A Far Justice

by Richard Herman

  Toby tried to stand but he didn’t have the strength. Jason helped him to his feet and carried him piggyback out of the hospital. Hon was waiting, packs shouldered and holding their two MP5s. “Let’s go,” Jason said, joining the crowd of people surging through the small town and fleeing to the south. Four teenagers split off from the gangs ransacking the marketplace and surrounded them. One grabbed at the packs Hon was carrying and dragged him to the ground while the second one grabbed the MP5s. The last two pushed at Jason and snarled. The first two stripped the packs and MP5s away from Hon and ran, disappearing into the crowd but the other two kept coming at Jason. He dropped Toby to the ground and drove his right fist into his closest attacker’s sternum, knocking the wind out of him. A hard kick to the knee sent his assailant to the ground screaming in pain. The last one drew his machete and swung at Jason. But the big American’s reflexes were rattlesnake quick and he feinted to his right, avoiding the machete. The teenager started to swing, and then checked it. He grinned wickedly as he parried and thrust, coming at Jason. A short burst of heavy machine gun fire cut into the young thug, almost chopping him in two. Jason dropped to the ground and rolled, using the teenager’s body for cover. “It’s okay, Boss,” Paride yelled.

  “Man, am I glad to see you,” Jason called.

  Hon struggled to his feet, still dazed but not hurt. He blinked his eyes, his face fearful. “What …?” he asked, pointing at the high-wheeled armored personnel carrier stopped behind Paride. Four heavily armed white men clambered out the back. A big, burley, blond-haired man was the last to climb down.

  “It’s called a Wolf Turbo, Mate,” the man said.

  “They are friends,” Paride said. “They find me.”

  The man stuck out his hand to Jason. “Hans Landerrost.” They shook hands. “You are the devil to find. Paride here tells me the Reverend is wounded.” He spoke with a South African accent. “We have an airfield near here.” The Afrikaner looked up as two more Sudanese helicopters flew over. “This is getting bloody fuckin’ interestin’.”

  The bark of AK47s echoed in the distance.

  The Hague

  Gus made small talk as they waited for the trial to reconvene. “How was Christmas?”

  “Strange enough, one of the best we’ve had,” Hank answered. “Catherine hit the ground running when she got back, but for some reason eased off. We didn’t go through all the usual hoopla and spent Christmas Eve decorating the tree.”

  “Is Catherine coming back?”

  Hank allowed a little smile. His wife was his best friend and anchor. “She’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “So what’s on the agenda for today?”

  “We have to discredit Schumann’s testimony. Fortunately, his charge about using napalm is bogus so we can tie that can to his tail.”

  “Unfortunately,” Gus admitted, “we did use it.”

  “Ah, shit,” Hank moaned. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. The Marines used it at least once. I’m not sure where or when.”

  “Was napalm used on Mutlah Ridge? By anyone?”

  “No and no,” Gus answered.

  “Did the Air Force ever use napalm in the Gulf.”

  “Not that I’m aware of. The Air Force stopped using it back in the seventies in Vietnam. It was a crappy weapon to begin with, and not very effective. Tactically, CBU’s are much better. The canisters separate clean from the aircraft with a good trajectory. You always know where they’re going and it really chews up the bad guys without all the bad publicity.”

  Cassandra whispered in Hank’s ear, outlining a strategy her legal team had devised. Hank visibly relaxed. “I can handle this,” he promised. It was time, and he left for the courtroom where Aly was waiting. Every seat in the courtroom was taken and an expectant hush fell over the crowd when Hank entered the side door. He sat down and handed Aly his percom. “There’s a message from Cassandra I need printed out. Also, we need to recall Roger Marks, one of Du Milan’s weapons experts. Is he available?”

  “I’ll find out,” she replied. She hurried out of the courtroom as Gus was escorted to the dock. The red light on the clerk’s desk flashed and they were back in session.

  Hank studied Bouchard’s face as he sat down, looking for signs of ill health or strain. Then it hit him – the judge was wearing makeup. “This court is in session,” Bouchard intoned. “We hope all enjoyed their holidays and are ready to bring these proceedings to a timely conclusion.”

