Taylor raised her eyebrows. “Mr. Hamilton.”
“Our response is simple: Mr. Gladstone is not involved, and he’s suspended Van Daan. This court’s only power is to enjoin PGL if—and only if—there’s a risk that it will act improperly in the future. There’s no such risk.”
“Your Honor,” Pierce began, “on the question of risk—”
“I’ve heard enough,” Taylor interrupted. “So I’ll address myself to you, Mr. Hamilton.
“The essence of your argument is PGL’s obliviousness. I hope that doesn’t include you. It’s clear that the only reason Mr. Pierce knows so much is that someone slipped him documents PGL never produced. I accept your word that you’ve never seen them. But I don’t believe, and you don’t seriously argue, that they’re forgeries. So I’ve begun to worry that neither your client nor you have a clue about what’s being done in PGL’s name, and with its money.”
Astonished, Pierce watched the apprehension appear in Hamilton’s eyes. “Your ostrich defense won’t fly,” Taylor went on. “Gladstone made Van Daan the company’s agent. Far from being an excuse, conditions in Luandia—including the murder of its workers—magnified Gladstone’s responsibility to be a hands-on crisis manager. The alleged massacre at Goro and this disgrace of a tribunal appear to be part of a scheme designed to eliminate Okari in which Van Daan plays a pivotal role.
“I don’t know that Okari’s innocent—at this juncture, I don’t much care. Injunctive relief includes the power not only to enjoin PGL from further wrongful actions but to undo the wrongs already committed by Van Daan.” Pausing, Taylor sat straighter. “Accordingly, the court enjoins PGL from any collaboration in Mr. Okari’s prosecution that violates Mr. Okari’s rights under international law.
“But that’s not all,” the judge continued in a chilly voice. “I direct PGL to use its good offices with the Luandian government to seek a recess in the trial in order to investigate whether it has access to further evidence helpful to Okari’s defense, and to make that evidence available to Mr. Pierce. If PGL does not comply, the court will consider initiating criminal contempt proceedings against PetroGlobal and its officers.”
Across the table, Hamilton took notes, his only defense against humiliation. “Your client should also know,” Taylor told him, “that we will do everything in our power to limit the consequences of its actions to Bobby Okari. By letter and by telephone, this court will ask the secretary of state to formally request the Luandian government to suspend the tribunal until PGL has complied with its order, and to urge that any future proceedings accord Mr. Okari due process of law. Among your responsibilities is to limit the harm to date by working with Mr. Pierce. Is that clear?”
In another context, Pierce might have felt sympathy for Hamilton: not only was Taylor’s ruling worse than he could have imagined, but its impact would be disastrous for PGL’s reputation and the value of its stock. In yet another context, Pierce might have been elated. All he could feel now was hope.
When Taylor vanished from the screen, Hamilton faced Pierce. “We’ll cooperate, of course.”
“Of course.”
From his expression, Hamilton heard the acid in Pierce’s voice. Pierce did not care; this case had stripped him of false politesse. At length, Hamilton said, “Michael wants to see you. Give me a half hour to explain to him what’s happened.”
GLADSTONE HAD A spacious corner office. When Gladstone’s assistant closed the door behind him, Pierce found him gazing at the half-lit skyline of Waro. Without turning, Gladstone said, “It’s always better in the dark.”
“Much like your business, I suppose.”
Gladstone turned, his face expressionless. “You must be quite pleased.”
Pierce could imagine his thoughts; whether or not Bobby survived, Gladstone’s overlords at PetroGlobal might throw him to the wolves. “I’ll be ‘pleased,’” Pierce answered, “when Bobby’s life is spared.”
“I’ll do what I can.” A sliver of anger entered Gladstone’s voice. “As I would have before this judge fueled the media campaign you’re no doubt about to launch.”
“No doubt. Your choice now is to make it better or worse.”
Gladstone was silent. At length he said, “It was Trevor Hill, wasn’t it?”
He did not seem to expect an answer. “You got here on your own,” Pierce responded. “All you could ever control was PGL. Through a series of miscalculations, you lost that. If you believe that Karama is using this trial merely to kick Okari out of Luandia, that’s the worst miscalculation of all.”
