Randy Singer - Fatal Convictions

“Can you tell me what that document is?”

Long looked confused. “It appears to be a copy of the Wikipedia page about the Patriot Act.”

Deegan stood, her tone indicating confusion. “Objection, Your Honor. There’s no relevance to a Wikipedia page on the Patriot Act. Even if there was, there’s been no foundation laid as to its accuracy.”

Judge Rosenthal leaned forward on his elbows and looked down at Shannon. “Are you serious? You want to introduce a Wikipedia page as an exhibit?”

“Does that mean that the objection is sustained?” Shannon asked innocently.

“Absolutely.”

Shannon bit her lip and acted like she was thinking for a moment. “Then let me ask it this way-are the provisions of the Patriot Act a secret?”

Long looked more confused than before. “Of course not. They’re part of the United States code.”

“And anybody who can read the U.S. code-or even Wikipedia for that matter-would know that the federal government can tap the phones and intercept e-mails and text messages of people who have even loose connections with suspected terrorist organizations. Is that right?”

“Objection; calls for speculation.”

“Sustained.”

Who cares? Alex thought. Point made.

“Let’s talk about the cell phone that received the text messages,” Shannon said. “That phone was registered under a fictitious name. Is that correct?”

Long didn’t seem like the epitome of confidence anymore. “That was my testimony.”

“Is it difficult to register a cell phone under a fictitious name?”

Again Taj Deegan objected, and Rosenthal sustained the objection.

“Well, it’s safe to say that at least somebody associated with the killings of Ja’dah Mahdi and Martin Burns knew how to register a cell phone to a fictitious name; is that correct?” Shannon asked.

Taj Deegan was on her feet again but apparently could think of no reasonable objection. She sat down.

“Yeah. I think that’s clear.”

“Can you think of any reason why my client, knowing that his mosque was providing funds to humanitarian organizations helping to rebuild Beirut, and knowing that his phone was probably tapped under the Patriot Act-”

“Objection!” Taj Deegan yelled, cutting Shannon off midsentence.

“Sustained,” Rosenthal said quickly.

Shannon stood there for a moment, as if she couldn’t figure out what to do next. “May I have a minute?” she asked the judge.

“One minute.”

She walked to her counsel table and huddled up with Alex. “Do you think the jury got the gist of what I was implying?” she whispered.

“You can never be too sure,” Alex said.

Shannon gave him a cold stare. “Easy for you to say.”

She returned to the center of the courtroom and crossed her arms for a moment, deep in thought. “In your experience, Special Agent Long, do criminals typically like to get caught?”

Long shook his head as if Shannon were an idiot. “Of course not.”

Shannon took a deep breath and then spit the next question out as quickly as possible. “Then why would my client use his own cell phone knowing that it was probably tapped?”

“Objection!”

Rosenthal banged his gavel and stared at Shannon Reese, clearly perturbed. “I told you that question was objectionable.” He turned to the jury. “Please disregard that question. Counsel will have sufficient time to argue her case during the closing argument.”

Shannon turned and looked at Alex. He gave her a subtle nod. I’m pretty sure they got it that time.

“No further questions,” she said cheerfully.

When Shannon sat down, Taj Deegan stood and announced she had only one question on redirect.

“Do you have any reason to believe that Mr. Mobassar, a Muslim cleric who specializes in Islamic studies, was intimately familiar with the details of the Patriot Act?”

“Absolutely not.”

Shannon leaned over and whispered to Alex, “Unless he could read Wikipedia.”

fifteen years earlier beirut, lebanon

Before the death of his brother, fifteen-year-old Ahmed Obu Mobassar had been living a double life. During the day, he went to school and learned how to be a productive Lebanese citizen. But each evening, he attended the salat at a local mosque and became indoctrinated in the elements of jihad.

His father led a different mosque, one more conciliatory in its views. But his father was a tolerant man and wanted Ahmed to discover his own path to Allah. He often quizzed Ahmed about what he was learning and cautioned him about certain teachings, but he never prevented Ahmed from attending the more radical mosque.

Ahmed had learned not to tell his father everything. He also learned what it meant to be a true Muslim-one committed to completing the conquest Mohammed had started and establishing a global caliphate. Allah would be glorified. The Great Prophet would be pleased. Jihad was the way!

Ahmed was taught that true Muslims should hate the enemies of Allah with all their hearts. He was taught that Sharia law must be established in every nation inhabited by true Muslims. And his instructors extolled the glory of martyrdom over and over. At the first drop of your own blood, you would redeem your soul. By laying down your life, you would redeem your family. Martyrdom. Paradise. Redemption. There was no other way for a true believer to die.

While the imams filled his mind with the elements of jihad, Hezbollah warriors trained his body. Ahmed learned how to assemble explosives, how to handle and shoot an assault weapon, how to lay a land mine and turn an automobile into a bomb. He learned how to destroy others in hand-to-hand combat.

But the week after Omar died in the Palestinian refugee camp, Ahmed’s double life came to an end. His father’s views changed overnight. With his parents’ full knowledge and the help of his father’s friend, Fatih Mahdi, Ahmed moved into a Hezbollah training facility on the outskirts of Beirut. His first mission into Israel would be less than a month later.

Before Ahmed and the others embarked on that mission, a revered imam gathered the teenagers and looked each of the young men squarely in the eye, as if searching for any chinks in their courage. “Today you will become men,” the imam said. “Today you will fight for the glory of Islam. Today you will fight for the glory of Lebanon. Go with courage and for the glory of Allah!”

“Allahu akbar!”

The shouts echoed as adrenaline surged through Ahmed’s body. He and the others were mighty warriors for Allah, though many of them did not yet shave. Still, he had no doubt that each one would strap explosives to his body and trigger the fuse if he could take out twelve Israelis. These were the greatest warriors in the Middle East. They were dead men with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Allah would be glorified! Family members would be redeemed! At their funerals, there would be rejoicing.

It was only a matter time.

the present virginia beach, virginia

Alex and his team were cautiously optimistic Wednesday night. It seemed to Alex that the jury was bothered by the same thing that had struck him about this case-why would Khalid send text messages from his own cell phone?

There were, of course, a number of possible explanations. Perhaps Khalid really didn’t know about the particulars of the Patriot Act. Perhaps Khalid didn’t think he would ever be a suspect because the police would zero in on Fatih Mahdi. Perhaps Khalid did it precisely because it would seem too obvious and he could later argue that it created reasonable doubt, like a killer signing the crime scene in blood. Who could be that stupid? Maybe Khalid had outsmarted everybody, including his own lawyers.