  Hank stood to test the waters. “Is time now a factor, your Honor?” Given the political situation in the United Nations, he strongly suspected that it was.

  Bouchard humphed. “Of course not. As is the custom of the court, does the prosecution or defense have any business to bring to the court’s attention?” Denise said the prosecution had nothing for the court.

  Hank wondered when the judges would rule on the petition to transfer Gus to Iraqi custody. He decided Bouchard had to pick the right moment, probably the day Gus took the stand. “The defense has nothing … ” he let his voice trail off and relief spread across Bouchard’s face. “… at this time,” Hank added, ratcheting Bouchard up a notch. Aly rejoined him and handed him a five-page printout from Cassandra.

  “Roger Marks is hovering in the witness lounge,” she told Hank. “He wants to be recalled to the stand.”

  “The guy really needs his fifteen minutes of fame,” Hank replied. “I think we’ll give it to him.”

  “Call your next witness,” Bouchard said.

  Hank suppressed a smile at what was coming next. Aly read the signs right and said, “Don’t get full of yourself.”

  “The defense recalls Roger Marks to the stand,” Hank said. He waited at the podium while the Englishman entered the side door. He was the same man as Hank remembered, nondescript, paunchy, and desperate for his time in the sun. The same anger and frustration Hank had sensed the first time was still there.

  Hank waited while Bouchard thanked him for returning and reminding him that he was still under oath. Hank decided that a few ego strokes were in order. “Mr. Marks, let me also thank you for sharing your valuable time and expertise with the court. From your prior testimony, it was established that you were present in Kuwait during the Gulf War. Can you elaborate on exactly what you observed?”

  “Objection,” Denise called. “This is a new line of questioning. The rules of the court specify that cross-examination must be confined to Mr. Marks prior testimony.”

  “Mr. Marks testified earlier that he was in Kuwait. I am now asking for specifics.”

  Bouchard spoke quietly to Della Sante and Richter. “The objection is overruled,”

  Marks swelled with importance as he related how he was a reporter for Scientifica Europa, a quarterly journal published in France. He had arrived in Saudi Arabia a week before the land phase of the war started and had spent over three months examining the environmental damage caused by the war. For the next two hours, he expounded on how he had documented the effect of weapons on the environment. Hank’s patience was rewarded when Marks mentioned that he had been to Mutlah Ridge. It was the opening Hank needed and he held his breath to see if Denise would object. Marks continued to talk without an objection from the prosecutor.

  “Mr. Marks, based on your investigation and documentation, what specific weapons did you discover in your research?” Again, Marks was effusive in answering and listed every type of weapon and the associated damage he had discovered. “Mr. Marks, you stated you were on Mutlah Ridge. Was this before or after the fleeing Iraqi convoy was destroyed?”

  Denise finally realized where Hank was going. “Objection! Mr. Marks presence on Mutlah Ridge is new evidence and beyond the scope of defense counsel’s cross-examination.”

  “The witness testified earlier to being in other areas in Kuwait without objection,” Hank replied.

  Della Sante leaned into Bouchard and spoke rapidly, her voice inaudible but her face animated. Bouchard grumped an answer and Richter’s mouth move
d, saying something in German. Bouchard straightened up. “Objection overruled. The witness may answer the question.”

  “I arrived at Mutlah Ridge the day after the attack and spent over forty-eight hours examining the battlefield.”

  “Did you discover any evidence supporting the allegation that the coalition forces used napalm at Mutlah Ridge?”

  Marks hesitated, fully aware of Schumann’s testimony. He did not want to answer the question. He looked at Denise who stared at him. He gulped. “No. But my test kit was exhausted.”

  “Why did you need a test kit?”

  “Napalm leaves a distinct chemical signature. I had tested many areas for napalm and was out of test chemicals.”

  “You testified earlier that you interviewed many doctors about the wounds they treated. Were napalm burns ever mentioned?”

