by Terry Toler
“Based on the severity of the punishments for crimes against God,” Malak said, “the law requires that the punishments should be averted by the slightest doubts of ambiguities. No evidence was presented against my client that he induced the girl to convert to his faith.”
“Mr. Prosecutor, do you wish to respond?”
“No, Your Honor. We will let the statement of the detective stand for itself. The mother of the defendant clearly stated that the girl converted to Christianity.”
“If I remember the statement correctly,” the judge said, “she stated that the girl converted before she met her son.”
“My point exactly, Your Honor,” Malak said. “Clearly, that statement creates doubt and ambiguity. I’m curious as to why that charge was even brought, considering the evidence, or lack thereof. If the prosecutor wants you to accept the statement as true—that the girl converted to Christianity—shouldn’t the court also accept the statement that she converted before she met her son as true?”
“Would you care to respond?” the judge asked the prosecutor, who declined.
It seemed as though the prosecution was willing to concede that point and focus more on the charges of fornication. My view of Malak went up a notch.
“Let’s deal with the next charge,” Malak said. “The prosecutor has claimed that the couple was married. Where is the proof of that?”
The prosecutor stood and said, “The proof is in the mother’s statement. She confessed to their marriage. The girl was also wearing a wedding ring.”
“Why hasn’t the prosecution produced a marriage certificate?” Malak asked.
This might be an interesting and persuasive argument. Anup had told the pastor who performed the ceremony to wait until the kids were out of the country before filing the marriage certificate. Apparently, he waited. Probably, when Christopher was arrested, he didn’t file it at all. That sounded like a good development.
“The mother’s words are proof enough,” the prosecutor said.
“Proof of what?” Malak argued.
“Proof of marriage.”
“Your Honor, what constitutes a legal marriage under Islamic law? A marriage is not legal until it’s registered in a Sharia court and MOFA attests to the marriage certificate.”
“A technicality,” the prosecutor said.
“An important one, don’t you think?” the judge asked.
I could feel the excitement building in Malak as he seemed more energized. His words were coming faster and his manner more demonstrative.
But the prosecutor came fighting back, “The charge against Christopher is not that he’s married. It’s zina. Fornication. Even if the marriage certificate were filed, the marriage would be invalid. The girl cannot marry a Non-Muslim unless he converts to Christianity. Because the marriage is not valid, they have committed fornication.”
“Where is that testimony, Your Honor?” Malak said. “What evidence has been presented to the court that the couple has had sexual relations?”
“They were married, Your Honor,” the prosecution argued. “Of course, they did.”
“I don’t have to remind the court that zina is also a crime against God.” Malak stood tall, confident. “In these most serious crimes, there are not to be any doubts or ambiguities in the charges. The prosecutor has provided zero evidence that the couple has engaged in any sexual indignities. In fact, my client is prepared to testify and give a statement that they haven’t.”
“The defense is asking us to believe the unbelievable,” the prosecutor said. “No one is going to believe that the couple didn’t consummate their marriage.”
“They weren’t married!” Malak said raising his voice for the first time. “Christopher is a Christian. In his faith, it’s appropriate to not have sexual relations until you’re married. The girl, Majahammaddan didn’t turn eighteen until the day she was arrested. She could not have been married before her eighteenth birthday. Is the prosecution suggesting that the sexual indignities occurred before her birthday? If so, she cannot be charged with a criminal offense. As you know, Your Honor, minors cannot be subject to punishment in the criminal courts. They are only subject to reprimands and or rehabilitation.”
“What say you, Mr. Prosecutor?” the judge asked.
“The sexual indignities could’ve occurred on that day. After they were married.”
“Could’ve is not proof. An ambiguity. The court should also be reminded that the girl was at her Aunt’s house when she was attacked by her father. Just a few short hours after this alleged marriage. The two were never alone together. From her Aunt’s house, the girl went straight to the hospital. She wasn’t even with the defendant.”
“I’ve heard enough,” the judge said. “I’m ready to rule.”
I thought that was good for us but couldn’t be sure.
“On the charge of proselytizing, I find the defendant not guilty.”
Mrs. Tate let out a shriek. The judge looked up and stared at her.
“Sorry,” I heard her say.
“In addition, the prosecutor hasn’t proven that they were married. And has presented no evidence that the defendant and Majahammaddan were engaged in sexual indignities. So, on the second charge I find the defendant not guilty.”
I couldn’t believe it. Malak had pulled it off. My view of him had totally changed.
“Your Honor, may I speak,” the prosecutor said.
“Do you have something to add?” the judge asked.
“The detective would like to read one more statement for the court to consider.”
I wanted to ring Barney’s neck.
“Go ahead,” the judge instructed.
Barney said, “When I was putting the boy in my cruiser to take him to the station, he said, ‘You can’t stop me from seeing her.’”
The judge’s tone turned more serious, “Counselor, does your client still intend to have a relationship with the girl?”
“Your Honor, the girl is in prison. They don’t have a relationship at this time.”
“Young man,” the judge said, addressing Christopher. “Do you intend to still have a relationship with the young girl?”
