"Now, ladies and gentlemen, let's get down to some of that important business I just referenced moments ago. First up, standing orders. Number one, today is June fifteen. Trial in four months. Madam clerk, that means our trial date will be--"
"October nineteenth, a Monday," the clerk shot back.
"Exactly the date I wanted," said His Honor, "the nineteenth of October. The World Series is over by then and the NBA is just getting its first paycheck of the new season and leasing its first Mercedes and moving mom out of South Chicago. Perfect time for a trial. Second, the length of the trial will be fifteen court days. Those days are given eight to the plaintiff, who has the burden of proof, and seven to the defendants, who can divvy up the court time among them. Take what's left, you defendants, and fight it out. But know this: the court will entertain no motions regarding who gets how many court hours among the defendants. You men and women will decide that among yourselves sanely and quietly without my help. In this regard I would recommend you elect a litigation committee from among your numbers--let me suggest a threesome--and that you defer all such decisions to that committee. Believe me, your clients will love you for it once they realize they're not being billed every time there's a discussion but only when there is a solution. And so on."
His eyes dropped to the papers spread before him. It grew quiet, the atmosphere still.
The DOJ then thought it incumbent on it to replace the unused airtime with words. "Your Honor," Ms. Martha J. Mattingly began in her smooth, but husky, tone, "please let the record reflect that the United States Department of Justice objects to the court's limiting trial days to just fifteen. The DOJ's case alone could take twice that."
"Yes, in theory I suppose it could, but we don't have twice that. We hardly even have the fifteen days I've already given you. One, your objection is noted. Two, I respectfully suggest the United States pony-up several million to this injured woman, to whom, if the complaint I am now reading may be taken at face value, you have terribly injured. Give her ten million and save us all much to-do, keep a lid on the case, covenants-not-to-reveal-terms-of-settlement and yada yada yada. What say you, madam?"
"We've done nothing wrong, Judge," said Mattingly. "The injuries were suffered during war time."
"Yes, but it wasn't the United States' war that was going on; it was the Syrian civil war. What, does the United States just get to latch onto whatever war is going on in the world and lob missiles into the fray? Is that seriously your defense? Counsel," smiling benignly at Christine, "I wouldn't accept less than ten million, just off the record, based on what I've just been told by the DOJ. It appears their defense is that the U.S. has legal authority under international law to send in the marines anytime a shot is fired anyplace on God's green earth." He poured himself a tall glass of water and took two gulps, shaking his head as he swallowed. "Lord help us all."
"There is more, much more, Judge," said Mattingly. "We will brief the court on the law as we go."
"Yes, you do that. And maybe, just maybe, the next time your locution is introduced into my courtroom in an attempt to sway me, you won't lead with your weakest point, please. Agreed?"
Dead silence. He had just cut the lead attorney for the DOJ off at the knees. Christine knew better than to speak. When your enemy is hanging himself, try not to replace the stool. So she sat, arms folded on counsel table, fingers interlaced, staring at the dimple on Judge LaJordia's dark chin. Her eyes wanted to meet his eyes, but she knew better. She knew better because she knew he would recognize in her eyes the young girl doing somersaults across the courtroom floor. Yes, she had been soothed and energized in an instant.
It was coming true again: they could only talk one at a time. No matter the head count, there is only one to face at a time. That's what she loved about courtrooms: not everyone all got to speak at once.
She was imbued with a new sense of completeness about the case. There was their side, her side, and the judge's side. All too often their side also included the judge among its numbers. Not so here.
For a moment she loved all federal judges equally. Appointed for life and not subject to re-election, they were thus given the freedom to actually do justice with regard only to a case's merits, never needing to consider the political influence of the litigants.
Judge LaJordia drew a deep breath that could be heard over the court sound system. All ears listened up.
"Discovery will be complete by August 31. That gives everyone ten weeks, and I am going to enter a special rule just for this case. When each party's attorney returns to his or her office, you will prepare and file within seventy-two hours the names, addresses, and expected testimony of all witnesses. Now, before you begin with your objections--"
There was already a clamor among the defense counsel. Even Christine found herself confronted with an unbelievably near and short deadline. She would have to work around the clock for the next three days to comply.
"Before you begin with your objections," the judge repeated, "let me say that I have reviewed the case, reviewed all parties' answers, and all I have seen so far is boilerplate. Granted the federal rules require only notice pleading, but from here on out I want all pleadings attached to a verified statement of facts in support. In this way, I can quickly get to know who your key witnesses are and begin to settle on a trial plan in my own mind. The time for interrogatory answers is shortened to ten days and--"
"Your Honor, if I may," said a short stocky attorney with a hairline that began just an inch above his eyebrows. The hair was clipped short and the man resembled more a pugilist than a well-heeled lawyer from a silk-stocking firm. But Christine knew better than to be fooled by first impressions, for she knew this man. He was Boris Adizkov and he represented Blackguard in the first chair. Secretly Christine had prayed it would be anyone but Boris but she knew she had been dreaming if she had thought he would pass up this case. No way was that going to happen. He was a scrappy in-fighter before a jury and master manipulator of judges and clerks. His settlements and court victories were recorded around the world. It was said he lived on his own private jet as he moved around constantly keeping Blackguard's feet from the fire. He continued in his loud, jackhammer voice.
