Directed Verdict (9 page)

9

“I CAN’T DO IT,” SARAH SAID.
“I won’t do it. It might endanger the members of our church still worshiping in Riyadh. It may hinder the efforts of the World Mission Society to send other missionaries. But most important, it would probably mean I could never go back to the Saudis again—never return to the people I love.”

Brad shot a sideways glance at Leslie. He had not anticipated this reaction to his proposal that Sarah file suit against the Saudis as well as the insurance company. Brad had predicted Sarah would balk at the prospect of risking any money on the case, so he offered to take the case on contingency and fund the expenses strictly out of firm reserves. Sarah would pay absolutely no fee unless they recovered. But Brad never dreamed that Sarah would still object for philosophical reasons. Clients never objected to the potential for a huge recovery when lawyers took all the risks.

“Well,” Brad said after a long silence. He stared at his legal pad on the conference room table. “Nobody is going to force you to file this case. But it seems to me that there are times to turn the other cheek and times to fight back.” Brad made a desperate mental search for some biblical arguments, but his repertoire was limited to what little he could remember from his Sunday school days.

He vaguely remembered that Christ Himself got angry a time or two and beat up on some guys in the temple—he could recall the picture from his Bible. “I mean, even Christ turned over the tables on those men selling pigeons in the temple.” He looked up and noticed Sarah trying to suppress a grin. Maybe he should stick to logic. “I think it all comes down to the greater good. You could go back into Saudi Arabia and reach dozens of people, maybe even hundreds, as a missionary. But what if this lawsuit resulted in real religious freedom in Saudi Arabia? How many Sarah Reeds could minister in the country then? And not under cover of darkness, but in the light of day. And what if this case results in similar cases against China and other repressive countries? Could it be that God is calling you to take this stand, at this time, to pave the way for thousands of others to go where they could never go before?”

Brad finished talking and waited patiently for Sarah’s response. She was deep in thought, not smiling at all now. Leslie fixed her eyes on Sarah as well.

“Brad, I just don’t know,” Sarah replied tentatively. “I’ve got to have some time to think about it, pray about it. What you say makes sense, but only if we win. If we lose, it’s not just a case, and it’s not just money, it’s my calling at risk. I could never go back. You can shake off the dust and move on to your next case. But I couldn’t live with myself if I made it any harder on the converts in Saudi Arabia.”

“What would Charles want?” Leslie asked softly.

Sarah studied her folded hands. “What would Jesus do? If I knew the answer to that question, then I’d know what Charles would want.”

More silence followed. The threesome eventually agreed that Sarah would take a few days to think and pray. Leslie would start drafting the lawsuit just in case. Brad made a note to get his hands on a Bible and muster some support for the proposition that Jesus would have filed suit. But he had to admit, it seemed odd to imagine the Man who went without objection to His death on a cross filing suit over a human rights violation.

Brad didn’t have the foggiest idea what Jesus would do. But he did know what he wanted to do. He had to get Sarah’s permission to file this case. And he had to find a way to win.

* * *

Nikki enjoyed the first five minutes of her new job. She spent the time unpacking her personal belongings in her new office, waiting for Brad to arrive with instructions.

But at 8:35 Nikki’s solitude was shattered when a thick woman in a foul mood parked herself at Nikki’s office door. She stood there with one hand on her hip, the other handling a cigarette, while she huffed and puffed about the traffic, the miserable weather, and the other evils of living in Tidewater. “You must be Nikki Moreno,” she finally said, her voice filled with scorn.

“Yep,” Nikki replied. “Do you mind putting out that cigarette while you’re standing in my office?”

Bella pointed out that she was not technically in Nikki’s office, and even if she were, she’d put the cigarette out when she darn well pleased. Nikki pointed out that Bella was the only person she knew who was big enough to be technically in Nikki’s office at the same time that she was technically in the hallway and technically in the reception area. The conversation went downhill from there.

They argued about the evils of smoking and the danger of secondhand smoke. They argued about whether Bella would do Nikki’s typing and answer her phone. They argued about whether miniskirts were appropriate office attire. Bella told Nikki she was so thin she looked sick. Nikki said at least nobody had mistaken her for a beached whale lately. In honor of Nikki’s tattoos, Bella called her “the Dragon Lady.” In turn, Nikki dubbed Bella “Willy,” in honor of the famous orca.

* * *

By the time Brad arrived, the two women were almost at blows. “I see you two lovebirds have met,” Brad said. “Bella. My office—now!”

Brad spent the rest of the morning talking both women out of quitting. By noon he was nursing a splitting headache. As expected, Bella demanded and received a raise, even though she was already probably the highest-paid legal secretary in all of Tidewater.

Even after the raise, Bella told Brad she just couldn’t understand why she should be making less than the arrogant and inexperienced Nikki Moreno. Especially, Bella claimed, since her mom was in a nursing home and Bella had to single-handedly pay all the bills. Bella had used the same sympathy ploy for the last two years.

