The Reformers: A Matt Blake Novel (The Matt Blake legal thriller series Book 2) (14 page)

Chapter 30

“Please come in, James. I’ve ordered breakfast for us,” Bartholomew said.

Rather than meet at Midtown Metrics, Bartholomew invited James to meet at his condo on 86
th
Street and 5th Avenue. He did this often, preferring his condo to the office because it afforded more privacy. The apartment was huge, but Bartholomew wouldn’t describe it that way. It’s 3,800 square feet. Data, not opinion. The living room had a commanding view of Central Park. With five bedrooms and four full baths, the place could accommodate a large family. But Bartholomew remained single. After four marriages, he concluded that wedded life was simply bad metrics, and he had the data to prove it. His former wives wouldn’t disagree, he thought.

“So, James it’s been two weeks since we discussed the growing numbers. Tell me about the growth, and also be prepared to make comparisons.”

“Yes, Bartholomew, the numbers
are
growing. In the past two weeks, our gross target was 1,400 and the actual number we hit was 1,471, over 100 percent efficiency. The two-week improvement is 735, and the Alpha Metric, the leadership targets, is equally as good. Our target was 80 and we achieved 81, again over 100 percent. That’s a growth of 43 in raw numbers.”

“And how about our weapons acquisitions, James?”

“In the past two weeks we acquired 1,478 small arms, including 457 Glock 9mm semi-automatic pistols, 589 Sig Sauer P226 pistols, and 422 45-caliber automatics. We also count 2,658 M16 automatic machine guns. And, most importantly, we have procured 79 Predator Drones in the past two weeks.”

“James, please give me details on our ‘associates’ who are helping us with our weapons procurement program.”

“As you planned, Bartholomew, we have exactly three inside associates at each of our target arsenals, one of whom is in charge of inventory. To avoid any chance of discovery, our inventory insiders are relieved of their duties within days of a ‘procurement,’ and are sent to our facility in Kurdistan.”

“Can you give me an update on our gold mining operations?”

“Yes, Bartholomew, it’s a fantastically successful operation.”

“ ‘Fantastically successful’? Please, James, data, not opinions.”

“Of course, Bartholomew. We have taken complete control of our two mines in South Africa, under layers of different corporate names.”

“Can these operatives be trusted, James?”

“Yes. As you commanded, each mining official as well as the workers have quadrupled their former salaries. With the amount we are paying them, we don’t anticipate any trouble. Also, as you know, key officials in the South African government are being well compensated. In the next six months we expect to have a controlling interest in two gold mines in Zimbabwe. The government in that country can best be described as ‘most cooperative.’ ”

“And our profit metrics?”

“From the two mines in South Africa alone, Bartholomew, we have netted $11 million per month for the past half-year.”

“Well done, James. Keep me up to date on the changing data.”

Chapter 31

Waiting to hear about a client’s fate is one of the more aggravating things a lawyer faces. I felt good about my meeting with Rick Bellamy. I think I convinced him that a conspiracy is happening, and that Al Yamani and the other two bombing defendants are caught in the middle of it. Bellamy seemed to get it, and he’s the Secretary of Homeland Security. I know I also convinced Jack Logan, the FBI guy, and his wife Bonnie. Three skeptical people, and they all seemed to agree that my guy and the other two got hosed. But why the hell hasn’t Bellamy called me yet to make it official? He said that he wanted Al and the other two in the Witness Protection Program and out of jail. I was beginning to feel quite smug about my lawyerly brilliance, but I still don’t have the final word.

And then the phone rang.

“Matt, it’s Rick Bellamy, got a minute?”

“I’ve got as long as it takes for you to talk to me, Rick. So go ahead and make my day.”

“It won’t be that easy, Matt. Let me first give it to you straight. The government isn’t going to dismiss the case against your guy or the other two.”

“Rick,” I said, “just the other day you seemed convinced that these men were framed. So did Bonnie and Jack Logan. What happened to change your mind?”

“It’s not a case of me changing my mind, Matt, it’s a case of the government covering its ass. The attorney general took this right to the White House. Here’s the problem. Dozens of American citizens were killed and hundreds injured in the bombings that your guys are accused of.”

“You used the right words, Rick—‘accused of.’ You
know
these guys were framed.”

