Conspiracy Page 3

  The Anonymous collective had issued a press release hammering the judge’s impartiality and clear prejudice. The judge, by proxy, was a victim of the very crime she intended to judge. Her refusal to recuse herself set her in violation of multiple sections of Title 28 of the United States Code.

  The activism had just pissed Judge Sanders off.

  After denying bail, she’d ordered Kadir’s continued incarceration, stating that he was a danger to the community and, because he had family in Yemen, that he was also a flight risk.

  When pressed in the media, the judge had cleaned up her decision by stating that Kadir’s computer savvy placed him in a different class of criminality—whatever the hell that shit was supposed to mean.

  It didn’t matter that his hack had exposed how major companies were hiring T4S to spy on victims and activist groups that were speaking out about their negligence, which had cost powerless people their lives.

  How sick does a company have to be to spend millions to spy on its victims? But the truth was that, in this increasingly authoritarian culture, the law was far too often used to protect those in power rather than to hold them accountable. It was up to people like him to fight for transparency in the shadowy world of national security.

  Judge Sanders shut down Kahlifa’s legal team and denied the requested recusal, stating that her father’s link was tenuous at best. It was laughable, but her word was final.

  Once that Einstein maneuver crashed and burned, Kahlifa’s attorney got to work on a plea deal. Now they wanted him to go from pleading not guilty on all counts to pleading to one count of violating the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act, which carried a maximum of ten years in prison.

  Ten years.

  “It could be less than that,” Hodges said, as if the time were nothing.

  He didn’t share her optimism—and neither did his family sitting directly behind him in the courtroom.

  Ten years would still be among the longest in U.S. history for hacking and, in his opinion, disproportionate to the crime—an act of nonviolent civil disobedience that championed the public good by exposing abuses of power by government and the corporate state.

  Ten years. It was a draconian sentence.

  Kadir couldn’t help but believe that his religion had played a strong part of the hammer coming down. There had been a definite shift in climate for Muslims in the country. At every turn, he felt as if he was being made an example. The sheer numbers in the courtroom were another testament to that. After all, it wasn’t like he’d hacked into a federal government agency.

  But no matter how much he pretended to be calm, cool, and collected, he was dying inside.

  The judge’s door opened and a barrel-chested white deputy marshal, who was really more pink than white, bellowed, “All rise.”

  The entire courtroom launched to their feet.

  “United States District Court for the District of Columbia, the Honorable Judge Sanders presiding, is now in session. Please be seated and come to order.”

  Judge Sanders floated toward her bench with her black robe billowing behind her. Honestly, the only thing that she was missing was a hood and a scythe. The few times that she’d even looked at Kadir in court, he was certain that she was mentally castrating him and tossing him into a fiery pit.

  Kadir glanced over his shoulder to his father’s stony expression. Raising him and his twin brother, Baasim, had turned his black hair gray long ago. His and Kadir’s mother’s migration to this country was supposed to have been a restart button for the family. They had bought into that American dream bullshit from half a world away, only to find different kinds of corruption, racism, and authoritarianism that were just as deadly and dangerous as the ones at home.

  Kadir’s mother had stopped coming to the courthouse, but wrote nearly every day. Militant Baasim had announced to the family yesterday that he was returning to Yemen right after the trial. He’d had enough of this country.

  Sitting next to Kadir’s family was his girlfriend since high school, Malala Jafari. He loved her, but her constant weeping in the court grew harder to bear each day. He kept wishing that she’d follow his mother’s example and stop coming. Once Malala heard about the plea deal, she completely fell apart.

  Now the only question was whether she’d wait for him until he got out.

  The judge stopped rustling paper. “United States against Kadir Kahlifa. Is the government ready?”

  Mr. Kellerman, from the prosecution, stood. “Yes. Good morning, Your Honor. Melvin Kellerman for the government. With me at counsel table is Timothy Brown of the U.S. Attorney’s Office and Special Agent Quincy Bell of the FBI.”

