Directed Verdict (17 page)

“Let me put it to you this way, Mr. Strobel: Suppose I agree with the language of the
Siderman
case but not the ultimate reasoning. I don’t have to follow that court’s reasoning. Are you aware of any U.S. Supreme Court case that says a foreign nation that tortures U.S. citizens cannot be sued in U.S. courts?”

“No, Your Honor, the Supreme Court has not squarely addressed this issue.” Strobel’s confidence took on a tone of frustration. “Based on other decisions regarding similar subjects, however—”

“If neither the Supreme Court nor the appeals court for this circuit have squarely addressed this issue, then it seems to me I’ve got to do what I believe is right. And it just doesn’t seem right that foreign countries can torture American citizens and then scream sovereign immunity when they get sued in American courts. If all courts in the past had read the law as narrowly as you do, Mr. Strobel, we would still be in the Dark Ages when it comes to civil rights in this country. Justice and common sense require something more. Now that’s just my initial inclination in this case. I’m willing to give you every opportunity to talk me out of it.”

For the next hour, Strobel tried heroically to do just that. But Johnson’s “initial inclination” proved to be a stubborn one indeed. The more Strobel talked, the bigger the hole he dug. And after exhausting every argument and citing nearly every case in his handy black notebook, Strobel reluctantly sat down, needing a miracle.

Brad practically floated to the podium. But before he could speak, Johnson put his upcoming argument into the proper perspective.

“Now, Mr. Carson, there’s one thing I’d like you to keep in mind as you begin your argument.” Brad listened intently to the soothing baritone drawl. He wanted to address every concern and allay every lingering doubt that Judge Johnson might express. “I’ve read all the briefs, and I’ve now heard Mr. Strobel’s eloquent arguments. Despite those arguments, I’m leaning toward allowing the case to go forward. Of course, if I did that, I would also dismiss the Rule 11 motion, since you can hardly be fined for filing a frivolous case if I decide the case has enough merit to proceed. Now having said all that, Mr. Carson, I am certainly willing to give you all the time you need to help me rethink this matter and change my mind.”

Brad glanced quickly down at his yellow legal pad and all the arguments he had worked so hard to refine. He thought about the press corps behind him waiting to be impressed with passionate oratory about the virtues of religious freedom and the vices of religious bigotry. He thought about his own reputation, about how few chances a lawyer had to mesmerize this type of gathering. But then he also thought about Sarah and the torture and her children being raised without a father.

Silence was, after all, a virtue.

“In that case, Your Honor, I believe I can be very quick. We would simply like to rest on the arguments previously submitted in our briefs.”

“A wise choice,” Johnson said, and Brad returned to his seat.

“The court will take a ten-minute recess,” Johnson said, “and then I will announce my decision.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Brad was in the process of reassuring Leslie when Johnson reentered the courtroom. The chattering immediately stopped. “Remain seated,” Johnson said to the crowd.

“Don’t worry,” Brad whispered. He could tell his words just bounced off Leslie’s furrowed brow.

“Then why did he take so long?”

“What did I say?”

“Do I look worried?”

Brad scrunched his face and nodded. “Yep.”

“I will be filing a lengthy written opinion in the weeks ahead,” Johnson said, “but I thought it only fair to the parties that I state for the record my intentions with regard to the ruling so they can plan accordingly.”

The judge surveyed the crowd, put on his reading glasses, and commenced with the opinion he had written just minutes earlier in his office.

“The United States, Saudi Arabia, and most other civilized countries are members of the United Nations and therefore signatories of the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights,” he began. “Article 18 of that document states that ‘Everyone has the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion; this right includes freedom to change his religion or belief, and freedom, either alone or in community with others and in public or private, to manifest his religion or belief in teaching, practice, worship and observance.’” He stopped reading for just a moment and glanced up at Sarah. He looked back down and continued.

“Moreover, both Saudi Arabia and the United States have signed the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights. That document repeats this commitment to religious freedom and also states that ‘Each state party to the present Covenant undertakes to ensure that any person whose rights or freedoms as recognized herein are violated shall have an effective remedy.’ Furthermore, as the court noted earlier, it is a fundamental norm of international law that citizens of all countries should be free from torture at the hands of governmental officials.

“In order to give substance to the international rights contained in treaties and charters signed by our own government, this court must open its doors for serious and substantial human rights claims against foreign governments. It makes a mockery of these treaties, and of the human rights that undergird them, to suggest that nations can violate these rights at will and then hide behind the doctrine of sovereign immunity. Accordingly, I am denying defendant’s motion to dismiss and dismissing defendant’s Rule 11 motion.”

A murmur drifted up from the spectators. Hushed and excited whispering could be heard. Strobel stared ahead, his face betraying no emotion.

