Cometh the Hour: A Novel (34 page)

“Would you please state your name for the record?” said Mr. Gray after Hakim had taken the oath.

“Hakim Sajid Bishara.”

“And your profession?”

“Banker.”

“Would you care to elaborate?”

“I was chairman of Farthings Bank in the City of London.”

“Mr. Bishara, can you take us through the events that led to you appearing before us in the witness box today?”

“I had flown to Lagos to attend a meeting with the Nigerian oil minister to discuss the funding of a proposed new port to cope with large oil tankers.”

“And what was your particular role in this operation?”

“The Nigerian government had invited Farthings to be the lead bank.”

“For a layman like myself, what does that mean?”

“When sovereign governments need to borrow large capital sums, in this case, twenty million dollars, one bank will take the prime position and supply the largest portion, possibly as much as twenty-five percent, and then other banks will be invited to make up the shortfall.”

“And what would your bank charge for heading up such an operation?”

“The standard fee is one percent.”

“So Farthings stood to make two hundred thousand dollars from this deal.”

“Yes, if it had gone through, Mr. Gray.”

“But it didn’t?”

“No. Soon after I was arrested, the Nigerian government withdrew their offer and invited Barclays to take our place.”

“So your bank lost two hundred thousand dollars?”

“We have lost considerably more than that, Mr. Gray.”

“Don’t get angry,” Seb whispered, although he knew Hakim couldn’t hear him.

“Are you able to estimate just how much your bank has lost because you are no longer its chairman?”

“Farthings shares have fallen by almost nine percent, knocking more than two million pounds off the value of the company. Several major clients have closed their accounts, along with a lot of smaller customers who followed in their wake. But far more important, Mr. Gray, our reputation, both in the City and with our customers, may never recover unless I clear my name.”

“Quite so. And following your meeting with the oil minister in Lagos, you returned to London. On which airline?”

“Nigeria Airways. The Nigerian government had organized my entire trip.”

“How much luggage did you take on board?”

“Just an overnight bag, which I placed in the compartment above my seat.”

“Was anyone seated next to you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Bergström. Although I didn’t know her name at the time.”

“Did the two of you speak?”

“No. When I took my seat she was reading. I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep.”

“And when you eventually woke, did you speak to her?”

“No, she was still reading, and I could see that she only had a few pages of her book to go, so I didn’t interrupt her.”

“Quite understandable. Did you take anything out of your bag during the flight?”

“No, I did not.”

“Were you aware of anyone tampering with it at any time?”

“No. But then I was asleep for several hours.”

“Did you check the contents of your bag before you left the plane?”

“No, I just grabbed it. I wanted to be among the first off the plane. I didn’t have any other luggage so there was nothing to hold me up.”

“And once you’d been cleared by passport control, you headed straight for the green channel.”

“I did, because I had nothing to declare.”

“But you were stopped by a customs officer and asked to open your bag.”

“That is correct.”

“Were you surprised to be stopped?”

“No, I assumed it was just a routine check.”

“And the customs officer has told the court that throughout that check, you remained calm and polite.”

“I had nothing to hide, Mr. Gray.”

“Quite. But when Mr. Collier opened your bag, he found a cellophane package containing thirteen grams of heroin, with a street value of twenty-two thousand pounds.”

“Yes, but I had no idea it was there. And of course I was completely unaware of its street value.”

“That was the first time you’d seen it.”

“It was the first time and only time in my life, Mr. Gray, that I’ve ever seen heroin.”

“So you can’t explain how the package came to be there?”

“No, I cannot. In fact, for a moment, I even wondered if I had picked up the wrong bag, until I saw my initials on its side.”

“Are you aware, Mr. Bishara, of the important difference between being caught with heroin and being caught with, say, marijuana?”

“I wasn’t at the time, but I have since been informed that heroin is a Class A drug, whereas marijuana is Class B, and its importation, while still illegal, is regarded as a less serious offence.”

“Something a drug smuggler would have—”

“You’re prompting the witness, Mr. Gray.”