  “Good morning,” the judge greeted them with a saccharin smile, but it soured when she glanced toward the defense table.

  Special Agent Quincy Bell and Kadir exchanged heated looks.

  “Is the defense ready?” the judge asked.

  Hodges sprang up. “We are, Your Honor. Good morning. Bridget Hodges for Kadir Kahlifa. Your Honor, my client is seated to my right, and I’m assisted at counsel table by Lei Kwon and Emily McGraw.”

  “Good morning. Be seated.”

  The knots in Kadir’s stomach tightened. For the first twenty minutes, his attorneys and the prosecution fussed over the redacted portions of the sentencing memorandum—mind-numbing stuff.

  “All right, Ms. Hodges. Have you and your client had adequate time to review the presentence report?” the judge asked.

  “We have, Your Honor.”

  “Ms. Hodges, would you like to speak on behalf of Mr. Kahlifa?”

  “I would, Your Honor.” She stood again. “Would you mind if I took the podium? It might be easier for me.”

  “Of course.” Sanders settled back in her chair. “If you actually want to remain seated, that’s fine too.”

  Ms. Hodges smiled, but then made her way up to the podium so that she could speak into the microphone.

  All eyes fell on her. This was to be her great sell of Kadir’s actions being heroic and not criminal, but surely she knew that at this point it was an exercise in futility.

  “There is a saying,” Hodges began, “that nothing is certain in life except for death and taxes. But I’d like to add change to this list. Social change. Change is inevitable and it is happening every second and every moment of the day. Some are so small that we hardly ever notice them. And some changes start off small and grow to be a huge movement. Mr. Kahlifa believes in such a movement. He, and many others like him, question the growing overreach of the government and private security firms acting in concert to encroach on everyday civilians’ civil liberties. Mr. Kahlifa believes that the people have the right to know what governments and corporations are doing behind closed doors.

  “There are great heroes in our history who were not always understood in the moment. Some were at first called criminals. Their actions violated established law. Sometimes it takes time—days, months, a century for the context and meaning of those actions to be properly understood. The development and use of surveillance technologies will be one of the defining issues of our time. The reach of these capabilities is astonishingly broad. Governments can listen in on cell phone calls, use voice recognition to scan mobile networks, read emails and text messages, sensor web pages, track a citizen’s every movement using GPS, and can even remotely turn on webcams built into personal computers and microphones in cell phones that are not being used. And all of this information can be filtered and organized on such a massive scale that it can be used to spy on every person in an entire country.

  “Kadir Kahlifa, a talented computer programmer, decided to use his skills to break the law. He did so out of a concern that these technologies were enabling governments and corporations to gather information on individuals and organizations without oversight or scrutiny. He did so as an act of protest. And as a result of his action and the actions of others similarly committed to open government, the public has become increasingly aware and increasingly concerned. I know th
at there are many, like our adversaries in the U.S. Attorney’s Office, who do not accept Kadir’s actions as acts of civil disobedience. Many who see what he did as one-dimensional, criminal, and malicious. In its sentencing submission, the government argues that Kadir Kahlifa was motivated by a malicious and callous contempt for those with whom he disagreed and that this goal, demonstrated by statements that he made in chat rooms, was to cause mass mayhem by destroying websites and entities he disliked.

  “Contrary to the government’s representation, this wasn’t a malicious and unfocused act against an entity with whom Kadir had a disagreement. It was an act of protest against the private intelligence industry and its ability to do what the United States, in theory, is prohibited from doing: targeting American citizens and other populations worldwide. In a footnote buried deep in its submission, the government argues that Kadir’s contributions to the public good are not worthy of this court’s consideration because they are substantially outweighed by the harm he caused. The government ignores the letters of support we received. People who know Kadir for his positive work in the community. People who have firsthand knowledge of the countless hours he spent volunteering, teaching, tutoring, creating a community space so groups could meet and organize.