"If I may say, while I appreciate the court's desire to foreshorten the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure and bring this manner to trial, there are some matters that simply are too complex for your deadlines. For instance, all parties will be seeking Blackguard documents. Judge, Blackguard's data repositories are strung around the world. It generally takes us two weeks to pull together all documents in response to a simple document request. In a case such as this, that same effort will require months."
"Counsel," said Judge LaJordia, who was nodding appreciatively, "I understand your problems with a multinational corporation as your client. So I would suggest you call your people as you're being chauffeured back to your office and get the ball rolling as early as possible. We will stay with my case timing."
"That's easy for you to say, Judge," said Martha J. Mattingly in her husky voice, "but the truth is, the Department of Justice represents not only the DOJ but also the military forces of the U.S. To require documents from us in two weeks is almost laughable. That will take months."
"Then you can expect sanctions, counsel," said the judge. "If you fail to comply with my timing you can expect that I will consider certain facts alleged by the plaintiff to be true as a matter of law. Second, I will award money sanctions--legal fees and fines, if you violate my rules. Are we all hearing this?"
Christine couldn't help but allow a small smile. This was going to actually be fun. At this point she had nothing but high praise for the trial judge. He wasn't going to be pushed around and he was going to take this case to trial in four months. There would be none of the usual contentious continuances and foot-dragging by defense counsel as they begged and wheedled the court for more time for every little thing in an effort to delay, delay, delay. Delay was anathema to plaintiff's counsel and it was a beloved
tactic to defense counsel. Judge LaJordia had made it clear that he would entertain none of it.
For another hour the orders kept coming and the attorneys kept making their notes. The judge told them that all details would be supplied that same day in a written format so no one could later claim they hadn't understood this or that.
At the close of the proceeding, after the judge had left the bench, Christine could overhear the first-chairs making plans for a committee selection meeting right after lunch. It sounded to her like they were going to take things seriously. She also overheard that several of them would be filing for a change of judge but she didn't let that worry her. The judge who was selected and accused of some sort of bias in a motion to change judges was always the same judge who would hear the motion. In the history of courts in America, she could think of no occasion where a judge had admitted bias and accordingly removed him or herself from a case. It just wasn't going to happen.
But they could bill for such a wasteful motion, and that was the point.
They could bill it out at $1,000 an hour so the motion made damn good sense.
If you were the biller.
Not so much for the billee.
26
The 4-12 shift at Randall Dynamics had one no-show on a Friday evening. Her name was Sevi al-Assad and she was long gone from Chicago when it came time to clock-in for the shift.
At four p.m., Hussein driving a rental SUV, the two terrorists had reached Eau Claire, Wisconsin, where they planned to cross off some items on their shopping list. Dauntag Excavations and Explosives sold Tovex and Primadet to licensed contractors. Hussein had obtained a federal license for $5,000 and had that along, plus a letter of introduction from the president of the company where he was employed in Chicago. All phony, of course, but all designed to obtain the explosive and detonator.
The Primadet was a non-electric delay detonator commonly used as the primary initiator for mining, quarrying and construction blasts. Tovex was needed to detonate the ammonium nitrate, which would level the entire school to rubble.
They were met at the MTI plant by Ed Novik, a plant manager who supervised sales of small quantities of Tovex, used mostly by small private companies for one-time shots, as he explained to Hussein and Sevi.
"You're using this for clearing dead trees?" Novik asked Hussein.
"Yes, we're clearing an old wetland that's been drained. It runs north-south along the Mississippi River maybe twenty-five miles above Hannibal."
"Down in all those drainage districts. Got you. Well, Tovex is malleable, meaning you can cut it to length. Totally safe to manipulate in the field. In most cases like yours, crosscut saws and chainsaws are too hazardous to remove dead wood. So just do a wrap or two of this stuff around the base of the trunk. Following me?"
Hussein nodded. "I think so. We've used it before." He was telling the truth. A Tovex plant was licensed in Islamabad, Pakistan. The jihadists bought the stuff by the ton over there, Hussein among them.
"Now your blasting caps will be ignited using hand-held boxes of some kind. Got that?"
"Cell phones."
"Oh, that works but it's pretty much unnecessary. What's wrong with the box?"
"Just don't want to spend the extra bucks. Budgetary, Ed."
"Got you. Now your det cord is the Primadet. Correct?"
He knew the answer, because the invoice listed it.
Again Hussein nodded. "Forty feet is all we'll be needing."
"Why so little?"
"Actually we've only got four trees that are blocking ingress to our area. Once we get those monsters cleared out we can reach everything else with saws."
"Got you. Now the blast will completely utilize the Tovex. There is no discernible residue. Of course the crime labs can easily ID it with microscopes. But that won't be a worry for you. Will it?"
