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  “Would you please state your name for the record?” said Mr. Gray after Hakim had taken the oath.

  “Hakim Sajid Bishara.”

  “And your profession?”

  “Banker.”

  “Would you care to elaborate?”

  “I was chairman of Farthings Bank in the City of London.”

  “Mr. Bishara, can you take us through the events that led to you appearing before us in the witness box today?”

  “I had flown to Lagos to attend a meeting with the Nigerian oil minister to discuss the funding of a proposed new port to cope with large oil tankers.”

  “And what was your particular role in this operation?”

  “The Nigerian government had invited Farthings to be the lead bank.”

  “For a layman like myself, what does that mean?”

  “When sovereign governments need to borrow large capital sums, in this case, twenty million dollars, one bank will take the prime position and supply the largest portion, possibly as much as twenty-five percent, and then other banks will be invited to make up the shortfall.”

  “And what would your bank charge for heading up such an operation?”

  “The standard fee is one percent.”

  “So Farthings stood to make two hundred thousand dollars from this deal.”

  “Yes, if it had gone through, Mr. Gray.”

  “But it didn’t?”

  “No. Soon after I was arrested, the Nigerian government withdrew their offer and invited Barclays to take our place.”

  “So your bank lost two hundred thousand dollars?”

  “We have lost considerably more than that, Mr. Gray.”

  “Don’t get angry,” Seb whispered, although he knew Hakim couldn’t hear him.

  “Are you able to estimate just how much your bank has lost because you are no longer its chairman?”

  “Farthings shares have fallen by almost nine percent, knocking more than two million pounds off the value of the company. Several major clients have closed their accounts, along with a lot of smaller customers who followed in their wake. But far more important, Mr. Gray, our reputation, both in the City and with our customers, may never recover unless I clear my name.”

  “Quite so. And following your meeting with the oil minister in Lagos, you returned to London. On which airline?”

  “Nigeria Airways. The Nigerian government had organized my entire trip.”

  “How much luggage did you take on board?”

  “Just an overnight bag, which I placed in the compartment above my seat.”

  “Was anyone seated next to you?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Bergström. Although I didn’t know her name at the time.”

  “Did the two of you speak?”

  “No. When I took my seat she was reading. I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep.”

  “And when you eventually woke, did you speak to her?”

  “No, she was still reading, and I could see that she only had a few pages of her book to go, so I didn’t interrupt her.”

  “Quite understandable. Did you take anything out of your bag during the flight?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Were you aware of anyone tampering with it at any time?”

  “No. But then I was asleep for several hours.”

  “Did you check the contents of your bag before you left the plane?”

  “No, I just grabbed it. I wanted to be among the first off the plane. I didn’t have any other luggage so there was nothing to hold me up.”

  “And once you’d been cleared by passport control, you headed straight for the green channel.”

  “I did, because I had nothing to declare.”

  “But you were stopped by a customs officer and asked to open your bag.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Were you surprised to be stopped?”

  “No, I assumed it was just a routine check.”

  “And the customs officer has told the court that throughout that check, you remained calm and polite.”

  “I had nothing to hide, Mr. Gray.”

  “Quite. But when Mr. Collier opened your bag, he found a cellophane package containing thirteen grams of heroin, with a street value of twenty-two thousand pounds.”

  “Yes, but I had no idea it was there. And of course I was completely unaware of its street value.”

  “That was the first time you’d seen it.”

  “It was the first time and only time in my life, Mr. Gray, that I’ve ever seen heroin.”

  “So you can’t explain how the package came to be there?”

  “No, I cannot. In fact, for a moment, I even wondered if I had picked up the wrong bag, until I saw my initials on its side.”

  “Are you aware, Mr. Bishara, of the important difference between being caught with heroin and being caught with, say, marijuana?”

  “I wasn’t at the time, but I have since been informed that heroin is a Class A drug, whereas marijuana is Class B, and its importation, while still illegal, is regarded as a less serious offence.”

  “Something a drug smuggler would have—”

  “You’re prompting the witness, Mr. Gray.”

  “I apologize, my lord. But I am keen for the jury to realize that having been charged with smuggling a Class A drug, Mr. Bishara could be sentenced to fifteen years in jail, whereas a much lower tariff would be imposed had he been found in possession of marijuana.”

  “Did I hear you correctly, Mr. Gray?” interrupted the judge. “Are you admitting that your client has at some time smuggled drugs into this country?”

  “Certainly not, my lord. In fact, the exact opposite. In this case we are dealing with a highly intelligent, sophisticated banker, who regularly closes large deals that need to be calculated to the last decimal point. If Mr. Bishara was also a drug smuggler, as the Crown is trying to suggest, he would have been well aware that the consequences of being caught with thirteen ounces of heroin in his possession would have put him behind bars for the rest of his working life. It beggars belief to imagine that he would have taken such a risk.”

  Sebastian turned to look at the jury. One or two of them were nodding, while others were taking notes.

  “Have you ever taken even recreational drugs in the past? Perhaps when you were a student?”

  “Never. But I do suffer from hay fever, so I sometimes take antihistamine tablets during the summer.”

  “Have you ever sold a drug to anyone, at any time in your life?”

  “No, sir. I can’t imagine anything more evil than living off the proceeds of other people’s misery.”

  “No more questions, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gray. Mr. Carman, you may begin your cross-examination.”

  “What do you think, Arnold?” Seb whispered, as the prosecution counsel gathered up his papers and prepared himself for the main event.

  “If the jury were asked to return their verdict now,” said Arnold, “I have no doubt Hakim would be acquitted. But we don’t know what the prosecution has up its sleeve, and George Carman doesn’t have a reputation for abiding by the Queensberry Rules. By the way, have you noticed that Adrian Sloane is sitting in the public gallery, following every word?”

  35

  MR. CARMAN ROSE slowly from his place, adjusted his well-worn wig and tugged at the lapels of his long black gown before opening the thick file in front of him. He raised his head and peered at the defendant.

  “Mr. Bishara, do you consider yourself to be a risk taker?”

  “I don’t think so,” Hakim replied. “I am by nature fairly conservative, and I try to judge every deal on its merits.”

  “Then allow me to be more specific. Are you a gambler?”

  “No. I always calculate the odds before I take any risk, especially when I’m dealing with other people’s money.”

  “Are you a member of the Clermont Club in Mayfair?”

  Mr. Gray was quickly on his feet. “Is this relevant, my lord?”