The Last Judgment (50 page)

“I did. Prior to my work at the Bureau, I was in the bomb squad of the Boston police. When I joined the FBI, they naturally tapped into that experience. Later, I taught explosives-investigation techniques at their training school at Quantico, Virginia. After I left the Bureau, I also worked on a private-contract basis with the Israeli police in trying to construct a strategy to foil suicide bombers.”

Mike Michalany was a stocky, red-haired man with a friendly manner—but an underlying no-nonsense approach to bombs and those who would use them. With experience in hundreds of criminal cases involving explosives, he looked comfortable as he sat in the witness booth.

“And presently,” Will continued, “you are president and CEO of Intellitek, an international security firm?”

“Yes. We specialize in providing intelligence data and safety systems to global corporations and multinational companies. We help business folk stay safe as they expand operations in foreign sites.”

Will led Michalany through a series of questions about his investigation, as an expert for the defense, into the Temple Mount
attack, including his visit to the site, his meetings with Israeli officials, his review of both Israeli and Palestinian police reports about the incident, and his “contacts with acquaintances within the FBI, and some foreign law-enforcement agencies regarding the bombing.”

The witness described his conclusions about the material used for the bombing.

“The explosives used were a species of C-4 plastic explosives, with the operative agent being something called RDX. But the particular type of plastic explosive used was Semtex. That is a harder-to-obtain variety—it originated in the former Czechoslovakia. Terrorists like the stuff because it is higher grade and packs a more lethal punch. It's the most powerful non-nuclear explosive in the world.”

“How would a terrorist group—or anyone for that matter—obtain Semtex?”

“Two primary ways. First, you could try to get it from either a terror group or a rogue state that deals in terror, like Libya—but that's difficult if you don't have the terrorist credentials. The other way is to go directly to the source. That would require that you have some entrée into the criminal syndicates operating within the Russian Federation. And, of course, you need a whole lot of cash to buy that amount of Semtex.”

“Did you utilize FBI contacts within the Russian Federation to find out whether a large quantity of Semtex had exchanged hands within the months prior to the bombings?”

“I did.”

“We'll return to that issue in a minute. Changing gears, did the United States formally participate in the investigation into the Temple Mount attack?”

“Well…the federal government made a policy decision to send FBI agents merely as ‘consultants'—primarily to the Palestinian Authority…”

“How about sending FBI agents over to assist Israel's Mossad in investigating the bombing, as well—since a number of Jewish citizens were also killed?”

“There was…a high-level policy decision from our government not to do that…it was a somewhat controversial decision.”

“A decision at how high a level?”

“At the very highest level in Washington.”

“Did you evaluate the detonation apparatus used in the two vehicles—the one manned by Louis Lorraine and the one by Yossin Ali Khalid?”

“I did. It was a very sophisticated wireless computer and keyboard system sending a signal to remote switches, which then ignited blasting caps, which ignited the Semtex plastic explosive.”

“Exactly how sophisticated was that system?”

“So advanced that, when I reviewed the Israeli police and Mossad data which described it, I was immediately convinced that the Knights—remember that they had no technical experience in explosives—must have had the system rigged for them by some outside provider.”

“A minute ago I said we would return to the issue of the Semtex—whether your FBI contacts within the Russian Federation were aware of any large purchases of that plastic explosive just prior to the bombings. What did you learn?”

Michalany glanced down at his notes. Then he looked up at Will, smiling.

“That there was a bulk delivery through the Russian criminal syndicate—to some outside entity.”

“Which entity?”

Samir Zayed's torso was stretched forward over the prosecution table, tensed like a guitar string.

All three of the judges had their eyes riveted on Michalany.

In the crammed media room down the hall from the courtroom, Jack Hornby was now standing up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. When he had heard, some days before that Warren Mullburn might be called to testify, he had caught the next flight to Jerusalem. The journalist figured that the deadline for his almost-completed article on the billionaire would have to wait. He intended to catch the last act of this drama in person.

“Which entity received the explosive?” Will asked again.

“The Russians were unable to determine that.”

Prosecutor Zayed slowly eased back in his chair.

“Were they able to determine anything about the delivery?”

“Yes—they were.”

“Like what?”

“Like who paid for it.”

“And—who paid for it?”

Now Zayed was leaning forward again in tortured anticipation, his feet barely on the floor.

Back in the media room, Jack Hornby stopped bouncing. No one was breathing.

“The Russian police followed the money trail—” Michalany continued, but then stopped. He glanced at his notes. Then he finished his answer.

“And the money trail led to an account in Rome—and the account belonged to a foreign state.”

“Which foreign state?” Will asked from the podium, almost in a whisper.

“The Republic of Maretas.”

Hornby was muttering to himself and shaking his head, “He's going to do it. Will—you're going to do this…. you're bringing this right to Mullburn…”

Judge Mustafa had a disoriented look on his face, as if he were refusing to process the answer to the last question. But Alain Verdexler, seated next to him, was already calculating the implications. And for him, there now seemed to be no easy way out of this yawning geopolitical abyss.

But in a moment that abyss would crack open even wider.

“And have you been able to trace the source of the computer hardware that was used to detonate the explosion?”

