Infamy (19 page)

“Can you provide us with the names of these other oil company executives, so that we can interview them and possibly bring them to court to testify about these matters?”

Hamm's face went blank. “Not offhand. I wasn't present at that particular discussion. I believe it was between the president and Mr. Constantine.”

“And so you, the national security adviser, weren't privy to the details.”

“Only that it existed as an issue. I have a lot on my plate as the NSA, and the president is quite capable of handling his own business.”

Karp walked over in front of the witness stand and looked directly at Hamm. “Is it your testimony today that Operation MIRAGE was the name given to U.S., Russian, and Syrian air strikes against oil refineries and other affiliated assets controlled by ISIS?”

“Yes.”

“You're saying that it's not a conspiracy among the defendant, the administration, and the representatives of foreign governments to protect his oil assets in Iraq, as well as sell oil on the black market, while in fact supporting ISIS?”

Hamm's face scrunched into a sneer. “Absolutely not, Mr. Karp! What piece of fiction have you been reading in your little right-wing rags?”

Karp didn't respond except to change the direction of his questions. “Do you know a woman named Ajmaani?”

A small twitch registered on Hamm's face, but she shook her head. “I don't know anyone by that name.”

“How about Nadya Malovo?”

“No. Should I?”

Karp nodded to Fulton, who was seated at the prosecution table. The big detective got up and walked over to the door leading from the witness rooms. He opened the door and said something to someone on the other side. He then stepped back as Nadya Malovo entered the courtroom and stopped.

“Do you recognize this woman?”

Hamm glanced at Malovo and shook her head. “I don't ­believe . . . no, I've never seen her before that I can recall. I do meet a lot of people.”

“A little over a year ago, did you have occasion to be in Istanbul, Turkey?”

Acting as though she had to think about it, Hamm hesitated. Then she nodded. “Yes, I believe I was there attending a NATO meeting.”

“Did you also meet with the representative of a man named Ivan Nikitin?”

“I'm not familiar with that name.”

“He is, or was, a general in the Russian army and a gangster with ties to the Kremlin.”

Hamm looked bemused. “I'd have no reason to meet with someone representing such a person.”

Karp walked over to the prosecution table, where Katz handed him a photograph. He returned to the witness stand and handed it to Hamm. She looked down and was visibly shaken.

“I've handed you People's Exhibit 75 marked for identification. Do you recognize the two women in the photograph?” Karp asked.

With her hands shaking, Hamm didn't answer. “Do you recognize the two women in the photograph?” he asked again.

“This is an outrage,” Hamm hissed. “A setup.”

“Whatever you want to call it,” Karp said, “would you please tell the jury if you recognize anyone in this photograph?”

“I was sitting at a sidewalk café in Istanbul when a woman I didn't know came up and sat down at my table . . .” Hamm tried.

“Would you just answer the question,” Karp said.

“I'm trying to explain how this happ—”

“Your Honor,” Karp said, looking at Dermondy.

The judge leaned across his dais. “Ms. Hamm, I direct you to answer the district attorney's questions directly, as I previously admonished you.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Hamm answered meekly. “I'm in the photograph. I don't know the other woman.”

“You don't know the identity of the woman?” Karp said. He pointed at Malovo. “Does that woman refresh your recollection?”

Arnold shot to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor! This is improper examination!”

Karp held out his hands. “Your Honor, any first-year law student knows that you can use a shoe to refresh someone's recollection. I can assure you, this woman's presence is much more meaningful than a shoe.”

“Overruled. Ms. Hamm, answer the question.”

Hamm looked again at Malovo. “I suppose it could be her.”

Karp's eyes narrowed. “We're not in some back room at the White House; it's just you and me, the judge, and the jury now, and you're under oath,” he said, allowing his voice to rise. “Tell us about your meeting with a woman you know as Ajmaani, also known as Nadya Malovo. That woman,” he said, pointing again, “standing right there!”

“I don't know this woman,” Hamm protested. “She could be the woman in the photograph, but like I said, she came over and sat down, then left.”

“And this same woman just happens to be standing in this courtroom?”

“It's obviously a setup, Karp! A cheap setup by you and your cronies to attack me and this administration, as well as an in
nocent businessman, Mr. Constantine, because he supports the president. Well, you won't win this one, Karp!”

