The TRIBUNAL

by Peter B. Robinson

  “You’re not serious,” Hans said.

  “I get eleven Euros a week at home. I do a lot more chores here than I do at home.”

  “Don’t you have homework to do now?” Hans asked.

  “You sound like my Dad. He doesn’t even let me digest my food.” She turned to Anna. “Men,” she said, shaking her head as she got up from the table.

  That night Jan re-read Ellen’s letter, just to be certain. It looked harmless enough.

  Without telling anyone, he mailed it the next day.

  The letter arrived on Saturday afternoon.

  When Kevin pulled up in front of the house from a bicycle ride, Diane called to him from the door. “We got a letter from Ellen!”

  Kevin dropped his bike and ran inside.

  There was an envelope on the table, in Ellen’s handwriting, but with no return address. The postmark was again from Amsterdam. This time there was no demand from the kidnappers, just a short letter from Ellen:

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  I miss you very much. Don’t worry about me. I am being taken care of and am fine. I’m keeping up with my schoolwork, even my Dutch. I’m learning new words such as Ut, which means out, and recht, which means right. I hope that I will see you again soon, but don’t worry.

  Love,

  Ellen

  “Where’s the clue?” Kevin immediately asked Diane.

  “I was looking for that myself. Do you think there is something about out and right, like outright, or right out?”

  Kevin read and re-read the letter. “I don’t know, but she’s trying to tell us something.” He couldn’t figure out what it was.

  “Did you call Detective Weber?”

  “Yes.”

  “At least Ellen is still okay. It’s her handwriting all right.”

  “She seems to be okay, if you can believe the letter. But maybe they are making her write it.”

  An hour later Detective Weber arrived. She examined the letter. “This is strange. Why would the kidnappers just let her write home, with no demand or other communication?”

  “I was wondering about that myself,” Kevin said. “It seems like they’re taking an unnecessary risk.”

  Detective Weber rubbed her chin as she studied the letter. “Up to now they’ve been very professional about everything. I don’t see the purpose in sending this letter.”

  “I bet she’s put a clue in this letter,” Kevin said. “I just can’t figure out what it is.”

  “I thought it might have something to do with the words ‘out’ and ‘right,’” Diane said. “That’s just kind of out-of-context. She picked those words for a reason.”

  “She spelled the word ‘out’ wrong,” Detective Weber observed. “We spell it ‘uit’ in Dutch, not ‘ut’. And she capitalized it. Wait a minute. When you put Ut and recht together, you get Utrecht. We have a province named Utrecht.”

  Kevin looked at the letter. “That’s it! How big is the province of Utrecht?”

  “Well, the good news is that it’s the smallest province in Holland,” the detective replied. “The bad news is that there are a lot of farms in the province.”

  “This narrows it down quite a bit, though, doesn’t it?” Diane asked hopefully.

  “It does,” the detective said. “I’m going to get all our manpower over to Utrecht. And I’ll get this letter fingerprinted. Your daughter is quite clever about feeding us information without her captors realizing it.”

  Diane and Kevin looked at each other proudly. Could this be the break they needed? They were afraid to get their hopes up too much, but both were ecstatic with the newest developments.

  “I still think that Vacinovic is involved in this in some way,” Diane said.

  “Would you mind if I contacted him now?” Kevin asked Detective Weber. “If he’s not involved, maybe the secret police have heard something in Serbia that might help your investigation.”

  “Go ahead. Our surveillance of him hasn’t paid off. Just let me know in advance when you’re going to meet with him.”

  Detective Weber packaged up Ellen’s letter and took it with her to be processed.

  “What do we do now?” Diane asked after the detective had left.

  “What do you say we take a ride?” Kevin said mischievously.

  “You mean to see for ourselves what the province of Utrecht looks like?”

  Diane and Kevin got out their map of Holland. The city of Utrecht was located in the center of Holland, about a forty-five minute drive from Wassenaar. Upon arriving in Utrecht, Kevin and Diane visited the VVV, Holland’s tourist agency, and got more detailed maps of the province.

