by Randy Singer
“Eventually,” Randolph said. “But for this initial phone call with the producers, I’ll just take your word for it.”
“Great.”
Randolph lowered his voice, and Nikki pressed the phone tighter to her ear. “These reality show people are warped, Nikki. I just want them to know that they’d better think twice before they try to embarrass or defame any of my clients.”
Suddenly Randolph had her undivided attention. She had just pulled up a picture of the man from his firm’s website. Classic good looks: a square face, curly jet-black hair, a blinding white smile. He looked to be about thirty-five or forty—a few years older than Nikki, but then again, she was pretty mature for her age.
Besides, she just happened to be on the prowl again today. Byron had been pitiful at dancing and even worse at casual conversation. When he leaned in to kiss her at the end of the night, the onions arrived a few seconds before his lips.
“Maybe we should meet in person,” Nikki suggested.
“Sure,” Preston said. “But let me see what I can do through a couple of phone calls first. I’ve already talked to the show’s director, who seems to be a reasonable guy. Now I’ll put some heat on the network execs in New York. I think as long as they know I’m watching them, they’ll quit jerking us around.”
Us? That didn’t take long. “Right,” Nikki said. She had googled Preston and discovered that the man was closing in on the billionaire club. A quick skim revealed no mention of a wife.
“I may be in DC in the next few days,” Nikki claimed. “Maybe I could stop by for a few minutes to compare notes.” If she could only get a foot in the door, a job offer—and maybe more—would soon follow.
“That’d be great,” Preston said. “Just make sure you give me a call first. I’m not in the office much—between trials and traveling and golf. In the meantime, if you hear anything about the island that worries you, give me a call.”
She promised she would, and Preston Randolph moved on to the next pressing phone call. Nikki loved Virginia Beach, but she could see herself living in DC for the right kind of money.
Before logging off, she decided to check Westlaw and see if Finney had left any new breadcrumbs. “Yes!” she whispered when she saw the new searches. Time for some more spy games.
She called Wellington and told him to meet her at noon. The usual place, Nikki said, like a real gumshoe.
“Okay,” Wellington said. “Hang on for a second while I ask my mom if I can borrow the minivan.”
34
Finney’s cross-examination was the last session before lunch. It felt strange being on the receiving end, with Kareem stalking the courtroom and launching caustic questions at him as fast as Finney could answer. Javitts assumed Finney’s traditional role, rocking back in the judge’s chair, his face a mixture of curiosity and boredom.
“Three gods or one?” Kareem asked.
“One God,” Finney responded, “in three persons—the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
“Like our friend Hadji.” Kareem pointed in the Hindu’s direction. “You just have a few million gods less. But that’s what he said: one god in different manifestations.”
“No, that’s totally different. Hadji believes that God is some kind of impersonal ultimate reality with millions of manifestations. The Christian God is personal and relational—one who loves people, one who created people in His own image.”
“Thomas Jefferson believed in a Creator God, did he not?”
Where is this going? Finney wondered. He respected Jefferson as a political thinker but not as a theologian. “Jefferson was a deist. But in answer to your question—yes, he believed we were endowed by our Creator with certain inalienable rights.”
Kareem headed back to his counsel table and picked up his legal pad. “Let me read you a quote from Jefferson, Judge Finney, and ask you to explain it: ‘When we shall have done away with the incomprehensible jargon of the Trinitarian arithmetic, that three are one, and one is three . . . when in short, we shall have unlearned everything which has been taught since Jesus’s day, we shall then be truly and worthily His disciples.’”
Kareem finished and looked up at Finney.
“And your question is what?” Finney asked.
“Just how do you explain this incomprehensible jargon of one plus one plus one equaling one?”
Finney took a deep and labored breath. Then a quick cough. Though he knew he couldn’t convince Hasaan, maybe Finney could reach a few viewers who still had an open mind. “It’s more like one times one times one equals one, Mr. Hasaan. It should not surprise you that we don’t understand everything about the attributes of God. In fact, if we did understand everything about God’s nature, it would be a signal to me that we had created God, rather than the other way around.”
Finney shifted in his seat, trying to figure out a way to explain this that wouldn’t sound clichéd. He had known Kareem would ask this type of question, highlighting a quintessential difference between Islam and Christianity. The best explanation Finney had seen came from C. S. Lewis. And he had borrowed a small box from the dining room crew for just this reason. “May I use the easel to explain, Mr. Hasaan?”
“Be my guest,” Kareem said with the confidence of a seasoned trial lawyer. He stepped out of Finney’s way as Finney moved to the easel in the courtroom and picked up a black Sharpie.
Finney drew a square on the board. “One square or more than one, Mr. Hasaan?” Finney asked.
Kareem shook his head. “I said you may explain, Judge Finney. I did not relinquish my role as interrogator.”