Karp listened to her tirade with his arms folded over his chest. When she finished, he shook his head. “The sad thing is, no one will win this one, particularly the American people.”

He looked at the jury as he asked his next question. “Ms. Hamm, did you attend the theater production of
Hamilton
last night on Broadway?”

“It was in all the newspapers, Karp,” she replied.

“And did you have the opportunity at the end of the play to go backstage?”

Hamm frowned. “I was invited by the director to meet the cast.”

“The cast?” Karp replied, raising an eyebrow. “Who else did you meet other than the cast?”

Hamm's eyes shot to Malovo.
She's counting on the little deal they made last night
, Karp thought.

“I met a lot of people,” Hamm replied. “There were a lot of people backstage.”

“Did you meet with Ajmaani, aka Nadya Malovo?”

“Not that I recall.”

“You don't recall meeting with her and instructing her not to cooperate as a witness for the People?”

“I certainly did nothing of the kind,” Hamm scoffed. “You ought to write thrillers, Karp. You have quite the imagination.”

“You didn't discuss the MIRAGE files?”

“More fiction.”

“Or the complicity of your office and the administration in protecting the oil interests of the defendant, as well as the sale of black-market oil produced and controlled by ISIS?”

Hamm rolled her eyes and looked at the judge. “Your Honor, do I have to endure this nonsense?”

“Try your best,” Dermondy said.

“You're making it all up, Karp,” Hamm shot back. “You don't have anything to back up these wild fabrications.”

“No?” Karp smiled and walked over to the prosecution table and picked up two photographs, one of which he handed to Hamm.

“Do you recognize this man?”

Hamm looked at the photograph and shrugged. “It looks like one of the actors from the show last night. It was an all-black cast and they were dressed up in eighteenth-century costumes.”

“Well, look around the courtroom and see if you can spot the man in the photograph,” Karp said.

Confused, Hamm did as told until her eyes came to rest on Detective Fulton. Her jaw dropped.

“You seem to be looking at Detective Clay Fulton. Is he the man in the photograph?”

Hamm nodded dumbly. “Yes.”

“You'll notice that he's carrying an eighteenth-century-style walking stick. But this stick has a directional microphone.”

“So what?” Hamm said.

Karp handed her the second photograph. “This is the same photograph only not cropped so tightly. It now includes two women who appear to be speaking to each other. Do you recognize them?”

“Is this how you do it, Karp?” Hamm said angrily. “You set people up and frame them? Obviously one of the women is me, and the other is that woman.” She pointed at Malovo. “But I didn't recognize her from Istanbul when she came up to me backstage. She was just one of many people I met.”

Nodding to Malovo, who stepped back out of the courtroom while Fulton closed the door behind her, Karp then turned to Dermondy. “Your Honor, the People would now like to play an audiotape recorded last night backstage at the Richard Rodgers Theatre.”

“Go ahead.”

Karp gave a signal to Katz, who had taken up a position near a tape machine. The assistant district attorney pressed a button,
and immediately a heavily accented Russian female's voice filled the courtroom.

“You have not changed since Istanbul,” said the first voice.

“I'm not here to talk about Istanbul,” said the second.

Karp nodded to Katz to stop the tape. “Do you recognize that second voice?” he asked Hamm.

When Hamm didn't reply, Karp shrugged and nodded to Katz, who again pressed the button.

“No, you are here about the MIRAGE files and how you were willing to go along with the murder of the colonel to prevent knowledge of your little deal with Well-Con from getting out. The black-market oil. The deal with the Russians, the Syrians, the Iranians, and ISIS.”

“What do you want, Ajmaani?”

“As I told you on the telephone, I want ten million dollars in a Swiss bank account for which I can provide a number. You will also get me out of custody in New York and transport me to the place of my choosing. And just so I don't have an ‘accident,' I have an accomplice, a Brooklyn gangster named Ivgeny Karchov­ski—look him up—who will release the deciphered ­MIRAGE files to the press and FBI if something happens to me.”

“That's a lot of money.”

“It's worth it, no?”

“We'll want you to testify that Karp put you up to all of this. And that Mueller and Fitzsimmons were part of the conspiracy when your efforts to blackmail Mr. Constantine fell through.”

“Whatever you want. But I will need a telephone call from Mr. Karchovski telling me that the money is in the account number on this card, or I will tell the truth about MIRAGE. Do we have a deal?”

