“What’s the president going to do? Carpet-bomb the courthouse? Have me arrested? Get out of here. Maybe you can get your order from the Court of Appeal; they’re plenty haywire up there most of the time. But this is a trial. You are interfering with it. Get out of here, and tell your client that he’s a jackass if he thinks he can just shut down a Canadian trial because he doesn’t like what a witness has to say.”
McPhail didn’t move. Judge Mordecai lost his patience. “Sheriff, escort this twit out of my courtroom. McPhail, you get the prize for bringing on the dumbest motion of the year. Dumber than anything Wittenberg has done in this trial. And that’s pretty far out there. Get out.”
The entire planet had seen the interplay, and most cheered. But in the Oval Office, the president momentarily considered sending a Stratofortress or two in Vancouver’s direction.
“No more delays. Wittenberg, ask your next question.”
Dana looked back at her notes and realized that before the intrusion, Turbee was talking about encryption. “Can you explain to the court what encryption is?”
Turbee didn’t answer.
“Mr. Turbee, sir, we were talking about encryption. Can you explain to the court what that is?”
Turbee reached for the water glass and brought it to his mouth, but he was shaking so much that the water spilled over the lip.
“Mr. Turbee, do you require a break?” asked the judge.
“They are going to arrest me, sir,” he said, his voice cracking and shaking. “They are going to put me in prison.”
“Not in my courtroom. Not if I have anything to say about it. McPhail is a jackass and the president of the United States is a complete idiot. If I get any more pissed off, I’m going to issue an order to arrest him. Obstruction of justice. I’ll send the RCMP to Washington to pick him up. Don’t worry, Mr. Turbee, they can’t touch you in here.” What was of course unsaid was that “in here” would not be indefinite.
McPhail walked up the stairs through the gallery and passed by Lee Penn-Garrett.
“Hey, Donny, that didn’t go so well did it? An application like that in front of Mordecai is kind of a no-hoper, man. Where’s your head at?” His whisper was just loud enough for most anyone to hear.
“Lee, if you weren’t in that wheelchair, I’d whack you,” McPhail said, fists clenched as he walked toward the rear doors.
Dana continued with her questioning. “What can you tell us about encryption?”
“The people who encrypted this data were not the people who organized and executed this attack.”
“How so, Mr. Turbee?”
“The level of encryption was incredibly simple. The attack was not.”
“Objection, speculation. Irrelevance,” McSheffrey blurted. “Not supported by the evidence. Off the wall, m’lord.” “Shut up,” Mordecai growled.
“Judge, that man,” Turbee pointed to McSheffrey, “that man is correct. It is speculation. It is intelligent speculation, but at this point, it is speculation. TTIC was working very hard at proving this, and we believe that with satellite feeds, email and text intercepts, and so on, we will be able to establish this in the near future, but to this date, it is just speculation.” “There,” said Sheff proudly.
“Shut up, McSheffrey,” the judge snapped. “Maybe it is speculation, so we will go no further. It is your good fortune that we have such an honest and straightforward witness.”
Over the course of the next hour, Turbee explained the many complexities of the attack and TTIC’s role in it. The time approached 12:30.
“We will adjourn for lunch,” Mordecai ordered.
“Can I add one thing I forgot?” asked Turbee.
“Yes, but make it fast, son.”
“It’s back to those hard drives. I need them now, and I need a powerful computer to look at them. It will take me a few hours.” “Where are they, McSheffrey?” Mordecai asked.
“Still in our evidence locker.”
“Then take Mr. Turbee to them. How much time do you need, Mr. Turbee?”
“I don’t know what’s on them, or how many there are.” “How many, McSheffrey?” asked the judge.
“About fifteen or twenty.”
“That will take me the rest of the day, sir,” Turbee said.
“You’ve got it. We resume Monday at 10 a.m. We are adjourned. There had better not be any more foolishness in this trial.” Somehow Judge Mordecai knew, even as he pronounced those words, that it was not to be.
Outside the courtroom, Turbee shook his head and sighed. “I’m going to prison, Dana. I’ve broken so many rules that it will be forty years. Life.”
Khasha gave him a hug. “Remember the plan, Turbee. A lot of good will come out of this. Already the world knows that there were emails with ridiculously low encryption that were not even referred to in CJ’s Colorado report.” “And that’s not all,” came a familiar voice behind them.
Turbee turned and squinted. A scraggly looking man in ill-fitting clothes, heavily bearded, eyes hidden behind sunglasses and a Canucks cap, lid down low, stood before them. “Who?” he asked.
“It’s me, you dummies. Richard. Richard Lawrence.”
In that instant of recognition, Turbee turned and gave Richard a hug. The last they had spoken, Richard and Zak were gassing up in Jakarta and Turbee had misdirected an Amex bill for them. “How did you get here? How did you get through security?”
“It’s a long story,” said Richard, “and we can talk about that later. I need to talk to the defense attorney here. Introduce us, George.”
George turned to Dana. “This is one of the agents who busted Kumar Hanaman out of Inzar Ghar.”
“Inzar what?”
“Yousseff’s mountain fortress in the Sefid Koh, a range of mountains in the tribal lands separating Afghanistan and Pakistan.”
“Is Zak here?”
