The basement also had rooms where convicted terrorists could be taken for medical treatment. For example, if a terrorist's tongue were fastened too tightly inside his mouth, it could be loosened here. Since unconventional tongue loosening medical treatments were banned inside the USA, the STUSA building sat in a part of the city that belonged to a foreign country. All the legal niceties had been observed, including a fake deed of sale that gave this other country the right to own land within the USA and to treat the people within its U.S.-based territory in any manner it felt like. The name of the country owning this land depended on what fake deed of sale would be used to justify close encounters of the painful variety if any nosy busybodies got lucky. All of the STUSA agents had fake documents that would prove that they were citizens of that foreign country. The agents privately referred to their country of origin as Fantasyland, as in the part of Disney World where youngsters would go to have the time of their life. That's not how the occupants of the basement cellblock would refer to the building.
That was then. This is now. The building still sat on land that was owned by a foreign country. But the number of agents roaming the hallways could now be counted on the fingers of one hand. More accurately, the number of STUSA agents in this building could now be counted on the fingers showing a V-for Victory signal. That would be two fingers for those of you who only know how to flash a one finger salute.
The number of STUSA agents working in Chicago was down to two because no potential terrorists were roaming free in this part of the country. Rumours circulated within the shadows of Chicago's justice system that ample potential terrorists had been dispatched to the cells in the basement of the STUSA building over the course of many years. But only a few people knew exactly how many that was. Two of those knowledgeable people were Judge Ambrose who had levied all of the sentences and the prosecutor who had argued all of the cases. Even fewer people knew whether those people were alive now.
The prosecutor was a member of the highly reputable Chicago law firm of Squibble, Squabble and Squelch. He occupied a position in the never-never land that existed immediately below the esteemed rank of Partner and above the teeming herd of lawyers who aspired to become partners. For most of them, that wouldn't happen. Hence the reference to Never-Never Land. I could say that their goal would not pan out. I could also say that their drive to reach Fantasyland would peter out. I will refrain from tinkering with other possible references to a certain children's fairy tale. If I do, you can hang me upside down from a hook.
In the world of lawyers, partners made big money. The prosecutor figured that he'd make it to a lawyer's fantasyland after two or three more of these fake court cases. His name was Reginald Arthur Squash. If he made it to full partner, the law firm would be known as Squibble, Squabble, Squelch and Squash. Most of his colleagues figured he was an alphabetical lock for the job. Lawyer extraordinaire Merrill-Leigh Squint thought that she was a lock for partnership too, but she was a lowly woman and hence not qualified for such a lofty perch.
As to the other lawyer involved in this case – the one who would serve as the protector of the accused – his rank in the S, S, and S firm was shown clearly by the sign on the door to his office. That sign read File Clerk.
Back to the story. Agent Dangle had called Agent Dingle into the screening room because he had found something in the surveillance tape of the vertically-challenged cell in Chicago's maximum-security prison. "What's up?" Agent Dingle asked.
"Let me back it up," Dangle said. "Look at this."
...
"What's so important about this?"
"She's rolling around on the floor of her cell."
"She's exercising. Some sort of martial arts thing that can be done lying down."
"No. It's a fit of some kind. I believe she's losing her mind."
"Why would you say that?"
"She finishes rolling around, grabs her water bowl, and crab-walks over to the corner. Now look at her lips closely. I'll zoom in."
"She's talking to herself. Prisoners in solitary do that."
"She's talking to the water dish!"
"No way."
"I've reviewed the tapes. Every time that I find a scene of her lips moving, she has her water bowl on the floor directly in front of her and she's looking right at it. She does this several times a day. Any other time where she's only looking down at the floor, her lips don't move. But if the water bowl is in front of her, her lips will be moving. She's gone crazy!"
"I don't see how that helps us. Even if she is crazy, that won't allow us to prove anything."
"I thought it was curious. Perhaps we could force a confession if she's going mad."
"What is she doing now?"
"Sleeping. She does this after she talks to her water bowl. She comes out of her cross legged position, lies flat on her belly, and falls asleep."
"How do you know she's sleeping? You can't see her eyes because her head is buried in her arms."
"She stays like this for at least an hour. Why would you stay in this uncomfortable position for so long otherwise?"
"Do you see her sleeping in other positions?"
"Sure. When she's on the pad, she sleeps on her side with her left arm as a pillow."
"Let me see her sleeping on her front again."
...
"We got her!" Dingle exclaimed.
"For sleeping in an uncomfortable position?"
"She's not sleeping. She has prostrated herself and she is praying. Real religions don't require this kind of praying. Praying in a prostrate position proves she's a member of a terrorist religion. How often does she do this a day?"
"I dunno. Four or five times a day. Why?"
"That's about right. She's supposed to pray at fixed times though, but she'd have no way of knowing the time of day."
"Even if that's a prayer, we can't prove it because we can't hear what she's saying."