“I apologize, my lord. But I am keen for the jury to realize that having been charged with smuggling a Class A drug, Mr. Bishara could be sentenced to fifteen years in jail, whereas a much lower tariff would be imposed had he been found in possession of marijuana.”

“Did I hear you correctly, Mr. Gray?” interrupted the judge. “Are you admitting that your client has at some time smuggled drugs into this country?”

“Certainly not, my lord. In fact, the exact opposite. In this case we are dealing with a highly intelligent, sophisticated banker, who regularly closes large deals that need to be calculated to the last decimal point. If Mr. Bishara was also a drug smuggler, as the Crown is trying to suggest, he would have been well aware that the consequences of being caught with thirteen ounces of heroin in his possession would have put him behind bars for the rest of his working life. It beggars belief to imagine that he would have taken such a risk.”

Sebastian turned to look at the jury. One or two of them were nodding, while others were taking notes.

“Have you ever taken even recreational drugs in the past? Perhaps when you were a student?”

“Never. But I do suffer from hay fever, so I sometimes take antihistamine tablets during the summer.”

“Have you ever sold a drug to anyone, at any time in your life?”

“No, sir. I can’t imagine anything more evil than living off the proceeds of other people’s misery.”

“No more questions, my lord.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gray. Mr. Carman, you may begin your cross-examination.”

“What do you think, Arnold?” Seb whispered, as the prosecution counsel gathered up his papers and prepared himself for the main event.

“If the jury were asked to return their verdict now,” said Arnold, “I have no doubt Hakim would be acquitted. But we don’t know what the prosecution has up its sleeve, and George Carman doesn’t have a reputation for abiding by the Queensberry Rules. By the way, have you noticed that Adrian Sloane is sitting in the public gallery, following every word?”

35

M
R.
C
ARMAN ROSE
slowly from his place, adjusted his well-worn wig and tugged at the lapels of his long black gown before opening the thick file in front of him. He raised his head and peered at the defendant.

“Mr. Bishara, do you consider yourself to be a risk taker?”

“I don’t think so,” Hakim replied. “I am by nature fairly conservative, and I try to judge every deal on its merits.”

“Then allow me to be more specific. Are you a gambler?”

“No. I always calculate the odds before I take any risk, especially when I’m dealing with other people’s money.”

“Are you a member of the Clermont Club in Mayfair?”

Mr. Gray was quickly on his feet. “Is this relevant, my lord?”

“I suspect we’re about to find out, Mr. Gray.”

“Yes, I am a member of the Clermont.”

“So you are a gambler, at least with your own money?”

“No, Mr. Carman, I only ever take a risk when I’m confident the odds are in my favor.”

“So you never play roulette, black jack or poker?”

“No, I do not. They are all games of chance, Mr. Carman, in which the banker inevitably ends up the winner. On balance, I prefer to be the banker.”

“Then why are you a member of the Clermont Club if you’re not a gambler?”

“Because I enjoy the occasional game of backgammon, in which only two people are involved.”

“But wouldn’t that mean the odds were fifty-fifty? Yet you just told the court that you only take a risk when you consider the odds are in your favor.”

“Mr. Carman, at the World Backgammon Championships in Las Vegas three years ago, I reached the last sixteen. I know the other fifteen players personally, and I have a policy of avoiding them, which ensures that the odds are always in my favor.”

A ripple of laughter ran through the courtroom. Sebastian was pleased to see that even one or two of the jury were smiling.

Carman quickly changed the subject. “And before your trip to Nigeria, had you ever been stopped by a customs officer?”

“No, never.”

“So you would have calculated that the odds would be in your favor before you—”

“My lord!” said Gray, leaping up from his seat.

“Yes, I agree, Mr. Gray,” said the judge. “You don’t need to introduce an element of speculation, Mr. Carman. Just stick to the facts of the case.”

“Yes, my lord. So, let’s stick to the facts, shall we, Mr. Bishara. You may recall that I asked you a moment ago if you had ever been stopped by a customs officer before, and you replied that you had not. Would you like to reconsider that answer?” Bishara hesitated, just long enough for Carman to add, “Let me rephrase the question, Mr. Bishara, so you are in no doubt of what I am asking you, because I’m sure you wouldn’t want to add perjury to the list of charges you’re already facing.”

