A Far Justice (30 page)

“No, I did not.”

“Did you observe casualties suffering from burn wounds?”

“Yes, many times.”

“Did you observe burnt-out vehicles on Mutlah Ridge?” Marks was recovering. “Countless times.”

“Could napalm have set those vehicles on fire?”

The old Marks was back, pedantic and confident. “It’s possible.”

“Thank you, Mr. Marks.” Denise sat down.

Hank took the podium. “Was the burn damage to the vehicles you observed on Mutlah Ridge consistent with conventional bomb damage and gas tanks exploding?”

Marks answer was painful. “Yes.”

“Did you observe this type of destruction and burn damage in areas other than Mutlah Ridge?”

The Englishman was desperate to escape. “Yes.”

“We must be absolutely clear on this point, Mr. Marks. Did you test for napalm in those areas where you had observed similar bomb damage?”

Denise was on her feet. “Objection. This question had been asked and answered earlier.”

“Mr. Marks,” Hank replied, “testified that he had tested for napalm in ‘many areas.’ We are now establishing specific areas.”

The judges conferred briefly and Bouchard frowned. “Objection overruled. The witness may answer the question.”

Marks managed a strangled “Yes.”

Hank pressed him hard. “Did you ever find any evidence of napalm?” Marks shook his head. “Please answer the question.” Again, Marks shook his head. “Please answer the question for the record.”

“I never found any evidence of napalm,” Marks finally admitted.

Hank sat down and Denise wisely declined to continue the cross-examination. Bouchard looked tired and conferred briefly with Della Sante and Richter. They both nodded and he adjourned the trial until the next morning.

“Hank,” Cassandra whispered in Hank’s ear, “you didn’t know if Marks had discovered napalm when you opened that line of questioning. Don’t do that to me again.”

“It was a calculated gamble,” Hank admitted. “I was almost certain Marks would have brought it up if he had. Besides, if Du Milan had discovered it, she would have been screaming like a banshee from hell long before this.”

“You can bet she’s looking for it now,” Cassandra cautioned.

Marci Lennox was holding forth in the forecourt of the palace. She was wearing a stylish cut navy style pea jacket and her hair, now cut exactly like Catherine’s, caressed her face in the gentle breeze. She looked into the TV camera. “Hank Sutherland came out swinging today as the trial of Gus Tyler resumed. The veteran lawyer masterfully used one of the prosecution’s expert witnesses to impeach the testimony of Gustav Schumann and refute the allegation that the coalition forces had used napalm on the highway of death. How Du Milan will recover remains to be seen.” She fed a few questions to her director and then recorded the answers. She concluded with, “Moments ago, one veteran court observer told me that the momentum of the trial is swinging in Gus Tyler’s favor. The only question is: can Hank Sutherland maintain it?” She was off the air.

“Nice hairdo,” her producer in New York said.

Southern Sudan

The Wolf Turbo coasted to a halt in the middle of the road and Hans Landerrost listened to the sounds in the dark. “Trouble,” he said in a low voice, hearing something that Jason had missed. Landerrost climbed out of the personnel carrier and adjusted his night vision goggles. “Wait there,” he ordered, motioning the personnel carrier off the road. His men quickly spread out and set up a defensive perimeter. Landerrost spoke quietly to his second-in-command, an equally large man named Simon, and disappeared into the night. Jason gave the Afrikaner high marks and there was no doubt that he was a highly skilled mercenary. Within minutes, Landerrost was back “There are soldiers on the road ahead of us.”

“Toby’s fever is up,” Jason said. “We need help.”

“We’re almost there, mate.” He checked his GPS. “The airfield is three kilometers ahead. He stared into the night, his face hard. “We’ll get there as soon as those fuckin’ bastards move on.” He settled into his seat and fell asleep. Thirty minutes latter, the sound of a diesel engine cranking to life split the dark. “Now that’s a big bugger,” Landerrost said, instantly awake. The diesel engine revved and the vehicle clanked into gear. The sound was slowly swallowed by the night.

“I didn’t hear the clatter of tank tracks,” Jason said. “Maybe an armored car.”

