His attention was immediately captured by the presence of the lead government lawyer. Hamerindapal Rana was a Sikh. He was well over six feet tall. He wore a deep brown turban of elegant fabric. His suit was beautifully tailored. Byron, himself a careful dresser, recognized that Rana’s suit was handmade, possibly in London. The other men on Rana’s side of the table were bulky and blond, like former college football players, and wore off-the-rack suits with American flag lapel pins.
Rana said, “Mr. Johnson, you must understand we will indict Mr. Hussein at a time and in a place of our own choosing. It may be an hour from now. It may be six months from now. And it may be in Miami and it may be Juneau, Alaska, with Sarah Palin as the judge.”
In the five minutes since the start of the conference, Byron had let go of any pretense that this would be what he liked to describe as a “good, cordial meeting.” He said, “Mr. Rana, the man is now in jail in the United States. He’s been in detention more than nine years by my count. I don’t think you have the right to delay indicting him indefinitely.”
“You think so, Mr. Johnson?” Like his clothes, Hal Rana’s voice was elegant, almost British-accented. Byron, who had the sense that Rana must have spent time in an English boarding school, was intrigued. Rana continued, “The Congress and the president don’t see it your way. We have an anti-terrorism bill that gives us the option to decide when to indict and where to indict. We don’t need to be concerned about whatever speedy trial rights your client may have, because he has none. And, in this kind of case, we can indict him anywhere in the country, and he can’t complain that it’s the wrong place.”
“So you’re going to pick a state where the jury is most likely to convict, right?”
“We’ve been thinking about Oklahoma, Mr. Johnson. We relish the idea of putting a terrorist on trial in front of an Oklahoma jury near the site where McVeigh blew up the federal building.”
“I don’t think that’s fair.”
“You don’t? Then you have to complain to Congress. I’m just a simple country lawyer.”
Byron knew he had few options since new laws gave lawyers little leeway to do what they ordinarily did when they represented accused people. He couldn’t insist on a quick indictment, couldn’t seek bail, and couldn’t demand a speedy trial. Judges for the most part were timid and unwilling to disturb whatever the Justice Department, the CIA, and Homeland Security decided to do.
“My client and I don’t even know what the charges are, Mr. Rana.”
“We don’t know either yet. We can take our time to decide what the charges are.”
“Listen, I asked for this meeting so that I could develop at least some information to defend this man.”
“Information? You want information? I have a suggestion for you: Ask your client what he knows.”
“Ask my client? Don’t you think it might be fair at some point to let him know whether he’s accused of killing Kennedy or driving bin Laden around?”
“We don’t think he killed Kennedy. You don’t have to ask him about that. As for bin Laden, he’s left the planet and doesn’t need drivers any more, except for celestial chariots.”
“I don’t particularly want to go to the newspapers and tell them that the United States government is stonewalling. Reporters are dying to hear about this case, Mr. Rana. The Attorney General saw to it that this story was all over CNN, FOX, all the networks.”
“It hasn’t been our experience that there’s really a public outcry when we hold a terrorist in jail. And we are being nice to you by having this meeting. We can stop having meetings if you don’t work with us.”
“Work with you? What does that mean?”
“In my world, Mr. Johnson, a lot of the work involves information. Information is hard currency here.”
“Information about what?”
“I can’t tell you how to do your job. But you might want to connect the dots for your client. He’s an accountant. He’s far better versed in numbers than most people are. Also, we know he’s a wizard in the wonders of money transfers-cash, wires, checks, computers, virtual accounts, human mules carrying cash taped to their bodies.” Rana paused. “I assume you’re following me? As they say in the mobster movies, capiche?”
“All I know, Mr. Rana, is that he’s an accountant. And so far I’ve had exactly thirty minutes to talk to him.”
Rana smiled almost benignly. “What does your client’s brother have to say?”
Byron was instantly unsettled. He had made no attempt to conceal the meeting at the diner in gritty Union City with Ali Hussein’s brother, but it had never occurred to him that the government would know about it.
“All his brother could tell me was what a nice man Mr. Hussein is, and how long he’d been gone.”
“You know what, Mr. Johnson? We do want to help you and your client. You probably haven’t done much of this kind of criminal work, and I can tell you’re a nice man just trying to do the world a favor by representing the oppressed. But you might want to talk with Mr. Hussein about the people he did accounting work for, what cash they had, where they got it, how they gave it to him, where he sent it, who gave him instructions about where to send it, the names of the people he dealt with on both ends of the transactions-the collection of the money and the distribution of it, what the accountants call ‘first in, first out.’” Rana waited. “And, most important, ask him where he put the money just before he joined us and where it is now.”
Byron wanted to restrain himself, as he had throughout the conference, from responding to the condescending message that he was walking into dangerous and unfamiliar territory where he knew nothing about the pitfalls. He also resented that cultured edge of British superciliousness in Rana’s tone. “I appreciate that you’re trying to help my client. The government has been a great help to him over these last years. But, so that I don’t just grope around in the dark, tell me what you think he might know.”
“We don’t know what he knows.”
“You’ve had many years to chat pleasantly with him about his background and his work. Most marriages don’t last that long.”
“You know better than I do, Mr. Johnson, that creativity is the lifeblood of the law, as Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote and we all heard in our first year at law school. Maybe once you get to know your client better you may want to think creatively and then call us if there’s anything that we might do for him in exchange for information. Your client knows a great deal about the value of exchange-he can apply the skills he learned about exchanging money to the exchange of information. We’ve found that Syrians are very effective in the workings of trades, exchanges, and bargains. The skill dates back to long before Biblical times.”
“Syrians? I thought the Justice Department wasn’t supposed to discriminate on the basis of national origin or religion.”
“You might also ask Mr. Ali about religion, now that you mention it. Nine years ago he was a devoted member of the Al Sunni Mosque in Newark, on Raymond Boulevard. He was particularly impressed, we’ve learned, by the teachings and wisdom of the Imam of the mosque, Sheik Naveed al Haq. Over the last few years Sheik al Haq has told a few of his congregants that he is particularly concerned about the fate and the soul of your client. Maybe your client can favor us with a little bit of information about the teachings of the Imam and what happened to the mosque’s collection boxes.”
“Now that’s useful information at last, Mr. Rana.” Byron still instinctively felt uncomfortable engaging this exotic man in any kind of cynical banter but found it hard to resist. “Now I know about the Imam. That’s a start. Are there any other people you can tell me about who I can call for information?”