  Detective Weber was right, there was a lot of agricultural land in the province. They spent the afternoon driving around the small, country roads peeking down driveways leading to farm after farm.

  “This is so frustrating,” Diane said. “I can feel that Ellen is around here somewhere. But how do we figure out where?”

  They became more discouraged as they drove on through the province. “We need more clues,” Kevin said. “I hope we hear from Ellen again. She’s gotten us this close.”

  When they returned that evening, there was a message from Detective Weber. The police laboratory had found some fingerprints on the letter and envelope.

  Most were Ellen’s, but they also developed some adult fingerprints as well. They were checking those prints in their databases.

  “What a roller coaster,” Diane said as she slumped on the couch.

  Kevin sat down and took her hand. “We know she’s alive. It’s her handwriting on the letter, and it was postmarked yesterday. Thanks to Ellen, we’ve narrowed it down to the province, and we know she’s on a farm. Now we have fingerprints, too.”

  “Oh Kevin, it’s been eight days. Can you imagine what she’s going through? She’s never been away from home this long. Who knows the conditions she’s being kept in.”

  Kevin tried to picture Ellen on a farm somewhere in the country they’d seen that day. He hoped she wasn’t locked in some cold, drafty barn. The winter temperatures in Holland were hovering below freezing. He hoped she was not sitting somewhere, shivering in the cold.

  The next day, Sunday, Diane and Kevin stayed home. Diane finished her brief. It was first-rate. She argued that although evidence of the atrocities against the Serb people were not a justification for war crimes, the evidence was relevant to explain the state of mind of the people who committed the acts.

  “While the court may justifiably view the ‘honor of Serbia’ as irrelevant to the question of whether war crimes were committed,” Diane had written, “it is legitimately relevant to the question of whether the crimes were carried out by the highly-trained group of dispassionate warriors commanded by the accused, or passionate and misguided men with whom the accused had no connection and over whom he exercised no control.”

  She ended her brief by attaching the note from the kidnappers as an exhibit, and making a personal plea. “The small amount of the court’s time spent on this matter may make a lifetime of difference to our family. Please give us the latitude to present this evidence.”

  On Monday morning, the two of them went to court for another week of Draga’s trial. They filed Diane’s brief first thing in the morning, then spent the next five days listening to the testimony of Muslim witnesses who had been subjected to beatings, torture, and rape in the Serb-run camps in Bosnia. Kevin and Diane listened to tale after tale of horrible mistreatment and inhumane abuse.

  Just as Bradford Stone had told the Court, a pattern emerged as the witnesses paraded before the Tribunal and told their stories. At each of the camps, Omarska, Foca, and Keraterm, men in Black Dragon uniforms had come to the facility and beaten, tortured, raped, extorted, and often murdered Muslim prisoners.

  Kevin’s cross-examinations were difficult. He had one goal during his questioning – to get the names of the men in black uniforms. He began compiling a list, which he had marked as defense exhibit 5. Whenever a wit
ness identified an alleged Black Dragon, Kevin had them write his name on the list. His only hope was that at the end of all this testimony, none of the names on this list would match the list of real Black Dragons under Draga’s command. So far, that part of his strategy had been successful.

  The mood of the court, however, had swung against the defense, as the flood of heart-wrenching stories poured forth. Just before they concluded on Friday, Judge Davidson quizzed Bradford Stone. “We’ve heard the pattern that you have referred to, Mr. Stone. How much more evidence do you have?”

  Stone was his arrogant self now that things were back on track. “We have just one more day of victims, Your Honor. Then we will present statements made by the accused to journalists, and speeches he made. We will then conclude with our chief investigator, Mr. Jacobson, as a summary witness. I expect we will finish our case on Tuesday or Wednesday of next week.”

  “We don’t need to hear from any more victims,” Judge Davidson said gruffly. “Finish your case on Monday.” The judge turned to Kevin. “How long will your defense case be, Mr. Anderson?”

