The Last Judgment (46 page)

“
Plastic
explosives,” Will said, staring at Mullburn.

“Yes?”

“You said
plastic
explosives. Who said anything about Semtex being a form of
plastic
explosive?”

“You were clearly talking about explosives—”

“Yes, I was. But I
never
delineated nor described the fact that Semtex was a kind of
plastic
explosive—a cousin of C-4—nor did I indicate in any question that it also happens to be the precise type of plastic explosive used in the bombing of the Temple Mount. But you said that it was. So, how did you know that?”

Mullburn was not going to let this minor irritant of a trial lawyer have his way with the cross-examination. He snapped his answer back like a rifle shot.

“In the newspapers, Mr. Chambers. On the television. The whole world is talking about the bombings. It is the singular event that has made my diplomatic efforts at peace-building much more difficult. Perhaps I've even heard it in the course of my negotiations between the Israelis and the Palestinians. So I'm sure I've read or heard somewhere the fact that the plastic explosive Semtex was the substance used.”

Will paused again. Then he decided to throw a knuckleball.

“But Mr. Mullburn, you testified under oath just a few minutes ago that you had no idea what Semtex was. Those were your words—I noted them on my notepad—you said ‘
I would still have no idea what it is
.' Isn't that what your testimony was?”

“This is ridiculous,” Mullburn protested.

Zayed was up again, objecting. Again, Judge Mustafa sustained the objection, this time with agitation in his voice.

But Will noticed that both Lee and Verdexler were leaning forward ever so slightly, their eyes on Warren Mullburn in his glass booth.

“Let's change gears,” Will said nonchalantly. “In the government of the Republic of Maretas, you have a department of computer intelligence. Yes?”

Zayed jumped up, but Judge Mustafa didn't need to hear an objection.

“Mr. Chambers, you are getting dangerously close to areas of government secrets and matters of national security regarding Minister Mullburn's nation. I will not let you enter those areas—”

“I will not enter any area,” Will replied, “that has anything to do with a legitimate national interest of the republic. My questions will go only to subversive activities accomplished for
personal benefit—
not for any official or governmental goal.”

The word “subversive” rang like a fire bell through the courtroom.

“This is outrageous,” Mullburn fumed.

Will was locked in on the witness now, watching his every move, even the smallest movements and nuances. And he noticed that Mullburn quickly thrust his tongue into the side of his check with that last question. And there was also something else.

In the last few seconds, the billionaire started glancing around the witness booth—looking to the sides, down at the floor, up at the ceiling. Little glances, mere fleeting motions. But to Will they were significant.

He had the distinct feeling that Warren Mullburn was claustrophobic. That was probably why his lawyers hadn't wanted him testifying in that enclosed area.

So Will's next question was preceded by a long pause. Then he delivered it in a plodding, overarticulate fashion.

“Do you have a person…in charge of the computer intelligence department…of your republic…a person by the name of…
Orville Putrie?”

Mullburn—just momentarily—lost his sense of presence, allowing his torso to jerk forward, as if he'd been shoved in the back by someone.

Will noticed that too.

And so did the judges.

Mullburn's soaring intelligence kicked in. He knew the implications and the various scenarios. The fact that Putrie's name had come up was a huge problem, if not a potential disaster. Mullburn was certain that the little computer geek's identity had been buried in the lead-lined computer lab on the island. Only a handful of people knew about Putrie—and President Mandu La Rouge didn't even know that Mullburn had formed the department of which Putrie had been made the chief researcher.

There was no question now, the billionaire quickly concluded, that Will Chambers had retrieved some critical information. But he could be bluffing. The only question was the extent of the lawyer's apparent penetration into the secret network that Mullburn had established on his island empire.

“And before you answer,” Will added about three seconds into the pause that Mullburn was taking before attempting to reply, “we have secured the service of a subpoena on your personal secretary in the palace on your island, the personal assistant with the desk on the second floor—an ornate desk, I understand…Italian design—and we've also subpoenaed her diary of appointments, to the extent that they may show any meetings between you and Mr. Orville Putrie.”

The witness tried to smile.

“Your recital of those facts was a waste of time,” he said. “Yes, I know we have a person by that name in the current-research branch of the administration.”

“And do you know,” Will said deliberately and painstakingly, “that Mr. Putrie has developed a program…a program to detect how and when…an unlawful entry is attempted into a computer system—one that's protected by a process called quantum encryption?”

Mullburn was moving slightly in his chair, glancing quickly from side to side as if he were on the lookout for an errant wasp that was loose in the glass booth with him. But his mind was busy
scheming—and this much he had decided. It was time to deny everything, stonewall Will Chambers, and then get out.

“No. I did not know that.”

“Well, I am holding in my hand,” Will announced oratorically with a document in his right hand, “an application for a patent—one made to the United States Patent Department—for that very system. This application was made by an individual named Orville Putrie…”

Then Will added as an aside, “Strange that someone with an open arrest warrant for him would apply for a public patent. I guess he didn't think that one through, did he?”

Mullburn was struggling to conceal his volcanic rage, first at Will Chambers for, once again, defiling and disrupting his well-orchestrated symphony dedicated to self-aggrandizement—his pretensions to global achievement and personal empire. But his napalm-like hate burned deeper still…at the bizarre little computer genius who had apparently blundered so ineptly as to drag Warren Mullburn down with him.

“Well, let me get right to it, Mr. Mullburn.”

Will was now picking up the pace, trying to burn each question into the strike zone.

