by Randy Singer
On the forty-five-kilometer drive from the airport to the Hyatt Regency in Riyadh, Nikki sat in the backseat and gawked at the sites while Sa’id chauffeured. Nikki was told emphatically that women did not drive in the Kingdom.
Sa’id made some lame attempts at conversation, but Nikki was more interested in admiring the sights in this strange and foreign land. She expected a backward and dirty city. Instead, Riyadh was a high-tech oasis of glass, steel, and concrete rising up from nowhere in the desert. It boasted freeways, high-rise office towers, big hospitals and hotels, and modern-looking houses that stretched beyond the horizon. She was struck by the cleanliness of the city and its modern, glistening architecture. She was equally amazed by the glut of vehicle traffic and the absence of pedestrians. The roads looked like rush hour in L.A., but the sidewalks looked like a ghost town.
Nikki also noticed, much to her relief, that not all foreign women wore the stifling black abayyas. She decided that tomorrow she would not be wearing hers. Sa’id would just have to get over it.
* * *
By her third day in Riyadh, the city had lost its charm. There was absolutely no nightlife, and alcohol of any type was strictly prohibited. All restaurants and stores closed during prayer time, and most closed for the day at 1 p.m. Nikki’s favorite pastime, shopping for clothes, might as well have been illegal. Many of the shops actually prohibited female shoppers, and she wouldn’t dare wear any of the styles offered by those that didn’t.
To her consternation, the culture rigorously enforced a strict separation between men and women. Families ate together in special sections of the restaurants, some of which refused to serve women at all. Women rode in the backs of buses, and a taxi driver refused to give Nikki a ride one night when she was unaccompanied by Sa’id. According to Sa’id, custom restricted women from looking men in the eye, a custom that Nikki enthusiastically violated by glaring at all sorts of Saudi males. Her behavior invariably resulted in loud arguments between Sa’id and the victims of Nikki’s rude behavior, reprimands from Sa’id, and threats to get Nikki a veil.
Contrary to her earlier intentions, Nikki reverted to wearing her hated abayya. It was the only way she and Sa’id could avoid unwanted attention as they traveled together, pretending to be husband and wife. Sa’id seemed to enjoy this fantasy, his body language and mannerisms belying the huge crush he had on Nikki. She did not know if Sa’id was married. She was afraid to ask.
The first three days of the trip had been a total bust. Nikki and Sa’id could not locate several of the former church members, confirming the rumors about a general crackdown on the church the night the Reeds were arrested. Those members they did find steadfastly refused to talk to either Nikki or Sa’id, with many refusing to even answer the door. Nikki was hot, discouraged, and tired of being insulted by men whose language she did not understand.
On the evening of the third day, Sa’id and Nikki found their way to the small apartment of Rasheed and Mobara Berjein and knocked gently on the door. A hesitant woman cracked the door and looked suspiciously at the couple in the hallway. Sa’id began a rapid explanation in Arabic about the purpose for their visit, but the woman did not move, and the crack did not widen. Nikki did, however, detect a slight widening of the eyes when the name Sarah Reed was mentioned, and for the first time since landing at the King Khalid International Airport, Nikki allowed herself a glimmer of hope.
Impatient with Sa’id’s slow progress, Nikki butted into Sa’id’s polite inquiry and produced a photo of Sarah and her kids. To Nikki’s surprise, the woman reached through the crack, took the picture, and studied it carefully. She murmured something to Sa’id in Arabic.
“She asks how she can know we speak the truth,” Sa’id translated.
“Tell her Sarah sends her love and a message,” Nikki said. Her words were translated by Sa’id.
Nikki could hear the woman speaking to someone behind her; then she peeked back through the crack and asked Sa’id another question.
“She wants to know what the message is.”
“This is the message from Sarah Reed: ‘God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.’”
Sa’id translated the message. To Nikki’s astonishment, the woman slowly and cautiously opened the door. She smiled timidly, introduced herself as Mobara Berjein and the man standing next to her as Rasheed Berjein, and bid the visitors come into her home.
