“Why China?” asked Turbee.
“If Yousseff boots the US out of Afghanistan, which is starting to look more and more likely,” Richard explained, “there will be a vacuum there. Afghanistan does not have the industrial base or the technology to start extracting oil, or build pipelines, or develop rare earth metal deposits. There would be many candidates other than us who would want to elbow in, but the two front-runners are Russia and China, for basically geopolitical reasons.”
“And China shares a border with Afghanistan,” Zak added. “Just a little short border, where that peninsula of land juts way out east of Kabul. It’s called the Wakhan Corridor, and it sticks out maybe fifty miles between Pakistan and Tajikistan. The eastern end touches Xinjiang Province, the westernmost part of China. China being China would run an eight-lane freeway through the mountains and into the Wakhan Corridor and export a hundred million people to Afghanistan. They would take it over by sheer force of numbers and Yousseff would let them.”
“Yousseff wouldn’t give a damn,” Richard added. “So long as they paid him enough money and gave him a big enough piece of any action, he’d do what they want. Remember, he doesn’t think of himself as Afghan. He’s from the tribal lands between Afghanistan and Pakistan. He’s Pashtun.”
“What do we do?” asked Turbee, his brow wrinkled and his mouth turned down. “Are we now going to be Chinese spies?” Khasha spoke. “We do the right thing. This geopolitical stuff is beyond us. The right thing is that the truth behind the Colorado attack comes out. That the world knows it was Yousseff Said al-Sabhan who orchestrated this attack. That the reality of the attack was covered up. That we are not conspiracy theorists and that all we want is for the truth to come out. I say we carry on doing what we’re doing. We call up Dana and get her to the Wall Centre. Then we work all night to get her nicely armed up for cross-examining that idiot Dan Alexander when he takes the stand tomorrow. If we go to jail for wanting the truth to come out, well then we go to jail. Are we all on the same page here?”
Everyone nodded their approval, other than Turbee.
“Turb, what’s the problem?” asked George. “Aren’t you on board here?”
“Now we’re working for the People’s Republic of China. Now we really are spies. George, I’ve been to jail. I’ve spent a few days there, remember? And then in a hospital for the criminally insane. I can’t go back there.”
“But Turbee, we need your skills here. We need to get into the Antigua bank, and go wherever that leads us. You’re the only one who has the skills to do that.”
“George, you guys can survive jail. I can’t. I would be dead within two weeks. Beaten to death, probably. Vicious, violent people are in jails. They would beat me to death just for being different.”
Khasha, sitting beside Turbee, placed a hand on his knee. “Turbee,” she said quietly, “every one of us here, every one of us, would go to the grave for you. Every one of us would give every penny that we had, use every breath in our body to help you if troubles like that come. We are your family, and I, for one, would rather spend my entire life in jail than to see any harm come to you. We all feel that way. Turbee, we love you like a brother. But we can’t not do this. If we leave things as they are, we will be arrested the instant we cross the American border. Right now we’re the crazy disloyal conspiracy people. But if we show that we are right, we will be cleared. In fact, we will be heroes. But you need to be on board here.”
Turbee sighed and placed his hand on top of Khasha’s. “Okay, Khash. I’m with you guys. But if we fail, you won’t be able to help me. I will get at least sixty years in either Gitmo or the Denver Supermax.”
“Okay,” said Richard. “Let’s do it.”
Khasha called Dana and filled her in on what occurred. “Can you do an all-nighter, Dana?”
Dana chuckled. “I haven’t been away from university all that long. I remember final exams, and, in fact, the bar admission exams. I can do an all-nighter.”
“Okay,” said Khasha. “Come on down.” “I have a favor to ask her,” said Turbee.
“What?”
“Ask her if she can bring Bam-Bam.”
Half an hour later Dana, Chris, and Bam-Bam arrived. Between the seven of them and a 185-pound Saint Bernard, the suite was becoming crowded.
“We may as well start with the Antigua bank,” said Turbee. “There will be a lot more information there. What was the SWIFT code again?”
Using the SWIFT code as the spear tip, Turbee went on a hacking bonspiel, cracking into banks, law firms, and investment companies in Antigua, which led to similar institutions in Luxembourg, Monaco, Kazakhstan, and even more obscure African and southeast Asian jurisdictions. The twisting, intersecting threads of international money laundering led back to the same Karachi law firm that had stymied him earlier, and now, knowing which names, accounts, and companies to look for, an overall pattern began to emerge.
64
Asurly Daniel Alexander had been taken from cells and placed on the witness stand. Judge Mordecai, looking more grim than usual, entered the courtroom. In spite of three days of stubble and bags under his eyes, Dan still cut a handsome figure. His angular jaw and tackle-block shoulders had opened many a gate for him. His political cunning and the sly use of his family fortune had brought him to the center of the corridors of power. He was director of TTIC, but had his sights set much higher. But first, there was this little obstacle, this pesky little trial to take care of.
“Are you ready to proceed, Ms. Wittenberg?” came the raspy voice of Judge Mordecai.
Dana nodded. “Yes m’lord.”
“Madam Clerk, please swear
