A Far Justice

by Richard Herman

  Outside, he saw a shadow hurrying down the walk and gave chase. The man saw him and ran. Jason breathed easily as he chased the man, in no hurry to catch him. He wanted to run him a bit to tire him out. He put on a burst of speed when the man reached a parked car and jumped inside. The engine roared to life as Jason reached the car. The man slammed the car into gear and twisted the steering wheel as Jason squeezed off a round into the windshield. He missed. But like so many European windshields, it splintered into a thousand bits and shreds, momentarily blinding the driver. Jason fired a second round through the opening. This one tore off the driver’s ear. The car crashed into a parked minivan.

  Jason dragged the man out of the car and spread-eagled him against the minivan. “I always give a man a choice,” he said. “Talk or start bleeding.” The man spat in Jason’s face. “Your choice,” Jason growled. He squeezed off a third shot and shattered the back of the man’s right knee. He screamed in pain as Jason jammed the muzzle into his rectum, lifting him clear of the ground. “I always give a man a choice …”

  TWENTY-THREE

  The Hague

  It was early Friday morning and Marci Lennox’s crew switched on small high intensity floodlights, lighting the Palace’s deserted forecourt. She looked into the camera. “A triple tragedy with the suicide of Harm de Rijn and the brutal murder of defense counsel Alex Melwin and his legal assistant, Marie Doorn, has stunned this small and normally placid country. Harm de Rijn had often been called the Netherlands’ Walter Cronkite, and apparently took his own life after it was revealed that he was employed by Saddam Hussein’s regime during the Gulf War of 1991.

  “The demonstrations that swept through Amsterdam following the news of de Rijn’s suicide melted away in the aftermath of the double killing which has all the earmarks of an execution-style murder. The murder is under investigation, and we are told that the trial will remain adjourned at least until Monday.”

  Jason spread the stark crime photos on the office’s conference table as Hank, Aly, and Catherine crowded around him. “They’re two thugs from Marseilles. The one who took the header down the stairwell was the leader. The one I convinced to talk claims ‘the Family’ let the contract for the hit and that’s all he knows. The Rijkspolitie, that’s the Dutch national police, says the Family is a group of Corsicans that provides whatever services the underworld might require, and I was lucky to get the thug to even admit the Family was involved. So we’re pretty much at a dead end.”

  “Are the police going to charge you?” Hank asked.

  “As far as the Dutch are concerned, I did them a favor.”

  Hank thought for a moment. “Why Alex and Marie?”

  Jason shook his head. “We’ll never know, not now. But I think they were going after you and couldn’t hack it. So they took out who they could.”

  “Why would they do that?” Catherine asked.

  “According to the Rijkspolitie, it’s the way the Family does business. Cash on the barrelhead and it’s a matter of honor to provide results.”

  Catherine was still confused. “Why couldn’t they get to Hank?”

  “Let’s just say we had his back.”

  Catherine was very worried. “Is Hank safe?”

  Jason nodded. “Oh, yeah. Count on it.”

  Catherine’s eyes opened wide as the pieces came together. “By any chance do your people drive a blue Mercedes?”

  A little smile flickered across Jason’s lips. It was time they knew. “Sure do. If you get in trouble and need help, look for it or a silver Audi.” He studied the two lawyers for a moment. “So where do we go from here?”

  Hank paced the floor. “The game’s changed.” He opened his percom and sat it on the table. “Folks, meet Cassandra.” He explained how the personal communicator worked and let them get acquainted. Then, “Cassandra, what’s your estimate of the situation?”

  “Losing Alex was a major setback,” she replied. “He knew how to argue the legal issues and most of the judges on the court listened to him. Now that he’s gone, we’re very worried about keeping the Reverend Person’s statement out.”

  “Have you been able to establish contact with Person?” Hank asked.

  “Not yet. There is a report that a supply convoy got through to the mission.”

  “Is the airfield open?” Jason asked.

  “It’s reported closed,” Cassandra replied.

  “Gus claims that Toby would never make that statement,” Hank said. “At this point, I’m willing to go with that. But we’re back to the basic problem; getting him here.”

  “We contacted the State Department,” Cassandra said. “No help there. They said the United States is hands-off in the Sudan. Even if we got to him, we don’t know if he would agree to testify.”

  Hank stopped his pacing and looked at Jason. “If we can work something out, would you go get him?”

  “In a heartbeat,” Jason replied. “Toby will remember me and listen.”

  “Cassandra, can you make that happen?” Hank asked.

  “I’ll get right on it.”

  “So what do we do for now?” Jason asked.

  “I’d suggest you pack,” Cassandra answered.

  Bouchard’s opening remarks when he reconvened the court on Monday were somber and fitting, and, for the first time, Hank saw a hint of humanity as he paid tribute to Alex Melwin and Marie Doorn. Denise stood when the judge finished and added her condolences. Bouchard thanked her and turned to Hank who was sitting alone at the table. “The court will hear with favor any request for a postponement.”

