Displaced (15 page)

“I see,” she said feigning interest, and then
asked a follow up question about the Court’s jurisdiction over
parties from non-treaty countries located in a treaty member
country.

“Well in that case, the Court likely could
assert jurisdiction,” he said. “But you ought to know that right?
That’s why you passed the Hague invasion act,” he laughed.

“Right, right of course,” she said. “Here is
the thing Alex, I have a more specific question I’d like to ask,”
she said preparing him.

“Okay.”

“Well it’s about a specific case, one that
involves mining interests,” she continued.

“Beating around the bush,” he said.

“What? I’m sorry.”

“Beating around the bush, isn’t that what you
call it?”

“Well I….” but he cut her off sparing her the
trouble of thinking up a response.

“The thing of it is Jennifer, I’m not allowed
to discuss ongoing investigations. That’s a matter for our
communications office, something you seem to have avoided.”

“Right, right, I know,” she stuttered,
thinking she didn’t want to scare him off. “What if I just ask some
general questions?” she said, “nothing specific.”

“General questions, like what?”

“Well I have some questions about a company’s
possible involvement with the Court and you can just answer yes or
no, or better yet you can just answer no and I’ll read between the
lines.”

“Hmmm, sounds a bit sinister,” he said. “Wait
I’ve seen this in the movies, All the President’s Men right?”

“Well…” she didn’t know what to answer.

“I don’t even know you and you want me to be
your deep throat is that it?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“I think this phone call has taken an obscene
turn,” which caused her to laugh. “Okay Ms. Gruning, you don’t seem
like a bad sort, let’s give it a try, fire away.”

“Okay, okay, here is the situation, I have a
group, or there is a group of mining companies and they seem to
have an interest in the Court and I want to know if there are any
cases in the Court where mining interests play a particular
role.”

“Uhm, yes,” he responded.

“Well that really wasn’t the question.”

“My answer is still yes,” he deadpanned.

“Okay, okay, fine,” she said. “Okay so,
American Mineral Group.”

“Never heard of them.”

“Hillston?”

“Don’t know em.”

“Afri Min?”

“Not familiar.”

“Satow Mining?”

“Nope, how many do you have on your
list?”

“Just a few more, Saxon Mineral?”

Silence.

“Saxon Mineral?”

Silence.

“Okay, got it, now let me read a few cases to
you.”

“Okay.”

“Lubanga?”

“Nope, interesting case but not
relevant.”

“Okay, Katanga?”

“Same.”

“Churi?”

“Nope.”

“Bembe?”

Silence.

“Bembe,” she repeated.

“Okay, got it. Thanks so much, I can’t tell
you what a big help it is to me.”

“Hey Jennifer, no problem, and if there is
ever anything else I can do for you, anything at all, please don’t
call me, okay?”

“No, I won’t, thanks again.”

“Okay, you’re welcome, good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“Good bye.”

“Bye.”

Alex hung up the phone, silly Americans
playing cloak and dagger, he thought. It was late, he looked out
his window at the gray sky, the wind was kicking up and the first
large drops of rain were hitting the glass of his office window
with exaggerated splashes. The storm was moving in from the sea and
the rain increased in intensity as the clouds closed out the last
reflected light of the sun. He had more work to do, but it would
wait, tomorrow was Saturday and he would be in the office
regardless of how late he stayed tonight. He was finished for the
day, for now what he wanted was a meal and above all a drink.

****

Alex managed to make it in to the office by
ten o’clock the next morning. It had rained for most of the
evening, but now the late morning sun shone around and through the
blinds to his office window. Dinner with a fellow prosecutor was
followed by several rounds of scotch followed by a clouded morning.
He went to the kitchen to pour a second cup of coffee from the pot
he was forced to brew himself, before returning to his office and
the task at hand. Alex was methodical in his case preparation but
his hangover was hurting his concentration.