Later that afternoon, Brad heard Bella calling the office-supply company and ordering a brass nameplate for Nikki’s office with “the Dragon Lady” etched in black. When he poked his head into Nikki’s office, he saw her hanging up framed pictures of dolphins and whales that she had picked up on her lunch break at the mall, as if she had always been an ardent fish lover.

The psychological warfare was well under way.

* * *

Sarah plopped down on the worn recliner in the small family room. It was nearly 10:30, and there was still so much to do before she could crawl into bed. Two more loads of laundry, dirty dishes all over the kitchen, lunches to get ready for school tomorrow, bills to pay that should have been sent yesterday—well, actually last week.

This was not the way she wanted to end her day. Meredith had just copped an attitude and been sent to her room. The walls were thin in this single-story ranch house, and now Sarah could hear the music from Meredith’s CD player infiltrating every nook of living space. Before long, Steven would probably come out of his room and complain he couldn’t sleep. Then there would be another battle with Meredith, who had grown increasingly distant and rebellious since Charles’s death.

Sarah didn’t know if she could take one more battle. Not tonight.

She sighed heavily and reached for the worn Bible—Charles’s old Bible—sitting on a small coffee table, right where she had left it two days ago. When Charles was alive, they had devotions together nearly every morning, when they were fresh. Now she struggled to get out of bed in the morning, already running behind, and she would not get to her devotions until the evening. She often couldn’t stay awake for the duration.

Before she began, she prayed the same little prayer she always did. “Lord, show me something from this Book tonight that is just for me . . . as I live for You.”

She picked up her reading in the book of Acts. Chapter by chapter. The difficulties that Paul faced and his obedience to his mission in the face of extreme trouble inspired Sarah and made her long for the mission field again. She would go back some day. She loved the Saudi people so much.

She started relaxing as she read God’s Word, and her eyelids became heavy. Paul had been arrested, for about the third or fourth time, for preaching the gospel, and he was being tried in front of some Roman governor named Felix. As usual, Paul was giving the governor fits, as he defended himself and witnessed about Christ and the Resurrection. Sarah’s mind started to wander, imagining the bandy-legged little Paul, dwarfed by the grandeur of this Roman tribunal, wagging his finger at the great Felix and telling him about the resurrection of the dead. She could see the astonished looks on the faces of the Roman dignitaries as this ornery little Jewish man made his case. Sarah’s eyes were blinking more slowly now, the music from Meredith’s room drifting into the background, and the words on the page in front of her blurring into a sea of black ink.

And then a tiny phrase jumped off the page. “I appeal to Caesar,” Paul said. The words pierced through the fog of impending sleep and slapped Sarah awake. “I appeal to Caesar,” Paul insisted. And then Festus answered, “You have appealed to Caesar? To Caesar you shall go!”

She sat up straight in the chair, her eyes wide.

The words spoke to Sarah, shouted to her from two thousand years ago and half a world away, as if Paul himself were in her family room at that very moment. “I appeal to Caesar.”

Suddenly, Sarah was energized. She couldn’t read fast enough. Why did Paul appeal to Caesar? Didn’t he just want to get back to the mission field? Didn’t he know that appealing to Caesar could take years away from his work? Why was this man, who rejoiced when he was abused for the sake of Christ, suddenly so insistent about his legal rights?

She stood up from the chair, gathered a pen and tablet, and cleared herself a place at the kitchen table. She made some quick notes and outlined the history of Paul’s legal troubles and options. She read earlier chapters to put it in context. More notes. More excitement. She was onto something. The answer was here, somewhere.

Some time and several pages of notes later, she found the answer in the ninth chapter of Acts, right after Paul had been converted from a persecutor of the church to a missionary. She had read it so many times before, but she had never seen it. At least not like this.

The Lord called Paul a “chosen vessel” and said that Paul would “bear My name before Gentiles, kings, and the children of Israel. For I will show him how many things he must suffer for My name’s sake.”

There it was! Her answer. God had given Paul a threefold mission. To share with the children of Israel, which Paul did when he preached at Jerusalem. To share with the Gentiles, which Paul did when he planted churches all over Asia Minor. But Paul also had a mission to share with kings. And how did Paul do this? Through the court system! The Sanhedrin, Governor Festus, King Agrippa, and ultimately to the leading ruler himself—Caesar!

Paul’s plea wasn’t about winning or losing. He wasn’t plotting some kind of legal strategy. In fact, Acts ended with Paul imprisoned in Rome, ready to testify before Caesar. How that trial ended, who knows?

But Paul fulfilled his mission.

To the children of Israel, Sarah thought, Paul’s own people. In her case, these would be the Americans. To the Gentiles, foreigners despised by Paul’s people. These would be the Saudis. And the kings, the court officials. They would be the federal court judges, the world’s media, and the leaders of nations as they followed this international case through the eyes of the world’s press.

A threefold mission.

“I appeal to Caesar,” Sarah said solemnly.

Without bothering to check the clock, she picked up the phone and dialed Brad.

10

LESLIE FILED THE SUIT PAPERS
when Norfolk Federal Court opened for business on Good Friday. The timing was Brad’s idea. The press would be looking for some good religious news on Easter weekend. Brad was more than happy to oblige. The poisoning of the jury pool had begun.

