“When they brought his partner, his name was Pavel Kristoff, I think he was from Slovakia, it was the same thing,” Susan continued, her eyes locked on Quinn’s. “They cut both of his ears off and three fingers from one hand. That’s when we learned the details of what was being offered by my son for my life.”
“Your Honor,” Mr. Jordan started to say, then shut his mouth when he saw the look on the judge’s face.
“What happened to these two men?” Mr. Smithers asked.
“At low tide, just before it turned, they dug a big hole, 8′-10′ deep, just above the incoming water line,” Susan replied, still staring directly at Quinn. “They then threw both men into the hole, still hog tied, and waited until the tide came in and collapsed the hole and buried them alive.”
“And did you personally see any of this?” Mr. Smithers asked.
“Yes,” Susan said, finally turning her gaze from Quinn to look at the judge, “every bit of it.”
“What happened next?” Mr. Smithers asked after a lengthy pause.
“My hero figured that when Quinn didn’t hear from his hit team, that he’d send someone after to find out why,” Susan replied. “He figured that it would be best if we weren’t there. With the resources that Quinn had at his disposal, he could have overwhelmed the sheikh’s ability to protect us and we didn’t want to endanger anyone else.”
“So where did you go” Mr. Smithers asked, “and how did you get there?”
“One of the sheikh’s European friends told us about The Gambia,” Susan replied. “He had a friend there that would give us a place to stay without any questions. We were going to charter a jet, but the sheikh insisted on sending us in his private jet.”
“This Sheikh Hakeem lives in tents in the desert and has a private jet?” Mr. Smithers asked.
“Incongruous, isn’t it?” Susan laughed. “But, yes, it was a Gulfstream G550.”
“So you flew to The Gambia?” Mr. Smithers asked.
“Yes,” Susan replied. “We spent two weeks basking in the sun on the beach and then flew here a week ago so that I could attend this hearing.”
“I have no further questions of Mrs. Kumms at this time, Your Honor,” Mr. Smithers said, “but I would like to reserve the right to recall her.”
“Very well,” Judge Crenshaw said. “Do you have any questions of the witness, Mr. Jordan?”
“Not at this time, Your Honor,” Mr. Jordan replied.
“Your Honor, might I suggest a short recess before I call my next witness?” Mr. Smithers asked.
“This hearing is hereby recessed for 30 minutes,” Judge Crenshaw said.
Leaving the hearing room and heading back to the holding room that they had been in, accompanied by Agents O’Shea and Rose, two men tried to follow them and were stopped by other FBI agents in the hallway.
“Susan, I know that it was just horrible to have to relive all of that, but you were spectacular,” Mr. Smithers said when they got back to the holding room. “Brad Jordan isn’t a bad man, or a bad lawyer, but he’s got a bad client who has left him totally exposed.”
“I feel nothing for Quinn anymore,” Susan said. “Seeing him like that, the hatred in his eyes, the shock and guilt all over his face when he first saw me, I feel nothing for him.”
“I’m so sorry, Susan,” Krista said, enfolding her in her arms. “I can’t imagine what it must be like.”
“You’ll be next, Krista,” Mr. Smithers said. “Just remember to answer to the best of your recollection.”
“I’ve got it, Mr. Smithers,” Krista said.
“Susan, shall we?” Mr. Smithers asked.
“Scorched earth, Gerard,” Susan said. “Nothing less.”
“Your Honor, a short sidebar?” Mr. Smithers asked when they returned to the hearing room.
Judge Crenshaw got to his feet and moved away from the table, Mr. Smithers joining him.
“This is a very unusual request, Your Honor, but it is very important and very relevant to the matters at hand,” Mr. Smithers began. “When my next witness enters the room, I’d appreciate it if you would take note of Mr. Kumms’ initial reaction to seeing her.”
“Mr. Smithers, I have never even heard of an administrative hearing like this before,” Judge Crenshaw said, shaking his head as he returned to his seat.
“Please call your next witness, Mr. Smithers,” Judge Crenshaw said.
“Your Honor, I call Miss Krista Hill to the stand,” Mr. Smithers said, turning to look at the door to the hearing room and seeing it open, Krista entering, flanked by Agents O’Shea and Rose.
Quickly turning back around, he was pleased to see Judge Crenshaw looking at Quinn, whose jaw was in his lap as he stared at Krista approaching the table.
“Please have a seat,” Mr. Smithers said, pulling out the chair on the other side of Susan. “The judge will swear you in now,” he explained.
“Miss Hill, please raise your right hand,” Judge Crenshaw said. “Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help your God?”
“Yes,” Krista replied, then turned to glare at Quinn. “Is this the sorry piece of shit that’s been trying to kill you, Susan?” she asked.
“There’ll be none of that now,” Judge Crenshaw said. “Please control yourself.”
“I’m sorry, Judge,” Krista said, “but this pathetic worm…”
“Miss Hill!” Judge Crenshaw admonished. “If you can’t behave properly, you can’t be here to testify. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal, Judge,” Krista replied.
“Will you please state your full name, place, and date of birth for the record?” Mr. Smithers asked.
“Krista Jean Hill, August 16, 1993 in Fresno, California,” Krista replied.
“Do you recognize anyone in this room, Miss Hill?” Mr. Smithers asked.
“You, Susan, the two FBI agents; none of the others,” Krista replied.
“Can you tell us how you came to know… Susan?” Mr. Smithers asked.
“I was spending six months in Manaus, Brazil on a photojournalism assignment to chronicle the life of an MMA fighter recovering from and coming back from a knockout loss,” Krista replied.
“Please continue,” Mr. Smithers said.