“You do what I said, and you'll get your money and we'll get you out of the country. But fuck with me, and we'll feed you to the pigs on a little farm the Agency has in New Jersey.”

Karp turned to Hamm, whose face was the color of a tomato. “Do you recognize your voice there, Ms. Hamm? Were you attempting to obstruct justice? Threatening murder? Possibly treason? You've certainly lied under oath.”

Slowly, Hamm's lips drew back from her teeth and her eyes stared daggers at Karp. “I'm not answering any more of your questions, you bastard,” she snarled. “Executive privilege!”

“Your Honor?” Karp asked, looking at Dermondy.

The judge leaned forward and pointed his finger at Hamm. “While you're in my courtroom, you are ordered to answer relevant questions or be held in contempt.”

“I work for the president,” Hamm replied, “and answer to no one but him.”

“Then I will direct the prosecution to proceed with a grand jury indictment against you for perjury and contempt,” Dermondy said, his voice icy. “Mr. McIntyre, I'm directing you as the court clerk to place Ms. Hamm in custody.”

As the gallery gasped collectively and Hamm was led from the courtroom, Dermondy turned to Karp. “I'm almost afraid to ask, but call your next witness.”

Karp smiled. “With pleasure, Your Honor. The People call Nadya Malovo.”

22

O
NE LAST TIME,
F
ULTON OPENED
the side door, and Nadya Malovo sauntered through. Dressed in a gray federal prisoner jumpsuit that failed to hide her lithe, curvaceous body, she still walked like she was the one in control of the situation. Even Court Clerk Duffy McIntyre, who thought he'd seen almost everything in his long service to the court, turned beet red as she approached to be sworn in, and then stumbled over his words as she transfixed him with her eyes.

Malovo gave McIntyre a smile, then stepped onto the stand and took her seat like an Oscar-winning actress aware that all eyes were upon her. She gazed at Karp, who had positioned himself in front of the witness.

“Good afternoon,” Karp said. “Please state your full name and spell your last name.”

“Good afternoon. I am Nadya Malovo,” she purred, “M-A-L-O-V-O.”

“Do you also sometimes go by the name Ajmaani?”

“I am known in some parts of the world as Ajmaani, yes.”

“And why the alias?”

“I guess you could call it my nom de guerre,” Malovo replied with a shrug. “I sometimes find it necessary to pass myself off as a Chechen jihadi.”

“An Islamic terrorist?”

“That's accurate.”

“Ms. Malovo, let me back up a bit and have you give the jurors a little history about yourself.”

Malovo laughed. “A little history,” she said with a smile at the jurors. “I have a long and varied history, but I will try to keep this short. I was born in Moscow and raised in an orphanage. I'll skip the horrors of that place and how I was able to escape and rise above it, but eventually I was trained by what was then known as the KGB, the Soviet intelligence agency,” she said. “As a KGB agent, I traveled to many places in the world on the orders of my superiors, who in turn reported to whoever was in power in the Kremlin. With the fall of the Soviet Union
in 1991, I decided to follow my comrades in the brave new world of capitalism and resigned from the intelligence service and began freelancing for whoever paid for my services, which sometimes included the Russian government, or those who collaborate with the regime.”

“You worked for the KGB, but you were not just a spy, were you?” Karp asked.

Malovo shook her head. “Actually, I was trained to be an assassin.”

“An assassin. As such, have you killed people?”

“Many.”

“Sometimes because you were ordered to by your government, and after that for money?”

“Both. Yes. And sometimes just to survive.”

Karp held up a folder, which he handed to her. “Ms. Malovo, I'm handing you legal documents marked for identification as People's Exhibits 54 to 58. Would you please look these over and describe them to the jury?”

Malovo leafed through the papers. She then nodded and closed the folder, handing it back to Karp. “These are indictment papers charging me with six counts of murder in the County of New York.”

“You've been charged by my office, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been offered any deal by my office in regard to those charges in exchange for your truthful testimony today?”

“No.”

“Are you aware of what will occur after you testify here today?”

“Yes. I will be handed over to U.S. law enforcement, who also have indicted me for I believe a dozen murders.”

“Will you be tried in federal court and then returned to New York to stand trial for murder here?”

“Perhaps someday,” Malovo said, “but first I am to be handed over to Russian authorities at Fort Dix in New Jersey. I will then be transported back to Russia, where I am accused of murder and treason. I am so popular, I doubt I will be able to return to New York anytime soon, if ever.”