Gladstone shoved his hands into the pockets of his linen sport coat. “I’ve arranged to see Karama. If we can help get Okari out of here, will he dismiss his lawsuit?”
“All I can do is ask Okari and wish you good luck with Karama.”
Gladstone’s smile was bleak. “Okari once told me that we were Siamese twins, our fates inextricably bound. I suppose I should have listened.”
11
AT TEN O’CLOCK MONDAY MORNING, PIERCE AND HAMILTON STOOD before the tribunal. “With the support of counsel for PGL,” Pierce said, “defendant renews his request for a recess. I ask the court to hear Mr. Hamilton.”
Orta fixed Hamilton with a disparaging gaze. “PGL is not a party here.”
“True,” Hamilton responded. “But Mr. Van Daan is a principal witness, and his role raises important questions about the case against Okari. PGL requests a recess to investigate Mr. Van Daan’s activities, and to inform the court and Mr. Pierce of our findings in four crucial areas: the murder of our employees; the events in Goro; the testimony of Lucky Joba, Moses Tulu, and Eric Aboh; and Van Daan’s own credibility.”
“For our part,” Pierce added, “we believe that PGL’s investigation will confirm the lack of credible evidence against Mr. Okari. A man’s life is at stake, and the truth may be at hand. Justice requires a recess.”
As Nubola shook his head, Orta said impassively, “Let us hear from Mr. Ngara.”
Ngara stood. “I respectfully request the tribunal to hold this matter in abeyance pending the further testimony of Beke Femu.”
Pierce felt numb: that Orta looked unsurprised confirmed his worst suspicions. “Very well,” Orta said, “You may recommence your cross-examination.”
Hamilton glanced at Pierce, then shrugged in resignation. Pierce took his place between Bara and Bobby, noting Marissa’s stricken face. In this courtroom, Pierce thought, hope vanished quickly. Bara’s expression was blank; Bobby’s, contemptuous at first, changed when he saw Beke Femu.
Watching Femu take the stand, Pierce thought of a college friend who had suffered a nervous collapse; afterward an affectless stranger had occupied the man’s body until, like his former self, this shell vanished from the campus altogether. So it seemed with Femu. He gazed at the courtroom with spectral eyes, as though he remembered nothing from before; only his naked fear when he saw Okimbo betrayed that he did.
“Tell the tribunal,” Ngara directed, “if you have anything to add.”
“Yes.” Femu’s voice was almost inaudible. “I lied.”
A smile of satisfaction stole across Ngara’s face. “And your reason?”
“Personal gain.” Femu looked down. “A man gave me money. He said he was working for Mr. Pierce.”
This fabrication, Pierce thought, showed a lawyer’s touch; he could not disprove the supposed act of someone else. “How much money?” Ngara demanded.
“Ten thousand dollars U.S.”
Taking a document from the table, Ngara handed copies to the court, then to Pierce. On its face, it was a record from the Bank of Luandia, dated one week before, showing the deposit of ten thousand dollars by Beke Femu. “A forged document,” Bobby murmured. “One can never say they lack a sense of humor.”
Ngara gave it to the witness. “Did you deposit that money in your account?”
“Yes,” Femu responded mechanically. “This is the record.”
“Very well. Tell us what happened at Goro
.”
The witness swallowed. “There was resistance. We did only what was necessary to subdue the village.”
Femu’s script lacked the texture and detail of truth. But Colonel Nubola nodded his encouragement; from the jury box, Okimbo watched Bobby Okari with obvious enjoyment. “So,” Ngara prodded, “there was no massacre.”
The witness still looked down. “No, sir.”
“Then where did you get this terrible story?”
“From the man who gave me money,” Femu mumbled. “He showed me a legal document signed by Mr. Pierce. He told me to memorize the underlined parts. Then I could add whatever details I liked.”
Ngara handed Pierce a copy of the civil complaint in Okari v. PetroGlobal Oil. Scanning its pages, Pierce saw that the factual allegations were denoted by highlighter. After handing copies to the tribunal, Ngara asked, “Is this the document?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In short,” Ngara said harshly, “your testimony was based on a complaint prepared by Okari’s lawyer.”