“Did you, or anyone at your command, instruct Orville Putrie to unlawfully enter the quantum-encryption-protected computer system of the Israeli intelligence department—the agency known as the Mossad—to manipulate data in that system referring to the Knights of the Temple Mount, so as to make it appear that the Israeli government had willfully permitted that religious cult to blow up the Temple Mount?”

Three of the New York lawyers leaped to their feet and began shouting out objections. The lead partner, the one in the expensive Italian suit, dashed toward the podium so quickly that he tripped over his briefcase on the floor and had to catch his balance on the run, like a halfback who had slipped out of a tackle.

“We claim the privilege under the rules of this tribunal,” he called out, “for our client to refuse to answer on the grounds of
the appearance of self-incrimination…as I hasten to add,
appearance,
because Minister Mullburn is entirely innocent of these scandalous, slanderous, malicious lies—”

“If he's innocent,” Will interjected, “then how can you claim that his answering my question would incriminate him?”

“I deny it—all of it!” Mullburn was now shouting from the inside of the glass booth.

“Next question,” Will bulleted out. “Did you order Orville Putrie to construct the computer hardware for the detonation system used in the bombing of the Temple Mount?”

The lead New York attorney was still at the podium, just inches from Will, leaning toward him and eyeing him like a pet owner who was trying to prevent a house cat from scampering through the front door.

“Same objection. Instruct the witness not to answer!” he shouted out.

“Next question,” Will said, hammering it out. “Did you provide, through your network of connections in the former Soviet-bloc countries, a sufficient quantity of Semtex to the Knights of the Temple Mount to decimate the structures on the mount and kill the hundreds of people who were in or near them at the time?”

Mullburn was shouting indecipherably inside the glass booth. His lawyer was yelling even louder, that they would not permit their client to answer “these mindless, criminal, absurd accusations…”

Finally, Will reached into his briefcase and quickly pulled something out. Then he went for the last pitch.

“Did you arrange a meeting with defense amicus curiae Mira Ashwan in order to covertly obtain intelligence on our strategy for the legal defense of Gilead Amahn?”

“I don't even have any idea who that person is, you fool!” Mullburn cried out.

“Well, then perhaps Ms. Ashwan can explain,” Will held up a colored envelope, “why she flew to the Republic of Maretas just before the start of this trial—and why she has an open-ended,
one-way ticket back to Maretas—I have the ticket stub and the ticket right here—”

Mira was on her feet.

“You went in my purse!”

“You bet,” Will snapped back. “Mira—how could you?”

Judge Mustafa, sensing a loss of control over the trajectory of the trial, quickly and loudly gaveled the hearing to an adjournment for the day, instructing Mullburn and his entourage to leave the courtroom, and all of the participants to exit immediately.

Mullburn's security detail rushed to the glass booth and, followed by his dazed lawyers, led him quickly out of the courtroom—out of the Orient House to the back of a waiting limousine.

Only Mr. Himlet was in the backseat. He raised the privacy glass behind the driver.

Then Mullburn exploded in a molten rage of threats—against Himlet for ever finding Orville Putrie in the first place, and then against Putrie, who Mullburn vowed to personally execute, but only after a prolonged session of unimaginable torture to find out the sum total of the information the computer genius had allowed to leak out.

“Call the island!” Mullburn screamed. “Find out where Putrie is this very moment and have him put in chains in a locked room in the basement of the palace, till I can get to him myself!”

Himlet had something to say. He paused, his expression still blank, and in his calm voice he answered.

“I'm afraid that may not be possible.”

“Why not?” Mullburn shrieked, now red-faced.

“Because it appears,” Himlet continued, “that Mr. Putrie has disappeared.”

64

W
ILL WAS LOOKING AT A PICTURE
that was indexed within the section of his trial notebook containing his anticipated direct examination of Dr. Daoud al-Qasr. The picture was a photocopy of an ancient Egyptian mural. It depicted several mythological characters gathered around a large weighing scale.

After Will had led Dr. al-Qasr through questioning about his professional and educational credentials and his writing and teaching experience, the witness had easily been qualified as an expert in the fields of Egyptology and cultural anthropology by the tribunal. And he had also been certified as an expert in the current esoteric religions of the Middle East—the “mystery cults” that professed secret knowledge based on ancient, long-dead religions.

In the witness booth, al-Qasr was now waiting for the next series of questions. He was a large, tall man in his forties, with a broad, pleasant face and a balding head.

“Now, I would represent to you,” Will continued, “that the parties to this criminal case have stipulated that the handwritten documents, notes, and journals we will discuss, were all in Yossin Ali Khalid's handwriting and found in his apartment. So you can assume that to be true in giving us your opinions.”

“Very well,” he said.

“How did the Knights, and in particular Khalid, calculate the date of the appearing of the last Caliph, the supposed reincarnation of al-Hakim—their religious messiah?”

“Well, the Druze, the group from which the Knights broke away, believed that he will reappear literally one thousand years from al-Hakim's disappearance in Cairo in 1021—which means the appearing is supposed to be in the year 2021. But Yossin and his father, Omar—actually going all the way back to Omar's grandfather—calculated it differently. They believed that the calendars were different back in 1021. Further, they were convinced that the Caliph was influenced by the ancient Egyptians. As a result, the Knights had always believed in a sooner return than the Druze. But they had been unable to agree on a precise calculation. Then Louis Lorraine, who had an extensive background in ancient Egyptian religion, joined their group. Lorraine and Yossin Ali Khalid worked together to finish the determination of the year of the appearing of the Caliph al-Hakim.”