"With Livy's accusations, it'll be enough. I'll tell the judge to set a trial date. In the meantime, try as best you can to pick up anything she says when she's on her belly."
"Why does she talk to her water dish first?"
"I have no idea. Perhaps she's praying for clean water."
Back to the Table of Contents
Chapter 47
Kashmira's good mood after she had dropped the rats into her father's vault lasted into the week of November 4, but she continued to lose weight. She was happy to snuggle with Mathias on the living room sofa and did nothing else. Nobody commented when they kissed.
Winnie brought the music table into the living room Tuesday afternoon. "Interested?" she asked. "I've never heard you sing."
"No. I'm happy here. You could do me a favour though. Please?"
"Sure."
"You offered once to find me another paterfamilias if I wanted to confess. Somebody who was not in my church. Could you arrange that? It has to be a woman."
"Sure."
# # # # # # # #
That favour was harder to complete than Winnie had expected. The idea of confessing sins was very common within the Roman Catholic faith and many such churches were scattered throughout the Philippines. However, finding a woman priest proved to be difficult. Before The Troubles began, Philippine churches were beginning to introduce more gender equality into the system. But any such changes were resisted by the conservative members of the church who were all men. After The Troubles, men were back in charge at all levels. No women served as priests in the Philippines. The best that Winnie could find was a woman deacon in a Cebu City church. She served as an assistant to the church's priest and was allowed to read at services, but not preside over the congregation even at weddings or funerals. Her main duty in the church was to focus on bringing the church to the poor and the needy. She did this very well. She had applied repeatedly to be ordained as a priest but had been denied each time.
Winnie approached her and explained the situation. "My sister's health is failing and she wants to confess
to a woman. An evil man has been running the church she had been attending. She can't confess to him. Are you allowed to hear confessions?"
"No, I'm not. But I will. We'll keep this to ourselves. Time and place?"
"Thursday afternoon, 4 p.m. Maasin City Cathedral?"
"I've heard horrible rumours about that man. I've found it difficult to believe any of them."
"Believe all of them."
# # # # # # # #
Kashmira and the deacon – call me Isadoro – met for several hours that Thursday. They met again on Friday and again on Saturday. Each day, Winnie brought Kashmira to the church by wheelchair and then returned to the ship. She'd pick her up again when Kashmira mind-messaged her. We do not know what Isadoro and Kashmira talked about inside the church. Kashmira must have had a great deal to confess. She seemed at peace when she returned each night to the ship.
# # # # # # # #
On Sunday, Stu dropped in on Doc. He had been meeting with Kashmira about some legal things dealing with her father over that week. Sunday's meeting had been longer than the others.
"You know that I could never tell you anything about what Kashmira and I talk about in our meetings, right?"
"Yes, I know."
"Lawyer-client confidentiality. You know, right?"
"Yes, I understand, Stu."
"Doc, if there were a will or a way, I'd tell you what she has asked me to do if it was the last thing I did. I'd even sign a testament to that effect."
Back to the Table of Contents
Chapter 48
Chicago's Justice Building was in chaos the morning of November 8th. The docket was full not only with cases that were slated for a Friday before the long weekend, but a number of trials had run long earlier in the week and that added to the backlog. But that wasn't the real reason for the turmoil. Cases were always running long, the docket was always full. The reason that people were rushing around the hallways in the building was because the building's internal communications network was down. That meant that nobody could access the trial assignment board and nobody could contact anybody within the building through pinky ring computers. Heck, nobody could even send an email or text out of the building to call for technical help. Everything had to be done through face-to-face contact.
Remarkably, the trials in the building's eighteen courtrooms did convene mostly on time. Bailiffs arrived in a last minute rush. Court secretaries were at their little table recording the proceedings of their civil and criminal cases, although those proceedings could not be stored on the building's servers. Still, their machines had sufficient storage to handle 6 hours of testimony.
Attorneys were not affected by the communications breakdown. They already knew what courtroom their case would be held in and fortunately, no trials had to be re-assigned to different courtrooms. All were present and accounted for at least 10-minutes before the judge was slated to enter the court and see the standing audience the legal system dictated that he receive. Not only were all attorneys present, but one courtroom actually had one more attorney than expected. This was the small courtroom on the top floor of the building – the courtroom usually designated to handle unusually difficult cases.
Chicago's jails were scattered throughout the city and the Justice Building did not have any holding cells. That meant that prisoners had to be transported by copter from a city jail to the roof of the Justice Building. From there, a creaky old elevator would take the prison to the necessary floor for their trial. But if you wanted a quick and very secure transport of a shackled criminal from roof to courtroom, the best courtroom to be assigned to was the small one just one stairway down from the roof. Years ago this courtroom had been a storage room for equipment and supplies that might be needed on the roof. Emergency copter maintenance, for example. Now it was an emergency courtroom that few people knew existed.
