Directed Verdict (16 page)

“So it’s our job to just sell her out, drop the case—”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Bella interrupted. “Nobody’s selling out. If we take this case all the way, it could bankrupt us. It’s a dog, Nikki. And if we go bankrupt chasing this dog, then all of your well-intentioned crusading won’t do anybody any good.”

“Nobody’s selling out,” Nikki repeated, mocking Bella’s tone. “Then what do you call it?”

“I guess if anybody would recognize selling out, you would,” Bella responded. “It’s how you got here in the first place—”

“Enough!” Brad barked. He wondered if the two women would ever get along. “If we have to give up the names,” he said softly, “we drop the case. I’m sorry, Nikki. But that’s the way it’s got to be.”

Nikki began to calm down. “Shouldn’t we at least get Leslie back in here and let her vote?”

“No votes,” Brad replied.

“Oh, I see. And no respect either, huh?”

“C’mon, Nikki. You know that’s not the way it is here.”

Nikki pursed her lips and stared straight ahead, apparently not convinced. Bella, her victory secure, got up and headed for the door, a thin trail of smoke still slithering in her wake.

“Satisfied?” Nikki asked.

“Get over it,” Bella said and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

Leslie felt a gentle hand on her shoulder as she stood on the sidewalk in front of the office building and looked out over the parking lot.

“This isn’t really about the case, is it?” Sarah asked.

“It is about the case,” Leslie said, desperation in her voice. “It’s about not letting Aberijan and the others get away with murder. It’s about making your husband’s death mean something.”

The two women stood quietly for a moment.

“Listen, Leslie, I don’t harbor any hatred toward these men. I miss Charles so much, but I know that if I don’t forgive, it only eats me up and causes more pain. I trust God to take care of justice. That’s His job, not mine.”

Leslie could not fathom this forgiveness that Sarah so easily embraced. She loathed Ahmed for what he did to Sarah. She loathed Mack Strobel for being his hired gun. And right now was not a good time for the platitudes of a missionary.

You’re sweet, Sarah, but you’re not me. I’m not put together that way. I never will be.

Leslie turned and faced Sarah but did not look her in the eye. “I don’t know how you can forgive these men—God either for that matter. I’ve been in a feud with God ever since He took away Bill.”

“Maybe that’s the difference,” Sarah said softly. “I don’t blame God for taking Charles away. I just thank Him for giving me Charles all those years.”

The words struck Leslie like another blow. Though they could not have been more kindly delivered, they brought to the surface a lingering bitterness Leslie had worked hard to deny.

The words stayed with her throughout the day and continued to echo long into the evening. She turned them over and over in her mind and vainly searched her own heart for the type of peace that Sarah expressed. Instead, she found humiliation. Embarrassment. Defeat. And when she finally arrived back at her tiny garage apartment and crawled into bed, it was the missed deadline, and not the insightful words of a missionary, that caused Leslie to lie awake the entire night, staring at the same spot on the ceiling.

* * *

It came two days before the motion to dismiss hearing. It arrived in a plain 8
1⁄2
-by-11 manila envelope bearing a Norfolk, Virginia, postmark. Ahmed read the contents of the package for the third time, still incredulous at his good fortune.

The envelope contained two documents. The first document was one page long, and the second was nearly twenty pages. The long document was titled “Preliminary Game Plan for
Reed v. Saudi Arabia
.” It contained lists of potential witnesses, experts, exhibits, and relevant documents. It appeared to be some sort of analysis of the case by the plaintiff’s lawyers.

The other document was a note composed of letters and numbers cut from magazines and pasted on a plain white sheet of computer paper. Ahmed would ask Barnes to analyze both documents for fingerprints and other trace evidence, although he really didn’t expect to find anything. The note was simple and direct:
This first installment will cost you $50,000 U.S.D. More will follow if you obey my instructions and do not investigate. Make payment before the conclusion of the motion to dismiss hearing.

The second paragraph contained wiring instructions for a Cayman Islands bank account that undoubtedly belonged to a shell corporation whose officers and shareholders would be untraceable. The note was, of course, unsigned.

Ahmed called Barnes and speculated about the note for the better part of an hour. It could come from any number of sources, they agreed. The most likely scenario, Ahmed offered, would be an employee of Carson & Associates. A truly disgruntled insider who was fed up and saw this case as a surefire way to make big money fast.

