The Wrong Lawyer (7 page)

Nobody spoke
during the five or ten minutes it took to exit the tarmac and drive to a large
office building situated quite near the airport.

I was then
escorted on foot inside the building via a small private side door and taken to
a service elevator where the three of us rode to the eighth floor.

After a short walk
down a hallway, we entered a door with no lettering but simply bearing the
number 811.

Once inside I was
led into an inner office where three men in suits were waiting. My escorts left.

“Hello,
gentlemen,” I smiled. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company today?”

“We’ll ask the
questions, sir,” one of the men replied. “I’m Special Agent Harlan D. Matthews
with Homeland Security and these are my assistants. Firstly, where are you travelling
today?”

“I’m heading to
Las Vegas on vacation. In fact my next flight departs in an hour. I do hope you’ll
permit me to catch that flight.”

“That may not be
possible, sir. Who are you and why were you on that flight from Syracuse to
Washington today?”

“My name is Tom
Kennedy and I’m a retired lawyer from Kingston, Ontario. It’s cheaper to fly
out of Syracuse rather than Toronto or Ottawa, but there are no direct flights
from Syracuse to Las Vegas so I was connecting in Washington.”

“How long have you
known Bander Haddad?”

“I don’t know
anyone by that name.”

Matthews pushed a
man’s photo over to me. It was my seatmate.

“That’s the fellow
who sat beside me on the flight. We never introduced ourselves to each other.”

“Had you ever met
him, spoken with him or corresponded with him before today?”

“No.”

“What did the two
of you talk about?”

“We mostly
discussed the utter idiocy of airport security. He was disgusted that he
regularly got hassled in American airports and he alluded that it was my fair
skin which accounted for the fact that I’ve never had any problems travelling.
Until today, that is. I’d appreciate knowing why I’m being interrogated right
now.”

Matthews ignored
my request.

“Are you meeting
anyone in Las Vegas?”

“No.”

“Where will you be
staying?”

“At the Four
Queens in the downtown section of the city.”

“Who knows that
you’re travelling today?”

“Practically no
one; I told my best friend and his new girlfriend, and the teller at my bank
asked me where I was going when I purchased some US money yesterday. I don’t
have any family.”

“Are you expecting
anyone to contact you while you’re in Las Vegas?”

“No.”

“Do you know
anyone in Las Vegas?”

“No.”

“Can you explain
why you only booked your flight on Sunday?”

Up to now I had
put up with Matthews’ aggressive tone of voice, but the clear inference in this
last question was that I had done something wrong. I decided that I disliked
the Special Agent and wouldn’t let him intimidate me.

“I could but it’s
none of your business.”

“On the contrary,
absolutely everything you do or say is very much our business. Please answer
the question.”

“If you’re so
clever, then you can probably figure it out yourself. I booked the trip on
Expedia in the early hours of Sunday morning while I was pissed. I didn’t even
realize that I had booked and paid for the vacation until I woke up later that
morning and saw the confirmation on my computer. I assume that I made all the
arrangements on-line.”

“That’s correct;
you did,” the jackass smirked as he passed a copy of my trip itinerary across
the desk to me.

I was now
beginning to get really pissed off.

“What a colossal
waste of time!” I snarled. “No wonder your damn country is about five dollars
away from total bankruptcy.”

“What is the name
of your best friend and his new girlfriend?” the special agent persisted.

“I bet you’re too
stupid to figure it out yourself,” I retorted. “Why don’t you fly half a dozen
of your crack team up to Canada to learn all about me? I am willing to disclose
that my cock size is extra-large.”

Matthews was
getting miffed since I appeared unimpressed with his access to instant
information about me. In reality I was shocked that they had already researched
me so thoroughly.

He banged away at
the sophisticated computer equipment on his desk until it spat out some type of
picture.

With a flourish he
waved it in the air.

“On the contrary,
sir, by the looks of this scan from one of your previous sorties into America,
your penis is actually quite tiny.”

The other agents
snickered.

I had to give the
little pervert credit. He had suckered me on that one. I had no idea they
retained those airport full body scans and added it to whatever other
information they had about the unsuspecting traveler.

“You didn’t think
it was so tiny last weekend when you were sucking on it,” I shot back.

That line broke
his team up but Matthews’ face got red as a beet and contorted with anger.

“What do you think
of this, smart ass?” he snarled as his fingers banged away again at the
equipment.

A moment later my
telephone conversation with Jim Corbett from Monday evening was being replayed
clear as a bell.

Still not finished
with his flashy demonstration, Matthews’ fingers literally flew over the
keyboard. Within thirty seconds I was flabbergasted to hear the voices of
Corbett, Lynne and me from Jim’s living-room.

It was uncanny.
Somehow our private conversation had been recorded and filed away.

