The Last Judgment (23 page)

“Let me just say,” Mullburn commented with a smile, “that I propose to use all information, all techniques, and all advantages available to me to secure Israel's accommodation of the demands of the Palestinian Authority—as long, of course, as the Palestinian Authority's demands are reasonable. Which I have no doubt they will be.”

The representative from the Arab League raised both hands in the air to indicate a question.

“So where does this leave us? Where are we going? It appears that there is a consensus among us that the trial of Gilead Amahn cannot be a formal part of the negotiation process. Perhaps it is the event that has actually forced Israel to its knees…although I am not sure. There are many among those in our League who believe that Israel was behind the bombing. That they secretly used the Knights of the Temple Mount and Gilead Amahn simply as pawns to accomplish what they did not want to do in the open. But of course, we have no proof of that—yet.”

After a silence, the Egyptian envoy turned to Sheikh Mudahmid.

“Sheikh Mudahmid,” he said graciously, “you've been very quiet. What are your ideas on this?”

The sheikh rose slowly from his seat in the corner of the room and walked to the wall of the conference room, where there was a large reproduction of an ancient Egyptian mural. In the center was a large scale, and from each end of its balance beam hung a plate. To the left of the scale was a figure of a standing man with the head of a jackal. On the right side was a figure of a man with the head of a hawk.

After studying the familiar picture for a moment, the sheikh turned to the group.

“Many of you have seen, as I know I have,” the sheikh began, “these scales in the marketplace. But have you ever looked closely?
At the point where the balance beam swivels, there is a small screw. I've seen them myself. Almost invisible to the eye. A small thing, really…but very important. If the tiny little screw is tightened this way, or that, it can affect the ultimate balance…it can tip the scales one way or the other.”

Then the sheikh put his hands behind his back and walked slowly along the conference table, behind the attendees, as he spoke.

“In the same way, I believe that the trial of Hassan Gilead Amahn is such a screw. It controls the scales. If he receives the just reward for his blasphemous, treacherous act—an act not only against Muslims, but against Allah himself—it can be said that justice is truly done. And then land can be divided up…and a Palestinian state can be created…and Israel can be made to accommodate the demands we have been making for generations and generations. But if justice is
not
done—then how can there be talk of peace? For such a peace would be a foolish peace. Of course, there will always be blood shed. But let it be their blood shed…not ours.”

“You are a much honored mufti,” the Palestinian minister said deferentially, “and we greatly respect you, Sheikh Mudahmid. But I know of no way that Mr. Mullburn, if he is to be the mediator and negotiator, can openly tell the Israelis that they must help us to convict and execute Mr. Amahn as part of this negotiation—”

“May I remind all of you,” the sheikh continued, “that I am the only one in this room who has met this man—this Mr. Amahn. At the Islamic conference in Virginia in America. I met him face-to-face. I heard his Christian rantings…and I beheld his arrogant presumption of himself as a self-appointed messiah. We have waited a thousand years since the Salah ad-Din to recapture Jerusalem for Islam and for Allah. There can be no victory if Hassan Gilead Amahn goes free. No victory. There can be no peace if Amahn is not put to death for his crimes against Islam and against Arabs everywhere. And know this—that if this blasphemer is not put to death as the murderer that he is, then I will
call upon each of you, and all of those in the Arab League, to participate in a worldwide
jihad
that will make the 9/11 attack in New York look like child's play.”

With that, the sheikh gave a modest bow to the group, walked gravely back to his place in the corner, and sat down. As he calmly folded his hands in his lap, his gaze was on only one person.

The sheikh was staring at Warren Mullburn.

It was now clear to the billionaire in which direction the tiny screw in the scales must be turned.

35

T
HE DOOR TO
W
ILL
C
HAMBERS
'
OFFICE
was open. He had come to work early for the past few mornings. Looking up from his work, he noticed Jacki, his senior associate, standing in the doorway. She was wearing a loose-fitting dress to accommodate her seven-and-a-half-month pregnancy.

“Good morning,” she said with an expression that told Will she had something on her mind.

“How are you?”

“So, I was driving to work this morning,” Jacki began, “and I had the radio on. Top of the hour, usual stuff—weather—traffic report. And then I got the headline news.”

“Oh?” Will said somewhat sheepishly.

“And you'll never guess what I heard.”

“I
may
have a guess.”

“I find out, not from you—but from the hourly news, weather, and traffic report—that alleged mass murderer Hassan Gilead Amahn, currently being held in a Palestinian jail for the massacre in Jerusalem, is going to be represented by Virginia lawyer Will Chambers.”

“I was meaning to tell you…”

“When?” Jacki asked wryly.

“At our office meeting this morning.”

“How convenient,” Jacki snapped back sarcastically.

“Really, I was,” Will replied. “And I know what you're thinking.”

“Oh, you do?”

“Yes. You're going to be taking maternity leave in a few weeks, going to half time. And then, of course, when you have your baby you're going to be off indefinitely. And you're worrying about who is going to take over your workload while you're gone, because if I start usurping Todd Furgeson's schedule with this mammoth case in the Middle East, then who is going to pick up the slack from your cases? How's that?”

“You know, you and I go back many, many years,” Jacki said. “And one thing I now have to admit. You're getting to be a better listener—specifically when it comes to women. So—are you going to usurp Todd's time? Are you going to enlist him to help you with this titanic case?”

“I'm going to respect the agreement we made about Todd helping you out during your pregnancy. I'm not going to change that.”