  “Kadir Kahlifa broke the law. He knew that he was breaking the law, and he acted at his peril. He accepts the consequences of his actions. He does not—and we do not—minimize his actions by addressing his motivation, but his motivation matters. When Kadir sat down at his computer and broke the law, he did so with the same set of values and principles that he applied to every other aspect of his life. Nothing that Kadir did in this case was for personal gain. In these times of secrecy and abuse of power, when whistleblowers come forward, we need to fight for them so others will be encouraged. When they are gagged, we must be their voice. When they are hunted, we must be their shields. When they are locked away, we must free them. Giving us the truth is not a crime. This is our data, our information, and our history. We must fight to own it. The government has a one-dimensional view of this case. Part of the challenge may be that Kadir Kahlifa’s actions are a new form of protest, using tactics that are, concededly, violations of our federal criminal law. But our world is changing quickly, as evidenced by the hundreds of letters of support and thousands of people who signed on to the petitions that we submitted to the court.

  “Your Honor, Kadir understands that you must sentence him today and that you must apply the laws in force at this moment. None of us has the benefit of hindsight or knows the changes that will no doubt take place as our thinking and our laws evolve to address the seemingly boundless use of surveillance by corporations and governments and the actions of people like Kadir Kahlifa, who step forward to grasp truths that are hidden from us. This country is at a crossroads for people like Mr. Kahlifa, who go to extraordinary lengths to bring the truth to the light. And we have to make a decision on whether we’re going to have a transparent government and corporations that are transparent or continue this war on whistleblowers. The dirty tactics, hypocrisy, and secrecy. That, at its heart, is what this case is all about. What we saw revealed before this court is a travesty of justice. My client believes what every American believes: in democracy—a transparent government, not a government that goes to unbelievable lengths to suppress the truth and its own criminality. Thank you.”

  Ms. Hodges returned to her seat and flashed Kadir a quick, encouraging smile that didn’t reach her eyes. And though he’d liked her statement, Kadir’s gut remained twisted in knots.

  “Thank you, Ms. Hodges.” Judge Sanders said, as though she were sucking a lemon. “Does the government wish to be heard?”

  “We do, Your Honor.” Mr. Kellerman took the podium.

  “Kadir Kahlifa is no whistleblower. The government says that not simply because we don’t like what he did. The reason we say that is because of the evidence. And when we sit here today, when the court sits here today to judge, to sentence him based on his offenses, you have to look at all of the factors, the nature and circumstances of the offense and, in particular, with regard to this defendant, I think the nature and the characteristics of the defendant. Based on what we know, we can say for sure that Kadir Kahlifa was an experienced hacker who used his skills through a variety of different entities, from police retirement systems to the FTC’s consumer protection websites to DC’s public safety website, releasing thousands’ credit card information, home addresses, talking about releasing pictures of police officers’ girlfriends, personal emails. Personal information about private citizens.

  “There is nothing about any of that that is relevant to political protest. There is nothing about any of that that is altruistic. There is nothing about any of that that is related to the injustices that Mr. Kahlifa sees in this world. There is no altruism in any of that conduct. Now, when Mr. Kahlifa and his counsel stand up before this court and refer to all of the letters of support for him, we don’t have any doubt that Mr. Kahlifa has done some good things in his life. The court sentences people all the time who do good, who have also committed crimes.

  “It is certainly unfortunate, that he obviously has a skill that he has chosen to use to hurt thousands of people that he’s never met, who did nothing to him. He claimed that he didn’t do it for personal gain, but that doesn’t mean that these crimes weren’t harmful. Mr. Kahlifa has made an effort to try to deflect responsibility for his role in the T4S hack.”

  Special Agent Bell and Kadir exchanged looks again. Bell was smug as shit.

  Kellerman continued. “Based on all of the harm that this defendant has done, the people submit that one hundred and twenty months is sufficient and warranted in this case. Thank you.”