“Next I suppose
you’ll be telling me that you have access to all my financial records.”

“As a matter of
fact, we do,” Matthews smirked. “You’ve done quite well for yourself, haven’t
you Mr. Kennedy? Our financial analysts insist however that you’re foolish to
keep all your investments in government guaranteed term deposits. They would
recommend at least some exposure to the stock and bond markets. They claim that
you’re missing out on solid opportunities for capital gains and much larger
returns on your money.”

This revelation
was downright scary but I maintained my composure.

“All right, Swami
who knows all; tell me when I last got laid.”

“Our records don’t
go back that far,” Matthews retorted to the great amusement of his cohorts.

“What’s the point
of this ridiculous show and tell?” I demanded. “I’m obviously no terrorist.
Take me back to the airport so I can catch my next flight.”

“So sorry, Mr.
Kennedy, but we’re going to hold you for a few days while we assess whether you
actually are an ongoing threat to the national security of the United States of
America.”

“Are you out of
your mind? I only play the quarter slots. I’m not going to clean out the Las
Vegas casinos.”

“I’m afraid that
you won’t be doing any gambling in your immediately foreseeable future. If you
keep your mouth shut and mind your own business, then we’ll permit you to catch
your return flight to Syracuse on Saturday.”

“Are you authorized
to inform me as to the purpose of my incarceration or would that be above your
pay grade?” I asked insolently.

“I’m sorry, but
that’s a matter of national security. Be assured that you will be very well
treated.”

To accentuate the
total bullshit Matthews was feeding me, no sooner had he uttered that promise
of me being well looked after, when the other two agents stood up and
approached me.

I’m about six feet
tall but with a slender build and I don’t work out, ever.

The first bloke
grabbed me in a vice-like grip while the other gentleman put tape over my mouth
and placed a hood over my head. Then I felt handcuffs being secured on my
wrists. As the Borg used to say on Star Trek, “RESISTANCE IS FUTILE,” so I knew
enough to behave since I was helpless to defend myself.

“No harm will come
to you,” one of the men snarled. “These precautions are merely to ensure that
you can’t escape and don’t know where we’re taking you. It’s simply part of our
reluctant witness protocol.”

I was led blind
out into the hallway and down an elevator.

Once outside, they
gently eased me into the back seat of a vehicle and off we drove. I recalled
that the SUV which brought me here had heavily tinted windows so I knew there
was no chance of any passersby spotting that a hooded person was inside.

This wasn’t
turning out to be the carefree vacation I had been expecting.

We must have
driven for at least an hour. The only words spoken were by Matthews giving
instructions to the driver. At first I assumed we were on some freeway and then
it appeared that we had entered a large metropolitan area, probably the city of
Washington itself. I knew from maps that the Washington Dulles International
Airport was quite a distance west of the city.

Eventually we
encountered stop and go traffic. Horns were blaring all around us which
indicated that rush hour had begun.

After perhaps
thirty minutes in the city, the SUV stopped and I was guided gently out of the
vehicle and into a building of some sort. After another ride in an elevator, I
was led down what seemed to be a long carpeted hallway and through a doorway.

The hood was removed
from my head and I found myself standing in a very plush hotel room.

The handcuffs were
removed as was the tape over my mouth.

The two men in the
room with me were the same fellows from Matthews’ office. The Special Agent
himself wasn’t present.

What could I
possibly have done to warrant such extensive attention?

Edward Snowden had
grossly underestimated the surveillance capabilities of the American government
agencies. Somehow they had perfected technology which allowed them to monitor
conversations in our own homes. Even more sinister, they had developed a system
of retrieving whatever they wanted with just the touch of a few buttons on a
computer.

That realization
didn’t make me feel one bit safer. Instead it felt as if the inmates had
completely taken over the asylum. Big Brother had arrived with a vengeance and
he was pumped up with nosy steroids.

The three of us
stood in silence for a few minutes until there was a knock on the door.

The door was
opened and an older man entered with Matthews. The two agents saluted the
newcomer.

“You may take your
places outside the room,” the new chap stated to my two escorts. His whole
demeanor exuded authority.

The agents saluted
again and immediately exited the hotel room.

“Mr. Kennedy, this
will be your home until Saturday. At that time you will be permitted to fly to
Syracuse where you may retrieve your vehicle and return to Canada.”

“What about my
reservation at the hotel in Las Vegas?”

“It has already
been cancelled and the complete cost of your vacation has been credited to your
VISA account. You won’t be out of pocket one red cent.”

“This is a very
nice room but I don’t see any slot machines. How am I supposed to amuse myself
stuck in here until Saturday?”