“I am also mindful that justice delayed is justice denied. This case has already been pending for more than three months. Plaintiff is entitled to her day in court. Accordingly, I am setting a trial date for the third Monday in October, less than three months from today’s date.”

After reading this last sentence, Judge Johnson banged his gavel, rose from the bench, and walked regally out the back door of the courtroom. Brad thought that the crusty old judge looked remarkably like an angel.

* * *

Later that night, after an impromptu celebration dinner died down, Brad walked Leslie to her car. He gently put his arm around her shoulder. She snuggled against him, and they walked slowly, completely in sync.

The adrenaline that had coursed so freely through her body earlier in the day was now completely gone. She was so totally relaxed, she felt like a limp dishrag. She wanted nothing more at this moment than the very thing now happening. The case was moving forward. And Brad Carson, the man she had thought about nonstop for two months in England, was walking with his arm around her and holding her close, like they would never be apart again.

“Leslie, I’m sorry about that night in Williamsburg . . .”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I do,” he urged softly. “I’m sorry that I tried to push our relationship too far, too fast. I didn’t know about Bill. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since that time, and I’ve come to realize that you were right. It’s not good to start a relationship in the middle of a pressure cooker like this case. Especially when you’re still trying to recover from Bill’s death. Let’s wait till this case is over. That’ll give us both more time to sort things out. If there’s anything real between us, it’ll survive. If there’s not, then it wasn’t meant to be.”

They stopped walking, and Brad took her gingerly by both hands, the same way he had in Williamsburg. “Anyway,” he said, “that’s what I’ve been thinking.”

It wasn’t at all what Leslie had been thinking. And looking deep into Brad’s penetrating gaze, those intense steel blue eyes, was not helping to clear things up. At this moment, she was more confused than ever.

Should she tell him how she felt?
Forget that night in Colonial Williamsburg, Brad Carson. Forget my hesitation and second-guessing, my “I need more time” protestations. I’m ready now. I’ve thought this through. Banished my demons of doubt. And I’ve decided that I need you more than you’ll ever know. Not when the case is over, but now. Right now. Tonight.

But when she opened her mouth, none of those words came out; none of those feelings found expression. “Thanks, Brad,” was all she could bring herself to say.

He kissed her gently on the cheek, then turned and walked away. He didn’t even notice the mist gathering in her eyes.

18

IT’S ONE THING TO ALLEGE TORTURE
at the hands of a foreign government; it’s another thing to prove it. This harsh reality dawned on Brad and his legal team the morning after the hearing, as the euphoria of surviving the motion to dismiss gave way to the reality of the task before them.

To get this next phase started on the right foot, Brad called an all-hands meeting for 8:30 a.m. Nikki arrived at 9:15, and Bella pried herself free from the phone and a cigarette a few minutes later. Leslie had already been in the conference room for two hours, refining her preliminary game plan and developing a list of potential witnesses for trial.

Brad was pacing, thinking out loud, and twirling his glasses.

“These cases are won or lost with expert witnesses. Experts can give opinions about anything. If we get the right ones on the stand, experts that the jurors like and understand, we can blow this case wide open. We’ve got to have guys who don’t condescend to the jury—juries hate that, you know—and guys who will stand up to Strobel on cross-examination without being obnoxious.

“Our deadline for naming experts is a week from Friday. How’re we coming, Nikki?”

Nikki’s head jolted up. “Yep, I agree.”

Bella rolled her eyes. After twelve years working together, Brad knew what she was thinking:
We’re paying Nikki how much for this?

“You agree with what?” Brad asked. “I’m asking you, how’re we coming on our experts?”

“Okay, I guess,” Nikki said. She looked a little sheepish. “You said you knew an economist who could testify about the economic impact of Dr. Reed’s death—lost wages, loss of services, that type of thing. So I haven’t done anything yet on the economist.”

“There’s a surprise,” Bella muttered.

Brad ignored her, as did Nikki. Leslie ignored everybody as she continued to write.

“Bella, get Nikki the contact information for Dr. Calvin Drake,” Brad said. “Have him sit down with Nikki and Leslie and draft an opinion before the deadline. The total economic loss needs to be about two million. Who else have we got?”

Nikki casually checked some notes. “We’ve got the toxicologist, Dr. Nancy Shelhorse. She’ll testify about the blood tests and urine tests given at the two hospitals and the toxicological tests that were part of the autopsy. It’s her opinion that Sarah and Charles Reed were injected with cocaine by the police at the time of the arrest.”

Nikki glanced up from her notes, this time looking extraordinarily pleased with herself. She smiled at Bella.

“Sounds pretty strong,” Brad said. “What else do you have?”

