A Far Justice (24 page)

“If Colonel Tyler is turned over to the Iraqis,” Gordon asked, “will he be tried under Koranic law?”

“Unfortunately,” Marci replied, “that does appear to be the case.”

Gordon faced the camera. “The video we are about to show is very graphic and violent. We urge you not to watch if you are upset by violence or let children under the age of seventeen see it. It shows a public execution last week on the main square of Basra in Iraq. An Islamic court, operating under Koranic law, had convicted a man of murder earlier the same day. Again, we must warn you not to watch if you are upset by violence.” The screen cycled to a scene in Iraq. A truck dumped a load of sand in front of a small front-loader that quickly smoothed it out. A convoy of vans drove up and police established a cordon around the sand as a hooded and bound man dressed in white was dragged out of a van. He was forced to his knees on the sand as his executioner carrying a short sword walked up behind him. The man’s hood was jerked off as the executioner raised his sword. The sword flashed in the noon sun and the man’s headless body gushed blood onto the sand.

“Justice is swift in Iraq,” Liz Gordon said.

Marci had the last word. “Above all this, we’re seeing the real Gus Tyler, calm and resolved in the face of adversity, and confident that he will find justice. But Hank Sutherland has his work cut out for him.” They were off the air.

“Liz,” Marci asked over the satellite feed, “where did you get that video?”

“A woman named Cassandra who works for a research company sent it over about twenty minutes ago. Keep up the good work, Marci. Think Emmy.”

“A girl can never get enough of those.”

The Hague

The three judges forming the presidency of the ICC stood when Denise entered the ornate conference room where they conducted their deliberations. They all sat in a tight cluster and Denise braced herself for the judicial scolding she was about to receive. “My dear,” Relieu began, speaking for the other two judges, “whatever were you thinking of?”

Denise summoned all of her cultural superiority and fixed him with a condescending look. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“You rested your case prematurely,” Relieu replied.

“I assumed I was dealing with competent judges and once the Person statement was admitted into evidence, my case was proven. What else did they need to hear? After all, we are a court of jurisprudence, not a theater for entertaining the public.”

“But my dear,” Relieu replied, “we are both. You had reached the climax of your case. Now you must put a conclusion on it before Sutherland has the opportunity to do it for you. The evidence you submitted to the court proves Tyler’s guilt. It remains for you to vest it with complete moral authority. Only then will the court’s preeminence on the world stage be assured.”

The elderly Spaniard considered the court’s best political tactician leaned forward and held her hand. “I will explain to Bouchard how to keep your case open. It is really a very simple matter. But you must do the rest.”

Denise gave him a pleading look. “What do you suggest?”

Gus heard the familiar click of heels in the corridor and quickly sat on his bunk. He wrapped his arms around his knees, clasping them to his chest as Therese Derwent burst into the cell. She sat beside him and took his hand. “You saw it?”

“The execution? It was on the late news.”

“It was horrible,” she said.

He stared at the wall. “What’s going to happen is going to happen.”

“It’s barbarous. The court will never allow it.”

“Wouldn’t it?” He fixed her with a sad look. “They’re a bunch of clowns, Therese.” He waited for her reaction.

Her eyes glowed at the sound of her name. “I won’t let it happen.”

“There’s not much you can do about it. I’ll get through it.”

“I have a sedative, if you need it.”

“I could use something to help me sleep.”

She opened a small packet and gently placed the capsule between his lips. Then she held a cup of water for him to drink. She sat down as he relaxed. “Everything will be fine,” she said.

TWENTY-SIX

The Hague

Bouchard’s secretary worked to hide her smile when the judge entered
his office the next morning. “You are wanted in the presidential chamber,” she said. She added “Immediately” to get his attention, and watched in satisfaction as he scurried out the door. She picked up the phone. “Aly,” she began.

The Belgian judge was panting when he entered the presidential conference room. where the three presidents of the court were waiting. As with Denise, Relieu spoke for the other two men. “This is turning into a fiasco. Two things must happen if we are to maintain the dignity of the court. You must regain control, and there must be a conviction.”

“I see no problem achieving a favorable verdict. The statement by Tobias Person is proof of Tyler’s guilt, which is obvious even to Della Sante. But Sutherland is impossible to control. He uses everything against us.”

“Gaston,” Relieu fumed, “coordinate your actions.”

“If Sutherland learns I spoke to Du Milan without him being there …” He shuddered. “He has spies everywhere.”

“We are aware of that disturbing fact,” the Spaniard said. “So we have done it for you. When you reconvene this morning, ask a very simple question and move forward. Everything will be back on track.” He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice.

Hank paced the holding cell outside the main courtroom. “Don’t expect a quick ruling on the Iraqi petition,” he told Gus. “They want to hold it over our heads so we’ll roll over and take a conviction; better a Dutch prison than being transferred to the Iraqis.”

Gus adjusted the tie Derwent had given him. “Hank, reality check. The verdict was in before the trial ever started and this thing with Iraq is just one more way the system is stacked.” He turned and faced the lawyer. “It’s like flying combat – when all else fails, select guns and put the pointy end of the jet in their face.”

