The TRIBUNAL (17 page)

    Nihudian spoke in Bosnian to the police officer in the passenger seat.

    “We’ll be told that at the station,” Nihudian reported.

    Kevin blanched at the thought of going to a police station. He didn’t trust police in third-world countries. He had seen one too many movies like “Midnight Express,” a frightening story about an American in a Turkish prison.

    They drove in silence down the hill into the center of Sarajevo. Kevin tried to sort out his thoughts. “Tell them I demand to see someone from the American Embassy.”

    “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Kevin. Let’s wait until we get to the station.”

    They arrived at the back of the police station, and the policemen pulled Kevin and Nihudian out of the car. They led them through a hallway, which was crowded with families. The people all looked poor. Kevin guessed they were either families of people who had been arrested, or victims of crimes. He thought of his own family. He was glad he hadn’t brought them on this trip, which Ellen had lobbied hard to make him do.

    The officers left Nihudian and Kevin alone in a windowless room. The handcuffs were beginning to dig into Kevin’s skin.

    “What should we do?” he asked Nihudian.

    “We have to find out what the problem is. We might be able to pay them a bribe.”

    Kevin would gladly have paid a bribe to have the handcuffs removed and to get out of there, but he didn’t want bribery added to the charges. He thought the interview room was probably bugged, so he said nothing.

    A few minutes later, a short, plain-clothed man in his forties with a thin black mustache entered. He said something in Bosnian and unlocked the handcuffs from Nihudian and Kevin. Kevin rubbed his sore wrists. He saw Nihudian reach into his pocket. Kevin thought he was getting money for a bribe, but Nihudian turned to him and said, “He wants to see our identification.”

    Nihudian took out his Bosnian driver’s license and Kevin produced his American passport. Without saying anything, the man began copying the information onto a form that looked like a police report. Kevin wanted to demand an explanation, but thought it better to wait until the man was finished.

    After writing down the information, the man spoke gruffly. Nihudian translated. “He wants to know what you are doing in Bosnia.”

    Kevin spoke directly to the policeman. “I am a lawyer for a person being prosecuted at the War Crimes Tribunal in The Hague. I’m here to interview witnesses who will be testifying at his trial. Nihudian is my interpreter.” He tried to downplay Nihudian’s role.

    “Did you register with the Ministry of Justice before you began conducting an investigation in Bosnia?”

    “No, was I supposed to?”

    “Yes,” the policeman replied through Nihudian. “It is required under our law.”

    “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

    “We cannot have foreigners coming to Bosnia and bothering our citizens,” the man said, shaking his head for emphasis. “This is a serious matter.”

    “I was authorized by the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia to come here. I did have official permission. And this man,” Kevin said, gesturing to Nihudian, “he was just interpreting for me. He had no duty to register did he?”

    “You still did not comply with our law,” the man said sternly. “But you are correct about your interpreter. He is free to leave.”

    Kevin looked at Nihudian. “Go, before they change their mind.”

    “I can’t leave you here,” Nihudian replied. “You can’t even speak to them.”

    “Let them get their own interpreter. You go and contact the American Embassy.”

    Nihudian reluctantly got up, and said something to the man. He walked out the door leaving Kevin and the policeman sitting across the small table from one another. Kevin wondered how they would communicate. He also felt an even greater fear now that he was alone.

    “So you are the lawyer for the famous Mr. Draga?” the officer said in English.

    Kevin was surprised to hear the man speak English. He quickly replayed the previous conversation with Nihudian in his mind, hoping he had not said anything inappropriate. “Yes, I was assigned by the Tribunal to represent him.”

    “He is responsible for the death of many in Bosnia,” the officer said solemnly.

    Kevin did not like the direction the conversation was taking. “That’s what I am here to find out about.”

    “Is there any doubt?”

    “Probably not to the people of Bosnia. But I wasn’t here during the war, so I have to find out these things by talking to people who were.”

    The man shook his head. “You should have followed our laws.”