Hussein realized Ed Novik was eyeing him with some degree of suspicion. He was actually amazed that they had come this far with no one asking more questions. Two Middle Easterners buying explosives in America? Are you kidding me? He thought.
"It's private property where we're working. No crime labs within a hundred miles," Hussein laughed.
"Well, not my worry, anyhoo, as my daughter says. None of my business. Your invoice is right here, I've made copies of your license and ID and letter of introduction from your owner. So it's all good. Can I get someone to load the stuff for you?"
"No, the boxes are small and we're in a hurry to get back to Illinois."
"The stuff is safe to transport, very stable. You can drop it from high altitudes or even shoot it with a rifle and it won't detonate. So you can feel safe on the road. Even if you hit a semi this stuff won't ignite. Not that we'd want that, of course."
"Of course not. Well, my friend will drive safely," said Hussein, indicating Sevi.
Sevi gave Ed Novik her best smile. He returned the acknowledgment with a shy smile.
"We're all good here, then, folks?"
They backed their rented Toyota Tundra up to the loading dock and a short young man loaded the explosive and det cord into the bed. Hussein covered the load with a tarp and bungeed it down on all four corners. They shook hands with Ed a last time, and he gave them a military snap salute as they drove out of the yard.
"Stupid asshole," sneered Hussein as they cut into the flow of highway traffic. "Who would believe that Americans would sell Muslims high explosives? Don't these people read the newspapers? Such a joke!"
Sevi was smiling broadly. "The same people who taught them to take off in 747s without teaching them how to land. Americans are so stupid."
Hussein reached across and touched her on the leg.
"Stay with me tonight?"
"Yes. We'll be back after midnight. I won't need to awaken Christine and her bunch."
"Good."
"But separate rooms. That is all I will do. Then I will cook your breakfast after prayers."
He smiled and turned to his window.
"What more could a man want?" he mused.
"So where does that leave us?" she asked.
"Just about finished. Nitro-methane and fuel oil and we're done. Ready for payback."
"Have you selected a date?" she asked him.
"I have. I'm thinking October 20."
Her heart jumped. "My wedding day. Or would have been, one year ago."
"I picked it out just for you."
"My trial starts that day too. No, it starts one day before." Thank you for honoring that special date for me."
"What a great success for you to have!"
"The irony. This is good. I didn't expect this."
"See, Allah provides. You are getting your revenge as it should be."
"Yes," she said. "Allahu Akbar. God is great!"
27
Christine began depositions on July 7th, the first regular work day after fireworks day.
She set up the depositions in Conference Room A in her own suite of offices. It was a large room centered with a magnificent conference table as big as four table tennis courts pushed end-to-end and surrounded by twenty-six chairs done in pink leather. Christine wasn't one to engage in Pink-dom, but she wanted an effect in the room that would momentarily throw off visitors when they first came inside. The pink leather seemed to do just that.
"I want us to dissect these people like the bug under the microscope," she told Ed Mitchell. Ed, who'd done a complete about-face on his feelings over suing the U.S. military, was now anxious to leap into the fray and begin hitting the visitors hard with tough deposition inquiries.
"Today we have Colonel Joachim Martinez, in charge of the drone room in Reno. I've done his workup and mapped out questions you'll want to pursue."
"Can we get to him?" she wanted to know.
"Is he vulnerable? Yes. See my suggested questions. They're interlineated with the basis for each question, including my background comments."
"Sounds good."
They were sitting in Christine's private office,
having their second morning coffee as they planned their approach for the day.
"And next we have Lieutenant Randolph Cunningwood, who actually pressed the button that launched the missile."
"Yes. The man behind the actual slaughter."
"What do we know about him? See your notes?"
Ed smiled. "Yes, please, see my notes. Winona and I have done an extensive workup on the guy."
"Roger that."
She took a sip of coffee and glanced to her right, out the windows, at Lake Michigan. The sky over the water was hazy with the remnant of a light fog that had crept ashore overnight. The sun was busily burning it off, seagulls were floating on thermals, and sailboats were presenting their wind-catching triangles of white and yellow and red against the near horizon. Each attorney was thoughtful for several minutes. Quiet times, times without speaking, were comfortable enough between them. They had been out together and had spent weekend days together where very little actually needed saying, as comfortable as they were with each other. Plus, with lawyers, it seemed like everything got said during the week anyway, and weekends allowed time away from words. That ability to be still together had accompanied them into the office. As she watched the sails skitter along the water, Christine realized she was quite comfortable with Ed. She found herself wishing, in the next thought, that he wasn't an employee. She missed having times out with him. A thought occurred next. She turned back to him.
"Ed, I am happy with your work here, overall, you know that, don't you?"
"Except for my lapse over the suing the government thing, I think I've done a fairly good job for you."
"Totally agree. And your salary is commensurate with what the top firms across the nation are paying, correct?"
"Correct."
"Well...what would you think if I sold you an equity share in the practice?"
"I could become a shareholder?"
"Yes."
Hellfire (Sisters In Law Book 2) Page 13