The courtroom itself was equipped with tables and chairs. Nothing else. No jury box because cases heard here were limited to trials by judge alone. No spectator seating was provided. The judge had a normal table and chair. The prosecuting attorney had a table and a single chair positioned behind it. The defensive attorney had a table with two chairs positioned behind it. One for the attorney and one for the defendant. And herein lay the problem. When the attorney for the defense arrived to take up his position behind his designated table, he found another attorney sitting there. One from the Public Defenders Office – the organization that provided attorneys for defendants who couldn't afford one of their own. The PDO lawyer refused to budge.
"I've been assigned to this case. I have the documents to prove it."
When the defensive attorney from the expensive and highly reputable law firm of Squibble, Squabble and Squat protested that he had been assigned to this case, the PDO attorney merely said, "Let's wait for the judge to decide."
The judge examined the PDO attorney's credentials and harrumphed, "You've never practiced here before. I would have heard of you."
"I'm new to Chicago," the PDO lawyer admitted. "Here's my assignment form. I'm supposed to take this case."
The judge examined the assignment form that the Public Defenders Office used to notify judges of their involvement in a case. He harrumphed again, "This must be a mistake. The attorneys for this case were determined weeks ago."
"I was assigned to it yesterday. Check with the office if you like."
Well the form did indicate that the PDO lawyer's assignment had been recent, but the judge's efforts to check with the appropriate official in the PDO were fruitless. Internal communications were still down.
"The defendant already has a lawyer who is fully prepared. Have you seen even a single document of this case?"
"No, Your Honour, but I'm a quick study."
"I'm advising you that you are hopelessly ill prepared to handle this case. If my judgement goes against your client, I am warning you that she will not be able to use your late assignment or your lack of experience in this city as a basis of appeal."
"I understand, Judge. I'll inform my client accordingly."
"I'm inclined to deny you access to this case. It is highly sensitive and it involves charges that could result in a long term sentence or even the death penalty."
"All the more reason for the defendant to have a good attorney. Why don't you let the defendant make that decision? There is ample precedent in legal systems throughout North America that the defendant should have the right to choose her own lawyer. Denying her that right would result in an automatic mistrial should an appeal ever be launched."
Judge Ambrose had to think long and hard about that. The lawyer was right. He had no room to maneuvre. Any appeal to Chicago's Supreme Court could prove to be embarrassing and potentially a ladder climbing disaster. "Very well, I'll give her that choice. Bailiff, bring the defendant down from the roof."
# # # # # # # #
The defendant, Benedikta Ekelund, came into the courtroom with her arms and legs shackled. She was wearing an orange jump suit that fit her badly, but at least it was clean. She had been taken out of her low-height cell and given access to a shower. The clothes that she had been wearing were burned. To ensure that she didn't think that her prison guards was going soft on her, they deprived her of both food and sleep. She barely looked at the PDO lawyer, preferring instead to slump into her chair and put her head down on the tabletop. Dingle adjusted the manacles so that she'd have to escape with a chair attached to her butt if she were stupid enough to make that attempt.
"Have you had anything to eat or drink recently?" the PDO lawyer whispered.
Bean's head shook No from its position on the table.
"Did they keep you from sleeping?"
"Bean's head nodded Yes from its position on the table."
"Drink this," the lawyer murmured and put a thermos within reach. "It will help you to focus. I have some fresh vegetables for you as well."
A container of said vegetables appeared next to Bean's right hand.
 
; The judge explained to the defendant that she had a choice of lawyers. One worked for an established Chicago law firm. The other knew nothing about the case and had not practiced in Chicago before. He gave her a minute to think about her choice.
...
"Have you decided who you want to be your lawyer?" Judge Ambrose asked the defendant.
"I'll take the woman," Bean replied and reached for a raw green vegetable.
"I told you that I liked beans," Yolanda murmured. "Focus on staying awake. I'll take care of the rest."
# # # # # # # #
Yolanda's first objection came before the trial even began. The judge declared that he would hear one charge against the defendant at a time. The lawyers would have an opportunity to debate the facts, he would rule, and then they'd move on to the next charge.
Yolanda argued that the standard protocol for criminal cases was for all of the charges to be debated at once. Judge Ambrose ruled that he had the latitude to run his court without her input and she should sit down.
Can he do this, Stu?
Yes. A judge has some latitude in how he conducts a trial. What he is doing is highly irregular but it's not grounds for appeal.
Why's he hearing the case this way?
I expect that we'll find out soon enough.
Stu was needed in the Philippines and could not represent Bean in Chicago. He was watching the trial via a drone that TG had placed in the courtroom. Curiously, that drone had no difficulty sending a signal out of the Justice Building and all the way to Maasin City. However a noticeable time lag meant that Stu couldn't give Yolanda the exact words that he would have spoken to the judge himself. He could give her the general approach to take. The specifics of what she said would be up to her. Yolanda could call for a recess, or create a delay if she absolutely needed his help. The mind message exchange above occurred while she was having several sips of water.