading question. “You are aware, aren’t you, that a gentleman by the name of Yousseff Said al-Sabhan was the person who masterminded that terrorist attack on the Colorado—”
“Objection! Leading.” Sheff and his three juniors and McPhail and his juniors were all on their feet.
“That is a tad leading, Ms. Wittenberg. What do you have to say?”
Dana turned and looked at the packed gallery, trying not to think of who all was sitting there. Lee Penn-Garrett, sitting beside her since the attack, tugged at her robes. “Make the application,” he mouthed. She turned to face Judge Mordecai.
“This witness is clearly hostile, m’lord. I would ask for an order that he be declared hostile, and for leave to ask leading questions.” She handed a booklet of law to the court clerk who handed it to Judge Mordecai, who contemplated tossing it into the garbage. He put the booklet to one side without looking at it.
She then handed a written argument to the court, which Judge Mordecai also promptly put aside. She began. “May it please the court—”
“I cannot begin to tell you how displeased this court is. Sit down, Ms. Wittenberg. McSheffrey, what do you have to say?”
McSheffrey was good on his feet and had acquired an impressive knowledge of the law over the years. “There is much law against what my consummately learned friend has said . . .”
Mordecai let him run for five minutes or so and put an end to it. “If you are saying that a man who tries to intimidate a witness, addresses the court and staff with contempt, and threatens to flee the jurisdiction of a court is not hostile, McSheffrey, you are nuts. Everyone in the court knows he’s hostile. And, by the way, I Googled what a GBU-57 is. He’s threatened to turn this courtroom into a smoking ruin. He’s more ornery than Genghis Khan. You are an idiot if you do not see that. The orders are granted. You may ask leading questions, Ms. Wittenberg. Proceed.”
Dana smiled brightly at McSheffrey and asked the same question again. Several lawyers again jumped up and shouted various objections.
“What is it now?” asked Mordecai with an exasperated sigh. “I have ruled that she can ask leading questions.”
“This cannot possibly be relevant. What does some Afghan bandit have to do with any of this?” said McSheffrey.
“I’m surprised that you would say that after what we heard yesterday,” the judge said. “Now sit down and shut up.”
“And I will show relevance,” said Dana with confidence. “Much relevance is coming.” She smiled and turned to face Dan. “Mr. Alexander, you have spent the last three days or so in cells here at the courthouse, correct?”
“Everyone knows that. And believe me, there will be political consequences.”
“I’m sure there will be,” Dana replied. “But were you not in the last two nights in contact with Kumar Hanaman, Zak Goldberg, and Richard Lawrence?”
“Yes. They were in a large cell close to mine. They are criminals. They belong there.”
“They were there for their protection. People have been trying to kill them. Do you know anything about that?”
“I don’t care what people are saying, or doing. Whatever evidence you have is obviously doctored. It’s a setup.”
“Yes, I’m sure it is. But back to your time in cells. When you were there, did you admit to the three that Yousseff Said al-Sabhan was the terrorist responsible for the Colorado attack?”
“I deny that.”
“Did you say that you were continuing to deal with him because it gave the US a strong position in Afghanistan?”
“I deny that.”
“Did you agree that Yousseff was the man who blew up the Glen Canyon
Dam?”
“I deny that.”
“You know, Mr. Alexander,” began Dana sweetly, “you know that Zak, Kumar, and Richard were in cells not because they were imprisoned, but for their own protection. Many attempts had been made on their lives, and they and the sheriffs felt that the safest place for them would be in cells.”
“Sure, whatever.”
“And because of that, they were not treated like prisoners. Their personal possessions were not taken from them when they were booked in.”
“So?”
“One of those possessions was Zak’s smartphone.”
“Big deal.”
“That cell phone has a record function on it.”
“Big deal. The guy had a fancy phone. So what?”
“Zak recorded one of your speeches while you were in cells. Would you care to hear it?”
Dan remained mute. He knew what was coming and was already formulating defenses. Data could be cooked.
“Actually, I don’t care if you answer or not. Listen to this. I would ask the court to direct Madam Clerk to increase the volume on this microphone to the maximum so we can all hear this. The first voice is yours. The second is Richard Lawrence. The third is Zak Goldberg. By the way, we made a little transcript of it. Here it is.” S
he handed it to Dan and to the judge. She took Zak’s phone, went to the “record” app, clicked “play,” and held the phone up to the microphone in front of the lectern.