“Our star will be Alfred Lloyd Worthington, a Washington lobbyist who works with multinational corporations and serves as an adjunct professor of international law at George Mason University. Worthington is a former congressman who got caught up in the demographic shift from Democrat to Republican in northern Virginia. During his time in Congress he served on the House Foreign Relations Committee. He’s got a great résumé, and he sees this case as his ticket back into the spotlight. He’s qualified to give opinions on international treaties and the miserable track record of the Saudis when it comes to religious liberty. He’ll prove that the Saudi government knew all about the activities of the religious police and sanctioned this type of conduct.”

Brad tried not to look as surprised as he felt. Nikki had been busy. “Sounds great. Leslie, can you spend some time prepping Worthington as well?”

Leslie nodded and made some more notes.

“How much are all these wonderful wise men and women costing us?” Bella asked. “I don’t want to be the killjoy, but isn’t three experts a bit much?”

“Not when the defendants have twelve,” Leslie said.

“Three experts should be plenty,” Brad said. “Having more than one expert on the same subject only gets confusing.”

“Confusing and expensive,” Bella said. “How much are these guys charging us?”

“The usual,” Nikki said. “A couple hundred an hour each.”

“A few million here, a few million there. Pretty soon you’re talking some real money,” Bella griped.

“Isn’t it time for you to go get another cigarette?” Nikki asked.

Brad shot a warning look toward both Nikki and Bella.

“Brad, I just don’t see how we can possibly get everything done,” Leslie piped in, studying her notes. “Kilgore & Strobel sent deposition notices this morning for Sarah, her kids, all her doctors and counselors, and a number of former church members living in Saudi Arabia. Strobel’s boys have been calling all morning demanding to know who our experts are so they can schedule their depositions. We will want to depose, at a minimum, all of their experts and Aberijan. The way I see it, we’ve got at least thirty days of depositions waiting for us, and you’re the only one who can do them.”

“Can’t you take some of the depositions under third-year practice rules?”

“Not unless you or some other lawyer is sitting there with me, which defeats the purpose.”

“Brad, you can’t even start these depositions for thirty days,” Bella said, ever anxious to be the bearer of bad news. “You’re booked solid on other cases through the end of August.”

“Look,” Brad said, “we’re into this case, and we’ve got to figure out a way to get it done. Y’all have been great at identifying problems, now how about a little help with some proposed solutions?”

The entire team silently mulled that one over. After a few seconds of avoiding eye contact with Brad, Leslie swallowed hard and spoke. “I’ll take a semester off from school and work full-time on this case. An opportunity like this only comes along once.”

Brad caught himself staring at her and thought about how great it would be to have her around more. Still, he forced himself to give an appropriately sensitive response. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” he heard himself say.

“You didn’t ask, but I’m going to do it anyway. You wanted solutions, that’s my contribution.”

Careful, big guy. Don’t give her too many opportunities to rethink this, to wiggle away. Having Leslie around full-time would be great for you and equally great for the case.

“Then let’s at least get you an apartment here in Tidewater for the next several months,” Brad offered.

Bella’s face registered her disapproval. Brad was glad to be pacing, or he would have been kicked.

“No thanks,” Leslie said, taking the tension out of the room. “I can do a lot of my work at the law library and stay in Williamsburg.”

“I’ll clear the decks of my other cases,” Brad offered, inspired by this turn of events. “I can pass some off to my buddies and get continuances on others. It’ll take me thirty days, but I’ll clear the decks and focus entirely on this one.”

He caught Nikki’s frown out of the corner of his eye. “Every case except Johnson, of course.”

“And I’ll continue to perform my stellar legal work in the same manner as I have, even though I’m grossly underpaid,” Nikki said. Nobody laughed, but Brad sensed Nikki said it less to draw a laugh than to aggravate Bella.

“All of this is wonderful,” Bella said gruffly. “Warm and fuzzy and all that. But it still doesn’t solve the problem of covering the depositions. We need another licensed lawyer, a warm body to sit with Leslie.”

Nikki sat straight up, her eyes suddenly sparkling. “Why didn’t you say so?” she asked. “I know the perfect warm body, and he won’t cost us a dime.” She had Brad’s attention. “We go to the Rock and ask him to sit in on a few depositions with Leslie. In exchange, we offer to make him co-counsel on the Johnson case, which Brad stole from him anyway, and we give him a small split on our fee. We also make him co-counsel on the
Reed
case and offer him no part of the fee. He’s the one plaintiff’s lawyer in Tidewater who will join us in the case and not charge us a dime just because it’s megafree publicity. The Rock
lives
for free publicity.”

Brad hated the idea. But no one offered a better plan.

By noon they had retained the Rock.

* * *

Mack Strobel was at his best when bullying younger members of his firm. On the morning after the motion to dismiss hearing, Mack was in rare form.

The unsuccessful hearing was, of course, the fault of the brief writers. Their prose failed to persuade Judge Johnson, and even the brilliant oral arguments of Mack himself could not salvage the situation. He ripped into the inept associates and sent them back to the library to work on a new set of briefs for other important pretrial hearings. One young female associate actually left the room in tears. Mack made a mental note to veto her from future high-profile cases.