But Ahmed also recognized that there were many other less desirable possibilities. In fact, the meager amount of money demanded concerned Ahmed. Perhaps the source was not a member of the plaintiff’s team. Such a person would have placed a higher value on the case. It could be a roommate or friend. It could be their clumsy Saudi lawyer, el Khamin. It could even be a friend of Sarah Reed. For that matter, it could be the janitor in Carson’s building or just a good old-fashioned thief. The possibilities were endless, but the promise in the note of future installments certainly had Ahmed’s attention. He had to know the source so he could verify the credibility of this information.

“Frederick, why do you think I pay you all this money? I must know who sent this, and I must know soon. Is that understood?”

“You will know, Ahmed. Just give me some time.”

17

THE ALARM SEEMED LOUDER THAN NORMAL,
partly because it was set an hour earlier and partly because Brad had never achieved deep sleep during the night. 5:30 a.m. He forced himself out of bed and stumbled downstairs to start the coffee. He would add two miles to his morning run today, an extra fifteen minutes, because he needed the additional time to clear his mind and prepare for the day’s events.

His first mile was always a grind, and starting an hour early didn’t help. The endorphins kicked in at mile two, freeing his mind for deep thinking. He hit his stride by 5:45 and started to sweat in the early morning heat and humidity of Tidewater.

By the end of mile three he was in the zone. He determined that the best way to combat a Rule 11 motion was to act the part of a reasonable and careful lawyer. He would save the dramatics for trial. Today he would argue the law in scholarly tones and be the very picture of an attorney who would never consider filing a lawsuit unsupported by the current state of the law. He would leave the name-calling and insult-hurling to Strobel. Brad promised himself he would behave.

He would have Leslie handle the motion to compel. She would fall on her sword, admit her mistake, and plead for mercy. She would undoubtedly generate sympathy. A judge would be more likely to feel sorry for a law student than a seasoned litigator.

On his fourth mile, he thought about how he would handle the motion to dismiss and adjust his style based on the judge assigned to the hearing. That was the one great wild card remaining to be dealt. Norfolk Federal Court was famous for concealing the judge’s identity until the morning of the hearing. To keep the litigants guessing, the court would even change judges on a case from one hearing to the next, up until the morning of trial. The trial judge would remain a mystery until the morning of jury selection.

Brad dreaded the possibility that he might draw Ichabod. If she showed up today wearing the black robe, he might as well get out his checkbook to pay the sanctions and kiss the case good-bye. No adjustment to his style could overcome the ire of Ichabod.

If he could pick his judge, he would ask for Judge Samuel Johnson, the only African American on the Norfolk bench and the only judge whose career did not include a stint with a big firm defending cases for corporate clients. More than any other member of the bench, Brad suspected Judge Johnson would be open to his argument that outrageous violations of human rights, like those at issue here, must have a remedy in international law. Johnson would understand the basic parallels to civil rights laws in this country and would not be intimidated by being the first judge to do what was right.

Brad used the last three miles of his run to rehearse his arguments. By the time he finished at 6:15, he was relaxed and ready for the day’s maelstrom.

* * *

By 9 a.m., Norfolk Federal Court was a media madhouse. Though court rules prohibited cameras in the courtroom, the First Amendment kept the judges from extending their ban to the steps and sidewalks in front of the large brick building. Accordingly, the local media hordes transformed that area into a gauntlet of cameras and microphones poised to engulf the lawyers and their clients as they entered the sanctuary of the court.

Strobel and his entourage showed up first. They arrived simultaneously in several luxury cars, transporting no fewer than eight lawyers and paralegals. All were dressed in expensive dark blue or gray suits. While the rest of the team busied itself by unloading boxes of documents and notebooks, Strobel held forth for the reporters.

“What are your chances of having this case thrown out today?”

“We think they are excellent, or we would not have filed the motion.”

“Do you expect to get sanctions against Mr. Carson?”

“Will you be calling any witnesses today?”

“Will you appeal if you lose?”

“One question at a time please. No testimony is heard when the court rules on a motion to dismiss. We do not believe we will lose this hearing, but if we do, we cannot appeal a motion to dismiss ruling until the entire case is over. As for the sanctions against Mr. Carson, that will be for the court to decide.”