DA: I hope you three are having fun.
RL: Oh, Dan, that’s you. I hope they’re taking good care of you.
DA: You’re done, you and Richard. Your treasonous conduct will not be forgotten. Get ready for a lifetime in Gitmo.
ZG: For what? Telling the truth? Bringing Kumar here to tell the truth? We all know Yousseff and what he did. You know that, Dan.
DA: Sure I know it. Yousseff is a terrorist. But we have our geopolitical interests on the table. We’re at war, you fucking idiots. We have bases in Afghanistan that have incredible strategic value. You attack Yousseff, you attack our objectives and interests in Afghanistan, and that’s treasonous fucking behavior. Got it?
ZG: No, we don’t get it. Yousseff murdered tens of thousands of American citizens. He was the man who supervised the destruction of the Glen Canyon Dam. He should be stuffed somewhere and never again see the light of day.
DA: So what? It’s politics, you two idiots. You don’t seem to get that. Deals have to be made, sometimes with people you don’t like, sometimes even with terrorists like Yousseff. It’s the way of history. This happens all the time.
ZG: You’re a sick and twisted little man, Dan. Some values cannot be compromised. Some lines cannot be crossed. You’ve crossed so many that you’ve lost your moral compass. You would make a deal with Satan if it suited your purposes. In fact you probably have.
DA: That’s right, asshole. That’s why I’m the director of TTIC and will be president before long, and you will spend the rest of your days in some cockroach-infested prison. Now shut the fuck up. I want to get some sleep.
“That’s you on that recording, isn’t it?” Silence. Dana waited, and waited. The longer the pause became, the greater the effect.
Finally the court interrupted. “Mr. Alexander, you must answer the question.”
“Fine,” retorted Dan. “It sounds like it’s me, but you are dealing with very sophisticated people on the other side of this thing. That recording is doctored. It might sound like me but it isn’t me.”
“You say that Yousseff was the man who supervised the terrorist attack on the Glen Canyon Dam. You did say that, didn’t you?”
Silence. Dana again did absolutely nothing—she simply waited for the response. The long episode of silence emphasized the impossible position that Dan was in. Again, Judge Mordecai intervened. “You must answer that question, Mr. Alexander.”
“What was the question?”
“Madam Reporter,” directed the judge, “could you please read back that question for the benefit of the witness?”
The court reporter, in a careful voice and even tone, reread the question. The readback multiplied the resonance of the question. Dan remained mute.
“Mr. Alexander, you have to answer that question. Did you say that Yousseff supervised the attack on the Glen Canyon Dam?”
After another lengthy silence, Dan finally said, “I don’t recall.”
“You don’t recall what you said a couple of days ago when you’ve just heard a recording of it?” asked Dana.
“Recordings can be messed with. I doubt that I said that. If this comes from Zak’s smartphone, he probably found a way to alter what I said to make it look like I’m guilty, when I’m not.”
“Fine, sir. You’ve just heard yourself being recorded and you still do not remember what you said. We might as well move to something else. Now you know Calvin Jones, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. He is the American secretary of defense. A good friend of mine.”
“He doesn’t have any source of income other than his government salary right? About $300,000 a year?”
“Yeah, I think so. He’s a poor boy.”
“And he worked his way up. Has no family money.”
“Right.”
“Now that we’ve established that, isn’t it true that Yousseff paid Calvin Jones one hundred million dollars?”
“Don’t be a moron. No.”
“Did Yousseff pay you fifty million dollars?”
“Judge, do I have to listen to this garbage?” Dan asked, turning to the bench.
“It’s a simple little question, with a simple little one word ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer,” responded the judge. “Humor us.” “No,” Dan responded flatly.
“I have some banking ledgers from Karachi Dry Dock and Engineering that show otherwise.”
“Sure. If you believe that pile of crap, you’ll believe the judge here is the tooth fairy.”
“Don’t worry,” interrupted Judge Mordecai. “The Court of Appeal already believes that.”
“So you deny it?”
Dan did not hesitate. “Yes.”
“Are you familiar with a law firm in Karachi by the name of Hassan and Hassan?” continued Dana.
“Never heard of them.”
“You have heard of Karachi Dry Dock and Engineering?” she prompted. “Only through this stupid trial,” Dan replied.