“Yes, and I still agree that they were set up. But you have to understand that these three cases are the biggest terrorist attacks in years. The Justice Department would have to spend 100 percent of its time explaining to the press why the charges were dropped. And the only way to convince the public that they should be released would be to publicize your arguments and disclose your counter evidence. That would fuck our chances of nailing the people who really did pull off these bombings. But hey, this phone call isn’t all about bad news. It’s actually good news. I’ve convinced the White House and the Justice Department that the three defendants should be put in the Witness Protection Program. The attorney general won’t have to answer questions about that. All he has to tell the press is that it’s for national security reasons. Also, the Justice Department not only wants to protect these men, it also wants to make sure that none of them tries to get away.”

“Rick, these guys would be nuts to try to escape.”

“That may well be, Matt, but the attorney general doesn’t want to take chances. Frankly, neither do I. But look at the bright side, Matt. You and your wife were our guests in the Witness Protection Program. Don’t tell me that it’s not a pleasant assignment. Your client will trade a jail cell for nice living quarters and the freedom to move around, within limits, of course. Hey, if I were you, I’d pop a champagne cork and celebrate.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Oh, right. Well, whatever the hell you do to celebrate, just do it.”

“Rick, besides the obvious political reasoning against springing these guys completely, what did the attorney general find so difficult to buy?”

“You know the answer as well as I do, Matt. The only good evidence against these three men is pretty solid—the thumbprints and the DNA samples. You gave me a convincing argument that this evidence may have been planted, but unless you can locate that doctor or the nurse who did the physical exams of your guys, the evidence remains uncontroverted. Oh, by the way, the AG assured me that they aren’t going to push ahead with the prosecution—he’s simply putting it on hold.”

Did you ever finish a conversation and not know how you were supposed to feel? That’s how I felt after my chat with Bellamy. It was a combination of good and bad news, and I suppose most of it is good. But unless I can find that doctor and nurse, Al Yamani and friends may live out their lives in the Witness Protection Program.

***

I went to the jail to personally give the news to Al Yamani. His reaction wasn’t as muted as mine. He let out a shout and a laugh, freaking out the jail guard. I had really begun to like this guy. Over the weeks it came clear to me that Al Yamani and I could be good friends. Al, the guy I used to refer to as Mr. Scumbag.

“When do I get out of here?”

“About two hours from now, I’ve been told.”

“Holy shit,” he yelled, causing the guard to walk over to us.

“Hey, Al, make sure you understand what I just told you. The government hasn’t dropped the cases; it’s just decided to insert you guys into the Witness Protection Program and put a hold on the prosecution. Technically, you still remain accused of some pretty heavy crimes. But the good news is that you’re going to get the hell out of here. As I’ve told you from my personal experience, the Witness Protection Program isn’t bad at all. The FBI takes good care of the people in the program.”

“Matt, you’re the most brilliant lawyer God ever created.”

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, Al. But I’d feel a lot more brilliant if I could find that doctor and nurse who examined you.”

Our meeting came to an end. As Al’s attorney I would be allowed to visit him at his secure location. I had to sign all sorts of documents, basically stipulating to a firing squad if I divulged his location to anyone.

When I got back to my office I told Barbara to patch me into a conference call with Georgi Rice and Jerry Blackwell, the attorneys for Al’s fellow defendants.

“Hi, my friends, Matt Blake here. I have some excellent news. It’s not great news, but I think you’ll both agree it’s still excellent. To get right to the point, our clients are being released from jail and are being inserted into the FBI Witness Protection Program. You’ll both get a call shortly from the Department of Homeland Security to give you the details. It will happen this afternoon or tomorrow at the latest.”

“Holy shit,” they both yelled as if they had rehearsed their response.

“Matt,” Georgina said, “ever since I tried that case against you, I knew you were one of the sharpest lawyers I ever met. But enough of my compliments. How the hell did you pull this off?”

“Well, it was a little bit of knowing the right people, like the Secretary of Homeland Security, and a little bit of carefully explaining the evidence against our guys and how that evidence is bullshit. Our clients will be well taken care of, as I can personally testify from my own experience with the Witness Protection Program. Secretary Bellamy assured me that the attorney general won’t go forward with the prosecution, but has essentially put the matters on hold.”

“So let me guess,” Jerry Blackwell said. “The only thing standing between our clients and a complete dismissal of the cases are the identities of that doctor and nurse who examined them.”

“You hit it on the head, Jerry,” I said. “The thumbprints and DNA evidence are still in the way, and without our mysterious medical friends, we’ll still have a hard time attacking that evidence. Bellamy asked if you two could coordinate everything through me, so if it’s okay with you I’ll call you as soon as I find out the secret location our clients will be taken to.”