“You have all the
stations you could possibly imagine on the TV. The telephone has been turned
off because it has been deemed important that you not be able to contact anyone
during your stay here. You can use the phone to request anything from room
service or housekeeping, but it will be one of our agents who will answer the
call and relay your instructions. Whatever you choose to order will not cost
you a cent.”

“Why exactly am I
here? It’s most bizarre. Agent Matthews tried to impress me by demonstrating
that my calls and conversations have been monitored for quite some time. All it
succeeded in doing was to convince me that American intelligence has gone
berserk.”

“Your precise reason
for being here is not information you need to know now or in the future. Take
my word for it that your presence here is essential in relation to larger
matters. Good night, Mr. Kennedy. Try to enjoy this unexpected glitch in your
travel plans.”

His supercilious
military attitude really irked me and I tried to concoct some way to irritate
him right back.

“Wait a minute,” I
barked as I marched over to the room’s small bar fridge and threw the door
open. The thing was filled with various designer liqueurs and foreign beer,
each one sporting an outrageous price tag.

“I’m not drinking
this overpriced cat-piss. Have Matthews go fetch me a twelve-pack of Old
Milwaukee and some greasy salted peanuts. And I can’t wear this same outfit all
damn week. I want my luggage back.”

The military guy
glanced over at Matthews who nodded. It surprised me that Matthews was in command
rather than this fellow.

At least I got the
desired reaction. Both the General, as I decided to call him, and Matthews tensed
up at the derisive tone of my voice but the General answered through gritted
teeth, “I’ll see to your requests, Mr. Kennedy.”

Both chaps spun
around and left the room.

I heard the
General command one of the agents guarding my door to go out and get the beer
and peanuts immediately. Then I listened at the door while he phoned someone
and gave the order to have my belongings returned to me pronto.

My face was still
sore from the tape and I was now exceedingly angry.

I had been my own
boss during my entire career. Now here I was being deprived of an enjoyable
vacation in Las Vegas by some bullying government agents who had no regard to
my rights to privacy or freedom.

I resisted the
urge to crack open one of the overpriced drinks from the bar fridge as I turned
on the television.

The screen must
have been sixty inches wide and I began to console myself with the thought that
for once in my life I was being handed the opportunity to live the high life
for a few days on someone else’s dime.

I scrolled through
the various pay-per-view movies for a few minutes and then picked up the room
service menu to check out what I might like for supper.

On the slim chance
that my abduction might have hit the news, I switched over to CNN.

Imagine my surprise
when the screen suddenly was filled with a picture of the fellow who had sat next
to me on the flight today.

I listened
intently as the newscaster said, “This breaking news just in. Earlier today Homeland
Security arrested Bander Haddad, a high-level official of the Saudi Arabian
government, and they are holding him on suspicion of being a terrorist agent.
An unnamed source has provided CNN with excerpts from a taped conversation
between Mr. Haddad and an unnamed conspirator.”

The so-called
taped evidence was chilling, not because of the content but because the words
had been doctored completely out of context.

To assist the
viewers, the words from the somewhat crackly recording were written out on the
TV screen.

BANDER HADDAD:
“I’ve got a bomb hidden in my undergarments.”

UNNAMED
CONSPIRATOR: “I’m sure the security bozos would never discover an actual bomb.
They’re too busy looking for illegal drugs to detect any real threat.”

BANDER HADDAD: I’m
a terrorist working for ISIS.”

UNNAMED
CONSPIRATOR: “I smuggled a trunk load of rocket launchers over the border from
Canada today.”

The newscaster
then continued the story by adding, “Mr. Haddad was not carrying the required
official Saudi government documentation at the time of his arrest and Homeland
Security is taking the position that he is thereby not entitled to diplomatic
immunity. The Saudi Arabian embassy has refused to comment on the matter. CNN
will keep its viewers informed as the story develops.”

It was eerie
listening to my own voice on CNN, but it was crystal clear to me that I was
being used merely as a pawn in some complex government subterfuge.

This whole
scenario was like something right out of a movie script. Poor Mr. Haddad was
being railroaded on false evidence and I was stuck in this luxury prison for
the duration of my vacation.

Contrary to
popular belief, lawyers are not always the greedy scum they are made out to be.
Our extensive education in fact attunes us quite impressively to comprehend the
concepts of right and wrong.

Despite the larger
matters mentioned by the General, I had come to learn and believe as a lawyer
that the process of justice also had to be fair and transparent. The ends rarely
if ever justified using tainted means.

I concluded that
it really wasn’t important that my holiday was being fucked up by these
government morons. What was crucial was that the evidence being used against Bander
Haddad in the media was false. Whether he was guilty or not was a completely
different issue, but I suspected that the poor man was being used just like I
was.

I decided that it
was my responsibility to set the record straight.

How could I
accomplish that from inside this opulent prison?