The suit was a whopper. It spanned an impressive fifty-six pages, encompassing seven separate causes of action and containing enough
whereas
,
heretofore
, and
hereinabove
clauses to choke a horse. Leslie’s masterpiece contained impressive citations of various international human rights laws as well as graphic references to specific acts of torture inflicted on the Reeds that would be good grist for the papers.

The suit named the nation of Saudi Arabia as a defendant and at least nine separate John Does, references to the unknown individuals who had assaulted Sarah and killed Charles.

After detailing the heinous conduct of the Saudi officials for more than fifty-five pages, Leslie demanded, in capital letters, the handsome sum of ONE HUNDRED FIFTY MILLION DOLLARS as compensatory and punitive damages.

The suit requested trial by jury on the counts against the individuals and trial by judge on the count against Saudi Arabia. Brad insisted they file in Norfolk, home of the famed “rocket docket,” where cases were always tried within six months of filing. Brad also wanted to file in Norfolk because the court had a legacy of gutsy judges who made tough calls on racial-integration cases. Although those judges had since retired, Brad hoped to tap into this legacy of pioneering civil rights decisions.

While Leslie filed the suit, Nikki hand-delivered courtesy copies to the local newspapers and television stations. Both women returned to the office to help answer the phones. Leslie smiled as she listened to Nikki act surprised at all the media attention.

By noon, the phones were ringing off the hook. Local network affiliates wanted interviews; the newspaper wanted a comment. Even the Associated Press called with a few clarifying questions. It was heady stuff for Nikki and Bella, but poor Brad was mired in a medical malpractice deposition with a cantankerous defense lawyer paid by the hour who had no intention of finishing early.

At 12:30 the defense lawyer came up for air, and Brad sprinted out of the room to claim his rightful place in the spotlight. He called the newspaper first and spent the next thirty minutes explaining the case and waxing eloquent about the importance of international religious freedom. His opening statement in this case would start long before the jury ever assembled.

Brad ran out of time in his lunch hour before he ran out of interview opportunities. He told Leslie he was going to make her a star. He had Bella schedule a press conference for the local television stations for 4 p.m. Leslie would experience media baptism by fire.

Brad was right. Good Friday was a slow news day. National networks picked up Leslie’s earnest face and lawyerly remarks from the local affiliates. Soon the cable networks picked up the story, and Leslie’s face could be seen both at her apartment in Williamsburg and around the world on CNN.

Leslie watched her debut with Brad that evening on the local network affiliates. A few friends called to say they thought she came off cool and sophisticated. A professor left a message suggesting next time she should clarify she was only a law student. Brad heaped praise on her and toasted her brilliance.

Later that night, Leslie took a tape of the newscasts back to her apartment and replayed it several times. She was brutal in her analysis of her own premiere. She promised herself to do better next time.

* * *

Frederick Barnes, a short bowling ball of a man who ran a Washington-based “consulting firm,” made a small fortune from his Saudi account alone. Barnes took great pride in representing a stable of unsympathetic clients with deep pockets and a willingness to pay almost any price for services and information that fell just short—in Barnes’s opinion—of espionage or treason. He knew how to navigate the seedy underbelly of Beltway politics in a way that generally pleased his clients and lined his pockets.

Not all his clients were satisfied customers. Ahmed Aberijan had not been on the phone long before Barnes concluded he would have to find satisfaction in taking Ahmed’s money even as he endured the Saudi’s verbal abuse. One of Ahmed’s men had seen reports on CNN of a lawsuit filed against the nation of Saudi Arabia. The suit alleged that the Muttawa tortured and killed an American missionary. All lies, according to Aberijan.

Incensed and derisive, Aberijan spent most of the call railing at Barnes as if Barnes himself had filed the lawsuit. When he finished venting, Ahmed outlined several schemes designed to quash the lawsuit in its infancy. Even with Ahmed’s invectives ringing in his ears, Barnes tried to focus on the merits of the plans Ahmed outlined. Barnes had to admit he was impressed with both the complexity and temerity of the plans hatched by this Saudi Arabian hothead on such short notice.

* * *

Ahmed hung up and placed a call directly to the office of the crown prince. Prince Asad agreed that the case must be contained. The prince had no desire to dirty his hands in the details of the case. Ahmed would take the point. The official statement from the crown prince would reiterate his confidence in and support of the Muttawa. The crown prince would again express his sorrow that an American citizen had died after an unfortunate but unavoidable arrest. Prince Asad would make no other statement about the case and had no intention of answering questions from anyone.

Ahmed was instructed to keep the crown prince informed as the case progressed, and Ahmed knew how to read between the lines of that order. His job was to win the case at any cost, and it would be better if the crown prince did not know the details of what that might entail.

The first phone call between Ahmed and the crown prince on this subject would also be their last.

* * *

Within twenty-four hours, Barnes called Ahmed back with his first task accomplished.

“I found just the lawyer,” Barnes reported. “He knows international law, he’s ruthless, and he’s rumored to play dirty when necessary.”

“Perfect,” Ahmed replied.