Fatal Convictions

67

They cut the plastic handcuffs from Alex’s wrists, and he rubbed the raw skin there. Nara’s eyes followed his every move. The man with the English proficiency, the tallest of his captors, handed Alex a piece of paper with a script and demanded that Alex memorize it. “We don’t have much time.”

Alex looked at the paper, angled it toward the lantern, and read it quickly. “Word for word?” he asked.

“As close as possible.”

Alex pretended to focus on the paper, mumbling to himself, secretly considering the possibilities for escape. Four captors. Two AK-47s pointed at him. One knife at Nara’s neck.

He wasn’t James Bond. There would be no escape.

After a few minutes, the tall captor reached out and grabbed the paper. “Enough. Move to the front. We start filming now.”

He pushed Alex to the front of the car, positioning him in front of a nondescript wall. One of the other captors focused a video camera on Alex. A third pulled out the battery-operated spotlight they had used earlier. He turned it on and blinded Alex.

Alex closed his eyes and tried to visualize the script. He opened his eyes, squinted at the light, and started speaking. He used a wooden monotone, making sure the words were devoid of any emotion.

“My name is Alexander Madison, and I’m the attorney for Khalid Mobassar. The date is November 16. Mr. Mobassar’s trial for conspiracy to commit murder begins in approximately three weeks.

“Later tonight, I will upload this video to the Internet and password-protect the site. If anything happens to me…”

Alex took a deep breath and tried to remember the next line, then shook his head and rubbed his temples. Having spent most of the few minutes they gave him for memorization trying to think of ways to escape, he drew a blank. “I don’t remember. Can I see that paper again?”

One of the men grumbled something in Arabic, and another turned off the spotlight. While Alex struggled to adjust to the new lighting, the English-speaking captor thrust the paper at Alex and poked the barrel of his AK-47 against Alex’s chest. “Three minutes.”

This time, Alex worked furiously to memorize his lines, glancing occasionally at Nara. At the end of a quick three minutes, his captor grabbed the paper and Alex began take two.

The spotlight came on again. Alex slipped into the same monotone. “My name is Alexander Madison, and I represent Khalid Mobassar. The date is November 16. Mr. Mobassar will be on trial for conspiracy to commit murder in approximately three weeks.

“Later tonight I will upload this video to the Internet and password-protect the site. I will give the password to one of my friends with instructions that he should circulate the video to the appropriate authorities if anything should happen to me. As long as I remain alive, the attorney-client privilege prevents me from sharing what I know. But if I die, I want people to know the truth.”

When Alex had first glanced through the script, he realized immediately what his captors were doing. If Alex or Khalid tried to blame the beheadings on Hezbollah at trial, they would kill Alex and release this video on the Internet. Everything would point to Khalid Mobassar as the man responsible for both the honor killings and Alex’s death.

“My client has confessed to me that he ordered the honor killing of Ja’dah Mahdi as well as two other Muslim women who converted to Christianity. He also ordered the deaths of the men who convinced two of these women to reject the Muslim faith. He has instructed me to defend his case by blaming other possible suspects, including those associated with Hezbollah. Mr. Mobassar’s hope is to discredit Hezbollah and its allies while ensuring his own rise to prominence as a reformer of the Islamic faith. That is the sole reason he ordered the honor killings in the first place-to bring attention to his reform proposals so that he can become the voice of Islam.”

Alex shifted his weight and stared at the back wall, past the blinding spotlight. He was almost done, and he was pretty sure he had gotten most of it right. “If you are watching this video, it means that my client considers me too high a risk to allow me to live. It is ironic that in trying to protect himself from exposure, Mr. Mobassar has sealed his fate.”

The spotlight cut off, and Alex blinked to adjust, his pupils dilating. “How did I do?”

“That will work.”

The captor standing behind Nara unwrapped the linen strips from her face and cut the plastic handcuffs from her wrists. They spoke to Nara in Arabic-harsh and angry tones-and she replied with her composure still unshaken.

“We need to leave,” she told Alex. She walked down the aisle and headed for the door. None of her captors made a move to stop her. Alex followed close behind, glancing nervously at the AK-47s pointed at him. When Nara and Alex stepped out of the train car, she grabbed his hand and started running. They stumbled through the dark, sprinting away from their captors as quickly as possible.

“Why did they let us go?” Alex asked as they darted toward the parking lot.

Nara was nearly out of breath but kept running. “I’ll explain everything later.”

They didn’t stop running until they made it to the lot. The driver of the BMW was gone. Nara looked around and grabbed Alex’s hand again. “Let’s go.” She took off running toward one of the side streets, glancing behind in the direction of the train cars.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Alex gasped.

“As far away from here as we can get.”