The honeymoon was over, Mack announced. They had made the mistake of underestimating this case once. It would not happen again. No more country-club environment and twelve-hour workdays. It was time to buckle down.

Mack also called another meeting of his brain trust. There had to be a way—there must be—to ensure he did not get stuck with Johnson as a trial judge.

* * *

As Rasheed had requested, Hanif came a full hour early for the Friday night worship service. After affectionate greetings, Rasheed silently nodded his head toward the door, and Hanif followed him outside. The brothers walked several feet down the sidewalk before Rasheed started talking.

“The Muttawa know about us,” Rasheed said. He waited a few seconds to allow the awful news to sink in.

Hanif did not break stride. “I am not surprised.” He kept his eyes glued to the sidewalk.

“Our apartment is bugged.”

No response.

“A few weeks ago, they came to visit.”

The quiet padding of Hanif’s shoes against the pavement stopped. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I wanted to so badly, but I needed time to sort it out, decide what to do.” Rasheed’s voice was cracking with emotion. He stared straight ahead and continued talking. “They made Mobara and me promise to disband the church. They made us promise to give videotaped testimony against Sarah Reed. They made us promise . . .” His bottom lip trembled, and his voice trailed off. Instead of continuing, he handed Hanif an envelope.

The letter inside was addressed to church members.

The letter said that the Berjeins’ home had been bugged and that the members should not say anything out loud but simply read the letter. The letter explained that, for the sake of the recording devices, Rasheed would declare the church disbanded. The members should act appropriately dismayed but ultimately agree not to meet.

The letter also gave the location for the next week’s meeting and told the members to never mention this location out loud. Each subsequent week, Rasheed wrote, he would provide a new letter specifying the meeting place for the following week. He instructed the members never to say a word about the chosen location and to destroy the letters after noting the next place of worship. They should not call or otherwise contact the Berjeins.

The second page of the letter had been the hardest for Rasheed to write. He watched as Hanif read it, disbelief slowly forming on his face.

“For reasons I cannot explain, I will only be able to meet with you for a few more weeks,” Rasheed had written. “And it is obvious that I can no longer be the pastor of this fellowship. If you will allow me, I would like to pass that mantle of leadership to my brother, Hanif, whom the Holy Spirit will empower to lead this church through this most difficult hour. Please give him all the love and respect you gave me. Though I will only be with you a few more times, you will forever be in my prayers.”

Hanif looked up from the letter and into the tear-filled eyes of Rasheed. “I can’t . . . I just can’t . . . ,” Hanif stammered. “I don’t know how . . .”

“You must,” Rasheed responded emphatically, grabbing his younger brother by both shoulders. “I will teach you. Quietly. Secretly. We will study God’s Word together. The Muttawa promised to leave the others in the church alone, including you, if Mobara and I give testimony in the case against Sarah Reed. That testimony will take place in a couple of weeks. Nobody else in the church must ever know about this.” Rasheed again fell silent, struggling against his rising emotions, taking a few fitful breaths.

“You can’t do that,” Hanif protested. “It doesn’t matter what they promise.”

“Leave that to me, Hanif. And trust me completely. I will do what I have to do. God has given me a plan.” Rasheed squeezed his brother’s shoulders. “Your job is to build this church. Nobody else can do that but you.”

Hanif exhaled deeply, the weight of the responsibility already showing on his face. “Okay,” he said, looking his brother squarely in the eye. “I will try.”

Then the two men embraced, their strength flowing into each other. Rasheed had never been more proud of his little brother.

* * *

Worthington would be magnificent. Even during his prep session, Leslie could tell he would make a great witness. He had credentials, neatly groomed gray hair, and an extensive vocabulary befitting an international law guru. Leslie asked him the toughest questions she could fathom, and he handled them with ease.

“The Saudis have always given lip service to religious tolerance, but in point of fact their Islamic regime is one of the world’s most oppressive governments,” he explained. “They systematically violate the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Their very own laws require that all Saudis be good Muslims, and the infamous Muttawa brutally enforce strict compliance with these laws. The crown prince of Saudi Arabia is fully apprised of the activities of the Muttawa, and the crown prince himself sanctions their use of the police power to keep the people in line.”

“What is the basis for that opinion?” Leslie asked.

Worthington responded with a series of past examples, recalling precise dates, names, and places with an almost photographic memory. After three hours of probing for a chink in his armor, Leslie was satisfied none existed. He seemed too good to be true.

Unfortunately, he was.

Just before their time ended, Worthington hinted at the one skeleton in his closet.

“As I understand it, Leslie, the defense lawyers will be able to ask me only about past felonies and misdemeanors involving moral turpitude, but no others. And they can’t ask about charges, only convictions. Is that right?”