Infamy (21 page)

“Did Stupenagel contact Colonel Swindells and discuss this information?”

“It's my understanding that she did.”

“What happened after that?”

“A few minutes following her conversation, Colonel Swindells was murdered by Dean Mueller.”

Karp walked up to the witness stand and handed the clear bag and sheet of paper to Jaxon. “I'm handing you People's Exhibits
47 and 48 marked for identification. One contains a data storage device known as a flash drive. Do you recognize it?”

“It appears to be the same sort of device we seized during the raid.”

“Is there a way to ascertain if it is indeed the same device?”

“There is. Prior to handing over the flash drive, we marked it with an invisible solution containing a unique synthetic DNA code that is then entered into a database with a company in the United Kingdom called SelectaDNA. That particular DNA sequence would be found nowhere else in the world and can only be detected by their equipment and specially trained dogs.”

“Would you please inform the jury what is contained on the document I handed you.”

Jaxon studied the paper and then nodded. “This is from SelectaDNA verifying beyond a reasonable degree of scientific certainty that this flash drive is the one we marked with that particular synthetic DNA.”

Retrieving the flash drive and document, Karp held them up to Dermondy. “The People request that Exhibits 47 and 48 be received in evidence.”

Arnold rose to his feet. “We object. This so-called evidence has been sprung upon us in the eleventh hour, and we've had no opportunity to have our own experts examine it for authenticity.
We don't even know if the information on the flash drive, if it's indeed the same device Mr. Jaxon and his team seized in Syria, hasn't been altered.”

“I believe I can clear up that issue by asking Mr. Jaxon another question,” Karp replied.

“Go ahead,” Dermondy said.

“Mr. Jaxon, how can the jurors know that the files contained on the flash drive are the same as those that were on the device a year ago?” Karp asked.

Jaxon held up the folder he'd carried with him to the witness stand. “I have here paper copies of the encrypted files, and they are both time- and date-stamped.”

“Would you like a further voir dire of the witness regarding authenticity, Mr. Arnold?” Judge Dermondy inquired.

“Not now, Your Honor, but we reserve our right to engage an expert to examine the evidence,” Arnold replied.

“Very well, the evidence is received. The defendant's objection is duly noted, and you may proceed, Mr. Karp.”

Resuming his position at the jury box rail, Karp charged on. “Would you please explain to the jury to the best of your knowledge what happened to this flash drive after it was taken from you in Saudi Arabia.”

“It was stored in a secure location at the air base. However,
after Colonel Swindells spoke to Malovo, he removed the flash drive and replaced it with a copy. He then transported the original flash drive to the United States, where he attempted to have it deciphered by Army intelligence. That's when it was discovered that he was in possession of the MIRAGE file.”

“What happened then?”

“A member of Troop D was tasked with retrieving the file. He was caught going through the colonel's personal effects and discharged from the Army.”

“Do you know the identity of this individual?”

“Yes. Dean Mueller.”

“Mr. Jaxon, was the Army, or any other U.S. government agency, able to decipher the MIRAGE files?” Karp asked, looking over at the defense table.

“No.”

Karp noticed the visible relief on the faces of Constantine and Arnold. Then he dropped the bomb. “Was anybody able to decipher the MIRAGE files?”

Jaxon smiled. “Yes. It ended up being child's play, so to speak.”

Watching the faces of the men at the defense table blanch, Karp burrowed in. “What do you mean by that?”

“They were deciphered by a teenage computer science prodigy at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. He determined
that the sequencing of the coded information was tied to passages in the Qur'an, which he studied and learned by heart with the help of a multilingual member of my team for this purpose.”

Karp turned back to Jaxon. “You noted that your folder contains the time- and date-stamped encrypted MIRAGE files in hard copy form. Does it also contain the same deciphered information?”

“It does.”

Karp walked to the witness stand, where Jaxon handed his folder to him. “Mr. Jaxon, I won't ask you to go into all of the details included in this folder. The jury will be able to go through it themselves. But would you please give us a synopsis of ­MIRAGE?”

Jaxon nodded and turned to the jurors. “MIRAGE is a conspiracy between an American oil company with the complicit assistance and knowledge of the office of the national security adviser as well as representatives of foreign governments in Syria, Russia, and Iran to sell black-market oil produced at refineries under the control of ISIS in northern Iraq.

“In addition, it prevents U.S. and Russian air strikes against these facilities, as well as the transportation of the oil. Instead, the American public—indeed, the world—has been shown air strikes purporting to be attacks on ISIS oil facilities but are in
fact abandoned refineries and mock convoys of trucks. Thus ­MIRAGE—something that appears to exist but doesn't.”

Karp looked over at Dermondy. “Your Honor, I'd now like to play a video taken from the air over northern Iraq and have Mr. Jaxon narrate what the jurors are seeing.”