“Yes,” Christopher said.
I winced.
Lie! I wanted to shout to him.
“Do you intend to convert to Islam?” the judge asked.
“No sir,” Christopher said.
“Then I find you guilty of verbal abuse!” Verbal abuse was disrespecting the laws of Islam by what you said.
“Your Honor, may I speak?” Malak asked, but the judge ignored him.
“The sentence is six months in prison!” the judge said emphatically.
“Your Honor, if I may?” Malak said.
“Go ahead.”
“My client misspoke. His intention is to leave the country. He has no intention of returning. I would respectfully ask that you not sentence him to prison but let him leave peacefully and put this situation behind him.”
“I will sentence him to time served. I’m ordering the detective to take the boy immediately to the airport. I assume he has the means to purchase a ticket, is that correct?” the judge asked.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Then detective, see that the boy is on the next flight out of the country to a destination of his choosing. I’m ordering that he not return. If he does, he will be arrested immediately, and begin serving out his sentence.”
“That is acceptable, Your Honor,” Malak said. “My client appreciates the court’s mercy.”
The prosecutor left with Christopher.
All in all, the best possible outcome.
The Tate’s wanted their boy gone anyway. It took a long detour to get there, but at least he didn’t have to go to jail.
I had a feeling, based on this judge, that Amina and MJ were not going to have it so lucky.
20
Anya
Sheikh Saad Shakir’s house
The White Wolves hadn’t retaliated. Yet.
Saad could feel it coming. He’d killed one of the generals in the Turkish mafia with a bomb. They deserved it. He didn’t start this war, but he had taken it to a new level. They’d stolen his painting and kidnapped one of his girls. He killed one of their important men. Tit for tat. An eye for an eye was ingrained into the Turks and in him since childhood. Only a matter of time until they made another move.
Saad had beefed up security in and around his home for that exact reason. He’d suspended all travel and hadn’t been out of the house in days. The safest place was probably on his yacht. He considered making himself a moving target and going out to sea. But boats were easily tracked on sonar. Sitting ducks, so to speak, if attacked by a helicopter or a submarine.
Not that the White Wolves were that resourceful. They were much more effective at ground attacks. The deciding factor to stay on land had been the thought of spending days on the water which wasn’t appealing to Saad. He hated the water. The only reason he had a yacht was for the prestige of it. A man of his means was supposed to have one.
That, and he could keep on it the girls he wanted to make disappear.
Odille. Seno. Rosita.
Another reason he didn’t want to go on the yacht. Those three girls were there, and he’d long since quit trying to force them to service him. Too easy for them to kill him in his sleep. The girls at his house were much better at pleasing him. Although Rosita, a Spanish girl, had at one time been one of his best girls. One he particularly liked in bed, until she demanded more pay for her services. As if three hundred thousand euros wasn’t enough. He could easily afford it, so that wasn’t the problem. It was the principle of the thing. The girls signed a contract. They were in no position to demand anything from him.
When he refused to increase her pay, she refused to provide any services. Now she’d been held on the yacht for no pay. That served her right. At least she was on a luxurious yacht. He could’ve turned her into the authorities and had her thrown in jail but didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Someone somewhere might believe her story. This way, he could just make her disappear anytime he wanted to.
The other thing the yacht was good for.
The girls had no way off. The four-hundred-and sixty-five-foot super luxury mega yacht was parked far enough away from the shore that the girls couldn’t escape. If they tried to swim, they’d drown before they reached land or be bitten by a stonefish or sea snake. At some point, all three girls would no longer be of use to him, and he’d simply make a trip out into the Persian Gulf, attach a weight to their legs, and throw them overboard. Never to be heard from again. A dozen or so girls had met that fate over the years.
The three currently on the yacht would meet a similar fate, sooner rather than later. He was tired of them. Actually, he was tired of all his girls. This last batch hadn’t been one of the best. Maybe it was time to rethink his plan.
A ding on his computer interrupted his thoughts. The sound meant he had an email. Nighttime had set in, and the Sheikh was in his office, wrapping up the last of the day’s business. Anya was waiting for him in his suite. She was another problem girl. Had been ever since Bianca left. The two of them had been inseparable, and now that Bianca was gone, Anya was different. Less attentive to him. Not as uninhibited. Boring. He hated boring.
Perhaps those contracts should only be for six months, he mused. Most of the women tended to lose enthusiasm over time. Maybe it was he who lost enthusiasm. He might be the one who needed more variety. If he weren’t limited to four wives, he’d have a hundred. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t.
His last conversation with the cleric had been interesting. He said Saad could marry as many girls as he wanted and divorce them at any time for any reason. The only caveat was that he could only have four at a time. That didn’t seem to be a problem. With a temporary marriage, he could have a hundred girls in the span of a couple of months if he wanted. When he was done with them, he could just send them back. That sounded good to him. Stick with Arab girls. They knew their place.
Boring.
Arab girls were dutiful. He didn’t want obedient. He wanted feisty and alluring. Girls who had experience in the real world. That’s why he sought fashion models all across the world. Those girls were vulnerable as well. Flash the possibility of money, glitz, and glamour in front of them, and they became easily manipulated. For a while anyway.