    “I didn’t know about your law.”

    “You’re a lawyer. You can tell that to the judge.”

    Kevin groaned inwardly. Was he going to have to stay in jail until he was taken to court? “What happens now?” Kevin nervously asked the man.

    The man smiled for the first time. “You will be treated like any other person arrested in the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina. You will remain in jail until we complete our investigation. If we find that you have broken the law, you will go to court. If not, you will be freed, like your interpreter.”

    “How long will it take?”

    “This is a very simple matter.” The officer rose from his chair. “You have already admitted committing the crime. We should be able to wrap up our investigation in a few days.” The man abruptly turned and walked out the door.

    Kevin was alone in the interview room for the next two hours. He tried not to think about what the jail cells were like, or who else was in them. He tried the door, but it was locked. He prayed that Nihudian would get some help from the American Embassy. Otherwise, he would be stuck in a Bosnian jail for several days at least.

    Finally, the plain-clothed officer reappeared.

    Kevin dreaded having to leave the interview room for a cell.

    “Mr. Anderson, you are free to go if you agree to depart Bosnia in the morning and not return in the future unless you have approval from our Ministry of Justice to conduct an investigation here. Do you understand?”

    “I understand.” Kevin suddenly felt light-headed.

    “Do you agree?”

    “I agree,” Kevin replied quickly. He would figure out how to get the remaining witnesses interviewed later.

    The man opened the door and indicated Kevin should follow him. At first, Kevin felt unsteady on his feet, but he walked quickly through the lobby. When the man pointed to the front door, Kevin practically broke into a sprint. When he burst out the door, he spied Nihudian standing next to his car in front of the building.

    “Thank you, Nihudian,” he said as they got into the car. “Damn, that was close.”

    “Let’s go get a drink,” Nihudian replied. He drove to a cafe nearby, as he explained how he had gotten the help of someone at the American Embassy, who had made some calls on Kevin’s behalf.

    “I owe you. I was going to have to sit in jail for days before I even saw a judge.”

    They reached the cafe and sat down, with sounds of American rock music blasting from the music system. “Want a beer?” Kevin asked Nihudian.

    “We Muslims don’t drink alcohol. But I’ll have a large cappuccino.”

    “That sounds perfect.”

    Kevin sipped the cappuccino as he felt the tension leave his body. It was beginning to get dark outside. His mind returned to the judge and the tailor in Sokolaz who might have made uniforms for the men at Omarska. “Damn, I hate to leave without talking to that tailor,” he told Nihudian. “His evidence might prove Draga’s innocence.”

    Nihudian was silent.

    “How long would it take for us to get to Sokolaz tonight?” Kevin asked.

    “It’s only about a 45 minute drive. But we’d be taking a big risk. It’s in the heart of Serb territory.”

    “Yeah, but the Serbs will want to help Draga. He’s their hero, right? I have the papers showing I’m his lawyer and you’re his investigator.”

    Nihudian looked up from his coffee at Kevin. “I guess we can try it,” he said. “No sane Muslim would go to Sokolaz at night, but we
are
working for Draga.”

    Kevin felt emboldened by the adrenaline from the day’s events, and desperately wanted to find something useful for Draga’s defense. “Let’s go for it. Then I’ll head back in the morning with something to show for my trip besides sore wrists.”

    The two men finished their drinks and returned to Nihudian’s car. They drove north from Sarajevo, and soon passed a sign telling them that they were entering Republika Srpska.

    “At least there’s no border station,” Kevin said.

    Nihudian was quiet.

    They headed up the hill towards the town of Pale, where the ski events for the 1984 Winter Olympics had been held and which had been the home of Radovan Karadzic, President of the Republika Srpska, during the war. Then they turned north just before Pale and continued climbing until they reached a plateau near Sokolaz.

    “How are we going to find this tailor?” Kevin asked as they approached the town.

    “He’s probably well known. We can just go into a shop and ask.”