“Objection. We haven't had an opportunity to view this video or ascertain its veracity,” Arnold said tiredly.

“It's rebuttal,” Karp said. “This administration, as testified to by Ms. Hamm, has claimed to have destroyed oil facilities owned by the defendant but under ISIS control. This video will dispute that.”

“Very well. Overruled, you may proceed.”

Karp nodded to Duffy McIntyre, who dimmed the lights. A screen lowered from the ceiling as Katz began the video from his computer at the prosecution desk. Black-and-white aerial images of what appeared to be a large industrial complex with huge storage tanks showed up on the screen.

“Mr. Jaxon, please describe to the jury what we're seeing,” Karp said.

“These have been released to the public through the media by the office of the national security adviser, purporting to show the destruction of oil facilities owned by Well-Con Oil. Those flashes were missiles from U.S. aircraft, obviously followed by massive explosions and near total destruction of the facility.”

The screen changed to show a convoy of tanker trucks on a highway from the air. “And this, Mr. Jaxon?”

“These were given to the media, purportedly showing the destruction of Well-Con tanker trucks operated by ISIS.”

Karp nodded at Katz, who paused the video. “Was that a Well-Con facility that was destroyed by the air strikes?”

“No,” Jaxon replied. “As a matter of fact, those belonged to Shell Oil.”

“And the trucks?”

“That video was actually shot in Afghanistan eight years ago, not Iraq or Syria.”

Karp nodded again at Katz, who restarted the video. The image of another oil facility appeared on the screen. “What are we seeing here?”

“These are images of four Well-Con facilities in northern Iraq,” Jaxon replied.

“They appear to be operating as normal,” Karp said. “There are trucks driving around, people walking, though they look about the size of ants.”

“Yes, it's business as usual at these facilities.”

“When were these images taken?” Karp asked.

“Three nights ago.”

“And how were they obtained?”

“That same teenage prodigy at MIT specializes in drone technology. He actually flew a drone over there and took these images sitting in my office.”

Karp looked over at Duffy McIntyre, who raised the lights and the screen. He then walked over to the jury rail. “Mr. Jaxon, who benefits from this conspiracy?”

“Well, the Russians get cheap oil at far below market value. They also have moved their military into Syria, a strategically important region of the Middle East on the southern border of Turkey with warm-water ports on the Mediterranean. Syria gets some of that cheap oil and gets Russian help going after anti-Assad rebels. In exchange for looking the other way, and allowing the oil to be transported across Iran to the Caspian Sea where Russian oil tankers wait, Iran gets oil and Russian nuclear technology. ISIS gets money and arms.”

“What about the U.S.?”

“As with the Russians and Syrians, ISIS is a distraction. They're the ‘bogeyman' of the Middle East. As long as they can trot out the occasional atrocity, put everyone in fear of domestic terrorist attacks, who cares about what else is going on. It's also payback for millions of dollars in campaign funding.”

“What about the defendant?”

Jaxon looked over at Constantine. “He doesn't lose tens of millions of dollars in equipment,” he said. “Plus he gets to sell black-market oil, some of which is shipped from his competitors' facilities that have been shut down, to his. And in the end, it's about power.”

As Jaxon spoke, Karp walked one more time over to the defense table and stood staring down at Constantine, whose face was a mask of pure hatred combined with fear. “And did the MIRAGE files name this company?”

“They did.”

“And what was that name?”

“Well-Con Oil, a subsidiary of Well-Con Industries.”

The words were hardly out of Jaxon's mouth when Constantine leaped to his feet. He struck the table with his fists. “It's a lie!” he screamed at the jurors. “It's all lies!”

“Mr. Constantine, take your seat!” Judge Dermondy demanded as he pounded his gavel on the dais. “Security, remove him if he doesn't.”

With the court security officers moving toward him, Constantine slumped back into his chair and covered his face with his hands, panting like a trapped animal.

Dermondy looked at Karp. “Do you have any more witnesses?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Do you intend to recall Mr. Constantine to the stand?”

Karp turned toward the defense table. Constantine removed his hands from his face and looked at him with panicked eyes.

“No, Your Honor,” he said. “I don't think there's any reason.”

EPILOGUE

T
HE INTERCOM ON
K
ARP
'
S DESK
buzzed and was followed immediately by the voice of Darla Milquetost. “Mr. Karp, the others wanted me to tell you that they're in the conference room and that the
Nation Tonight
show about the Constantine trial is about to start.”

“Oh, brother,” Karp said, rolling his eyes. “Okay, tell them I'll be right there.”

“I will,” Milquetost replied. “This is exciting!”

Karp shook his head. It had been a month since the Constantine trial had concluded, and he was still dealing with the fallout, including the perjury and obstruction of justice trial of now ex–National Security Adviser Sylvia Hamm. The White House, which had barely staved off an impeachment attempt by opposition members of Congress after the murder of Sam Allen, was now in full defense mode.