“Are you pleased with the selection of Judge Johnson to hear this motion?”

Strobel hesitated. His eyes flashed; then his game face returned.

“I’m sure Judge Johnson will do a fine job. The judge assigned makes no difference to us. All of the jurists in this court are fair and impartial. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we need to get ready.”

* * *

Brad caught himself smiling as Judge Johnson took the bench, fashionably late to his own hearing. Brad wiped the grin from his face as the spectators stood and fell into hushed silence.

“You may be seated,” the judge said in a rich, slow Southern baritone. “Counselors, I’ve reserved two hours for your arguments, no more. The court has read every word of your briefs, so do not waste the court’s time by simply repeating arguments you’ve already made. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Brad said simultaneously with Mack Strobel.

“Mr. Strobel, we are here on your motions, you may proceed.”

Strobel strode confidently to the podium to address the court. He took a massive notebook with him and left another just out of reach at his counsel table.

“If it pleases the court, we are here today on a number of defense motions.” His confident voice bellowed throughout the courtroom.

“I will address three motions: the motion to dismiss plaintiff’s case because this court lacks jurisdiction, the corresponding Rule 11 motion we have made requesting sanctions against plaintiff’s counsel for the filing of a frivolous lawsuit, and our motion to compel answers to the interrogatories that we filed based on the fact that counsel for plaintiff did not file any timely objections.”

“Let’s deal with the motion to compel first,” Johnson suggested. “It seems like that issue is pretty straightforward, and we ought to be able to resolve it quickly before we get into the more complicated motion to dismiss.”

A thin smile creased Strobel’s face, and for the next several minutes he set forth his reasons for wanting every interrogatory answered, but particularly the one requesting names of every church member who ever worshiped with the Reeds. The names were relevant, he argued, so that he could take the depositions of these former church members and find out if the Reeds were really missionaries or just clever drug lords. Besides, he asserted, the plaintiff waived any objection when her attorneys missed the deadline for filing objections.

“Is that true, you missed the deadline?” Judge Johnson asked Brad.

So much for reading the briefs,
Brad thought.
We only spent about ten pages on this issue.

Though Johnson was looking at Brad, Leslie stood. “I’m afraid it is, Your Honor.” She looked appropriately nervous, eyes darting around, voice slightly quivering. Brad was proud of her.

“And it’s entirely my fault. I’m a rising third-year law student helping Mr. Carson on this case, and I missed the deadline for filing objections. I didn’t know about the local fifteen-day rule, although I also recognize it is entirely my responsibility to be familiar with that rule. I bring the court no excuses, just a simple request that the court not hold my client responsible for my failure by making us produce the names. We are prepared to answer every other interrogatory, but if we have to produce these names, we sincerely believe that it is just a matter of time before they are tortured too.”

Johnson thought about this for a second, indecision etched in the wrinkles on his forehead. Leslie gingerly sat down, never taking her eyes off the judge. He stared at the back wall, saying nothing.

Finally, he spoke. “I read in the briefs that your client will drop the case rather than produce any names. Is that true?”

Whoa! He has read the briefs. The earlier question was just a setup, a credibility check to see if we would fudge the issue. We passed.

Leslie was on her feet again. “That’s correct,” she said tentatively.

“And if I give you a simple order to produce to Mr. Strobel all the names of alleged church members who worshiped with Sarah Reed, you would rather drop the case than obey my order?”

Leslie shifted her weight from foot to foot, the pain of this answer registering in her eyes.

“I wouldn’t phrase it that way, Judge. But with all due respect, my client has decided not to produce the names under any circumstances.”

Johnson shifted his stare to Sarah. “Is that true?” he inquired.

Sarah stood. “Absolutely, Your Honor.”

“That’s what I thought,” Johnson said. “And it’s the only thing that makes my decision easier.” He flashed a quick grin at Sarah. “You may sit back down, Mrs. Reed.”

“Thanks,” she said, embarrassed.

“This case reminds me of the biblical story of Solomon and the two women fighting over the baby. Solomon said he would split the baby and give half to each woman claiming to be the mother. He knew the real mother would never allow that to happen. And so he awarded the baby to the woman who begged the king not to kill the child.”