From the reaction of Georgi and Jerry, I felt that our clients were all in good shape. Well, if you can define good shape as having 18 pages of felony charges over your head.

***

Rick Bellamy’s assistant called me on a secure line to give me the information on the secret location from which my client would begin his new life in the Witness Protection Program. It was a six-bedroom, eight-bathroom house in the upscale New Jersey suburb of Tenafly, a short hop from Manhattan. Plenty of room for Al Yamani, Jake Almeth, Mickey Sidduq, as well as three FBI bodyguards. I remembered Rick Bellamy telling me about a horrible experience he had at another place in Tenafly, when his wife was kidnapped by al-Qaeda and almost killed. But, as he explained, the story had a happy ending. I called Georgi Rice and Jerry Blackwell and instructed them to call Homeland Security so they could have a conversation on a secure encrypted line.

So my client and friend, Al Yamani, is out of jail and living in a nice house in a classy suburb. I’ll take good news when I can get it.

Diana stopped by my office for a lunch date. When I broke the news to her, I thought her normal enthusiasm would explode into pure energy. She flung her arms around my neck, kicked off her shoes and wrapped her legs around my waist. Did I mention that Dee gets excited from time to time?

“So tell me, honey,” Dee said. “The only thing between this good news and the case being totally dismissed are the identities of that doctor and nurse/”

“Yeah, and not just their identities. I need their testimony. Without that, Al Yamani and his friends may be in the Witness Protection Program for a long time.”

“Hey, Matt, the romantic in me thinks maybe they can meet some nice gals and get married.”

I laughed. “Just keep in mind that Al Yamani, Jake Almeth, Mickey Sidduq no longer exist.”

Chapter 32

I sat at my desk working on a file that was suddenly heating up. The
Yamani
case had taken up so much of my time and energy that some of my regular caseload had been put on hold. This case was a potential big one.
Dormand vs. Sears
was a product liability case that involved an exploding propane gas tank. My client, William Dormand, was about to enjoy a pleasant Saturday barbecue in his back yard in Moline, Illinois, when the propane tank nestled under the barbecue grill exploded. A piece of shrapnel from the tank ripped off Dorman’s right arm at the shoulder. Dorman was a dentist, and made a comfortable living. Ever visit a one-armed dentist? The case was worth a fortune.

“Matt, there’s a woman here to see you. Her name is Fatah Alumina, and she says it’s urgent.”

I’m kind of strict about unannounced visitors. Kind of strict, but not too strict. Not everyone shares my ideas about proper office procedure. I remember Bill Randolph telling me about a guy that just showed up in the waiting room out of nowhere. Bill’s by-the-book secretary was about to tell the man to make an appointment and come back at an assigned time. Bill told her to let the guy in. To make a long story short, it wound up being a $10 million case. So sometimes I allow for a little waiting room spontaneity.

Barbara escorted the woman into my office. She was quite short, about five feet tall, maybe less. I wouldn’t describe her as pretty, but she had a pleasant, friendly face. Her head and part of her face was covered by a scarf, a familiar appearance for a Muslim woman. She grabbed the scarf and gave it a yank, pulling it off her head.

“Do you mind if I take thees fooking thing off? Makes me hot.”

“Please, go right ahead,” I said, stifling a laugh at her rather non-Islamic choice of words.

“So you are Meester Blake, yes? Matt Blake?”

“Yes, and you’re Mrs., or is it Ms., Alumina, I believe, Fatah Alumina.”

“Yes, but you can call me Bootsie.”

Bootsie? Fucking Bootsie? Of course I didn’t say that, but I came close.

“Charming nickname,” I said after I bit my lip. “Why do they call you that?”

“Because I am Bootsie. Do you ask people why they call you Matt?”

Interesting logic. I was born Matthew and people call me Matt. She was born Fatah and people call her Bootsie. I decided to change the subject.

“So what brings you to Blake & Randolph, Bootsie?”

“Not long ago I make believe I am a nurse.” As she said that she wiped a hair off her forehead with her right hand. At that moment, my heart missed a beat. I thought I’d pass out. She was missing the first digit of her right ring finger.

“Barbara,” I said into the intercom, “please hold any and all calls. I don’t care who it’s from.”

“Bootsie, I have to ask your permission to do something. I request that you allow our conversation to be video recorded. The camera is hanging in the corner right there.”

“Yes, you can make video. Is my hair looking okay?”

I pressed the record button on the desk, and looked at the camera.