The hearing was scheduled for Monday morning
in the Appeals Chambers of the Court. The pretrial chamber had
approved the interim conditional release of Jean Pierre Bembe,
pending the resolution of his case, over the opposition from the
office of the prosecutor. On behalf of the prosecutor’s office,
Alex had appealed the order. The pretrial chamber’s order was
conditioned on a member state agreeing to the release of Bembe in
their jurisdiction. None had agreed to do so and Bembe remained
confined.

Alex hoped the pre trial chamber’s
willingness to approve Bembe’s release before locating a country
that would take him would be the weakness in the decision leading
to its reversal. His briefing papers to the Court emphasized the
statutory requirement that a detainee secure a country willing to
accept release before an individual qualified for pretrial release.
The decision was of one piece, he argued in his brief, and the
chambers had no authority to grant release prior to identifying a
country that would accept custody. Now he would have the
opportunity to make the argument in person and respond directly to
the questions raised by the appellate panel.

He reread the briefs presented and wrote out
questions that he thought the judges would likely ask. In turn, he
considered his own questions and tried to formulate an
understandable response to them. He had arranged to be mooted on
the case that afternoon and wanted to have a clear understanding of
the issues. As he paged through the record, Horst appeared in his
doorway.

“Hey Alex, how are you doing?”

“Hey yourself,” he responded.

Alex considered Horst entirely too young to
be so completely earnest. Nevertheless, he was diligent and the two
got along despite having little in common. He’ll probably go to law
school and become a lawyer, Alex thought, I’ll have to be certain
to talk to him about that.

“Sorry to see you in on a Saturday,” Horst
said.

“Yeah, well the law is a jealous mistress and
last night I got fucked,” Alex said. Horst looked at him not sure
what to say. He liked Alex for his irreverence but sometimes it
caught him off guard.

“Uhm okay.”

“So what do we hear from the Congo? Tell me
some good news.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. Jonas Negusse is
officially disappeared, the best information is that it was DRC
troops, but that’s unclear and I think unlikely. At this point,
good news would be recovering a body,” he said, then regretted he’d
said it.

“No great surprise there.”

“But I’ll keep in touch with Jean with the UN
mission and let you know if anything comes up. They did talk to the
brother and a daughter did escape or she was sent out of the
country, we don’t know where she is now, possibly in Uganda.”

“Okay, well that’s interesting, keep me up to
date.”

“Sure, what brings you to the office on
Saturday?”

“I’m trying to keep Mr. Bembe behind
bars.”

Alex looked haggard, Horst thought. “Okay,
well I’ll leave you to it,” he said. He never new what to expect
from Alex, they were more than colleagues, but not exactly friends.
Horst was introduced to Alex shortly after he started working for
the Court at the annual Holiday party. As the evening wore on, Alex
consumed more alcohol and at one point Horst observed him on the
floor on all fours inviting a co-worker to kick him in the ass.
When he went to leave and get his car out of the car park, he found
Alex passed out in his car, keys in the ignition. Not wanting
anyone from the Court to find him, he pushed Alex into the
passenger seat and drove him home or at least to the apartment
block where he lived and left him asleep in the car.

He’d remembered that night and the dry cold
air as he walked with the collar of his wool coat turned up against
the chill. He’d ended up walking about a mile and a half until he
was able to catch a cab back to his car, but he hadn’t minded. It
had been a Friday night and he had nowhere in particular he had to
be. He’d remembered that night but was sure that Alex hadn’t. He
was asleep for most of the ride and when he did exhibit
consciousness, he was delirious. Before leaving him, Horst had put
the keys in his shirt pocket and buttoned his coat. He smiled now
at the thought of Alex waking up in the passenger seat of his car
thinking where the hell am I and how did I get here?

But the Christmas party was a ways off, and
Horst was determined to make one more effort to locate the daughter
of Jonas Negusse. He had lost the father but would retrieve the
daughter, he thought. What she had to contribute to the case as a
witness was unknown and largely beside the point, it had become a
matter of pride for him. At his desk, he pulled up twelve new
emails and the only one he was interested in was addressed from
Jean, UN peacekeeper turned investigator in the Congo.