Karp had wanted no part of the media frenzy that had ensued following the verdict. He was uncomfortable enough when Stupenagel's exposé, titled “MIRAGE: The Treachery of an American Mogul,” hit the newsstands. He'd cooperated only because of his initial promise to be interviewed once things were settled in court. He'd declined another invitation to be interviewed for
Nation Tonight
but had no say over the courtroom cameras capturing the drama of the trial.

The best part about the trial being over was that Marlene and the boys had returned home. The big excitement there was that while they'd been gone, they'd received their papers on revolutions in the mail from their teacher. Zak had been beside himself when he saw the A+ as well as a note from the teacher congratulating him on his hard work. What made it even better, as far as he was concerned, was that Giancarlo had received “only” an A.

“It might be the one and only time in my life I get a better grade, so I'm going to rub it in for a while,” Zak said. But Giancarlo didn't mind. He was proud of his brother and willing to take the teasing.

With a sigh, Karp got up and walked into the conference room, where gathered in front of a large-screen television were Milquetost, Katz, Fulton, Marlene, Stupenagel, Bryers, and Jaxon.

“You're late,” Katz said. “They started with your comment aimed at Arnold: ‘The defense in this case is like the old courtroom saw: Weak case on the facts, try the law; weak case on the law, try the facts; weak case on the law and facts, try the DA.' That's classic, and I think the jury picked up on that.”

“Shhhh, I'm trying to listen,” Milquetost scolded as the camera cut away to two talking-head attorneys discussing the case like a couple of football commentators.

“I think District Attorney Karp took a risk telling the jury that the prosecution has a huge advantage because it gets to move the chess pieces around before the defendant is even indicted. And then the defendant has the option to plead to the indictment, or go to trial when the chessboard has the defendant in checkmate,” said one. “I could see a juror—and remember, it only takes one—thinking it's all unfair.”

“I disagree, Jack. Jurors like that kind of honesty,” said the other. “The way he described each piece of the People's case and how it fit into the overall strategy it took to put Constantine in checkmate was a perfect analogy. But let's listen in to how he wrapped up his summation. It was simply brilliant.”

“THAT'S MY MAN!” Marlene yelled as the others in the room cheered.

The screen cut to the interior of the courtroom with Karp pacing in front of the jury. “Their warped mind-set rationalizes their illegality as justified because it serves, and I quote, ‘the greater good,' and therefore they commit their criminal acts with impunity. The rules be damned, to serve their own selfish ends. They are the new aristocracy and we are the commoners, the serfs, here to serve them and their avaricious, grotesque lust for power and money.”

The screen switched back to the commentators. “That's powerful stuff, Jack. Now listen as he brings it home . . .”

“. . . the result of this unbridled ambition, their weak character, is their own enrichment, satisfying their lust for power and riches. A good, honorable man who served his country with distinction was murdered so that this defendant . . .”

Just then, Karp's cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and moved to the back of the room. “Ivgeny,” he said, “I was wondering where you went.”

Ivgeny Karchovski responded with his rich baritone laugh. “I decided it was a good time to take the yacht on a cruise of the Mediterranean,” he said. “I just wanted to call and congratulate you belatedly on your victory.”

“Hello, Butch!” a female voice joined in.

“Is that . . . ?” Karp asked.

“It is a new member of my crew,” Ivgeny said. “Though at times I have considered making her walk the plank.”

Karp laughed. “I'd be careful there, Cousin. Or it might be you swimming with the sharks.”

“You're right on that,” Ivgeny replied. “Anyway, you're probably watching the television show. You're a movie star!”

“Hardly, but I better get back to the gang,” Karp said.

“Yes, you do that. Give my love—”

“Our love,” the female voice chimed in.

“—to Marlene.”

The cell phone went dead. The TV screen now showed Constantine and Arnold standing as the verdict was read.

“We the jury find Wellington Constantine . . .”

“Wait for it, wait for it!” Katz yelled.

“. . . guilty of murder . . .”

Constantine's body began to shake, and he wailed, “Nooooooo!” as Arnold placed a hand on his shoulder.

Constantine turned and landed a haymaker on Arnold's chin. The attorney went down in a heap.

“One down, one to go,” Katz chortled as Constantine then tried to get to the prosecution table.

“I'll get you, Karp!” he screamed, but was then buried under a couple of heavyweight court security officers.

The television screen flashed back to the two commentators, who sat with amused smiles. “Quite an ending, eh, Jack!”

“You got that right, Frank. Never seen anything quite like it.”

As his friends clapped, Karp, never comfortable with accolades, smiled at Marlene. “Fame, if you win it, comes and goes in a minute . . .” he said, nodding at her, and improvised, “Here
, here
are the real things in life to cling to . . .”