  Gus came to his feet. “Your Honor, if I may.” Bouchard granted him leave to speak. “As you may know, I had many differences with Alex Melwin when he was first appointed as my defense counsel. But as time passed, I came to trust him and respect his judgment. Alex was many things, imperfect in some ways, but in one thing constant and true. He believed in this court and what it stands for. He once wrote that ‘the court is seriously flawed but at same time it is a beacon for our future.’ Perhaps the best way we can honor Alex Melwin is to continue, to remedy those flaws and find that beacon that he spoke of.”

  For a moment, there was only silence. Then Della Sante stood and bowed her head. “You honor us, Signore.”

  “If there is no objection,” Bouchard said, “we will continue.” Routinely, he asked if there were any issues for the court. Denise said no as Hank came to his feet. Bouchard closed his eyes and took a deep breath in obvious frustration. “Yes, Monsieur Sutherland?”

  “If it may please the court; reference is made to the Prosecutor’s petition ‘Initiation of Investigation into United States War Crimes in Iraq, March 19, 2003, to January 20, 2009.’ The prosecutor was granted permission by the court to proceed with the investigation on October sixth of this year. However, she exceeded the intent of the court when she extended the investigation outside of the aforementioned dates. Therefore, the prosecutor lacked the authority to arrest and charge the defendant, and he must be released immediately.” He handed the blue-covered petition to the clerk and sat down.

  Denise smiled indulgently. “This is a minor matter of little more consequence than a typographical error.”

  “Is it?” Hank asked.

  Bouchard’s face went rigid. “Monsieur Sutherland, you are splitting hairs and the court agrees with the …”

  Richter interrupted. “I find this very troublesome and urge the court to take defense council’s petition under immediate review.” He closed his notebook with finality.

  Bouchard’s face turned a mottled red, and his jaw quivered as he spoke. “We are adjourned until further notice.” He stood and hurried out without waiting for the other two judges.

  Hank turned to Catherine and Jason. “How about that?”

  “You’ve openly split them,” Catherine replied.

  Denise’s high-heels clicked an angry tattoo on the parquet floor when she stormed into Bouchard’s office. She ripped off her robe and dropped it on his secret
ary’s desk as she passed. “He’s not to be disturbed,” the secretary warned. Denise ignored her and pushed through the double doors. The secretary picked up the phone. “Aly,” she began.

  Bouchard came to his feet, his anger matching hers. “I’m tired of these endless challenges to the court’s authority,” he snapped.

  “At least we agree on that. Stop him.”

  “And how am I to do that?”

  Denise paced the floor. “Delay. Let these foolish petitions pile up.”

  “I can’t. Richter is pressing for final arguments before Christmas and Della Sante is questioning everything now.”

  “Which one is dissenting on your rulings?”

  “Both. Fortunately, they’ve split so far but, sooner or later, they will agree.” The intercom buzzed and his secretary announced that Sutherland was outside. He glared at the offending instrument. “I’m in conference.” The door banged open and Hank barged in.

  “If you two meet once more without me, I’ll file a protest with Relieu and go public.”

  “We are all officers of the court,” Bouchard protested. “President Relieu encourages cooperation at all levels.”

  “But not in secret. Do you want to see how that one plays with the media?” He held the door and motioned for Denise to leave. She hesitated for a moment and then walked out.

  New York, New York

  Elizabeth ‘Liz’ Gordon, CNC-TV’s premier anchorwoman hosting the evening newscast, spun around in her chair and faced the large screen, her trademark short skirt and long legs in full view. Marci Lennox was on the screen, standing in the deserted courtroom. “Marci, what exactly is going on?”

  “Liz, it appears that Hank Sutherland is pounding at the very legitimacy of the court and has apparently split the three judges hearing the case.”

  “Is there any substance to the rumor we’ve been hearing over here about Iraq?”

  “I can confirm that Iraq has ratified the Rome Statute and is now a member of the International Criminal Court, which makes it the third Arabic country to do so.”

  “What impact will that have on the case?”

  “It is far too early to tell and given the unpredictability we’ve witnessed so far, I would not even want to hazard a guess.”

  “Well, it does sound exciting.”

  Marci grew even more serious. “Not if your name is Gus Tyler.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The Hague

  Aly stood at the defense table arranging the folders for the day’s trial. She was wearing a clerk’s plain back robe and would be sitting next to Hank. She walked over to Gus when he took his place in the dock. “I’m glad you’re here,” he told her.

  “It was Hank’s idea,” she said. “And I wanted to do it.”

  “Every friendly face helps.”

  The red light on the clerk’s table blinked and she hurried back to the table and stood beside Hank for the opening processional. When the court was called to order, Bouchard cleared his throat. “On examination of defense counsel’s petition to dismiss, the court must rely on Article Thirty-two of the Rome Statute that states ‘A mistake of law as to whether a particular type of conduct is a crime within the jurisdiction of the court shall not be a ground for excluding criminal responsibility.’ The court finds that the date in the prosecutor’s original petition is a minor mistake of law that does not negate the jurisdiction of the court nor criminal responsibility. Petition denied.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Hank said in a loud voice.

  “What does it mean?” Aly asked.