“Well, thank you for that. Do you have an account at a bank in Antigua?”
“I don’t even know where Antigua is.”
“Sir, do you have an account at the International Bank of Barbuda?”
“No idea what you’re rattling on about.” Dan continued with his chippy demeanor, but small beads of sweat were breaking out on his forehead.
“How about the bank’s main branch in St. John, Antigua. On First Street—97 First Street, to be precise.”
“Honey,” began Dan, “I don’t know who has been feeding your head with this nonsense, or what faked-up documents you have there, but I don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re on about.”
“Watch it, Mr. Alexander,” growled Judge Mordecai. “You don’t get two mulligans.”
“I am showing a printout from KDDE,” continued Dana. “It’s a schedule of payments. Will you read to the jury the line highlighted in yellow?”
“It says, ‘To account SWIFT C-M-B-A-B-B-A-W-E-X-X-5611092, 25 million dollars, November 21, 2017.’”
“That’s your account, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Do you know what those letters represent?”
“Don’t have a clue, ma’am.”
“Come on, Mr. Alexander. I know that you know. Try again.” “Objection, badgering.” Sheff was on his feet.
“Maybe a bit,” said Judge Mordecai. “But, Mr. Alexander, have you exhausted your memory?”
“Yes, m’lord, I have. I do not know what that means.”
The judge looked at Dana. “Carry on Ms. Wittenberg.”
“Sir,” said Dana, “it’s a SWIFT code.” “What’s a SWIFT code?” Dan responded.
“It’s a series of letters that serve as an identifier for multinational banks.” “So?” Dan uncomfortably shifted his weight around in the witness box.
“These particular letters are the identifier for a bank in Antigua, in the Caribbean, known as the International Bank of Barbuda. Does that help your memory?” Dana again smiled sweetly.
Dan turned a deep shade of purple. The little beads of forehead sweat multiplied in size and number. He remained silent.
“Will you please answer the question?” Dana prompted.
“No.”
Dana turned to the judge. “M’lord, could you direct the witness to answer?”
Judge Mordecai ordered Dan to respond, which, after a lengthy silence, he did. “I really don’t recall.”
“Okay, let’s try something else,” said Dana. “I have here a printout of account 5611092 from the main branch of the International Bank of Barbuda. Whose name is on that printout?”
Dan mopped his forehead with a clump of Kleenex and reached for the water glass. He remained silent despite multiple promptings from Dana and Judge Mordecai to answer.
“Very well,” said Dana. “Here are copies of the document for the jury. It�
�s obvious that the name across the top is Daniel Alexander. Let’s try something else, Mr. Alexander. You were in Antigua on November 21, 2017?”
“Told you, bitch, never heard of the place.”
Judge Mordecai smashed down his gavel. “Five thousand dollar fine, Mr. Alexander. You show that kind of disrespect again and I’ll double it and give you a week in custody.”
Dana continued. “Sir, I suggest to you that you’ve been at Henry’s Steak and Fish House. In St. John, Antigua.”
“No.”
“On November 21, 2017? Come on, sir,” urged Dana. “You must remember it. It’s right beside the International Bank of Barbuda—91 First Street, in St. John, Antigua, to be precise.”
“No.” Dan reached for more Kleenex and was developing a tremor in his hands.
“Well, sir, I have an American Express slip in your name that shows that you paid for what appears to have been a feast of a dinner on November 21, 2017, at Henry’s Steak and Fish House. Looks like, with tip, about a thousand-dollar dinner. Remember it now?” “No,” Dan responded.
Dana read the Amex card number into the record. Then she politely asked for Dan Alexander’s wallet. That turned out to be a bit of an exercise, requiring the physical efforts of three sheriffs. Dana received the wallet, flipped through it, triumphantly pulled out Dan’s Amex card and read the number into the record. “Same number,” she said to the jury. She asked that the American Express card be made the next exhibit.
She then delivered the coup de grace. “Could Madam Clerk provide me with Exhibit 72?” she asked. The clerk immediately produced it and handed, wrapped in a plastic exhibit bag, Dan Alexander’s red-and-gold diplomatic passport. She flipped through it.
“Well, what do you know,” she said. “Looks like you passed through customs in Antigua on November 20, 2017. The customs stamp is right here.”
“Not my passport,” snarled Dan, which produced outright laughter from the jury box.
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