The judge looked as if he was about to intervene when Carman added, “Mr. Bishara, is this the first time you’ve been arrested for smuggling?”

Everyone in the court fell silent as they waited for Hakim’s reply. Sebastian remembered from his mother’s libel trial that barristers seldom ask leading questions unless they already know the answer.

“There was one other occasion, Mr. Carman, but I confess I had forgotten all about it, perhaps because the charge was later withdrawn.”

“You had forgotten all about it,” repeated Carman. “Well, now you remember, perhaps you’d be willing to share with the court the details of why you were arrested on that occasion?”

“Certainly. I had closed a deal with the Emir of Qatar to finance the building of an airport in his country and, after the signing ceremony, the Emir presented me with a watch, which I was wearing when I arrived back in England. When I was asked to produce a receipt for it, I was unable to do so.”

“So you hadn’t declared it.”

“It was a gift from the head of state, Mr. Carman,” said Hakim, his voice rising. “I would hardly have been wearing the watch if I’d been trying to hide it.”

“And what was the value of that watch, Mr. Bishara?”

“I have no idea.”

“Then let me enlighten you,” said Carman, turning a page of his file. “Cartier valued the timepiece at fourteen thousand pounds. Or perhaps you’ve conveniently forgotten that as well?” Bishara made no attempt to reply. “What happened to that watch, Mr. Bishara?”

“Customs decided that I could keep it if I was willing to pay five thousand pounds import duty.”

“And did you?”

“No,” said Bishara, raising his left hand. “I prefer the watch my mother gave me on the day of my graduation from Yale.”

“Apart from thirteen ounces of heroin, what else did the customs officer find in your bag on the most recent occasion on which you were detained, Mr. Bishara?” said Carman, changing tack.

“The usual toiletries, a couple of shirts, socks … but then I was only staying for the weekend.”

“Anything else?” Carman asked as he penned a note.

“A little money.”

“How much money?”

“I don’t recall the exact amount.”

“Then let me once again refresh your memory, Mr. Bishara. According to Mr. Collier, he found ten thousand pounds in cash in your overnight bag.”

A gasp went up around the court. More than the annual income of most of those sitting on the jury, was Sebastian’s first thought.

“Why would a respectable banker, with an impeccable reputation, need to be carrying ten thousand pounds in cash in his overnight bag, when to quote you”—he once again checked his notes—“but then I was only staying for the weekend.”

“In Africa, Mr. Carman, not everyone has a bank account or a credit card, so the local custom is often to settle transactions in cash.”

“And I imagine that would also be the custom if you wanted to buy drugs, Mr. Bishara?”

Gray was quickly on his feet again.

“Yes, yes. I withdraw the question,” said Carman, well aware that he’d made his point. “Presumably, Mr. Bishara, you are aware of the maximum amount of cash you are permitted to bring into this country?”

“Ten thousand pounds.”

“That is correct. How much did you have in your wallet when you were detained by Mr. Collier?”

“A couple of hundred pounds perhaps.”

“So you must have known you were breaking the law. Or was that just another calculated risk?” Bishara didn’t respond. “I only ask, Mr. Bishara,” said Carman turning to face the jury, “because my learned friend Mr. Gray laid great emphasis on the fact that you were”—he looked down at his notes—“once again, I quote, ‘a highly intelligent, sophisticated banker, who regularly closes large deals that need to be calculated to the last decimal point.’ If that is the case, why were you carrying at least £10,200, when you must have known you were breaking the law?”

“With respect, Mr. Carman, if I had been trying to buy thirteen ounces of heroin when I was in Lagos, by your calculation I would have needed at least twenty thousand pounds in cash.”

“But like a good banker,” said Carman, “you could have closed the deal for ten thousand pounds.”

“You may well be right, Mr. Carman, but if I had done so I wouldn’t have been able to bring the ten thousand back, would I?”

“We only have your word that you took just ten thousand out.”

“We only have your word I didn’t.”