Femu nodded. “Yes, sir. I am very sorry.”
Turning his back to Femu, Ngara said dismissively, “No further questions.”
Standing, Pierce remained by the table. “What did they do to you in prison?”
The witness blanched. “Nothing.”
Femu watched Pierce as though expecting him to challenge this. Instead, Pierce asked, “When did you open the bank account mentioned a minute ago?”
Though the witness’s mouth opened, he was momentarily silent. “I can’t remember.”
“This year? Or before that?”
The witness shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Do you remember where you opened it?”
“No.”
Pierce nodded. Softly, he asked, “Because you never opened an account?”
The witness hugged himself, as though the courtroom had turned cold. “I did.”
“How much money was in it?”
“I can’t remember.”
Pausing, Pierce let the gallery absorb this. “The man you say supplied this money, what was his name?”
“He didn’t say.”
“What did he look like?”
“I don’t know.” Femu gazed at the ceiling. “Tall, with short hair. Thin.”
“How old did he appear to be?”
“I don’t know.” Femu paused. “Maybe in his thirties?”
Pierce smiled faintly. “Sounds a lot like Mr. Ngara. Would you say they resembled each other?”
From the gallery came a cynical laugh. Briefly, the witness stole a glance at Ngara. “I can’t say,” he mumbled.
“Then let’s go back to your prior testimony. Among other things, you said that a white man flew Colonel Okimbo to the staging area outside Goro. Did you get that from the document you just identified?”
Femu hesitated. “Yes.”
Pierce stepped forward, holding out the complaint. When Femu took it from him, his hand trembled. Calmly, Pierce said, “Show me where.”
Femu fumbled with the pages. In suffocating silence Pierce returned to the defense table, studying Ngara while awaiting Femu’s inevitable answer. In a muffled voice, Femu said, “I can’t find this.”
“That’s because it isn’t there. So how did you know to say a white man came with Okimbo?”
Femu shrugged helplessly. “I guess the stranger told me to say a white man.”
“Did he show you a picture?”
Femu’s face was a portrait of confusion. “I don’t remember.”
“Then how did you know what he looked like?”
For a long moment, Femu simply shook his head, confused. “Objection,” Ngara said. “The witness now says no such man exists.”
Pierce kept staring at Femu. “And yet he identified Van Daan in court. Out of all the oyibos in the courtroom, Mr. Femu, how did you pick out the man you said was with Okimbo?”
Femu gave Pierce a pleading look. “You pointed to him.”
“And you recognized him,” Pierce said softly. “How else could you have known Van Daan wasn’t in his office, surrounded by coworkers, when you were in Goro?”
“Is that a question?” Ngara asked sharply.
“Yes.” Pierce turned to him with open disdain. “As you know, it’s also the truth.”
“You will not disparage counsel,” Orta snapped. “Objection sustained.”
Pierce ignored this. “If you falsely identified Van Daan,” he asked Femu, “how could you know he wouldn’t have an airtight alibi?”
The witness held out his hands in entreaty. “I’m confused now.”
“You’re not confused, Mr. Femu. You’re afraid.”
Femu glanced at Okimbo. “No, sir.”
“Yes,” Pierce responded quietly. “You and I can go over your testimony, bit by bit, until you’re forced to admit that your story today is a lie. So why don’t you tell me what Okimbo did to you in prison?”
The witness gaped at him. Pierce felt Bobby grasp his arm. “Enough.”
Pierce turned, inclining his head to whisper. Bobby’s eyes were suffused with pain. “I know too well what Femu can expect,” Bobby murmured, “You’re signing his death warrant.”
“He’s signing yours,” Pierce snapped. “Femu is dead already.”
“Not by my hands. This man did his best.” Bobby’s voice was low and intense. “Karama has decided my fate. Ngara knows it; so does Orta. Let their victim go.”
Slowly, Pierce exhaled. After a moment, he turned to Orta, “No further questions.”
With a satisfied expression, Orta folded his hands on his stomach. “You may step down, Private Femu.”