Brad felt a small smile creep across his lips.

“In the same manner, I am impressed by the sincerity of Mrs. Reed. She is prepared to drop this case rather than reveal the names of alleged church members. She must sincerely believe they would be persecuted for their faith. I realize that her lawyers missed a deadline, but this court is not willing to make Mrs. Reed pay so dear a price for the mistake of her lawyers.

“Accordingly,” he concluded, “we will take a page out of Solomon’s book and see if we can split this baby. Mrs. Reed must answer each and every interrogatory except she will not be required to reveal the names of the alleged church members unknown to the defendants. In exchange, Mrs. Reed will not be permitted to mention or testify at trial about any alleged church members other than the Friday night group that the defendants already know about. I know it’s not a perfect remedy, and whatever judge tries this case may decide to do something different, but it’s the best I can do for now. After all, I’m no Solomon.”

A collective sigh of relief registered at the plaintiff’s counsel table. They had dodged at least one bullet today. This judge was Solomon incarnate, as far as Brad was concerned. Brad leaned over and whispered to Leslie.

“Nice job,” he said. “You looked pathetic.”

“Thanks,” she whispered back. “It’s my specialty.”

Strobel appeared unfazed. He had undoubtedly seen his share of surprises through the years, and you could never tell from his demeanor if he had been dealt a serious blow. He remained stoic, thanked the judge for the ruling, and launched into his argument on the motion to dismiss with undiminished vigor.

“The courts of the United States have honored the immunity of other nations from lawsuits for more than 180 years,” he asserted. “From the time Chief Justice John Marshall decided the case of
Schooner Exchange v. M’Faddon
in 1812, through this very day, courts have honored the bedrock principle of international law that each country has exclusive and absolute territorial jurisdiction over actions that occur within its territory. Therefore, countries grant each other immunity over lawsuits—”

“Skip the history lesson,” Johnson cut in. “Let’s bring it up to at least 1976, shall we? Would you agree that in 1976 Congress passed the Foreign Sovereign Immunities Act and that is the statute we need to interpret today?”

“Yes, Your Honor. And that statute makes it clear that the defendants are entitled to immunity from this lawsuit.” Strobel looked the part of the big-firm defense lawyer. He stood erect, and his full and deep voice originated from deep down in his diaphragm, reverberating throughout the courtroom.

“Plaintiff claims there should be an exception to this statute for torture arising out of religious persecution,” he continued. “She says that torture violates a fundamental norm of international law, also known as a
jus cogens
law, and therefore nations cannot claim the immunity of international law when they act in ways that violate the very essence of international law. But this claim has been considered and rejected by other courts. For example, the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals, in the case of
Siderman v. Argentina
, rejected the claim of a Jewish citizen from Argentina who had been arrested and tortured because of his faith—”

“Speaking of the
Siderman
case,” Judge Johnson said, waving the lawbook in his hand, “let me ask if you agree with some quotes from that case that I find very persuasive. Do you agree, sir, with the following quote: ‘The right to be free from official torture is fundamental and universal, a right deserving of the highest status under international law, a norm of
jus cogens
. The crack of the whip, the clamp of the thumb screw, the crush of the iron maiden, and, in these more efficient modern times, the shock of the electric cattle prod are forms of torture that the international order will not tolerate. To subject a person to such horrors is to commit one of the most egregious violations of the personal security and dignity of a human being.’ Do you agree with that, Mr. Strobel?”

Johnson glared down at Strobel, still holding the
Siderman
case in one hand as if it were an original copy of the Ten Commandments. For the first time all day, Brad slid back in his chair, crossed his legs, and relaxed.

“I agree that torture violates the personal security and dignity of human beings but—”

“Then don’t you also agree, Mr. Strobel, that when a nation violates this fundamental rule of international behavior, the cloak of sovereign immunity that is provided by international law falls away, leaving the nation vulnerable to suit?”

“No, Your Honor,” Strobel said with great confidence. Even when he spoke to a judge, he had a certain air of authority. “You quoted some select language from the
Siderman
case, but the ultimate decision in that case rejected the very argument you just raised—the court ultimately said that the act of torture did not strip away the right to sovereign immunity.”