Extraordinary Rendition (35 page)

Another commercial was running when he entered the studio. Rod Smith, remaining seated because he was attached to a tiny microphone, reached out his hand. “Perfect timing,” he said.

A young woman placed a microphone with a clip on Byron’s lapel and draped a cord with an earpiece behind Byron’s shoulder. She fitted the earpiece to his right ear.

“We’ll have plenty of time with you,” Rod said. “Look into the hole of the camera when the red light glows above it. Don’t look at the red light above the hole. I’ll introduce you. For the rest of the interview, just look at my face as I ask and you answer. Not into the camera.”

Byron heard the count:
five, four, three, two, one, go
. Rod, in his vibrant voice and reading from a script scrolled on the screen of the camera, said, “Welcome back. Over the last six months we’ve been reporting on the case of Ali Hussein. He’s the Syrian national who lived in this country for a decade or so until he was arrested in Bonn not long after the Iraq invasion. He had worked, he said, as an accountant, a skill that made him, according to anti-terrorism officials and federal prosecutors, one of the so-called masters of finance for al-Qaeda. After years in detention, Hussein was brought to the U.S. for prosecution in a civilian court. At the time, the Attorney General said the administration wanted to show the world the integrity of the our justice system. And, to the shock of many, Hussein faces the death penalty.”

On a cue, Rod turned from the camera in front of him to face Byron. “Here with me on an exclusive basis is Hussein’s lawyer, Byron Carlos Johnson. He’s an Army veteran with a long and distinguished career as a trial lawyer. He has volunteered to represent Ali Hussein. Welcome to CNN, Mr. Johnson. We understand there have been some important new developments in the case.”

Gazing at Rod’s handsome face, Byron said, “There have been. Today I learned that my client has been removed from the prison in New York City where he has spent the last six months and sent out of the country. The prosecution, as I was told after I learned of his removal today, has been terminated on a claim that national security interests were impaired by continued prosecution. It is very disturbing that a defendant, any defendant, who faced a trial at which a jury could find him innocent has been deprived of that opportunity.”

“What were the national security concerns?”

“That is a mystery to me. It may be, however, that the video I released a week ago showing the torture—including waterboarding—of Mr. Hussein could require the government to disclose other information it wants to hide.”

“Questions have been raised about how authentic that video is.”

“There are no legitimate questions about that video. The man who is beaten and interrogated and pushed under water to the point of near death is Ali Hussein. I have seen him dozens of times. One of the other men in the tape is an American agent who has acted under the name Andrew Hurd. That person is a torturer.”

“How do you know that, Mr. Johnson?”

“The video tells me—tells us all—that he is. You see him on the tape ordering that unimaginable pain he inflicted on Ali Hussein.”

“And how do you know his name is Andrew Hurd?”

“He has confronted me at least once, and given me that name. And I have other pictures of the same person.”

“You’ve suggested that he doesn’t work alone.”

“Of course not. He’s worked with the lead prosecutor, Hal Rana, in order to steal confidential information from me; with Christina Rosario, a covert agent who was secretly assigned to become my assistant in this case; and with the news commentator Kimberly Smith.”

“Ms. Smith has appeared on CNN.”

“And on Fox and on NBC. I have photographs of her with the man in the video and with the covert agent who succeeded in working for me, gaining access to all the information I had about my client.”

“Is that Christina Rosario?”

“Like Andrew Hurd, she apparently had a real name and a fictional name. I never knew the real name. I knew her as Christina Rosario.”

“We have reports that she committed suicide.”

“I have heard those reports, too, Rod. They’re false. She was killed.”

“By whom?”

“The same people who killed the Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist Simeon Black. Mr. Black was working on articles about torture, so-called Arab terrorists, and the fate of American justice.”

“And why is it that you think the people who killed Simeon Black killed Christina Rosario?”

“Because she told me.”

By a slight alteration of his expression, Rod Smith made it clear that he had heard something in his earpiece. He turned to the camera. “Stay with us. After a break we’ll return to Byron Johnson, the lawyer for accused terrorist Ali Hussein.”

Knowing that there was a lull in the broadcast, Byron settled back slightly in the chair. He glanced at Rod Smith for some sign of approval or disapproval. But Rod continued to listen to a voice in his earpiece.

He looked at Byron. “Right at the moment the Attorney General is starting a news conference in Washington. It’s about your client, and you. We’re going to cover it live, and then come back to you.”

“That’s fair game,” Byron said.

Rod Smith stiffened his upper body when the camera came on. “Welcome back again. We’ve just learned that the Attorney General of the United States, in Washington, has just started a press briefing on the fate of Ali Hussein, the accused terrorist whose lawyer has been here with us. We turn now to Attorney General Royce Gallanter.”

Gallanter, a slender black man, stood at a podium that bore on its front the shield of the United States Department of Justice. He read from a prepared statement. “Prosecution of complex cases of terrorism in a civilian court poses unique difficulties. We knew that when Mr. Hussein was brought to the United States for trial. This was never a case in which simple evidence would suffice. This defendant, for example, was not a driver for terrorist leaders. There were, in effect, no eyewitnesses. He operated in the shadows, he was in many ways an international financier. Our case required financial forensics—complicated patterns of wire transfers, bank account statements, and numbered accounts.”

Byron knew he had to call on all of his experiences in life, and to do so at this moment, on live national television, for whatever number of short minutes might be given to him after
Royce Gallanter’s press conference ended. Byron was not going to let himself stumble for words, or look uncomfortable, or abandon his main themes—that it was sheer abuse to take away Ali Hussein, and that this was a prosecution that had relied on terror, coercion, and murder, and which had long ago abandoned even the appearance of fairness to stage a show trial.

