The Last Judgment (30 page)

“What was it?”

“About this Mossad agent by the name of Nathan…whatever it was. You gave me his name. I checked him out. As it turns out, he had some connection with the archaeological hoo-ha about the Deuteronomy Fragment. And this Nathan—”

“Nathan Goldwaithe,” Will broke in.

“Yeah, that was him,” Tiny replied. “He's the guy you knew, right?”

“I ran into him when I was in Jerusalem doing work on the
Reichstad v. MacCameron
lawsuit. He never identified himself as a member of the Mossad. But I figured he was. He seemed to have
all kinds of high-level clearances. He was my personal escort over there…assigned by the Israeli government.”

“Well, this guy was apparently doing some unofficial snooping in the United States,” Tiny continued. “At a research center up in Maryland—the same place I located for you in the Reichstad lawsuit. Remember? Reichstad ran it, had a couple of assistants, all super-secret. Very sophisticated security protection around it. You later told me that Mr. Money-bucks…what's his name…Mullburn, had funded the operation. Of course, all that had to do with the Resurrection Fragment that was the issue in
Reichstad v. MacCameron
.”

“So, why was Nathan doing surveillance there?”

“Well, this is all a number of years ago now. But it looks like he and another Mossad agent were checking out that research facility. Apparently they got some convincing surveillance—video or audio, I'm not sure which. Anyway…it apparently exposed some real questions about the origin of the Deuteronomy Fragment. So Nathan and the other agent take separate flights back to Israel. Nathan gets there first. From what I heard, he was anxious to talk to some of the folks in the government. But he took a side trip out to the Negev—why, nobody knows. Later, they found his body there. A single shot to the back of the head. His wallet, personal belongings—that kind of stuff—was all gone. Including the tapes about the Deuteronomy Fragment.”

Will was silent—stunned. He reached over to a small glass box on his desk, flipped it open, and retrieved the single Byzantine-era coin it contained. It bore an ancient, worn, but still decipherable image of Jesus.

He rubbed his thumb over the contours of the visage.

“You still there?” Tiny asked.

“Yeah,” Will said, his voice husky.

“I'm sorry if he was a good friend of yours.”

“I didn't know him that well. But he protected me in some tough times over there. And he gave me a memento of my trip
to Jerusalem—an ancient coin. It ended up meaning a lot to me…I'm very sad to hear he's gone.”

“Well, sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings…”

“Did you find out the name of the other agent who was with Nathan?”

“No. I struck out on that. And they really have no idea what specifics he had about the Deuteronomy Fragment. They only know what I've just told you.”

“So, do you have any other leads about the Deuteronomy thing? Any other ideas?” Will asked.

“Listen, Will boy. I'm sorry. But I think I'm all tapped out…I've got nothing else.”

“Then come on home, Tiny,” Will said with a tinge of resignation.

After hanging up, Will called Len Redgrove and left a message asking if he had come up with the name of the expert who might be able to assist him in the case.

Within the hour Len called back and left a message with Hilda suggesting that Will contact Dr. Daoud al-Qasr, currently on a teaching assignment in the anthropology department at NYU. Len mentioned that Dr. al-Qasr normally taught Egyptology and a subject called “Esoteric Religious Movements” at Cairo University and left a telephone number and e-mail address for him.

Will had been on the phone with Attorney Mira Ashwan.

But something had changed. In their first conversation together, the court-appointed counsel had been curt, cold, and abrasive.

But now, her voice was lively, excited, even warm.

“I've been meaning to call you, Mr. Chambers,” she said exuberantly. “I was very busy when we talked the first time, and I didn't know much about you. But I have gained some information about your legal work. I very much look forward to our working together.”

“That's good news,” Will said. “Why don't I draw up a joint defense agreement and e-mail it to you—”

“Oh. Do you really believe that's necessary?” Ms. Ashwan asked with a little hurt in her voice. “Though I understand that you do not know me, and may be somewhat suspicious of an attorney appointed by the Palestinian Authority.”

“I didn't say that…” Will replied.

“You didn't have to, Mr. Chambers. It would be a natural assumption. But you should know, first of all, that I'm Egyptian by background. It gives me an insight into Gilead Amahn's upbringing. Also, my parents are Coptic Christians. So I'm not coming from a Muslim standpoint—although I could be described as a Palestinian, politically, and I live here in Hebron. But because of the religious background of my family, I'm very sensitive to the rights of Christians.”

“I certainly appreciate that,” Will said. “But I would just as soon that we execute a formal joint-defense agreement. That way we are both bound to confidentiality with regard to Gilead Amahn. And we know what the ground rules are. I hope you don't mind…”

“No. Not at all. Whatever makes you comfortable,” Ms. Ashwan said enthusiastically. “I think that our common defense could be very productive for Mr. Amahn. And after reviewing some information about your legal background, as I mentioned, I am thrilled and honored to be working with you on this case.”

“By the way,” Will was thinking back to Tiny Heftland's dismal inability to get access to the Israeli government reports, “I would very much like to get the reports from the Jerusalem police and the IDF…the Israeli reports relating to the bombing…”

“Yes. That would be wonderful. That's an excellent idea,” the Egyptian attorney said brightly. “And I think I know how I might be able to obtain those. Let me work on that, please. I would very much like to get those for you.”

“Ms. Ashwan—”

“Please call me Mira.”

“Okay. Mira…I think you and I need to connect by telephone at least once or twice a week on a regular basis. You can be particularly helpful to me in giving me firsthand information from the Palestinian Authority. I'd like to know, for instance, when the panel of judges is going to be named.”