“Sorry,” Finney said. “This is one square. Now, this easel operates in only two dimensions—representative of the limited capacity of humans to think and understand things supernatural. And so, if I draw another parallelogram—” Finney did his best to draw the second side of a cube—“to a person thinking in two-dimensional terms, we just have two four-sided figures. Actually, a square and a parallelogram. Then I draw a third—” this time Finney drew what looked to be the top of the box—“and to a two-dimensional thinker, it still just looks like three connected parallelograms.” He then walked back to his counsel table and picked up the small box he had placed behind his seat. “But to a three-dimensional thinker, it is actually one single cube. Six separate squares but all part of one box. God operates in a different dimension, where He is three persons but still one Being.” Finney left the box on his counsel table and returned to his seat.
“Very clever,” Kareem remarked. “And totally incomprehensible. So let’s turn from the issue of Christianity’s many gods to the issue of the Bible’s many authors. How many authors participated in the writing of your Bible?”
Finney was embarrassed not to know the answer. He knew that the Muslims claimed the Koran came from one source—the angel Gabriel’s revelations during the course of twenty-three years to the prophet Muhammad—and was therefore superior to the Bible in terms of consistency and reliability. But it never occurred to Finney to memorize how many authors the Bible had. “More than twenty,” he said, which seemed safe.
“In other words, you don’t know?”
“That’s correct.”
“Would it surprise you to learn that there were more than forty?”
“That sounds about right.”
“And we have no original copies of even the New Testament part of your Bible. All we have are copies of copies of copies. Would you agree?”
Finney had prepared for this point. “There are twenty-four thousand ancient manuscripts verifying parts or all of the New Testament, with the earliest ones dated less than fifty years from the originals. By comparing these ancient copies to each other, we find that there are no variations that affect any doctrine of the Christian faith.”
Kareem turned to Javitts with his arms spread. “Judge, could you instruct the witness to just answer the question asked.”
Javitts’s eyes turned hard as he looked at Finney. “You’ll have your ch
ance to give a closing argument later,” he lectured. “Just answer yes or no.”
Kareem looked smug. “We have no originals of the New Testament, Judge Finney. Would you agree?”
“Yes.”
“All we have are copies of copies of copies—right?”
“Yes. And lots of them. With no inconsistencies.”
“Is that a yes or no, Judge?”
“A yes,” Finney admitted.
“We’ll deal with contradictions in your Scriptures in just a minute. But first let’s establish one other point.” Kareem took a step toward Finney and studied him with an unyielding stare. “You understand that Muslims do not believe that Jesus died by means of crucifixion or that He was resurrected from the dead?”
“Yes, I understand that.”
“And other than the copies of copies of copies of the various books of your New Testament, which also happen to be internally contradictory, there is no other written evidence to support your claim of the Resurrection, is there?”
Finney shook his head and smiled. “That question’s so bad, I don’t know where to start.”
Kareem flushed and moved in closer, his face tight. “Why don’t you just start by answering the question?”
“All right. First, the New Testament is not internally contradictory. Second, there is plenty of evidence for the Resurrection outside the pages of Scripture. For example, the disciples all died as martyrs, clinging to the truth of a resurrection that they had witnessed with their own eyes. Their deaths are documented outside the pages of Scripture. Do you really think they made it all up so they could be crucified, stoned, and beaten?”
“I’ll ask the questions, Judge Finney. And since you claim there are no inconsistencies, let’s start with a few pertaining to the Resurrection itself. Did Jesus allegedly prophesy about the Resurrection to your supposedly infallible Gospel writers?”
“Yes.”
“And how many days did He predict He would be in the ground before He rose again?”
“He said that the Son of Man—that’s what He called Himself—would spend three days and three nights in the ground, just like Jonah spent three days and three nights in the belly of the fish. Then He predicted He would rise again.”
“And do your Gospel writers record the day on which He was allegedly crucified?”
“Yes. They said it was the day before the Sabbath.”
“And do they record the day on which He allegedly rose again?”
“Yes. They said it was early in the morning, before the sun came up on the day after the Sabbath.”
“Now, Judge Finney. Jesus supposedly died the day before the Sabbath and rose the day after. Is that more Trinitarian math—two days become three? Or maybe you’re saying Jesus miscalculated the timing for the most important event in His ministry. Or maybe, just maybe, the Gospel accounts have been corrupted.”
“Is that a question or a speech?” Finney asked.
“I’m waiting,” Kareem challenged.
“All right,” Finney said. He had done a lot of research on the Resurrection when he wrote his book. He tried to remember exactly how this worked. “First, understand that in the first century the Jewish day was sunup to sundown. Also, when the Gospel writers say that Jesus was crucified on the day before the Sabbath, Mr. Hasaan, they literally said that He was crucified the day before a High Sabbath. That’s the way they described certain holy feasts, like the Passover. The date of that feast was tied to a certain day of the month and did not necessarily fall on a Saturday. Thus, Jesus was crucified the day before the Passover Sabbath. The next day was a regular Sabbath—the last day of the week. Then He rose early in the morning on the next day. Three days and three nights, just like He claimed.”
Finney could tell that the answer surprised Kareem. The Muslim seemed to be pondering a response. “Then you’re saying that Jesus died on a Thursday?” he eventually asked.
“That’s what I believe.”
“And the entire church has gotten it wrong for two thousand years, thinking it happened on a Friday?”
“A heartfelt remembrance of the Crucifixion and Resurrection is what matters, not the day of the week we choose to do it on. You’ll find a similar issue with regard to the timing of our Christmas holiday.”