“Well,” Jacki noted, “that leaves only our newbie, Jeff. And young Mr. Holden is only two years out of law school. So what are you going to do, counselor? Are you handling this case entirely on your own? Or are you single-handedly going to redefine the term ‘burnout'?”

“I'm working on it,” Will said. “I'm going to figure out something.”

“So let me be a bit nosy. Maybe it's none of my business. No, I take that back—it
is
my business. I consider you and Fiona very close friends. And I consider Fiona a very wonderful, precious woman. And I remember back…I think it was at the last Christmas party we had here at the office. She and I were just chatting. And she commented to me how nice it was that the two of you—and Andrew, specifically, now that he's getting older—were settling into regular family life. That your schedules were normal. Life seemed to be good. ‘Normality'—that's the word I'm thinking of. She said she was really enjoying the normality of your lives together. And she seemed so happy.

“Now I do know what it's like to lose a parent. But for some reason, just talking to Fiona at the funeral of her dad—and I've spoken with her twice since then—I think your wife really got socked hard in the gut by this.”

“I won't deny that. It's been rough,” Will said reluctantly.

“You know, I've given you advice about Fiona over the years,” Jacki plowed on. “Can I give you some more?”

“If I said no, would it stop you?” Will inquired with a smile. “Besides, you've got me cornered. I couldn't sneak out of the room anyway…with your profile you've got the doorway fully blocked.”

Jacki tried not to laugh, but was unsuccessful. Then she added, “I don't know how this is going down with Fiona. But I can guess. This is going to be a strain on the office here. It's going to be a huge strain on you. But it's also going to be a super stress on your wife. Just some advice for you, Mr. Don Quixote…”

An hour later, in the office meeting, Will explained to the two other lawyers in his office his decision to take up the defense of Gilead Amahn. He told them the basics, although he didn't share with anyone, including Jacki, the most fundamental catalyst for his taking up the case—the chance to expose Warren Mullburn. Nor did he discuss his deepest fears—neither his vague sense of foreboding nor the fact that a wrong move in the defense of Gilead could bring catastrophic consequences.

He told Todd Furgeson that he would not be relying heavily on him. He told the youngest lawyer, Jeff Holden, that he would be using him for some background research and peripheral work. But somehow, Will had to figure out how he could put together a defense team adequate to the task, considering the immensity of the case.

When he got back to his desk after the meeting, Will immediately thought about contacting Len Redgrove. Len had served Will extremely well as co-counsel in the case they had handled jointly before the International Criminal Court several years before. But that had been a while ago, and especially since his
wife's illness, Len's legal abilities had seemed to lose their edge. And then there was his strange behavior at the banquet.

Will put the possibility of contacting Len on hold while he did some preliminary research.

He accessed, through the Web site of the Palestinian International Tribunal, a copy of the indictment that had been filed just the day before Will's announcement that he would represent Gilead Amahn. It reviewed the provisions of the criminal code of the Palestinian Authority, which defined the crime with which Gilead Amahn was charged. Will could only shake his head at the irony of it.

The law was entitled “The Provision of Material Support to Terrorists Involved in Mass Murder, War Crimes, or Crimes Against Humanity.” It had been passed by the Palestinian Authority a year before the Temple Mount bombing, and closely followed the language of antiterrorism legislation adopted in the United States. Will was aware that, in the years following the World Trade Center attack, the Department of Justice and the State Department had strongly encouraged other nations around the world to adopt antiterrorism criminal codes similar to those in the United States.

The language of the Palestinian antiterrorism provision law prohibited

providing material support, encouragement or resources…knowing or intending that they are to be used in preparation for, or the carrying out of, acts of terrorism involving mass murder, war crimes, or crimes against humanity.

Did that provide an exception for Gilead Amahn's conduct? Will was unsure.

As he read the indictment against his client, one thing was clear. Gilead was charged with being not only the spiritual but also the tactical leader of the Knights of the Temple Mount. He was alleged to have encouraged them to orchestrate the devastating attack on the Temple Mount in order to fulfill their cultic
religious prophecies. The indictment went on to allege that the Knights were a breakaway religious subsect of the Druze religion. That Gilead Amahn was viewed by the Knights—and in fact, viewed himself—as the promised messiah who would destroy the impediments to the rebuilding of the Jewish Temple that had been destroyed in AD 70 during the Roman conquest of Jerusalem.

The document then described the Druze religion as a combination of Judaism, Islam, and Christian mysticism. The Knights of the Temple Mount, as a religious subgroup had developed their own particular brand of apocalyptic theology, according to the indictment.

That got Will thinking. Back to the banquet, when Redgrove had delivered his brief and catastrophic vision of the immediate future.

He picked up the phone and dialed Len Redgrove's number, wondering what Len had been doing lately up in his mountain cabin. He hadn't been answering the phone or responding to contacts from friends.

The phone rang. It continued to ring. At the tenth ring, Will was ready to hang up. But just then, a voice at the other end answered.

“Hello.”

“Len? Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“This is Will Chambers. Len, how have you been?”

There was a pause.

“Will, I got your message some time ago…I guess it was a number of months ago…about this Gilead Amahn fellow. The one you represented in that misdemeanor case in Virginia…”

“Well, frankly, that's old news now, Len,” Will replied. “At the time I called, I was trying to help Gilead out of a situation. He had been arrested in Cairo for preaching there. But we made some phone calls. The Egyptian police released him. And then shortly after that…well, I'm sure you've been reading the news.
You know what happened at the Temple Mount. And everything after that.”