“It’s not too late for damage control. I can still cut a deal.”

“How does a simple ‘no’ sound?”

Hank’s respect for the pilot went over the moon. “Gus, you are one amazing guy.”

“Let’s go do it,” the pilot said.

“Guard,” Hank called, “we’re ready.” Two guards escorted them to the courtroom. Gus led the way in as over half the audience stood. “I’ll be damned,” Hank said in a low voice.

“Without doubt,” Gus said. “Go get ‘em.”

Hank joined Aly at the table and waited for the tenth day of the trial to start. “Break a leg,” Cassandra whispered in his ear.

“You are encouraging,” he murmured as the judges entered.

Bouchard quickly disposed of the opening formalities without ruling on Iraq’s petition for custody, and recalled Horan to the stand. “Monsieur Sutherland, you may continue.”

Hank came to the podium and sat his thin leather folder down unopened. “Good morning, Mr. Horan. Have you found the missing disk?” They waited for the translation. Horan replied that they had searched all night to no avail. “I see. Are you totally impartial in this matter?” Horan swelled with indignity and angrily replied that he was. “I see,” Hank said as Aly handed him a videocassette. He relayed it to the clerk. “If it pleases the court, this was aired by the BBC on September 11, 2001.”

“Objection,” Denise said. “Monsieur Horan is a member of the court and is not here as a witness.”

“As the member of the court cannot produce the electronic recording in question,” Della Sante replied, “the court must satisfy itself that there are no irregularities in his conduct.” Bouchard glared at her for pre-empting his authority.

Richter tapped his microphone for attention. “I am also deeply concerned about the missing disk and agree.”

“Overruled,” Bouchard said. “The court will view the videocassette.” The room darkened as the screen descended.

The logo of the BBC World News flashed on the screen as the commentator spoke. “The Palestinians in the town of Nabulus on the West Bank reacted spontaneously to the announcement of the destruction of the World Trade Center.” A black-robed woman laughing and dancing in the streets filled the screen. The image froze as the lights came back on.

“Mr. Horan, do you recognize the woman on the screen?”

“No,” Horan replied in English without waiting for the translator.

Hank arched an eyebrow but said nothing as he opened his leather folder and pulled out the front page of an Arabic language newspaper. He handed it to the clerk who relayed it to Horan. Horan held up his hand and refused to touch the newspaper. “Apparently,” Hank said, “the witness does not recognize his own sister. Mr. Horan, will you be so kind as to translate for the court the caption under the newspaper photo that shows you with the same woman we see on the screen in front of the court?”

“She is my sister,” Horan said in English.

“We’re speaking English now?” Hank asked.

Bouchard banged his gavel. “You will not badger an officer of the court, Counselor.”

“I apologize, your Honor. I have no more questions of this witness.” He turned and looked at Denise.

She led Horan through a series of gentle questions, trying to show he was an impartial and dedicated officer of the court. But what emerged was a rigid and dogmatic man claiming he was above all criticism because he shared the court’s authority. Della Sante’s body language was ample indication that she was disgusted with Horan. Denise finally managed to end it. “We have no further questions.”

Hank stood. “The defense has no further use of this witness.” Horan bolted from the witness box and out the side door. “The defense enters the video and newspaper article as defense exhibits seven and eight.”

Denise objected but Della Sante’s expression and gestures were clear evidence that she wasn’t having it. After a few moments of intense discussion at the bench, Bouchard composed himself and turned to the courtroom. “Objection overruled. So entered. As it is after twelve o’clock, the court is in recess until two this afternoon.”

Hank turned to Catherine and Jason who were in their usual places behind the bar. “I’ll file a motion to exclude Person’s statement tomorrow.”

“I don’t think that will do much good,” Catherine replied.

“That is a very safe statement,” Cassandra murmured in his ear, her voice edged with cynicism. “The court is still in its formative stages and cannot afford the luxury of questioning its rules and procedures, much less its own officers.” Hank stood up to stretch. “By the way,” Cassandra said, “Suzanne Westcot is waiting in the hall outside.”

“I believe I’m being summoned,” Hank said. He led Catherine and Jason outside as Aly gathered up the files and folders on the table and followed them.

Suzanne was pacing the floor and wearing a stylish warm-up suit that made her look all of eighteen years old. “I just got here,” she said. She tossed her blonde ponytail and looked even younger. She gave Jason a serious look and lowered her voice. “Max thinks we can get a helicopter into Mission Awana. Getting out may be more difficult.”

Jason didn’t hesitate. “Let’s go.”

“It will be dangerous,” Suzanne said.

“His bag is in my car,” Aly said, her voice strained, tears in her eyes.

Jason wrapped his arms around Aly, engulfing her. “Hey, I do this sort of thing for a living. I’ll be back. With Toby.”

Tears streamed down Aly’s face. “I know.” Jason kissed her and followed Suzanne down the hall. Catherine handed Aly a Kleenex to dry her tears “Did you see that look in her eyes?” Aly asked. “Mark my words, she’ll make a play for him.”