The Attorney General continued: “We knew that secrets in the war on terror might be jeopardized in this case. There was always the possibility that identities of important federal agents might be revealed, and that the ways in which we collect, analyze, and act on financial information might be put on public display.”

The Attorney General paused, appearing to focus even more intently on the camera in front of him. Byron had a sense that the next words would be directed at him. “There is another reason why we have had to return Mr. Hussein to overseas detention rather than proceed with the trial here. He was represented by a New York lawyer named Byron Johnson who at every step of the process violated the requirements of confidentiality that he had promised to adhere to and that presidential executive orders require he follow. He has shared with people who were never authorized to receive it confidential details of things that happened in court, before a federal judge. He gave documents to outsiders, including many journalists, that he knew were sensitive and confidential and whose secrecy he was obligated to maintain. He may well have planned this outcome—the impossibility of our effectively trying his client—by shattering his obligations to the court and to our system of justice.”

Byron overcame that flash of fear that swept through him as he heard these words. The man who was accusing him in this way, and suggesting that Byron would be punished, was,
after all, the Attorney General of the United States. He commanded an army of police officers, FBI agents, and lawyers who would obey any order he might give to take down Byron Johnson. To overcome the fear, Byron reached into that core where his sense of calm and toughness was lodged. In seconds, he knew, the camera would re-focus on him.

Royce Gallanter ordered: “We will not let this case deter us from displaying for the world the American system of justice, which is and always will be a model for the world to emulate. Thank you all.”

The Attorney General stepped away from the podium. Just before the scene closed, a reporter’s voice rang out, “Where is Ali Hussein?”

“That was Royce Gallanter,” Rodney Smith said as he gazed into the black hole of the camera, “the Attorney General of the United States, confirming our exclusive report that Ali Hussein, an accused terrorist facing the death penalty, has been removed from the United States.”

Rod turned toward Byron. “We still have with us Byron Carlos Johnson, the lawyer for Ali Hussein. These are harsh words from the Attorney General, Mr. Johnson. Your reaction?”

“The failure of this prosecution was the result of what the Justice Department did, not what I did. The torture depicted on that video was only part of the campaign of terror that the government has used.”

“What else?”

“Holding my client in solitary detention for years, during which his only visitor was the agent we see in the video hitting him and orchestrating his waterboarding. Keeping that video
hidden, presumably on phony national security grounds, from the defense and even from the federal judge overseeing the case. Recruiting people to extract information from Mr. Hussein when they knew he was represented by me.”

“Doesn’t the government have a right to investigate crimes?”

“Of course. But it does not have the right to commit crimes and to abuse and torture.”

Rod Smith asked, “What about you, Mr. Johnson?”

“Look, Rod. I’m just a lawyer. I represented a client. I learned things as the case moved forward that I believed helped my client. I looked forward to the trial and to having a jury decide his guilt or innocence. Ali Hussein has been deprived of that right.”

Rod Smith said, “That’s all the time we have, Mr. Johnson, on this fascinating and disturbing story. Thanks for coming in.”

Utterly calm, Byron nodded. “Thanks for helping the truth.”

H
ELEN WILSON, STILL AT irregular and unpredictable hours, brought Byron the newspapers each day. Each time she had to make her way through reporters and cameramen waiting in the wet cold on the sidewalks of Laight Street. On her first visit after the CNN show, she passed by the reporters and cameramen without being asked a single question, as though she was another tenant in the iron-façaded building. Then the doorman told the reporters that the comely woman in her early fifties was a frequent visitor to Byron Johnson. She smiled like a gracious and patient school teacher when she moved through the excited gauntlet of reporters, not even answering the question, “Who are you?”

Byron had taped to a wall in the kitchen the front page of the
Post
that appeared after the CNN interview:
Qaeda Lawyer Queers Trial
. Next to that headline was a doctored picture of Byron’s face wearing the headgear of Osama bin Laden. Several long articles appeared in the
Times
. Byron read them carefully, searching for reports on where Ali Hussein was and for anything that would give him a clue as to what steps the government was taking against Byron himself.

There was no hard news about Ali Hussein. One article suggested, based on an anonymous source, that Ali Hussein was in Romania, where there were still “black prisons.” Another anonymous source said that Ali was cooperating with
the government in the disclosure of “vast reservoirs of hidden funds” at banks in Spain, Syria, and Singapore. And another source said that he was assisting in an ongoing criminal investigation of his former lawyer, Byron Carlos Johnson.

“Do you think that’s possible?” Helen asked.

“There’s an expression in this business about clients. They’re either at your feet or at your throat.”

She paused, ignoring the hint of false bravado.

“How do you really feel about all this, Byron?”

“What? That Ali is helping them to put together an indictment of me?”

She nodded slightly, a look of concern and sympathy on her face.

“Of course it makes me anxious. For years I had an easy passage in life. I didn’t even have to take the subways. I wanted for nothing.”

“That doesn’t necessarily remove fear and anxiety from anybody’s life.”

“It did for me. I’m almost embarrassed to admit that the only shock I had in years was when Joan said she was leaving me. I loved her, I loved the life we had together.”

“What happened?”

“She fell in love with somebody else.”

“That can’t be the whole answer.”

“Of course not. But I ran out of time trying to figure out all the other reasons. My father taught me to march forward in life, face what’s ahead of you, not what’s behind you. That’s probably why he moved from assignment to assignment: Mexico, Uganda, Paris, even Vietnam in the early sixties. At the time I was a kid, and I didn’t learn he was in Vietnam until he died twenty years ago.”