“And yet your testimony today is voluntary?”

“Indeed, my testimony here today would not have happened if I had not arranged for it to happen.”

“Why did you agree to testify today without a deal, such as a lesser charge, from my office, perhaps, or the federal government, or the Russian government?”

Malovo looked over at the jurors and studied their faces for a moment before she smiled sadly. “I've asked myself that, too,
for some time now, and I don't have a complete answer. But the closest I can come is that I am testifying today to take a little bit off the mountain of debt I owe for the life I've led and the things I've done.”

“Are you saying you have a guilty conscience?”

“That's part of it,” she replied. “But I am also trying to learn to forgive myself. I take full responsibility for who I am, but I was also shaped by others. I didn't grow up wanting to kill other human beings to make a living. When I was a child, I just wanted a family. And when I was a young woman, even after my training with the KGB, I still dreamed of falling in love and having a home of my own, a safe warm place where my man would be waiting at the end of a day. I confess I never wanted to bring children into a world such as this, but I wanted all the rest.”

“Do you still want that?”

The question seemed to catch Malovo by surprise. She was quiet for a moment as she looked out into space at nothing in particular. “I suppose deep inside of me that young woman, who dreams of the soldier she once loved, still exists. But the debt weighs on me, and too many people want me to account for it, for me to ever find that kind of peace. We shall see.”

“Are you in danger by testifying today?”

“Extreme danger,” Malovo said. “I am making accusations against powerful people both here and in Russia, not to overlook that ISIS will not be happy with Ajmaani's role in wrecking the MIRAGE conspiracy.”

“You mentioned that in a sense you ‘arranged' to testify today. Can you explain what you meant by that?” Karp asked.

As he spoke, Karp stood firm against the jury rail. The jurors were about to hear a fascinating tale straight out of a Bogart mystery movie, and he recalled how he'd first heard it that day after Jaxon and Fulton got her out of federal custody and transferred to his. She got her meeting alone with Ivgeny, which neither had ever explained to him and he didn't want to know, and then she'd told him the whole story.

“Some eighteen months ago I returned to Moscow from a mission in which I'd nearly lost my life,” Malovo began. “It certainly wasn't the first time, nor was it the first time I'd had thoughts that it was time to get out of the business. I was tired of the danger, and the killing, but I was also tired of being a pawn of governments and powerful men who pretend to work for peace and prosperity yet all the while they thrive on chaos, poverty, and death. But in reality they are guilty of worse than anything I've ever done, and on a far greater scale, sometimes
even duplicitously claiming it's for ‘the greater good' when really it's only about power and wealth.”

“How did your . . . I guess we could call it your crisis of conscience eventually lead you to the witness chair in a New York County Supreme Court?”

“I have many enemies in Russia, but I also have very powerful friends,” Malovo said. “Some of them are involved in the acquisition and sale of black-market oil. The Russian economy relies on cheap oil. I believe it was your Senator John McCain who said that Russia is a ‘gas station masquerading as a country,' and that is not far from the truth. Through them I learned of a complicated plan in which they, and their friends in the Kremlin, would have access to cheap refined oil that would not be otherwise available to them. I knew that the plan would benefit Russian, Syrian, and Iranian interests, as well as those of a well-connected, wealthy American, though I did not have details of the plan or names, except one. I learned that a former Red Army general and organized crime figure, Ivan Nikitin, was involved. We went way back—to the time of the Russian incursion into Afghanistan—and I knew he was enamored of me. I met with him and talked him into a job as his bodyguard and go-between.”

“Did this plan also involve the terrorist group known as ISIS?” Karp asked.

“Yes. You could say it was the—what is the American expression?—straw that breaks the camel's back? But when I learned that the plan also involved those murderous monsters of ISIS, I knew I would attempt to stop it.”

“Why?”

“Again, there was something that rankled me about these countries and businessmen who publicly rattle their sabers and complain about the horrific abuses committed by ISIS and yet were ready to deal with the devil for money and power.”

“Yet you just admitted to these jurors that you kill people following orders and for money?”

Malovo nodded. “Yes, I know . . . What is the other expression, ‘Pot calls the kettle black'? I understand my own duplicity. But it is governments and people like these who create monsters like me and ISIS. You can kill me and bomb Islamic fanatics into oblivion. But we will be replaced until you stop the people at the top whose only desire is for power and money.”