  “I’m not sure, Your Honor. That depends in part on the Court’s ruling on our motion to admit evidence of the atrocities committed against the Serbs.”

  Judge Orozco spoke next. “Yes, I believe Judge Linares is ready to provide the Court’s ruling on that motion.”

  Everyone looked over at Judge Linares. He had been quiet for most of the trial, his expression unchanged as the witnesses had recounted the horrors of the Serb camps. “Mr. Anderson, I want to compliment you and Mrs. Anderson on your memorandum. It was outstanding. I also want to tell those who are still holding your daughter that you have done everything humanly possible to convince the Court to admit this evidence. However, it is the order of this court, as it has been in every case in which this issue has been raised before, that evidence of alleged atrocities against the perpetrators of war crimes is not admissible. It is simply not relevant. We will issue a written opinion in this matter in the near future.”

  Kevin looked at Diane and shrugged his shoulders. He was not surprised, and a bit relieved that he would not have to muck up his defense with evidence that was not going to be persuasive to the court. He just hoped that Ellen would not suffer for it. As Judge Linares had said, they had done all they could.

  Judge Davidson looked at Kevin. “You have your ruling, Mr. Anderson. How long will your defense case be?”

  Kevin looked back at Draga. There were still many things unresolved. Could they get the list of bona-fide Dragons into evidence through the chief investigator? Would they use the CIA evidence? Would Draga testify? Kevin looked back at Judge Davidson. “Can I give the Court an answer on Monday? My client and I have some decisions to make this weekend.”

  “Very well, but you need to be ready to start your evidence on Tuesday.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” The many unsettled questions about his defense made him very nervous.

  “What are we going to do?” Diane asked when they were alone. “The trial is almost over.”

  “Win the trial for one thing. If the police don’t find Ellen before the verdict, it’s our only hope. I have an appointment to see Vacinovic this afternoon.”

  When Kevin arrived at the Embassy, Zoran Vacinovic greeted him at the door.

  “Mr. Anderson,” Vacinovic said, extending his hand, “I am so sorry about your daughter.”

  “Thank you.” Kevin studied Vacinovic for any sign of insincerity. He really couldn’t tell. He followed Vacinovic into the conference room.

  “What can I do for you?” Vacinovic asked.

  “I was wondering if you had any contacts within the Serbian intelligence agencies that might have some information about the people who kidnapped my daughter.” Kevin looked at Vacinovic’s eyes.

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Vacinovic said, gesturing with his palms up for emphasis. He met Kevin’s gaze. “When I heard about your daughter, I had the Ambassador call the head of our internal police agency. We have made weekly inquiries. There is no information in Serbia about who kidnapped your daughter.”

  “The note we got from the kidnappers seemed to be wanting us to defend the honor of Serbia. That’s why I thought someone from your country might be involved.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the Muslims. They keep committing atrocities and blaming it on the Serbs. It’s part of their strategy to get the United States to intervene on their side.”

  Kevin did not react.

  “Believe me, Mr. Anderson, if there is anything I or my government can do to help get your daughter back, we will do it.”

  “Thank you. I brought you the brief we submitted to try to get the evidence of atrocities against the Serbs admitted before the Court. I think it’s a good brief, but we lost that issue today. The judges won’t permit it.”

  Vacinovic took the brief. “I hope the people who are holding your daughter are fairer than that court.”

  “Well, I’m still trying to win Draga’s case. I’m fighting with every breath I have, for Draga and my daughter. But the trial will be over by the end of next week, so my time is running out.”

  Vacinovic stood up. “I’ll let you know if I learn anything at all. And good luck in the trial, Mr. Anderson, although I suspect we both know the outcome.”

  Kevin left the Embassy, not knowing any more than he had when he came. He simply couldn’t detect anything in Vacinovic’s words or demeanor that indicated he was involved.

