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.”
68
Nara and Alex eventually hailed a serviz, and Nara gave the driver instructions in Arabic. During the ride, Alex used his shirt to wipe the blood away from Nara’s neck.
They discussed their options, but Nara was dead set against reporting the incident to the authorities. The police in Beirut were not going to take on Hezbollah. Reporting the kidnapping would only make the terrorist organization more aggressive.
“More aggressive?” Alex asked. “How can they possibly get more aggressive?”
Nara made a motion with her hand for Alex to keep the volume down. She nodded toward the driver. “He picked us up in the Hezbollah district,” she whispered. “And a lot of these guys speak pretty good English.”
“Sorry.”
Nara leaned closer. “To answer your question-if Hezbollah wanted us dead, we’d be dead. They wanted to scare us, Alex. They don’t really care if Hezbollah gets blamed for these killings. But we were obviously onto something with the deposition of Walid. My guess is that they thought we were getting close to one of Hezbollah’s top leaders. This must go pretty high up the chain.”
What Nara said made sense. “Then let’s report it to the American authorities,” Alex suggested. “As soon as we get back.”
Nara looked at him like he’d lost it. “You don’t think Hezbollah can get to us in America? And what are the American authorities going to do? File a report? Call their counterparts in Lebanon? Stir things up just enough to get you and me killed?”
They were talking in hushed tones so as not to be overheard by the driver. “You got a better idea?” Alex asked.
“Let’s talk later.”
When they got to the Ramada, Nara insisted that Alex check out of the hotel and find another place. The driver had picked them up at the Ramada; their attackers knew that’s where he was staying.
“I thought they were just scaring us,” Alex said.
“Why take chances?”
After paying for the room, they snuck out the back and found an out-of-the-way place near the shore named the Regis Hotel. It was a nondescript backpackers’ dive with the room rate listed on a white board near the Formica front desk. The sign listed the cost in Lebanese pounds and American dollars. For a single room, someone had crossed through $34 and discounted the rooms to $25.
They went to the room together so they could talk over a plan.
“Nice place,” said Alex.
“Just don’t touch anything,” Nara responded.
The room felt more like a dorm than a hotel. The plaster walls were off-white with water stains in three or four spots. The carpeting was threadbare. There was a small single bed next to a window. Alex quickly closed the curtains. The bathroom had a black-and-white checked tile floor and small black tiles on the wall. A radiator sat idle in one corner. Air-conditioning was apparently not included.
Nara sat at the end of the bed, and Alex took a seat in the lone plastic chair in the room.
“What were you saying to those guys?” Alex asked.
“I told them that my friends knew exactly where we were and knew that we were meeting with Hezbollah. If they didn’t hear from me in five minutes, they were going to call the police and the U.S. embassy.”
“And they bought that?” Alex asked.
“Not really. But I came up with another story that they liked better.” Nara rolled her neck and rubbed a spot on her left shoulder.
“I told them that we would not be implicating Hezbollah at trial. I told them that you were a very good lawyer and that your first line of defense would be to attack the Patriot Act. I argued that this could be a major victory for Hezbollah and its allies.”