“That’s fuckin’ more than enough,” Landerrost replied. He climbed into the personnel carrier and stood in the crew compartment, the upper half of his body above the open top. Again, he listened with a unique sixth sense. “They’ve gone.” Landerrost keyed his small walkie-talkie. “We found what we were looking for. Coming in.”

“We’ve got a mine field out,” a voice replied. “Come through the swamp.”

Landerrost grunted a reply in Afrikaans and guided the truck through the tall grass using a GPS. The ground turned to mush and the big wheels spun, barely maintaining traction as they crossed a swampy area. Finally, they were on solid ground and Jason could see a cluster of buildings. They drove past a portable drilling rig and a stack of pipes and crates. Jason scanned the big compound. Someone had sank a lot of money in it. “Welcome to Westcot Five,” Landerrost said.

“Block five, the oil concession?” Jason asked.

“Right on. Mr. Westcot seems to be bloody fuckin’ interested in you, and whatever Mr. Westcot wants, well, you know the rest, Mate.”

THIRTY-FOUR

The Hague

Catherine burst into the office twenty minutes before the court reconvened.
Aly was right behind her carrying her suitcase. Hank looked up from his desk. “Bad flight?” he asked, coming to his feet.

“Straight from hell,” she answered. They embraced and Hank’s morale took a quantum leap upward. His best friend and counselor was back. “Any news on Jason and Toby?” Hank shook his head. “I take it the strategy of the day is delay.”

“It’s about all I can do.” Hank replied. “I’ve got a few witnesses left for today and I expect Bouchard will call for a short break over the New Year.” He donned his robe and they followed Aly down the hall. “I may be able to get a delay until Tuesday, Wednesday at the latest. But Du Milan is pressing for a conclusion.”

“Bouchard is listening to her,” Aly added.

Hank gave her an appreciative look. “Aly’s got the building wired for sound,” he said. “I’ve got to see Gus before we start. See you in court.” They parted as Hank headed for the holding cell. He expected a ruling on the Iraqi petition for custody at any time and had to warn the pilot.

The court reconvened at exactly ten o’clock and much to Hank’s relief, Bouchard did not issue a ruling on the Iraqi petition. He called his next witness, a US Air Force historian who specialized in the Gulf War. Hank took longer than usual establishing the historian’s credentials and Bouchard grew impatient, fully aware of Hank’s strategy. “Did the United States Air Force employ napalm in the Gulf War?” Hank asked.

“No,” the historian answered, “nor did the coalition forces.”

Hank winced inwardly. He had told the historian to answer all questions simply and truthfully, and above all, not to elaborate. The man had failed on all counts. Denise had to know by now that the Marines had employed napalm, and he shuddered at how she could turn the historian’s lie against Gus. He glanced at Catherine who nodded, urging him to address the problem now. “As it is impossible to prove a negative, how can you be so certain the Air Force never employed napalm?”

“I have a complete listing of the United States Air Force’s order of battle which includes all personnel, weapons, and weapons systems. The Air Force did not have napalm in its inventory. The logic is simple; to employ a weapon you must first have it.”

“Do you have a similar order of battle for all the other services, such as the US Navy, Marines or Coalition air forces?” Hank asked, desperately hoping the historian understood that he was running cover for his lie.

“No, I do not.”

“Then you cannot speak with the same assurance in regards to the use of napalm by the Navy and other services.”

“No, I cannot.”

Relieved, Hank moved on and dragged the questioning into the late morning by going over old ground and reconfirming evidence presented to the court. Frustrated, Bouchard kept pressing Hank for relevance and finally called a recess for lunch. Hank slumped in his chair while Aly gathered up their files and folders. Catherine waited patiently until the courtroom was empty and Aly had left. “At this stage, momentum is everything,” she told him. “And you’re losing it. Napalm is a pushbutton issue for Europeans but I think you’ve defused it. Show the judges something new.”

“Without Toby, I’ve only got Gus left.”

“Then ask for an early adjournment for New Year’s.”

Aly hurried back in. “Suzanne Westcot is in the office,” she told Hank. “She wants to speak to you immediately.” Hank rushed out with Catherine in close pursuit.

Suzanne was waiting in the outer office, a big smile on her face. “He’s inside.” The man waiting in Hank’s office was a bull of a man, slightly over six feet tall, barrel-chested, with salt-and-pepper hair cut in a brush cut, and the brightest blue eyes Hank had ever seen. “How’s Gus doing?” he asked.