Catherine touched her arm. “I don’t think that’s a problem with the Tyler men.”

Two hours later, Hank followed Aly into the packed courtroom. “No one left for lunch,” she told him. “They were afraid they would lose their seats.”

“It’s the best show in town.”

They waited as Bouchard reconvened the court. Bouchard adjusted his glasses and studied Denise. “Has the prosecution rested?”

“Good question,” Hank allowed under his breath.

Without the least embarrassment, Denise approached the podium. “No, your Honor. The prosecution calls Doctor Gustav Schumann.” Every head in the courtroom turned towards the side door as a collective silence held the room spellbound. The door opened and a tall and bent old man shuffled into the courtroom, his massive mane of gray hair instantly recognizable. His face was drawn and haggard from the mere exertion of walking, and few doubted that he was near death. His two canes played a slow tattoo on the floor as the audience came to its feet out of respect.

“Alex, where are you?” Hank moaned to himself. Aly pushed a thick folder across the table, her face filled with worry. “I’m surprised he’s up to it,” Hank said quietly.

Cassandra was there, speaking quietly in his ear. “After Horan, Du Milan needs to end on a high note. She wants to cloak her case with moral authority. Schumann can do that for her.”

“Tell me,” Hank muttered. Gustav Schumann had been born in East Prussia and after World War II, had challenged the barbarism of his Soviet masters. He had spent most of his life in and out of East German jails where he had been repeatedly tortured and thrown into solitary confinement. But his jailers had not broken his spirit and he had emerged as the conscience of his generation. He had led the crusade for creating the ICC, and it was his voice that demanded universal justice for the oppressed of the world.

Then it happened. The old man stood more erect and moved with confidence as he took the stand. His head was up and his hazel eyes flashed with defiance. Gustav Schumann was about to fight one more, and perhaps his last, battle.

Cassandra was still there. “Melwin developed a strategy but we really didn’t think he would be able to testify. It’s in the folder.” Hank opened the folder and started to read, splitting his attention as Denise began an almost reverential questioning. Hank listened, automatically searching for the weakness or misstep that could impeach his testimony. “Do not object” was written in bold letters in Melwin’s notes and underlined twice. Hank gave Denise high marks as she led Schumann through the opening formalities, reinforcing his authority. Finally, Denise came to the heart of Schumann’s testimony.

“Did you serve on the Commission of Inquiry for the International War Crimes Tribunal in its investigation into United States war crimes against Iraq?”

“I served as the chair of the commission from its inception through May of 1991.”

“Please relate for the court the purpose of the commission.”

“The purpose of the commission was to document the systematic destruction of the civilian infrastructure in Iraq during the Gulf War of 1991. Our investigators traveled over 2,000 miles in Iraq during a time when the United States was flying over 3000 bombing sorties a day. It was their goal to document the atrocities being committed by the United States. In that, they more than succeeded.”

Hank marveled as he followed Melwin’s notes and listened to Schumann’s testimony. The Irishman had outlined the testimony he was now hearing, and annotated every major point and how the judges would respond. Again and again, Melwin had written “Do not object.” Bouchard finally declared a recess to give the old man a chance to recuperate.

“What was Melwin’s game plan?” Hank asked Cassandra.

“He seemed unconcerned and never confided in me,” she replied.

“Nor me.” Hank scanned the folder, looking for any clue on how to challenge Schumann’s testimony. The fact that Schumann’s testimony was all hearsay mattered little and Melwin had calculated the judges would rule it truthful, voluntary, and trustworthy. Hank stopped his search when the court reconvened and Denise resumed her questioning. She turned to the Highway of Death.

Hank’s head came up when Schumann said, “The investigators spent a full day examining the carnage. Many weapons of mass destruction had been used, such as cluster bomb units and napalm.” A loud murmur swept the courtroom at the mention of napalm and grew in volume. Bouchard let it grow before gaveling for order.

Hank looked at Gus who shook his head. The pilot mouthed the words “No way.”

Denise was surprised by the mention of napalm but an inner voice urged her to caution. “This is a very serious charge, Doctor. What evidence was presented to the commission substantiating the use of napalm?”

A confused look crossed Schumann’s face. “That was sometime ago and I don’t recall the details. It is all in our report.” Denise nodded and moved on.

Cassandra’s legal team was on it. “It was only an allegation,” she told Hank. “There is absolutely no evidence in the report about the use of napalm. He’s an old man and it will look bad if you beat him up on the stand.” Hank understood and listened as Denise continued her questioning. It was late in the afternoon when she finished and stepped away from the podium. She nodded briefly in Hank’s direction, her face a mask.

“As it is late,” Bouchard said, “perhaps it would be best to resume tomorrow.”

Hank closed the folder and saw the two short notes scribbled in Melwin’s scraggily scrawl on the back cover. He knew what to do. “Your Honor, I only have a few brief questions and unless the prosecutor has further questions, it will not be necessary for Doctor Schumann to return tomorrow.”