Horst:

Per our last conversation, I was able to make
contact with the uncle named Mukadi. He is very fearful, does not
want his niece involved in the matter. Stated that niece new little
of the Negusse’s business but inadvertently admitted that daughter
had strong advanced language skills and often served as an
interpreter for the father. The daughter was likely party to
English language conversations and documents.

He said the daughter had fled the DRC. He was
general but stated that aunt took her to Uganda for safety. Said
she had already suffered enough and wanted the girl to be left in
peace. Expressed his opposition to involvement in case that got the
parents killed. I pressed, but he refused cooperation – was nervous
about speaking with me, said UN could not protect him.

Wish that I had more to offer, please advise
as to how to proceed.

Regards – Jean

“Dear Jean,” he typed.

Thank you for all the good work. Do we have a
picture of the daughter? I think you mentioned personal effects
from the family home. A picture would be helpful. You said she
studied in France, the name of the school would be helpful. I’ll
check with French immigration on this end.

If she is going to Uganda, do you think she
is probably going to Kampala? Would it be worthwhile to talk to the
uncle again and tell him if she is in Kampala, we can offer
protection? I understand that he is reluctant and not trusting of
the UN. You spoke with him, I’ll rely on your judgment.

Please let me know in the meantime if you
find a picture. I may need to arrange travel to Kampala, perhaps
I’ll be able to meet you there. Thanks again for your help and
please keep me up to date.

Best – Horst.

He copied Alex and pressed the send button.
“Best – Horst,” he thought – best what? Outside his window, the sun
was shining brightly in contrast to the office which seemed bleak
and dreary without people in it. He decided against stopping by to
see Alex on the way out. It could wait until next week. He shut off
his computer and walked out.

****

The decision came quickly. Matanda received
his copy courtesy of the solicitor’s office in London. It took the
form of a summary opinion, twelve pages in length, and he read the
end first. “For reasons provided the appeal is sustained.” The
Court did not regret to inform him and with those words the lower
court’s decision granting Bembe parole was reversed. For Matanda
the reasons why mattered little beyond the conclusion itself.
Looking at the decision his sense of injury returned. Didn’t the
Court understand what an imposition this was on him personally?
What after all was their original sin, the commission of civil war
and all that went along with it? And hadn’t they paid the price of
being on the losing side, detention and exile? And what of the
Court’s own culpability? The purveyors of selective justice that
allowed them to sit on their hands while Kigali extracted
retribution and Kabila et al committed serial kleptocracy in
Kinshasa. Victor’s justice.

Call it even, Matanda thought. Bembe suffered
exile and on conditional release could flee to Zimbabwe or maybe
Uganda. The Court would suffer its embarrassment, but it would be
deserved, a small price to pay in the interest of fairness. But the
Court wasn’t keen to the bargain. It persisted and was intent on
seeing Bembe in jail, and Matanda would be saddled with flights and
train rides to the Hague for the foreseeable future.

“The pretrial chamber misappreciated and
disregarded relevant facts in concluding that substantial changes
in Mr. Bembe’s circumstances justified conditional interim
release,” he read from the decision. “Interim release must be a
single unseverable decision that fully states the specific
conditions for release,” the opinion continued. “Interim release
requires the identification of a host country willing to take
responsibility for the defendant before interim release is
granted.” The pretrial chamber had acted prematurely or so the
appeals chamber had held. Because no country had stated its
willingness to take responsibility for Bembe, no interim release
was available. Matanda would be on a flight to the Hague the next
day.

****

On the plane ride from London, he had
prepared himself for an unpleasant meeting, but the Bembe in front
of him was nearly jovial in his resignation. Matanda knew this
attitude was only temporary and remained prepared for the shifting
moods of his mercurial friend.

“I have come to realize,” he said looking at
Matanda with a bemused smile, “that I don’t think it matters what
arguments we make, they intend to hold me for as long as they can,
indefinitely.”