  “It means,” he replied in a stage whisper that carried over the room, “that the court can prosecute whoever it damn well pleases.” He came to his feet. “Your Honors, I am deeply concerned by the court’s interpretation of Article Thirty-two which concerns the mental element required by the crime in question.”

  “Counsel is referring to the first paragraph of Article Thirty-two,” Bouchard snapped. “The court is relying on the second paragraph, which addresses particular types of conduct and the court’s jurisdiction.”

  “Your Honor, Article Thirty-two does not give the court an unrestricted license to hunt for targets of opportunity.”

  “You will come to order,” Bouchard replied, his anger barely in control.

  “As soon as the court comes to justice,” Hank muttered as he sat down.

  “Why are you antagonizing him?” Aly whispered.

  “When all else fails, get obnoxious.”

  Denise stood. “If it may please the court.” Bouchard breathed in relief as he recognized her. “May we move beyond this? As you know, the Republic of Iraq has ratified the Rome Statute, becoming the one hundredth and twelfth nation to become a member of the International Criminal Court. The office of the prosecutor welcomes Iraq on this momentous occasion.”

  “If I may speak for the court,” Bouchard replied, “this chamber also welcomes Iraq as it joins in the march to universal justice.” He cleared his throat. “If there is no further business, you may call your next witness.”

  “The prosecution calls General Davis Armiston.”

  “I was hoping I’d scared him away,” Hank told Aly. She handed him the folder on Armiston. “Now it gets interesting.” He split his attention, listening to Denise lead Armiston through the standard questions as he reviewed the folder. At the same time, Cassandra spoke in his ear, providing an up-to-the-moment legal analysis by her team of lawyers. Denise’s questions took an unexpected turn when she asked Armiston about cluster bomb units.

  “I served as the commander of the Air Armament Center at Eglin Air Force Base in Florida,” Armiston replied, “and was responsible for the testing, development, and sustainment of all air-delivered munitions employed by the Air Force.”

  “How would you describe the weapons effects of CBU-58s as employed on Mutlah Ridge?”

  “It’s a wide-area denial weapon to be used on enemy troops and soft targets caught in the open.”

  “You referred to CBUs as ‘wide-area.’ Does that mean they are indiscriminate in nature?”

  “CBUs are not target selective,” he replied.

  “So anyone caught in the open, civilian or military, will be killed.”

  “Given the nature of shrapnel, they are just as likely to be wounded.”

  “Isn’t it more desirable to kill the enemy than wound him?”

  “Just the opposite. A wounded man or woman takes more care than a dead one, and that consumes resources and personnel. Further, you must take care of your wounded or it adversely affects morale.”

  “Then militarily, it is more desirable to cause widespread harm and suffering than outright death.”

  “That is the nature of warfare.”

  “Moving on, you served in the Gulf War of 1991 with the defendant. Did you know there were civilians in the areas you were attacking?”

  “It was common knowledge that civilians were in the area.”

  “Were these civilians warned about impending bombardments?”

  “I never heard anything about that.”

  “Did you participate in the attack on Mutlah Ridge?”

  “No. I was in crew rest in my quarters.”

  “Do you know who flew the aircraft that initially attacked the convoy?”

  Hank was on his feet. “Objection. Hearsay. The witness has already testified he was in crew rest.”

  “Overruled,” Bouchard said. “The witness’s testimony is both relevant and compelling.”

  “And could have been overheard in a bar,” Hank replied.

  “The witness will answer the question,” Bouchard said.

  Armiston’s face turned sad. “August William Tyler.”

  “General Armiston,” Denise continued. “What kind of pilot was the defendant?”

  “Actually a very good pilot. But he tended to be a bit of a cowboy.”

  “Please explain.”

  “He was too aggressive and disregarded the rules of engagement. Once he
attacked a convoy he found outside his assigned area without authorization.”

  Hank objected but, as expected, Bouchard overruled him.

  “What type of convoy?” Denise asked.

  “It was probably carrying a Scud missile.”

  “Probably?” Denise asked.

  “Photo reconnaissance could only confirm the presence of a fueling truck, a few support vehicles, wreckage that could have been the missile carrier, and a bus.”

  “But no missile?”

  “It probably blew up.”

  “Probably. You mentioned a bus. What was it doing there?”

  “Probably carrying the support crew.”

  “Could it have been carrying civilians?”

  Hank was on his feet. “Objection. The witness has no direct knowledge of who was on the bus.”

  “Learned counsel is correct,” Denise said. “I withdraw the question. I have no further questions. Thank you, General Armiston.” She looked at Hank with anticipation and sat down.

  “We were just sandbagged,” Hank murmured to Aly. He stood and walked to the podium his head bowed, deep in thought. Slowly, he raised his head. “Where’s …” He waited for a reaction.

  “Henri?” a woman called from the back of the audience.

  Bouchard rapped his gavel. “Another outburst from the spectators and I will order the visitor’s gallery cleared.”

  Hank looked puzzled. “Your Honor, there have been many much louder outbursts from the audience without a reprimand from the bench. Does your warning apply to all outbursts or only those outbursts for the defense?”

  “I am tired of your sarcasm, Monsieur Sutherland, and will not tolerate it.”