“Judge Finney, I find similar contradictions everywhere I look.”
“It’s not a contradiction, Mr. Hasaan. I already explained that.”
Undeterred, Kareem zeroed in on some other alleged inconsistencies. Then he moved to the Crusades and a few other examples of notorious conduct in the name of Christ. He and Finney traded verbal punches and counterpunches for the rest of the examination, neither of the advocates willing to concede even the smallest point. Finney tried to keep his emotions in check but found himself getting frustrated at his Muslim counterpart.
“One minute,” Javitts said finally.
“Let me read one last verse from your own Scriptures, Judge Finney, and ask you to explain it.” Kareem walked over to the counsel table and picked up a copy of the Bible he had brought to court with him.
“This is from the New Testament book of Hebrews,” Kareem said. “By the way, who wrote that book?”
“I don’t know,” Finney admitted.
“You don’t know or nobody knows?”
Finney hesitated, then remembered that doing so only made things look worse. “Nobody knows.”
“And yet it’s part of your Scripture?”
“Yes. It’s been accepted from the earliest church councils as part of the inspired Word of God.”
“Given that fact, let me ask you to explain chapter five, verse seven. ‘During His earthly life—’ and the writer of Hebrews, whoever that might be, is apparently referring to your Messiah—‘He offered prayers and appeals with loud cries and tears to the One who was able to save Him from death, and He was heard because of His reverence.’” Kareem walked toward Finney, crowding his victim as much as possible. “How can you claim Jesus died on a cross when your own Scripture says Jesus was saved from death?”
To be honest, Finney didn’t have the foggiest idea. He’d never noticed that verse before. But he also knew that an effective witness must sound confident and not hesitate.
“I’m not sure exactly what that verse means, Mr. Hasaan. But I would look at it one of two ways. First, it doesn’t say Jesus was saved from death. It says that He prayed to the one who was able to save Him from death and that His prayers were heard. The Gospel writers record just such a prayer of Jesus prior to His death, pleading to be delivered from the bitter cup of the Crucifixion. However, He ends that prayer by submitting to the will of God the Father. And second, I would say that rising again on the third day qualifies as being saved from death, because with Christ, death wasn’t final.”
Kareem’s lips curled into a wry smile. “That’s the best you can do?”
“Time is up,” Judge Javitts said. And Oliver Gradison Finney was glad.
35
To combat the heat, Nikki decided to go with a mocha Frappuccino light. Before getting in line, she checked with Wellington. “Water?” she asked.
Wellington glanced up from his notes. He had a spiral notebook with several pages of penciled charts. “Yeah, thanks. You need a pen?”
“I’ve got cash today, Wellington.”
When Nikki returned to the table with their drinks, she dug deep into her latest wardrobe addition—a Fendi Spy bag necessitated by the dictates of style and the recent Judge Finney escapades. Given the circumstances, she couldn’t even wait for the designer bag to go on sale as she normally would. It was an oversize black leather slouchy version with a hidden storage compartment inside, from which she retrieved a folded piece of paper and her trusty copy of the Cross Examination book. “Here’s the message from Finney,” she said, handing the paper to Wellington. “I wrote down all the capital letters.”
Nikki nursed her drink while Wellington studied the hodgepodge of letters in front of him. Nikki waited f
or him to pull out the key and translate.
“Well?” she asked after giving him five or six full seconds.
“I don’t know,” Wellington said. “I haven’t figured out the code yet.”
Nikki leaned back. What have you been doing all morning? she wanted to ask. But she knew she had to keep her cryptoanalyzer guy motivated. “It’s harder than the first one, isn’t it?” Nikki asked like an old code veteran. She opened the Cross Examination book to the page where the letters were embedded, turning it so that Wellington could see. “But I’ve got a few ideas.”
She tried to check her watch without being too obvious. She had told Judge Fitzsimmons that she might be a little late getting back from lunch. But she hadn’t planned on a full-fledged code-breaking session.
“Here are my preliminary results,” Nikki said, pointing to the page. She had used a red pen to scribble in her guesses on the first page of chapter 1. In a few cases, she had crossed out her first guesses and replaced them with others. Wellington frowned at the ink-covered page as if Nikki had drawn a mustache on the Mona Lisa.
“I didn’t really have time to do that whole frequency analysis thing,” Nikki admitted. “But I did notice that these three letters, S-A-Q, repeated a couple of times, so I assumed they stood for the.”
Wellington frowned. “That won’t work,” he said.
“I know,” Nikki said. “So then I figured that maybe they stood for and. That’s my second set of marks.”
“I don’t think so,” Wellington replied. “I tried that too. I’ve got two summer school classes that pretty much took up the whole morning, but I did take a quick run at some of the more obvious possibilities.” He turned to the second page of his notebook. “The most common trigraphs in the English language—” He must have noticed the look on Nikki’s face. “The three letters that appear together most frequently, in descending order, are the, and, tha, ent, and ion.” He shook his head. “None of those work.”
“Don’t look at me,” Nikki said. “I don’t know a trigraph from an atbash.”