“I’m Matt Blake of the law firm of Blake & Randolph. I’m sitting here with a woman who has come forward to talk. Her name is Fatah Alumina, but she prefers to be called Bootsie. Please go ahead Bootsie.”

“Meester Matt, I am frightened. I’m also ashamed of myself. You won’t lock me up will you?”

“Bootsie, here, have a glass of water. I have no interest in locking anybody up,” I lied. It depends on what she has to say. I may want her in protective custody. “Please start from the beginning and tell me what the problem is.”

She reached into her purse and withdrew a photo.

“Thees man is a scoombag.”

“Well, Bootsie, why don’t you tell me who this man is to you, and then we’ll see if he really is a, well, a
scoombag
.”

I noticed that the man in the photo had red hair and a red beard. My heart skipped another beat and I began to sweat. I poured myself a glass of water. I walked over to the camera and held up the photo.

“He calls himself a doctor, but he’s a liar, a lying scoombag.”

“And how do you know him?”

“He used to work next to me at Johnson Electronics. We would put leetle things into a motor machine and make it go. That’s how I lost part of my finger. One day he asks me if I want to make some money. I had very leetle money. At Johnson they pay like sheet. So I say, ‘okay Chuckie, how you make me money?’ ”

“The man’s name is Chuckie?”

“We call heem that. Real name is Anwar Chudori. He wanted everybody to call him Dr. Chudori. He says he learn to be doctor in Yemen, but I think he full of sheet.”

“So how did this Chuckie fellow propose to make money?”

“He tell me all I have to do is act like nurse and help him to give three physicals in three different cities (
feesickles
).”

“Do you know anything about the locations of these physicals?”

“No, Chuckie just tell me to be there. He buys me the plane tickets to New York and San Francisco. At each place I help him hang some stuff on walls to make the offices look like medical places.”

“I have an important question, Bootsie. How did you find me? How did you know that I’m the attorney for Ali Yamani?”

“My English not too good, but I not stupid. The scoombag government in Afghanistan would not allow me to go to school because I was a girl. But I teach myself reading and writing English. I read
Chicago Tribune
every day. I read the articles about the shopping mall bombings. That’s where I read about Ali Yamani, Mustafa Almeth, and Muhammed Sidduq. I never forget a name. In one article they said that you were the lawyer for that Yamani guy here in Chicago, so I figure I come see you.”

A thought gripped me where unpleasant thoughts always do, in my stomach. This woman has a target on her back. If she has the power to get the three defendants off, and she definitely has that, she also has the power to fuck up al-Qaeda’s plans for the mall bombing conspiracies.

“Bootsie, do you still live where you did when you performed the physicals?”

“No, my little rental house was too much money. I move in with my sister and live in basement apartment. It’s a good thing I move. I read in newspaper that my old house burned down last week.”

Holy shit. I’ve got to move fast on this. My new friend Bootsie obviously didn’t realize that the house fire was a hit intended for her.

“Do you still work for Johnson Electronics?”

“No, I got new job that pays a leetle better.”

“Does Chuckie, or Dr. Chudori still work there?”

“He still working there when I left two weeks ago.”

“Barbara, please ask Woody to come to my office.”

Woody Donovan, our ace investigator, walked in.

“Woody, I’d like you to meet our new friend Fatah Alumina. She likes to be called Bootsie. To make a long story short, Bootsie was the nurse who helped in the physicals of the three mall bombing defendants, including our guy Al Yamani.”

I watched the blood drain out of Woody’s face. He sat down like a dropped sack of potatoes. I saw him look at Bootsie’s right hand, the one with the missing digit. Then he looked at me.

“Woody, while I’m talking to Bootsie, I want you to contact the Johnson Electronics Company.”

Bootsie scribbled down a phone number and handed it to Woody.

“Woody, I need you to find out if a man named Anwar Chudori still works there. If he does, I’m going to call the FBI and have him collared.”

Woody left the room. Bootsie and I continued our conversation while Woody made his contacts.

“Bootsie, do you have any idea who was behind all of this? That guy Chuckie wasn’t in charge of the operation was he?”

“No, the man behind thees is named Gamal Karam. He’s billionaire from Saudi Arabia. He paid Chuckie lots of money, but like I said, scoombag Chuckie pays me only a little bit.”

“How do you know this man Karam was behind it?”

“Chuckie told me all about him and how he paid the money.”

Great, Chuckie
told her
about it. Nothing like hearsay evidence to fuck up a solid lead.

“Do you have any personal knowledge about his man, Bootsie? Did you ever meet him or talk to him?”