After Nikki and Sa’id took their seats in the living room, Rasheed and Mobara offered them some Turkish coffee. Nikki had already learned from Sa’id that it was extremely impolite to refuse such an offer. Etiquette, Sa’id had said, must be carefully followed. Patience would receive its reward in due time; impatience would arouse suspicion. Nikki wondered how much of this was true, and how much was motivated by the fact that Sa’id’s patience was being rewarded to the tune of three hundred bucks an hour.
Mobara served the coffee in a tiny, handleless cup that held only a half-dozen sips. Following Sa’id’s lead, Nikki asked for her coffee to be served mazboot, which apparently had something to do with the amount of sugar. Nikki had to muster every ounce of her self-control not to make a face as she drank the thick, gooey liquid in her cup and listened to the others chat in Arabic. She dutifully drank every ounce, right down to the pile of grounds left sitting in the bottom.
After ten minutes of pleasantries, the Berjeins were apparently ready to talk church. They began asking some questions about Sarah, and as Sa’id started translating, Nikki’s paranoia took over. She thought it strange that no other members of the church would even talk to her and Sa’id. She worried about the ever-present eyes and ears of the infamous Muttawa. Her instincts told her the place might be bugged. She therefore suggested, through Sa’id, that Rasheed and Mobara join them in the car and talk about these sensitive matters where they could not be overheard.
They parked on an out-of-the-way side street in the city, then turned the radio up to an annoying level. The four of them huddled together in the middle of the car, Rasheed and Sa’id leaning back from the front seat while Nikki and Mobara leaned up from the back. After two hours of intense questioning, Nikki got what she was after. The Berjeins agreed to testify on behalf of Sarah Reed, no matter the consequences. To confirm their testimony, Nikki hand-printed an affidavit for Sa’id to translate and the Berjeins to sign. As Nikki drafted the affidavit, Mobara quickly wrote a letter to Sarah, telling her about the phenomenal growth of the surviving church, the conversion of Rasheed’s brother, and Rasheed’s valiant attempts to fill Dr. Reed’s shoes. She folded it carefully and handed it to Nikki.
As they returned to the apartment, Nikki notarized the affidavit bearing the Berjeins’ signatures and placed it in her briefcase. She laid out a plan that would secure the Berjeins’ testimony in an American court of law while minimizing the risks to them personally.
Before getting out of the car, Mobara extracted yet another promise from Nikki to make sure that Sarah got the letter. The women parted with hugs and Nikki’s promise to tell Sarah of Mobara’s continuing love.
* * *
Rasheed held Mobara’s hand as they walked back into their apartment, head held high. He was grateful for this opportunity to redeem himself and stand tall with Sarah Reed for the cause of their Savior. He locked the door behind him and immediately embraced his wife. No words were necessary, and no words could stop the trembling of Mobara in his arms.
They had done the right thing, but they would undoubtedly face consequences. After holding Mobara for the longest time and quietly stroking her hair as they embraced together just inside the door, he began to softly pray. It was only then that he felt Mobara finally stop shaking. And as soon as she did, almost as if events had been carefully choreographed and synchronized, a loud knock sounded at the door.
Rasheed turned calmly to the peephole, looking through as the impatient visitor knocked again, even louder than before. Four men stood outside his door, but Rasheed’s attention
went immediately to one. He had seen the face on television, seen the hatred in the eyes. And now, only inches away, the eyes were even more intense, causing Rasheed to shudder involuntarily.
“It’s the Muttawa,” he whispered over his shoulder as he reached to unlock the door. “And Ahmed Aberijan is with them.”
16
LESLIE HAD ANTICIPATED THIS DAY for two months. Time crawled during the flight across the Atlantic. Leslie could think of nothing but Brad. There were so many things she would tell him when she saw him at the airport. Two months of thinking had cleared her head and calmed her mind. She was nervous but ready to pick up where they left off. She had dreamed for weeks of spending time with Brad, an afternoon at the beach followed by dinner and a long stroll on the boardwalk. She was determined not to compare Brad to Bill, since she was not at all sure who would win if she did.