2

The court was back in session and Hank rapidly wound up the historian’s testimony. Denise declined cross-examination, her tone and body language adequate testimony to what she thought of the witness. “The defense calls Colonel James Cannon,” Hank said. The courtroom’s side door opened and Cannon came through. He walked with an athletic gait and seemed to fill the room with his presence. His charcoal-gray blazer fit perfectly and his tailor had wisely not used shoulder pads. His corded neck muscles strained at the collar of his black turtleneck when he jerked his head at Gus in acknowledgment. The clerk handed him the declaration to tell the truth and he read in a voice that echoed with command and discipline. He ended with “So help me God.”

Hank established Cannon’s identity and his relationship to the defendant. Although they had less than two hours to prepare, Hank knew he could rely on him. “Colonel Cannon, as the wing commander at Al Kharj Air Base, did you ever order your aircrews to employ napalm?”

“No. The Air Force did not stockpile napalm or train for its use.”

“Please explain.”

Cannon warmed to the subject. “To begin with, napalm is one squirrelly weapon that is difficult to deliver. The canisters do not separate cleanly and often tumble and hit the underside of the aircraft. Lacking a precise trajectory, they do not provide the accuracy we demand from our weapons systems.”

Hank glanced at Denise and her body language said it all. She knew. It was time to give the judges something to chew on. “To the best of your knowledge, was napalm ever used in the Gulf War?”

“The Marines did employ napalm in one operation.” The gasp from the spectators was audible as the reporters in the media booth broke the news to their listeners.

“Please explain.”

“The Iraqis had dug an extensive network of trenches in the desert and then filled them with oil. It was a tactic they developed in the Iran-Iraq war in 1988. When the Iranians attacked, the Iraqis ignited the oil and fried the attacking Iranians. Rather than repeat that experience, the Marines used napalm to ignite the oil. As I recall, the Marines dropped approximately 500 canisters of Mark-77s.” He thought for a moment. “I believe that was on February 23rd.”

Hank couldn’t help himself. “So the Iraqi tactic misfired.”

“It was more like a backfire,” Cannon replied.

“Colonel Cannon, you were the wing commander on February 25, 1991, at Al Kharj Air Base. What happened that night?”

“The Black Hole, that was the Special Planning Group that ran the air war out of Riyadh, called around ten P.M. local time. Sensors had picked up a mass movement of vehicles out of Kuwait City and Intelligence had confirmed that Saddam was trying to extract his army.” For the next hour, he held the courtroom spellbound as he related how he had launched every aircraft he could to pound the convoy into oblivion.

“What did you tell your pilots?” Hank asked.

“I reminded them what the Iraqis had done to the Kuwaitis and told them that should put a little hate in their hearts.”

“Were you concerned about civilian casualties?”

“A commander is always concerned when innocent people are in harm’s way. But we had warned the Iraqis that anyone moving in a military formation was a legitimate target. If they wanted to avoid attack, they were to stay put and look, and act, as friendly as possible. If they had to move, do it by foot and not in vehicles. ”

“What weapons did you employ on Mutlah Ridge?”

“Everything we could throw at them. But since it was a wide-area target, mostly five hundred-pound bombs and CBUs.”

“Did you ever employ weapons of mass destruction?”

“No.”

Hank turned and looked at Gus. They had come to the moment they had discussed endlessly. Now it was here, but not the way they had planned. Gus gave a sharp nod and mouthed the words “Go for it.” Hank turned to Cannon.

“Was August Tyler under your command that night?”

“Yes.”

“Did you order Gus Tyler to attack the convoy?”

“I asked him and he volunteered.”

“Please tell the court why you wanted Gus to lead the mission.”

“Gus Tyler and Toby Person were the best crew I had, and I could rely on them to do the job.”

“Was Davis Armiston under your command at the time?”

“Unfortunately. He was a marginal pilot at best. We had put Toby Person in his backseat to keep him alive and only gave him the puffballs.”

Gus interrupted. “Your Honor, may I confer with my counsel?” Bouchard granted his request and Hank moved over to the dock. Gus was careful to shield his mouth from the lip readers he knew were watching. “These clowns made up their minds weeks ago and it doesn’t matter what Jim says.” He quickly outlined what he had in mind. Hank’s first reaction was to dismiss it out of hand. Then he reconsidered.