  Marks’ “No” was barely audible.

  “In earlier testimony by Doctor Gustav Schumann, the court was told about another team investigating weapons employed by the coalition forces in Iraq.” He passed two pages of the trial transcript to Marks. “Would you be so kind as to read the highlighted passages?” Marks swallowed, his throat now dry, and started to read. His flat, dry drone stripped away the emotional impact that Schumann had created. Hank leaned forward when Marks reached the critical passage.

  “Prosecutor: What weapons did the investigation team document had been used by the coalition forces against the Iraqis?

  “Schumann: The list is long. There were, of course, the so-called ‘smart bombs;’ cluster bomb units, or CBUs; anti-tank missiles, cruise missiles like the Tomahawk; the standard conventional bombs, and many more that I do not recall at this moment, for which I apologize.

  “Prosecutor: We understand, perfectly, Doctor. Did your investigators document the weapons used on Mutlah Ridge, the Highway of Death?

  “Schumann: The investigators spent a full day examining the carnage. Many weapons of mass destruction had been used, such as cluster bomb units and napalm.”

  Hank moved in for the kill. “Did you encounter Doctor Schumann’s investigators while you were at Mutlah Ridge?”

  “Yes.”

  On cue, Aly handed Hank the same thin leather folder he had used in examining Harm deRijn. Marks stared at it, his lower lip quivering. “Please be more specific as to when and where you encountered Dr. Schumann’s investigators.”

  “We were escorted as a group for safety and had to stay together for the entire time they were there.”

  “Yet, you discovered no evidence that napalm had been employed against the Iraqis. Were you wrong?”

  Marks hesitated, desperate to avoid answering. He looked at Denise who stared at him. He gulped when Hank opened the leather folder. “I found no evidence of napalm.”

  Hank closed the folder. “Thank you for your honesty.” He sat down.

  Denise was on her feet, determined to salvage what she could. “Did you specifically ask the doctors you interviewed about napalm burns?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Did you observe casualties suffering from burn wounds?”

  “Yes, many times.”

  “Did you observe burnt-out vehicles on Mutlah Ridge?” Marks was recovering. “Countless times.”

  “Could napalm have set those vehicles on fire?”

  The old Marks was back, pedantic and confident. “It’s possible.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Marks.” Denise sat down.

  Hank took the podium. “Was the burn damage to the vehicles you observed on Mutlah Ridge consistent with conventional bomb damage and gas tanks exploding?”

  Marks answer was painful. “Yes.”

  “Did you observe this type of destruction and burn damage in areas other than Mutlah Ridge?”

  The Englishman was desperate to escape. “Yes.”

  “We must be absolutely clear on this point, Mr. Marks. Did you test for napalm in those areas where you had observed similar bomb damage?”

  Denise was on her feet. “Objection. This question had been asked and answered earlier.”

  “Mr. Marks,” Hank replied, “testified that he had tested for napalm in ‘many areas.’ We are now establishing specific areas.”

  The judges conferred briefly and Bouchard frowned. “Objection overruled. The witness may answer the question.”

  Marks managed a strangled “Yes.”

  Hank pressed him hard. “Did you ever find any evidence of napalm?” Marks shook his head. “Please answer the question.” Again, Marks shook his head. “Please answer the question for the record.”

  “I never found any evidence of napalm,” Marks finally admitted.

  Hank sat down and Denise wisely declined to continue the cross-examination. Bouchard looked tired and conferred briefly with Della Sante and Richter. They both nodded and he adjourned the trial until the next morning.

  “Hank,” Cassandra whispered in Hank’s ear, “you didn’t know if Marks had discovered napalm when you opened that line of questioning. Don’t do that to me again.”

  “It was a calculated gamble,” Hank admitted. “I was almost certain Marks would have brought it up if he had. Besides, if Du Milan had discovered it, she would have been screaming like a banshee from hell long before this.”

  “You can bet she’s looking for it now,” Cassandra cautioned.