Unsteadily, the witness stood. Two Luandian soldiers removed him from the court. Bobby watched him vanish with a look of sympathy and dread. “Your Honor,” Ngara said, “I now wish to oppose Mr. Pierce’s latest motion for recess. It’s clear that the defense, not the prosecution, has offered perjured testimony. The sole witness to this so-called massacre has now refuted his slander; therefore, the events at Goro should have no place in this proceeding.” Ngara’s tone became imperative. “As a predicate to ruling on this recess, the tribunal should strike from the record all testimony regarding Okari’s arrest and bar any further evidence on that subject.”
Helpless, Pierce knew that he was witnessing a legal choreography synchronized before the hearing. “Now for Mr. Pierce’s request,” Ngara continued. “PGL claims to be concerned about the conduct of an employee. But Colonel Okimbo has affirmed that no impropriety occurred. So why does PGL seek delay?” The prosecutor’s voice throbbed with theatrical outrage. “Because PGL has been threatened by a judge in the United States who is pushing the rogue lawsuit used as a template for Private Femu’s perjury. If counsel has anything truthful to offer us, he should do so now.”
Orta nodded his approval. “Have you any response, Mr. Pierce?”
Pierce fought to rein in his anger. “Yes. First, Femu was plainly lying today. Second, Van Daan paid all three witnesses to Mr. Okari’s supposed guilt. Third, the memoranda from Okimbo to Van Daan show that both men were involved in an operation against Goro planned prior to the lynchings.” Pierce paused, his stare challenging the tribunal. “Unless these are forgeries, the truth is clear. Our request for a handwriting expert is still before the court. How does this tribunal rule?”
Orta looked dyspeptic. “The tribunal will confer in chambers,” he said at length. “After that, we will announce our ruling.”
He banged the gavel. In the tumult that followed, Pierce turned to Marissa. The fear in her eyes was terrible to see.
WITHIN TEN MINUTES, the judges returned.
Nubola looked commanding, Uza sickly; it occurred to Pierce that he had not spoken aloud in court. Sitting between them, Orta read in a monotone from a document that, Pierce felt certain, had been prepared by Ngara before this morning’s session: “Based on Private Femu’s recantation, the tribunal will strike from the record any references to the eve
nts relating to the defendant’s arrest, and will entertain no further testimony on that subject. For this reason, we deny Mr. Pierce’s request for a handwriting specialist.
“This leaves the defendant’s request for a recess pending an investigation by PGL. In principal part, that request relies on the assertions regarding Goro we now have ruled irrelevant. Moreover, the credibility of Mr. Van Daan does not relate to that of Colonel Okimbo or Messrs. Joba, Tulu, and Aboh.” After a pause, Orta tried to infuse the written words with indignation. “As for PGL’s intervention, we do not exist to rescue it from the unjust acts of an American court. Nor is this tribunal within the jurisdiction of the United States judicial system. We will tolerate no foreign meddling in these proceedings—especially where, as that judicial system itself recognizes, terrorist threats to national security require special processes. Motion denied.” Looking up, Orta stared at Pierce. “You will confine yourself to refuting the evidence that Mr. Okari ordered the murder of three fellow Luandians.”
Pierce stood. “What evidence? There is none. I have no witness to refute what the prosecution never tried to show: who murdered these oil workers, and that those unknown persons acted on Mr. Okari’s orders—”
“Not so,” Orta interjected. “The testimony of three Asari men establishes a prima facie case that Mr. Okari issued such orders.”
“To whom, Your Honor?”
“Perhaps Okari can tell us,” Ngara interjected. “If the defendant wishes to refute this testimony, he can speak for himself.”
“I will,” Turning, Pierce saw Bobby push himself up. Though the effort seemed to exhaust him, he spoke with passion. “I will not demean myself by answering these charges unless I am free to describe the massacre of my people. If this tribunal does not allow me to do so, it is because your purpose is to bury me along with the truth. I will not join you as a bit player in Karama’s charade—”
Orta banged his gavel. “Sit, or I will find you in contempt of this tribunal.”
“I will gladly sit,” Bobby responded. “But contempt of this tribunal is impossible.”
A gasp issued from the gallery. Glowering, Orta told Pierce, “You will control your client or go to jail with him. Okari declines to refute the charges against him. Produce another witness, or be done.”
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