“Yes, I meet him in Chuckie’s apartment one time. He talked all about what we were supposed to do, but he didn’t say
why
we were supposed to do it. He gave Chuckie big bag full of money.”

“How do you know the bag was full of money?”

“Chuckie asked me to count it. Like I tell you, Chuckie is not only a scoombag, he is stoopid.”

Bingo. Actual knowledge of a key event—the passing of money.

“And how much was in the bag?”
“Ten thousand dollars, all in $100 bills.”

“Does this Mr. Karam have a house or apartment in America?”

“Yes, Chuckie told me all about it. Here’s the address in Manhattan.” She handed me a piece of paper with an address on Park Avenue neatly spelled out.

“You remember the guy’s address?”
“I told you, I not talk too good, but I remember everything.”

Woody came back into my office and sat down with a thud. I can always tell when Woody’s upset or surprised about something. He thuds.

“So what did you find out about Mr. or Dr. Chudori?”

“He got whacked last night?”

“Whacked?” Bootsie said.

“He was killed. One bullet to the head. He was shot in his apartment.”

“Bootsie, I’m going to be blunt with you,” I said, “You’re lucky to be alive. Does your sister have anywhere to go if she were to leave her apartment?”

Bootsie began to cry. She looked understandably terrified.

“Yes, we have another sister who lives in Peoria. She has big house.”

I handed Bootsie the phone.

“Call your sister and tell her to get out of there now,
immediately
.”

I walked across the room and grabbed another phone.

“Let me guess who you’re calling, Matt,” Woody said.

“You got it. I’m calling the FBI. We need to get Bootsie under protective custody right now.”

“Agent Logan’s office, may I help you,” said the receptionist at the FBI Counterterrorism Task Force in New York.

“This is Matt Blake in Chicago. Please tell Jack Logan I need to talk to him about an urgent matter. He knows me well.”

“So do I Mr. Blake. I’ll put you right through.”

“Hi Matt, what’s up?”

I told Logan all about Bootsie, the angel from heaven, and about the murder of “Dr.” Chudori. I didn’t mention the Saudi billionaire, Gamal Karam, the funding source for the operation. I would eventually share that with the FBI, but I suddenly realized that I needed to get to the guy first.

“Matt, I’ll call our people in Chicago to arrange for protective custody of this Bootsie lady as soon as I get off the phone with you. I’ll call Rick Bellamy at Homeland Security. As usual, you’ve blown the lid off this case. I promise you this, Matt. I am not going to stop trying to recruit you into the FBI.”

“Meester Matt, have I done something wrong? Am I in trouble?”

“Well, first I need to ask you a question, Bootsie. Do you want to hire me as your lawyer?”

“Yes, yes, yes, but I have no money to pay you.”

“Do you have a dollar?”

“Yes.”

I reached into my desk and came out with our standard retainer agreement.

“A dollar is a good start, Bootsie. Just sign here and you’re now my client.”

“So please tell me, meester lawyer, am I in trouble.”

“Technically you are in a bit of trouble, but don’t worry about it. You have a thing called leverage, and I’m going to use every bit of it to keep you out of legal problems. You have broken a few laws, although I know you didn’t intend to. Practicing nursing without a license is one. And a big one could be conspiracy, but I can get that thrown out easily. Like I said, Bootsie, don’t worry. Some people from the FBI are going to be here soon to take you to a safe place. The important thing right now is to keep you away from harm. The reason that Chuckie guy got killed is the same reason they’re going to come after you.”

***

After her FBI handlers took Bootsie to a safe location, Woody and I sat in my office. We were both exhausted after the shock of meeting with Bootsie, the most important event so far in this whole strange case.

“Matt, I notice that you didn’t tell the FBI guy about Karam, that Saudi billionaire. Saving him for later?”

“I’m not saving him for anything. I’m going to sue the fucker. He has a residence in the States, and I want to get someone to stake out the place for the sole purpose of serving him with a summons and complaint. The lawsuit will be for wrongful imprisonment, fraud, and I’m sure I’ll think of a few other counts. The feds will eventually indict this guy, and I’ll tell them about him as soon as I serve the bastard. They’re going to have to show proof beyond a reasonable doubt. In a civil suit all I have to show is a preponderance of the evidence. I think Bootsie can give me that. I want Bootsie to be one of the plaintiffs. She doesn’t have the big damages like Al Yamani and the other guys have, but she’ll make a few bucks. So having the feds indict the guy is second on my list of priorities. I just want to sue his rich ass.”