  Despite Diane’s instinctive misgivings, Vacinovic seemed clean to Kevin.

  At the regional police headquarters in The Hague, less than a mile away, Detective Weber waited. She put her headset on as the wiretap in the Serbian Embassy signaled that someone had picked up the phone to make a call. The equipment showed that a call was being placed to Belgrade.

  The interpreter translated Zoran Vacinovic’s words for Detective Weber: “The court did not allow the evidence. The trial will be over in one more week. Then, you’ll have to dispose of the package.”

  “I’ll make the arrangements now,” said the man at the other end of the phone. “The Dutch men and the woman will not be suitable for that job. I’ll have to send someone from Belgrade.”

  “Do it yourself, Mihajlo. You know what the package looks like.”

  “Yes, a very sweet and lovely little package,” replied Mihajlo Golic.

  Vacinovic hung up the phone.

  “Put out an all points bulletin for Mihajlo Golic,” Detective Weber shouted to her assistant. “He’s coming to Holland to kill Ellen Anderson.”

  CHAPTER 27

  “It’s Friday night,” Ellen said to Anna as she packed up her schoolbooks for the weekend. “Let’s do something fun. I’ve worked hard all week.”

  “Yes, you have.”

  Ellen had forged ahead in math to solving algebra problems, as Anna frantically read the textbook to try to keep up. Finally, Hans had to be consulted. He apparently had better math skills than Anna. Now, every night after dinner, Hans was reluctantly correcting Ellen’s math papers.

  Science was an easier subject for everyone. Ellen was studying insects, and despite the cold weather, insects were in ample supply at the farm. Ellen had gone on an insect-gathering field trip – under Jan’s escort to make sure she didn’t wander away – and she had collected her specimens in several jars.

  In language arts, Ellen had a real problem. She needed books to read, but there were none at the house and no English bookstores to go to. So, Ellen had taken to writing. She wrote daily in a journal describing her activities and her feelings.

  Since Anna had liked history in school, she was an excellent social studies teacher, and this was Ellen’s favorite class. Anna would tell Ellen stories about the different civilizations that she was studying in the textbook and then have Ellen draw pictures or write short stories about the culture. Ellen proudly hung up her pictures in the schoolroom, and kept all of her other homework neatly in binders, ready to turn in to
her real school once she returned.

  The subject in which Ellen learned the most was Dutch. Although Ellen’s real Dutch teacher had only required Ellen to learn twenty vocabulary words a week, Anna had insisted that Ellen learn twenty a day. Since Anna, Hans, and Jan also spoke Dutch when talking among themselves, Ellen had picked up quite a bit of the language. She couldn’t wait to show her Dutch teacher how much she learned. She was almost through the entire Dutch textbook, and the school year was only half finished.

  Ellen had also worked hard this week trying to find another clue that she could pass on to her parents. She finally decided to use the license plate number from the black van that Jan and Hans drove. She still didn’t know where she was, so she thought the license number was the best she could do. She had memorized it by repeating it over and over in her head. Ellen had written some more letters to her parents, but no one would agree to send them. She had to figure out another way.

  “Please,” Ellen begged at dinner. “Next week is the end of the quarter at my school. I need to go back there. They’re going to flunk me if I don’t turn in all this schoolwork. I can’t have all F’s on my report card for second quarter of sixth grade. I’m going to go to college, you know. Can I go home next week?”

  No one answered her.

  Ellen pulled herself up from the table and began washing the dishes. A few minutes later, she heard Hans’ cellular phone ring. He carried it with him all the time, but this was the first time she had heard it ring. He walked into the bathroom and closed the door. When he came out, he went into the dining room and said to Ellen, “I think you’ll be going home next week.”

  “Really? That’s perfect! I can turn in my homework on time. I can’t wait to see my mom and dad, and my friends. Oh, thank you, Hans.”

  She ran over and gave him a big hug.

  When she went to bed that night, Ellen couldn’t sleep because of the excitement of knowing that she would be going home soon.