There would be no handshakes this time. They would start with a hug. She was almost running as she approached the end of the concourse where he promised he would meet her. Two months of waiting. It would be worth it.
“Welcome back, Rhodes scholar,” Bella said.
“Thanks, Bella. Where’s Brad?”
“Great to see you, too,” Bella said.
“I’m sorry, Bella. I just wondered if something was wrong.”
“I’m parked in a metered spot out front, so why don’t you grab your baggage and meet me at the curb. We’ve got trouble in the Reed case. I’ll explain on the way to the office.”
Leslie had not planned to go to the office, but she didn’t complain. It sounded serious.
* * *
Leslie found Brad, Sarah, and Nikki waiting for her in the main conference room. The conference room table and floor were cluttered with law books, notebooks, legal pads, briefs, miscellaneous papers, and half-filled coffee cups. The phones were ringing unmercifully, but Brad and the others seemed oblivious.
After warm greetings for Leslie and a hugfest that included everyone but Bella, Leslie pulled out a document she couldn’t wait to share with the team and placed it on the table. It was labeled “Preliminary Game Plan for Reed v. Saudi Arabia” and contained Leslie’s best thinking for the case—witnesses to call, experts to use, evidence that would hurt and evidence that would help. It demonstrated her trademark attention to detail. The others did not know that it was in the works—she wanted to surprise them with it and use it as the framework for preparing the case.
Brad didn’t notice Leslie’s document and tossed another on top of it. It was an affidavit in support of Rule 11 sanctions, signed by Mack Strobel. It had been filed earlier that day. Leslie picked it up and began reading.
On May 11, I had a telephone conference with plaintiff’s attorney, Mr. Bradley Carson, for the purpose of explaining our firm’s intent to file a Rule 11 Motion against Mr. Carson based on the frivolous nature of this case. I called Mr. Carson, as a courtesy, in order to give him an opportunity to explain whether he had any cases or authorities that would support the unprecedented claims that he makes in this case.
In response to my question of whether he was aware of any cases or other authority that would support the filing of this case, Mr. Carson indicated that he was aware of no such authority. He also acknowledged our firm’s greater expertise in international law and questioned whether we were aware of any authority that would justify the filing of this case. In this regard, his precise words, to the best of my recollection, were, “You’re the expert in international law; you tell me whether you think there is any law or case authority to justify our filing.” I responded by telling Mr. Carson there was no legal basis for this case. I waited several weeks, fully expecting Mr. Carson to either drop his suit or provide me with legal authority that would justify the filing of this case. I have not heard back from Mr. Carson and accordingly file this Motion for Rule 11 Sanctions based on the enormous waste of judicial time and resources occasioned by the filing of this suit.
My client, the nation of Saudi Arabia, has incurred legal fees and expenses to date to defend this suit in excess of one hundred forty-five thousand dollars ($145,000) and, accordingly, requests sanctions in that amount against Mr. Carson.
Leslie’s face turned one shade darker than her auburn hair. She cursed Strobel, then noticed the disappointed look on Sarah’s face. “Sorry, Sarah. I just don’t understand how any officer of the court can just flat out lie like this in an affidavit. It’s outrageous.”
“Welcome to the real world,” Nikki said.
“This one’s my fault,” Brad said. “I thought he was fishing for information about our case, so I didn’t give him any. From now on, if anyone talks to Strobel or another member of the defense team on the phone, follow it up with a letter confirming the substance of the conversation. We can’t afford to have them misrepresenting us to the court.”
“It’s ridiculous that you can’t trust the other lawyer any more than that,” Leslie said.
Brad flipped his glasses on the table and picked up another document. He stood up to pace as he explained its legal import.
