“Then let me make it easier for you. How was each payment dealt with?”
“Ten million dollars was paid once the contract had been agreed, and a further forty million was paid when the Declaration was handed over.”
“And how much of that money—the state’s money—did you keep for yourself?”
“Not one cent.”
“Well, let us see if that is totally accurate, shall we? Where did the meetings take place for the exchange of these vast sums of money?”
“The first payment was made at a bank in New Jersey, and the second to Dummond et cie, one of our banks in Switzerland.”
“And the first payment of ten million dollars, if I understand you correctly, you insisted should be in cash?”
“That is not correct,” said Al Obaydi. “The other side insisted that it should be in cash.”
“How convenient. But then, once again, we only have your word for that, because our Ambassador in New York has stated it was you who insisted the first payment had to be in cash. Perhaps he misunderstood you as well. But let us move on to the second payment, and do correct me if I have misunderstood you.” He paused. “That was paid directly into Franchard et cie?”
“That is correct,” said Al Obaydi.
“And did you receive, I think the word is a ‘kickback,’ after either of these payments?”
“Certainly not.”
“Well, what is certain is that, as the first payment was made in cash, it would be hard for anyone to prove otherwise. But as for the second payment…” The Prosecutor paused to let the significance of his words sink in.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” snapped Al Obaydi.
“Then you must be having another lapse of memory, because during your absence, when you were rushing back from Paris to warn the President of the imminent danger to his life, you received a communication from Franchard et cie which, because the letter was addressed to our Ambassador in Paris, ended up on the desk of the Deputy Foreign Minister.”
“I’ve had no communication with Franchard et cie.”
“I’m not suggesting you did,” said the Prosecutor, as he strode forward to within a foot of Al Obaydi. “I’m suggesting they communicated with you. Because they sent you your latest bank statement in the name of Hamid Al Obaydi, dated June 25th, 1993, showing that your account was credited with one million dollars on February 18th, 1993.”
“It’s not possible,” said Al Obaydi defiantly.
“It’s not possible?” said the Prosecutor, thrusting a copy of the statement in front of Al Obaydi.
“This is easy to explain. The Cavalli family is trying to get revenge because we didn’t pay the full amount of one hundred million as originally promised.”
“Revenge, you claim. The money isn’t real? It doesn’t exist? This is just a piece of paper? A figment of our imagination?”
“Yes,” said Al Obaydi. “That is the truth.”
“So perhaps you can explain why one hundred thousand dollars was withdrawn from this account on the day after you had visited Franchard et cie?”
“That’s not possible.”
“Another impossibility? Another figment of the imagination? Then you have not seen this withdrawal order for one hundred thousand dollars, sent to you by the bank a few days later? The signature of which bears a remarkable resemblance to the one on the sanctions report which you accepted earlier as authentic.”
The Prosecutor held both documents in front of Al Obaydi so they touched the tip of his nose. He looked at the two signatures and realized what Cavalli must have done. The Prosecutor proceeded to sign his death warrant, even before Al Obaydi had been given the chance to explain.
“And now, you are no doubt going to ask the Council to believe that it was Cavalli who also forged your signature?”
A little laughter trickled around the table, and Al Obaydi suspected that the Prosecutor knew that he had only spoken the truth.
“I have had enough of this,” said the one person in the room who would have dared to interrupt the State Prosecutor.
Al Obaydi looked up in a last attempt to catch the attention of the President, but with the exception of the State Prosecutor the Council was looking towards the top of the table and nodding their agreement.