Girls like Anya. Beautiful. Thin. Experienced in the ways of the world.
Perhaps the answer was to get a hundred like Anya and then divorce them when they lost their allure. He could certainly afford it.
He started to ignore the email and go to his suite to see her. The thought of the potential of hundreds of girls had him excited. Instead, he pulled up the email. The curiosity was too strong, and Anya would have to wait a couple more minutes.
Jeric.
The Professor of Linguistics at the University was emailing him. At first, Saad wondered why, then he remembered he’d asked him to translate the conversation between Mrs. Steele and Bianca. With everything else going on, he’d forgotten about it. Why did it matter now? Bianca was gone and wasn’t coming back. The painting was gone forever, and he’d likely never see Mrs. Steele again.
The email was marked urgent.
His heartbeat was already elevated from thinking about Anya. The urgent designation caused his heart to pick up a few beats per minute. What about the conversation could be considered urgent?
When he opened it, his curiosity turned to trepidation.
Here is the translation. You need to read it. Sounds like you may have a problem on your hands.
What kind of problem? That didn’t make sense. How could Mrs. Steele or Bianca cause him a problem?
The email had an attachment. The transcript. He began to scroll through the pages. The words leapt off the screen like a news alert on television.
Why don’t you go to the police?
Mrs. Steele said those words. A litany of emotions exploded inside him. Fear. Anger. Anxiety. Confusion. Bianca had confided in Mrs. Steele and told her what was going on. The girls had a confidentiality agreement. Bianca had violated it. Although, that might be the least of his worries. He’d gone to great lengths to keep his private activities private.
What he did with his girls was none of Mrs. Steele’s business!
What’s her name? Mrs. Steele asked.
Odille Coste. Bianca answered.
Saad couldn’t believe the words he’d just read. Bianca told Mrs. Steele about the Canadian girl! She mentioned the yacht.
Then he became totally confused.
I’m going to get you out of here, Mrs. Steele said to Bianca.
Then she started giving her instructions.
Make sure you’re at the art gallery tomorrow.
Whatever happens, go with it.
Before he had a chance to wrap his mind around the conversation, he read something that turned his anxiety into rage.
Anya wants to leave too.
He didn’t bother reading the rest. Saad bolted out of his chair and walked rapidly toward his suite.
What does Anya know?
He was about to find out.
He’d kill her if she didn’t tell him.
***
A-Rad and I were at the Sheikh’s house ready to make our move and get Anya out of there. Saad made a strategic mistake in the placement of the guards around the house. They were too spread out. To the point that they couldn’t see each other. I would’ve placed them at the four corners of the house. That way each of them could see two of the others at all times. The guards had radios and could communicate, but I placed a device near the house that blocked all radio frequencies except one. The one A-Rad and I were communicating on. The device also blocked all cell phone and internet communications. From this point on, the house was dark from a communications standpoint. No one could communicate in and no one could call out.
When A-Rad gave me the signal, the entire house would literally
go dark. I was prepared to shut off the electricity, so all the lights went out. I’d disarmed the guard on the back side of the house. He lay on the ground, zip tied and gagged. Another guard, who’d been patrolling the beach area, was now shackled to the underside of the dock. A-Rad took care of the two guards at the two entrances to the house. I assumed he had no trouble because I hadn’t heard from him. He was to radio me when he got inside the house.
Alex, my husband back at AJAX headquarters, had turned off the security system. He set the feed to run on a loop, so if Saad were to look at it for any reason, he’d see the guards in their positions.
I intended to stay outside the house and let A-Rad go in and get Anya. Better that Saad didn’t see me. While I was wearing a mask, he might detect my gate or mannerism. As far as Saad was concerned, this was another White Wolves attack. To my knowledge, he hadn’t made any connection between me and the stolen painting or the kidnapping of Bianca. I wanted to keep it that way.
Tonight’s attack would be just like the first. All Saad would know was that the same guy who hit the art gallery was now in his house. That’d put the fear of God in him if he actually believed in God. I wanted him to believe that the White Wolves could get to him at any time. That’d cause Saad to panic. Make a mistake. Escalate the war with the White Wolves. My plan had several layers. Like peeling an onion. Anya was the first layer. After she was safely out of harm’s way, I’d execute the second part of my plan.
A static in my ear told me A-Rad was about to speak into the radio.
“I’m at the door,” he said.
“I’m ready.”
“I’m in.”
The plan was for him to go straight to Anya’s room. If he could get her out without being detected, then all the better. A-Rad had a note in his pocket to leave for Saad.
To avenge Rafiq. Check your Turkish bank account. WW.
Saad would know who the note was from. The White Wolves. Their signature trademark. Also, the fact that they mentioned Rafiq meant they knew he was behind the killing.
“Going up the stairs,” A-Rad said. “To get the package.” Anya was the package. I hated calling her that, but better to keep her name off the radio. I wanted Saad to believe that taking Anya was random. Like Bianca.