    They drove toward the center of town. “There’s the headquarters of the Drina Corps,” Nihudian said, pointing out two buildings set back from the road.

    “Let’s just go in there,” Kevin said. “They’ll probably send someone to bring the tailor to us if I explain to them how it will help Draga.”

    “I don’t know,” Nihudian replied.

    They drove down the main street, but the shops appeared to be closed. Some were boarded up. “I guess we can ask at the Army headquarters,” Nihudian said, and eased his car into a space in front of the old Sokolaz Hotel next to the Army building.

    Kevin was feeling more confident as he got out of the car. Rather than worrying about the authorities, he would just go directly to them. This way, if there were any registration requirements or the like, he would simply be informed about them.

    Nihudian walked tentatively behind Kevin as they entered the building.

    A man in a green camouflage uniform greeted them in the lobby.

    “Kevin Anderson,” Kevin said, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m the lawyer for Dragoljub Zaric in The Hague. I was hoping someone could help us get some information for our defense case.”

    Nihudian quickly translated as the soldier’s puzzled expression disappeared. The soldier went into an office and returned a minute later. “Wait here,” he said in Serbian.

    Kevin felt confident that this was the best approach to take and that they would gain the cooperation of the Bosnian Serb Army. He heard footsteps from the stairs in front of him and saw a bald-headed man in an Army uniform walking briskly down the stairs flanked by two other soldiers a half step behind him.

    The man walked up to Kevin and said something in Serbian. Nihudian translated. “He wants to see some identification.”

    Kevin took out his and Nihudian’s appointment papers from the Tribunal. He handed them to the man. The man looked at them briefly and threw them on the ground. He yelled something at Nihudian.

    “He can’t read these papers in English,” Nihudian said. “He wants to see our passports.”

    Kevin pulled out his American passport and Nihudian produced his Bosnian driver’s license. The man looked at Nihudian’s license. “A Turk?” the man asked scornfully. He said something in Serbian that Nihudian did not translate.

    He looked at Kevin’s passport, then barked a command to the two soldiers with him. One man grabbed Kevin’s arm and the other Nihudian’s and began leading them toward the front door.

    “What’s going on?” Kevin asked.

    The man unleashed a tirade in Serbian. “He says he has no knowledge of this and we are to be put in a cell until he finds out what this is all about,” Nihudian translated.

    “Oh, for Christ sake. Tell him to get someone to read these papers to him.”

    Nihudian tried to speak to the man, but he and Kevin were hustled out the door. The soldiers led them next door to a small police station. They spoke to the police officer at the desk, who handed them a set of keys. The soldiers led Kevin and Nihudian behind some bars, down a hallway, and finally opened a steel door with one of the keys. One soldier told Nihudian to get inside and locked the door. At the next cell, the officer threw Kevin inside and slammed the door behind him.

    Kevin found himself in a small stone cell with only a bench attached to one wall. But he did not feel as frightened as he had been at the police station in Sarajevo. He was, after all, working for one of the Serbs. Once the Army guy verified this, Kevin felt confident that they would help him, or at the worst send them on their way back to Sarajevo. Kevin wished he had thought fast enough to tell the officer that he could call Zoran Vacinovic at the Embassy in The Hague for verification.

    Kevin walked over to the wall nearest to Nihudian’s cell. “Nihudian,” he called. “Can you hear me?”

    “Yes,” Nihudian replied. The sound was muffled, but audible.

    “I’m really sorry about this. But I think it will get straightened out.”

    Nihudian was silent for a moment. “I hope so.”

    Kevin sat on the bench, suddenly feeling tired. What a day! They had been arrested by two separate governments. But if he could just get the information from the tailor, he could go home in the morning and it would all be worth it.

    Kevin waited for about thirty minutes, making small talk with Nihudian through the wall from time to time. Then he heard voices in the corridor and the jingle of keys. He walked over to the door and could see some soldiers opening Nihudian’s cell. Kevin stepped back, expecting his to be opened as well.