“So how did you plan to stop this conspiracy?”

“I knew that I was being hunted by a U.S. counterterror
ism agency headed by an agent named S. P. Jaxon,” Malovo said. “I knew he was a good man, incorruptible, and that if I could get him the information, he would know what to do with it. So I left a trail, so to speak, for him and his operatives to follow. I made my association with Nikitin known and appeared with him in public. And I made sure we were seen in various locales, such as Tehran, Damascus, and Istanbul, and that word got out we would be meeting with the ISIS leader Ghareeb al Taizi. I knew Jaxon would not be able to resist trying to capture me, Nikitin, and al Taizi, so I made it easy to find us.”

“You said one of these locales was Istanbul, Turkey,” Karp said, as he walked over to the prosecution table, where Katz handed him two manila folders. “What was the purpose of that meeting?”

“One of the main points of the plan was to ensure that U.S., Syrian, and Russian air strikes did not destroy oil facilities that ISIS was operating,” Malovo said. “Nikitin had already worked the Russian side with his friends in the Kremlin, as well as Damascus. However, the main player in the conspiracy, in fact the person who came up with the concept and the name, was an American. I did not know his name, only that he
was extremely wealthy and had powerful connections in the U.S. government, particularly the administration. We went to Istanbul to work out some of the details with this man's representative.”

Walking over to the witness stand, Karp asked, “At one point were you asked by me to view a lineup and identify, if you could, this representative you met in Istanbul?”

“Yes, I picked him out.”

Karp handed a folder to her. “Is this a photograph of the man as he appeared that day in the lineup?”

“Yes, that's him, holding the number 6 against his chest,” Malovo said, handing the photo and folder back.

“Your Honor, for the record, the witness has identified Shaun Fitzsimmons as the man she met in Istanbul.”

“Same objection. All of this is improper,” Arnold said.

“Overruled. The exhibit is accepted.”

Karp handed the second folder to Malovo. “Did you meet with someone else in Istanbul?”

“Yes. I met personally with the national security adviser, Sylvia Hamm.”

“Do you recognize the two women in the photograph you're holding?”

Malovo nodded. “Yes. That's me and Hamm. I had an ac
complice take the photograph from the other side of the street.”

“Why did you do that?”

“As part of my plan to expose this conspiracy.”

“Where was Nikitin during this?”

“In the hotel. He and Hamm did not want to be seen together.”

“Why did you need to meet with Hamm?”

“To give her the locations and coordinates of the ‘protected' facilities, as well as the transportation routes that would be off-limits to air strikes.”

“Did this plan have a name?”

“Yes. MIRAGE, because it is illusory—not just because of the false oil facilities but also the chimera of a united front against ISIS and terrorism, when in fact they were supporting both.”

“Were the details of this plan written down and saved to a data storage device?”

“Yes. It was on a flash drive that al Taizi had created. He didn't trust any of the others and created it as a way to blackmail them if they went back on their word. But I'd been introduced to him as Ajmaani, the Chechen jihadi, so he told me about it.”

“Why did he tell you?”

Malovo smiled. “I have certain charms that men like him find hard to resist.”

“If I understood your testimony, your plan was to lead Jaxon and his counterterrorism team to this meeting in Syria. Did something go wrong with your plan?”

“Yes. Someone tipped off the American, and he'd didn't show.”

“What happened to those who did?”

“I killed them all, including Nikitin,” Malovo said as nonchalantly as if she was discussing taking out the trash.

“Why?”

“Well, part of it was I had developed a certain . . . ­affection . . . for Jaxon and his team, and I did not want to see them hurt or killed,” Malovo said. “But more important, if the others had been captured, they might have talked, but the identity of the American might have been swept under the rug, and the ­MIRAGE files would disappear. I had to know who created MIR­AGE, and I thought the only way to do that would be to get Jaxon involved.”

“Did that plan change at all?” Karp asked.

“Yes,” Malovo said. “Jaxon's team was intercepted in Saudi
Arabia and the MIRAGE file was seized, along with many other documents and computer drives. I thought my plan had failed until I was interrogated by Colonel Swindells, who asked me about MIRAGE. Call it female intuition, but I hoped that if I put Jaxon in touch with him, together they would expose the conspiracy, including discovering the identity of the American.”