  Marci Lennox was holding forth in the forecourt of the palace. She was wearing a stylish cut navy style pea jacket and her hair, now cut exactly like Catherine’s, caressed her face in the gentle breeze. She looked into the TV camera. “Hank Sutherland came out swinging today as the trial of Gus Tyler resumed. The veteran lawyer masterfully used one of the prosecution’s expert witnesses to impeach the testimony of Gustav Schumann and refute the allegation that the coalition forces had used napalm on the highway of death. How Du Milan will recover remains to be seen.” She fed a few questions to her director and then recorded the answers. She concluded with, “Moments ago, one veteran court observer told me that the momentum of the trial is swinging in Gus Tyler’s favor. The only question is: can Hank Sutherland maintain it?” She was off the air.

  “Nice hairdo,” her producer in New York said.

  Southern Sudan

  The Wolf Turbo coasted to a halt in the middle of the road and Hans Landerrost listened to the sounds in the dark. “Trouble,” he said in a low voice, hearing something that Jason had missed. Landerrost climbed out of the personnel carrier and adjusted his night vision goggles. “Wait there,” he ordered, motioning the personnel carrier off the road. His men quickly spread out and set up a defensive perimeter. Landerrost spoke quietly to his second-in-command, an equally large man named Simon, and disappeared into the night. Jason gave the Afrikaner high marks and there was no doubt that he was a highly skilled mercenary. Within minutes, Landerrost was back “There are soldiers on the road ahead of us.”

  “Toby’s fever is up,” Jason said. “We need help.”

  “We’re almost there, mate.” He checked his GPS. “The airfield is three kilometers ahead. He stared into the night, his face hard. “We’ll get there as soon as those fuckin’ bastards move on.” He settled into his seat and fell asleep. Thirty minutes latter, the sound of a diesel engine cranking to life split the dark. “Now that’s a big bugger,” Landerrost said, instantly awake. The diesel engine revved and the vehicle clanked into gear. The sound was slowly swallowed by the night.

  “I didn’t hear the clatter of tank tracks,” Jason said. “Maybe an armored car.”

  “That’s fuckin’ more than enough,” Landerrost replied. He climbed into the personnel carrier and stood in the crew compartment, the upper half of his body above the open top. Again, he listened with a unique sixth sense. “They’ve gone.” Landerrost keyed his small walkie-talkie. “We found what we were looking for. Coming in.”

  “We’ve got a mine field out,” a voice replied. “Come through the swamp.”

  Landerrost grunted a reply in Afrikaans and guided the truck through the tal
l grass using a GPS. The ground turned to mush and the big wheels spun, barely maintaining traction as they crossed a swampy area. Finally, they were on solid ground and Jason could see a cluster of buildings. They drove past a portable drilling rig and a stack of pipes and crates. Jason scanned the big compound. Someone had sank a lot of money in it. “Welcome to Westcot Five,” Landerrost said.

  “Block five, the oil concession?” Jason asked.

  “Right on. Mr. Westcot seems to be bloody fuckin’ interested in you, and whatever Mr. Westcot wants, well, you know the rest, Mate.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The Hague

  Catherine burst into the office twenty minutes before the court reconvened. Aly was right behind her carrying her suitcase. Hank looked up from his desk. “Bad flight?” he asked, coming to his feet.

  “Straight from hell,” she answered. They embraced and Hank’s morale took a quantum leap upward. His best friend and counselor was back. “Any news on Jason and Toby?” Hank shook his head. “I take it the strategy of the day is delay.”

  “It’s about all I can do.” Hank replied. “I’ve got a few witnesses left for today and I expect Bouchard will call for a short break over the New Year.” He donned his robe and they followed Aly down the hall. “I may be able to get a delay until Tuesday, Wednesday at the latest. But Du Milan is pressing for a conclusion.”

  “Bouchard is listening to her,” Aly added.

  Hank gave her an appreciative look. “Aly’s got the building wired for sound,” he said. “I’ve got to see Gus before we start. See you in court.” They parted as Hank headed for the holding cell. He expected a ruling on the Iraqi petition for custody at any time and had to warn the pilot.