“I expect to hear that information any day,” Mira replied. “And when I do, I'll contact you with it. And when I get your joint-defense agreement, I'll sign it and send it back to you. I look forward—very much, Will—to working on this case together. I believe we can be very, very successful.”

After he hung up, Will was cautiously optimistic that a good working relationship between them might well provide the extra help he so desperately needed. In addition, Mira was there in the Palestinian Authority, close to the tribunal.

On the other hand, he admittedly had some reluctance about the independence and objectivity of the Palestinian Authority–appointed amicus curiae. But he was willing, at least at this early stage, to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Considering how quickly the odds were stacking against him, he had no other choice.

45

O
VER THE WEEKS SINCE
Will Chambers had accepted the defense of Gilead Amahn, his trial preparation had begun to fall into a familiar routine. Although the case was extraordinary, Will was beginning to feel comfortable as he relied upon his thirty years of experience to get slow but certain control over its contours.

As Will was motoring to his office in his Corvette, he was figuring, and then refiguring, his progress thus far.

Mike Michalany had done a nice job piecing together the nature of the explosives and the manner in which they had been remotely detonated. However, he was at a loss to explain how such a sophisticated system could have been put together by the Knights of the Temple Mount, who were novices when it came to terror attacks.

Will had combed through all of the investigative reports from the Palestinian Authority and had them carefully indexed and summarized. Included were statements from eyewitnesses, who had heard Gilead Amahn make a public and inciting declaration about the destruction of the Temple Mount just seconds before the blast was detonated. There were also reports detailing how the Israeli police and the IDF had gunned down Louis Lorraine and Yossin Ali Khalid as they attempted to flee after the explosion. The only problem was, as Will clearly understood, the reports represented only the tip of the iceberg.

Tiny Heftland had exhausted his ability to gain any information and had returned to the United States. But happily, Mira Ashwan had proved to be quite helpful. Although she was still working on her promise to gain access to the reports of the Jerusalem police department and the IDF, she had been able to forward some new discovery information to Will about a Palestinian police raid on the apartments of Lorraine and Khalid.

Yet one of the sticking points of the case was Will's lack of access to his own client. He had had only four short telephone conversations with Gilead Amahn, each limited to fifteen minutes, and each time Gilead had indicated that guards were physically in his presence. Will had also assumed the phone calls were being monitored by the Palestinian Authority. Thus, whatever he had gleaned was limited to innocuous background information.

It was becoming increasingly clear to Will that he needed to travel to the Middle East and begin a series of intensive face-to-face interviews with Gilead in preparation for trial.

And he could no longer put that off. At least, though it may only have been his wishful thinking, Fiona had seemed to have softened of late regarding his participation in the case. She seemed to be bouncing back slowly but perceptibly from the death of her father. And, of course, Will was grateful for that.

Those were the things on his mind as he drove to his office. But all of that was to come to an abrupt halt.

Pulling up early, as he had ever since taking on Gilead's defense, he found the building unlocked. He made his way up the staircase to the second floor of the old, pre–Civil War building, which his law-office suite occupied. Outside the front door to the suite was a brown box lying on the floor.

Will glanced curiously at it. No return address. Apparently dropped off in person because there were no stamps or delivery markings. His name was pasted on with letters from a newspaper, and below was the word “URGENT.”

He took a step back and stared at the box for at least a minute, examining all four sides. Then he clicked on his cell phone and
called the Monroeville police department—slightly embarrassed, but convinced that caution was warranted.

After the desk sergeant indicated he would send someone over, Will strolled down to the top of the stairs and leaned against the railing, staring at the brown box.

Within minutes two patrol officers arrived, and seconds afterward, a plainclothes detective. Will described the appearance of the box and its strange labeling. One of the patrolmen stopped writing in his notebook, looked at Will, and after a moment asked, “You're the attorney representing the guy in the Jerusalem bombing, right?”

“That's right,” Will replied.

The detective asked Will to step downstairs, and after a moment, all three joined Will on the first floor.

“We're going to have to play it safe…evacuate the building,” the detective told Will. “But stay outside on the sidewalk. We're going to need some more information from you.”

As the patrol officers went office to office, very quickly insurance agents, stockbrokers, and an architect all poured out onto the street.

Will stood by the front doors, which were now propped open. A few minutes later two officers arrived with a portable X-ray machine and disappeared up the stairway. Just about three minutes later he heard the scurry of feet down the stairwell as those same officers came hurrying down and ran to the front door.

“Everyone clear the area—get down to the intersection, away from the building!”

As Will and the others started running, he heard the detective on his squad phone: “We've got a device. Get the bomb squad over here immediately!”

Within half an hour a truck marked with the insignia of the Virginia State Police Bomb Squad pulled up to the scene, which had been by then cordoned off with warning ribbons and extra patrolmen.

Two technicians in padded bomb uniforms quickly exited, grabbing an extension device with numerous joints, and they disappeared into the building.

Less than half an hour later, the plainclothes detective walked over toward the group of onlookers, signaling for Will Chambers. “We've got it deactivated. Come on. We need you to take a look at something.”

Will entered the building with the detective and made his way gingerly up to the second floor.

Outside of his office door he saw the box on the floor, open. The technicians were chatting on either side of the box. One of them reached down with a latex-gloved hand, and lifted something out. Will came to a halt when he saw that, but the detective smiled and told him he had nothing to worry about.