Zayed stood up. He wanted to object. But he was caught in an intractable dilemma. To object any further would make it appear as if he were attempting to cover up the true identity of the killers of his fellow Muslims.

“What is it?” Judge Mustafa asked, in a voice reflecting fatigue from the unraveling of the prosecution's case before him.

“Nothing.” Zayed slowly sat down.

“Please continue,” Will said to his expert.

“We did trace the computer hard drive—”

“How?”

“When the Israelis had possession of the hard drive and computer keyboards before the Palestinian Authority demanded they be turned over, they disassembled the equipment and did a quick forensic evaluation.”

“What did they find?”

“Nothing, really. There were no serial numbers. No identifying components that would point to any one source—”

“Was there something else?”

“Oh, yes. There was,” Michalany glanced over at the judges, who were transfixed.

“There was a sort of…anomaly. You see, the forensic specialist with the Israelis became ill after examining the computer components. You, Mr. Chambers, told me that you had read in the Palestinian reports that Dr. el Umal, their expert, who had also examined the components, had also fallen ill. You suggested I follow up on the nature of the specialist's illness.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. It was a rare form of botanical poisoning—caused by exposure to resins from a plant that had found their way into the inner components of the computer…probably from the hands of the computer designer.”

“What kind of plant?”

“Something called—” Michalany looked down at his notes, “called
cicuta maculata
—otherwise known as ‘water hemlock.' It can look deceptively like the kind of greens you could put in a salad. It's indigenous to the swampy areas of North Carolina, among other places. But if ingested, it can cause respiratory distress, followed by foaming at the mouth and a very unpleasant death. Happily, the residue picked up by the computer specialist was quite minimal.”

“Did you do any research regarding recent use of this plant?”

“Yes. The FBI botanical section verified only one recent incident. A real-estate salesman from North Carolina died on an airplane flight en route back to the United States. The cause of death was poisoning by ingestion of the
cicuta maculata
plant.”

“You said this unfortunate man was flying back to America. Where had he been just prior to his death by poisoning?”

In the media room, several dozen reporters were frozen in disbelief, hardly daring to think they would witness the unveiling of the real plot behind the Temple Mount massacre.

“The real estate agent,” Michalany replied, “had just left the large island of the Republic of Maretas.”

“Will Chambers—you are doing it! You are doing it!” Jack Hornby was yelling as the other reporters knocked over chairs in a scramble to reach their laptops and cell phones.

“Of course,” Michalany continued, “we knew that Mr. Orville Putrie was now living on the islands of that republic and was employed by its government, and was a former resident of North Carolina and an avid amateur botanist. So that naturally led us to the conclusion that someone in the government of that republic had sponsored the Temple Mount attack—and that Khalid and Lorraine were simply a couple of religious cultists used as the front for the real conspiracy.”

Then Will asked the final series of questions, which dealt with the Mossad's detection of someone's unlawful entry by remote computer access and the manipulation of its encrypted surveillance logs concerning the Knights of the Temple Mount—all, apparently, to make it look as if Israel had deliberately neglected to stop the plans of the Knights. It was the final link exposing Warren Mullburn's convoluted plot.

Will Chambers had intended to use Michalany to tie that computer hacking to Orville Putrie, computer intelligence chief for Mullburn's island republic.

But here, Zayed objected, wanting to exclude any evidence that would exonerate Israel from the incident.

Judge Mustafa quickly sustained the objection, characterizing Will's inquiry as “beyond the scope of the knowledge or expertise of this witness.”

But Will simply smiled and said quietly to himself, “It doesn't matter.”

“Did you say something?” Mustafa asked in a bewildered voice.

Will shook his head.
Soon enough
, he thought,
it would all be clear
.

Zayed tried a half-hearted cross-examination, focusing on the fact that Michalany was relying on the equipment evaluation done by the Israelis, rather than his own personal observation. But the witness quickly replied that he had had his own computer consultant at Intellitek independently review the work of the Israelis and verify their findings—and he further pointed out that his computer expert was there in Jerusalem, ready to testify if needed.

Mira Ashwan, who had been silent during the last few days, rose for some limited questioning—mainly impugning the motives of the Israeli military and police in so quickly confiscating the computer evidence before finally turning it over to the Palestinian police. She was no match for Michalany's deft answers.

“Does the defense rest?” Mustafa asked hopefully as Mira sat down.

“No,” Will declared. “One more witness.”

Just then noise erupted in the hallway outside. Voices were yelling. First, warnings in Arabic. Then responses in Hebrew. The shouts were getting louder. It sounded as if a fight were about to break out just outside the courtroom.

“I believe my last witness has just arrived,” Will said with a smile.

69

A
SMALL SQUADRON OF
I
SRAELI OFFICERS
with sidearms burst into the courtroom. In their midst, clothing disheveled, hair uncombed, Orville Putrie was in custody, peering out of the thick lenses of his glasses as he was hastened to the front. Leading the contingent was a large, thick-necked man in a black suit and black turtleneck, sporting a completely bald head. Putrie was wearing handcuffs, but the man in the black suit unlocked them and gave him a little shove in the direction of the witness booth.

“Orville Putrie,” Will announced, “the last defense witness.”

In the doorway of the courtroom, several Palestinian police were loudly murmuring in protest against the presence of the Israeli military inside the Orient House.