“This is another motion filed today by Kilgore & Strobel. It’s a motion to compel answers to interrogatories. They have noticed it for a hearing on the same day as the motion to dismiss. Before I get into the details of this motion, let me make one thing clear.” He paused and looked around. “This motion to compel is nobody’s fault, and it won’t do any good to beat ourselves up over this. There will be no finger-pointing on this team.”
He then turned to Sarah. “As leader of this team, and the lawyer who you personally retained, I take full responsibility for any issues raised by this pleading.”
Leslie’s stomach began to churn. What was Brad talking about? Interrogatories were part of the typical discovery process in any lawsuit. One side would send a group of questions, or “interrogatories,” to the other side asking about witnesses or exhibits or any other relevant facts or circumstances. The interrogatories would then be answered under oath, or objections would be lodged and a judge would determine whether the interrogatories had to be answered.
Leslie and Nikki had answered the defendant’s interrogatories nearly a month ago. Leslie provided the legal objections, and Nikki provided the factual information. The objections and answers were full and fair. Leslie couldn’t imagine what the defendants were complaining about now, but her instincts told her she had missed something. Something big. She tucked her cold and clammy hands under her legs.
“The motion to compel requests that the court overrule all of our objections as untimely, then require us to answer every interrogatory. Some of these interrogatories request information that is clearly protected by the attorney-client privilege. They are claiming that we missed the deadlines for filing objections—”
What?! “That’s ridiculous,” Leslie interjected. She’d heard enough. “We filed all of our answers and objections within the thirty days allowed by the rules.” She grabbed a code book and thumbed through it.
“I hand-delivered the objections myself,” Nikki added.
“Here it is,” Leslie announced. “Rule 33(b)(3): ‘The party upon whom the interrogatories are served shall serve a copy of the answers, and objections, if any, within thirty days.’” She closed the book and placed it back on the table.
“If you two are done, let me finish.” Brad was still pacing. “Under federal procedure, each district court can pass some of its own local rules to supplement the federal rules. Leslie, they don’t teach you this in law school, and you had no reason to know it, but the Norfolk courts, in their infinite wisdom, have passed a local rule requiring that all objections to interrogatories be filed within fifteen days, not thirty.” He paused for just a second, but to Leslie, it stretched out endlessly. The awful consequences of this blunder immediately numbed her brain and set her stomach on fire. She could barely hear Brad’s next words for the ringing in her ears. “That’s why I’m saying this motion is my fault. I should have warned you to read the local rules.”
&n
bsp; Leslie felt the blood drain from her face.
“Won’t the court cut us some slack?” Nikki asked. “This must happen all the time.”
“It does happen all the time. But the court has a history of not being very forgiving on these matters.”
Leslie forced herself to move and to think. Fighting off rising panic, she pawed through the local rules in the book that Brad had dropped on the table. She read the rule three times and still couldn’t believe it.
“There are lots of problematic interrogatories,” Brad continued. “But none as bad as number three. It requests the name of ‘every alleged church member who ever worshiped with Charles and Sarah Reed during their tenure in Saudi Arabia.’ Of course, we objected to this interrogatory, but now our objection may not hold up because it wasn’t timely filed.”
“What does that mean?” Sarah asked. It was the first time she had shown any interest in the legal issues.
“It means if we lose on the motion to compel, we must provide the names of every church member who ever worshiped with you and your husband and pray that they are not persecuted by the Muttawa, or . . .” Brad’s voice trailed off.
“Or what?” Leslie insisted.
“Or drop the case in order to protect these innocent church members,” Brad concluded.
“We can’t give them the names,” Sarah said firmly. “Dozens met with us on nights other than Fridays that the Muttawa do not know about. Charles died rather than divulge those names. I would do the same.”
Sarah’s uncharacteristic bluntness generated a long silence. A sickened Leslie was unable to speak.
“Then we’ll have to win the motion to compel,” Brad said at length, “and talk the court into granting some mercy on this one.”
The scene unfolding before Leslie’s eyes was surreal, a lawyer’s worst nightmare. The case would be lost, not on the merits, but on a technicality. Just like that. Justice perverted.