  The judge was glowing after Kellerman’s speech. “I guess that makes it my turn,” she began. “Counsel, as you’ve heard, I have calculated the guidelines and taken them into account. In my view, the guidelines accurately reflect the nature and circumstances of the offense, but probably more needs to be said on that. In Mr. Kahlifa’s written plea to the court, he stated that he committed this crime with the best of intentions and sought only to disclose information the public deserved to know and to steal from the rich and give to the poor. But this ignores Mr. Kahlifa ‘s own words concerning his true motivations—and I do agree with counsel that motivations count—and it ignores the widespread harm suffered by countless individuals and organizations as a result of Mr. Kahlifa’s hacks.

  “It is, in fact, clear that his aim was to break into critical computer systems, steal data, deface websites, destroy files, and dump online the sensitive personal and financial information of thousands of individuals, all with the objective of creating—in Mr. Kahlifa’s words—‘maximum mayhem.’ These are not the actions of Martin Luther King, Nelson Mandela, John Adams, or even Daniel Ellsberg. With respect to the history and characteristics of this defendant, I do take into account what Ms. Hodges has said about Mr. Kahlifa’s charitable acts. He certainly did many charitable acts in his community, including working in food kitchens, tutoring, and the like.

  “The most striking fact, however, about Mr. Kahlifa’s history is his unrepentant recidivism. He has an almost-unbroken record of criminal offenses that demonstrates a total lack of respect for the law. There is no information in his record that would suggest that he will not continue to reoffend.” She sighed dramatically before her big finish.

  “Mr. Kahlifa, you are sentenced, sir, to a period of seventy-two months in a federal facility. Following that time, you’ll spend a period of three years on supervised release. During the period of supervised release, you’ll comply with all of the standard terms and conditions of supervised release. Among them are that you not commit another federal, state, or local crime; you not illegally possess a controlled substance; and you not possess a firearm or other destructive device. You may not own or possess a computer.

  “It’s also my duty to inform you that unless you’ve waived it, you have the right to appeal thi
s sentence.” She smiled blithely. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. You’ve been very helpful. We are adjourned.”

  Kadir Kahlifa’s heart sank while Malala wailed uncontrollably behind him.

  5

  After a thorough ass-chewing from the police chief, the mayor, and Judge Berry, Gizella Castillo was effectively suspended for heaven knows how long—but she did have reason to suspect that it wouldn’t be for too long. After all, her big Hail Mary had paid off.

  Many of Craig Avery’s close political connections and ties were likely at this moment crafting carefully worded press releases, changing their earlier position accusing Lieutenant Castillo’s dogged investigation of being a politically motivated witch hunt. Some might have been planning apologies and even tendering their resignations. As for the department, Castillo’s gamble would make heroes out of a number of department heads, who wouldn’t want her illegal tactics sullying the story. And Lieutenant Castillo owed it all to the insistence of one scrawny kid.

  The moment her thoughts shifted to the lanky, blond teenaged boy, Shawn No Last Name, he stood up in the center of BridgePoint Hospital’s waiting room. As Castillo approached, she noticed his bright powder-blue eyes were glassy and his smudged black mascara. He couldn’t be more than fourteen—fifteen, max. Teenage homelessness was a Washington nightmare, especially among the LGBT community, which she assumed the teenager belonged to.

  “They won’t let us see her,” Shawn said, his anxiety evident.

  “It’s okay,” Castillo comforted. “I’m sure that when the doctors clear your friend—”

  “Do you know when that will be? How is she? Is she going to be all right?”

  “Whoa. Whoa.” Castillo held up a hand to stop the rapid-fire questions. But her desire to comfort the young boy lingered—both him and his band of . . . misfits? They were an interesting lot now that she truly looked at them—an eclectic group of goths, transgender kids, and even gangbanger hoods. How these kids had met up was probably an interesting story.