“This just got interesting,” Hank conceded. He returned to the podium. “Thank you Colonel Cannon. The defense has no more questions at this time but may need to recall you to the stand at a later date.”

Denise sprang to her feet, eager to get at Cannon. “Colonel, what were these ‘puffballs’ you spoke of?”

“The non-demanding, milk-run missions we normally reserved for the French.”

Denise ignored the titter of laughter behind her. “You told your pilots” – she looked at her notes – ‘that should put a little hate in your heart.’ Why did you inflame your pilots to kill Iraqis?”

Cannon almost smiled at how easy it was. “I also told them to ‘Bomb the livin’ hell out of them and render the bastards.’ It has to do with motivation. The best way to minimize casualties on all sides is to press the attack and end it as quickly as possible. Sun Tzu explained it two and a half-millennia ago in ‘The Art of War.’ There’s absolutely nothing new under the sun, or the moon, for that matter when it comes to combat. Do it the NATO way and you kill more people.”

“NATO does not ‘kill more people.’”

“Kosovo, 1999,” Cannon answered. “That could have been over in three nights if NATO had gone after the right targets. As it was, they dragged it out and caused many unnecessary casualties.”

“History amply justifies what NATO did.”

“But not the way NATO did it.”

“We are not in a debate, Monsieur Cannon. Confine yourself to answering the questions.”

“Ah shucks, Ma’am, you brought it up.”

An alarm bell went off in Denise’s mind, warning her to exercise caution. She ignored it. “You said that you chose the defendant to fly the mission because you could rely on him to ‘do the job.’ Exactly what was the ‘job’ you were referring to?”

“To stop the Iraqi army from retreating and regrouping. We wanted to fight them once, not twice.”

“By your own admission, you used cluster bomb units, a weapon designed for widespread and indiscriminate killing and maiming, to do this.”

“Widespread and indiscriminate killing compared to what? You ever see what a two thousand-pound JADAM does when it comes through your bedroom window? CBUs are a wide-area weapon because targets get scattered over a wide area. There’s nothing indiscriminate about CBUs if the pilot presses the attack and hits his target, which is exactly what Gus did.”

Denise scoffed. “From the safety of a supersonic jet at high altitude.”

“CBUs are not a precision guided, stand-off weapon. You don’t deliver CBUs above the Mach from forty thousand feet. You got to go subsonic and get down in the weeds and rocks, up close and personal, while the bad guys are doing their damndest to ruin your day. It’s an equal opportunity chance to get killed.”

The assistant prosecutor passed her a note.
This is going badly. End it
. She gave the hapless man a withering look as she crumpled the note and dropped it to the floor. “You testified the Iraqis had been warned not to move in vehicles and act ‘as friendly as possible’ if they didn’t want to be attacked. How were they warned? Perhaps by the BCC World Service’s broadcasts in English?”

Cannon reached into his blazer’s breast pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He carefully smoothed it out to reveal a leaflet the size of a dollar bill. He handed it to the clerk. “We dropped five million of these over the Iraqis. Plastered Kuwait with ‘em. It’s a safe conduct pass telling them to not move but if they did, to travel only on foot without weapons. The front is in Arabic with an English, French, and Farsi translation on the back.”

The clerk passed the leaflet to Denise. She glanced at it and dropped it disdainfully to the floor. “Are we to assume this reached the Iraqis?”

Cannon answered with a straight face. “Not this particular leaflet. But Intelligence reported the Iraqis were using the rest of the five million as toilet paper. We don’t know if they read them or not, but we’re pretty sure they made contact.” Laughter swept the courtroom.

Denise froze, now fully aware of the threat in front of her. She had never met anyone like him, confident and eager to engage in combat under any circumstances. There was no doubt that he was playing with her and wanted more. She glanced at her notes. “Colonel Cannon, what is your current profession?”

“I’m an aerial assassin.”

Denise looked at him in horror, certain that he had spoken the absolute truth. He looked back, much like an eager rottweiler contemplating its next meal, and she knew, without doubt, that she was on the menu. “I have no more questions at this time.”