A Far Justice

by Richard Herman

  Denise was on her feet. “I must object. It is obvious this witness should be in hospital, and I seriously doubt he has the mental acuity to testify.”

  Hank was ready. “Reverend Person is under a doctor’s care and the chamber can determine if he has the mental acuity to testify.”

  Denise’s staff had done their homework and she scoffed. “Is the Reverend here with his doctor’s approval?”

  Hank knew better than to sidestep the issue. “Reverend Person decided to override the attending doctor’s recommendation.”

  “May I remind the court,” Denise said, “that this witness is here contrary to the ruling of the Witness and Victims’ Protection Unit, which specifically directed the court not to transport the witness for his own safety. Defense counsel deliberately ignored this ruling, and the court can see at what cost.” She raised her head in indignation, claiming the TV cameras. “The court’s duty is to protect the weak and innocent who cannot protect themselves. We cannot let anyone, prosecutor or defense counsel, ride roughshod over this basic principle. To do so would make us all derelict in our duty.”

  Hank shot her a look of contempt. “Is procedure more important than the truth? Is the prosecutor afraid to hear what Reverend Person might say now that he is here?”

  “Must I repeat myself?” Denise countered. “The witness is not in a fit state to testify. Further, given the nature of his wounds and resultant high fever, the court must assume he has suffered permanent cognitive damage, making any testimony questionable.”

  “It is the court’s duty to determine if the witness is capable of taking the stand and evaluating his testimony, not the prosecutor’s.”

  Bouchard was at the end of his patience. He held up his hand, commanding Hank to silence. “Monsieur Person, are you here contrary to your doctor’s orders?”

  “Your Honor,” Toby answered, “a doctor did recommend that I not testify.” His voice was weak and reedy, barely audible. “But I am a doctor and know I am capable of taking the stand.”

  Denise was ready. “The court has determined by other means the relevancy of the witness’s testimony.”

  Hank faced the three judges. “I am appalled by the prosecutor’s argument. Every defendant has the right to examine, in court, the evidence and witnesses against him. In this case, the evidence in question is an alleged statement by the Reverend Person that was presented to the court by ‘other means.’ These ‘other means’ have been called into question. Reverend Person is now present in court and ready to testify. Further, the Reverend Person has in his possession his copy of the electronic recording of his original statement.”

  “Your Honors,” Denise protested, “first we are asked to hear the testimony of an obviously sick man. Now we are presented with ‘his copy of the electronic recording of his original statement.’ How can the court be expected to verify the authenticity of this recording? There is no established chain of custody and the recording, by nature of its timing and the way it reached this court, must be considered suspect.”

  “And the honorable Watban Horan’s testimony is not?” Hank asked.

  Bouchard had heard enough. “We will recess to consider the prosecutor’s objection to the witness.” He stood and marched out of the room as Della Sante and Richter followed.

  Aly rushed over to Toby and knelt beside the wheelchair. Hank was right behind her. “So this is what Gus has been going through,” Toby said. He turned to his old friend and raised his hand in greeting. Gus stood and nodded in acknowledgement. They waited in silence for a few moments until the red light on the clerk’s desk flashed. The court was back in session.

  Bouchard adjusted his glasses and started to read. “We have taken the prosecutor’s objection to the witness under consideration and find that she is correct. The witness will not be allowed to testify, and hence the witness’s recording of his statement will not be allowed into evidence.” A loud rumble of disapproval swept through the audience. Bouchard banged his gavel until he could be heard. “If there is another outburst, I will order the courtroom cleared.” The audience calmed. “Further, I will remind defense counsel that this chamber is fully capable of evaluating all evidence against the accused. We are not a panel of untrained and inexperienced jurors. You may call your next witness.”

  “Look at Gus,” Aly whispered. Hank turned towards the dock. Gus’s face was frozen, his eyes hard, his body tensed and poised. For the first time, Hank saw the warrior. This was a man, who, under the right circumstances, would kill without hesitation or guilt.

  Hank came to his feet shaking his head. “Your Honor, you leave me at a total loss for words. We request a brief recess to confer with Colonel Tyler.”

  Bouchard banged his gavel, using it like a weapon. “We have addressed the issue of proper titles in the past. Do not try this court’s patience further or you will be removed as defense counsel. The court is in recess for fifteen minutes.” He stood and marched out leaving a stunned Della Sante and Richter behind.

  Gus stood in the center of the holding cell, his arms folded across his chest, his feet apart as Hank and Aly rushed in. “Close the door,” he ordered. “Hank, I need to speak to Cassandra.” The lawyer opened his percom and handed it to Gus. “Cassandra, are we being bugged?”

  The image cocked her head at Gus, and, for a moment, didn’t answer. “Yes, you are.”

  “Jam the living hell out of ‘em. Whatever you can do, do it.”

  “I’ll need a power source. Place your percom next to any electrical outlet or fixture in your cell and I’ll do what I can.” The image smiled. “Oh my, this is going to be exciting.”

  Gus turned to Hank. “Fuck those bastards. End it. The sooner the better.”

  Hank started to protest but the look on Gus’s face convinced him that any argument would be fruitless, if not dangerous. “Done.”

  “I need to speak to Aly,” Gus said, motioning Hank out the door. The door closed and she was in his arms, crying. He felt her heart beating against his chest and he slowly relaxed. “It’s going to be okay. Trust me.” Her tears slowly quieted. “Do you still have that business card I gave you?” She nodded, her face still against his chest. He whispered in her ear, telling her exactly what he wanted.

  They were back in session and Hank stood at the podium. “If it may please the court, the defense rests.” He sat down.

  For once, Bouchard did not have to confer with the other two judges. “I hereby declare the submission of evidence is closed. At this time, we invite the prosecutor and defense to make closing statements. In accordance with Rule 141, defense will have the opportunity to speak last. Madam Prosecutor, do you wish to make a closing statement?”

  Denise came to her feet, still stunned by the rapid turn of events. “Thank you, your Honor, we do. If it pleases the court, the prosecution would like to prepare over the weekend and present our closing statement on Monday.”

  Bouchard made a note. “Does defense wish to make a closing statement?”

  “Indeed we do, your Honor. How about today?”

  Bouchard arched an eyebrow. “Does the defense relinquish the opportunity to speak last?”

  “No, we do not. However, it is the defendant’s wish to end this trial as soon as possible and we see no need for further delay at this point. If I may quote your Honor, ‘this chamber is fully capable of evaluating all evidence against the accused.’ You are, indeed, a panel of experienced and learned justices who do not require direction or explanation.” He almost added “from mere mortals” but thought better of it.

  Bouchard stared at Hank, not quite certain if he was being sarcastic. He made a decision. “We are adjourned and will reconvene tomorrow, Friday, at ten o’clock in the morning to receive closing statements.”

  2

  Therese Derwent sat beside Gus in the corner of her office and handed him a demitasse. She waited while he sipped. “In court today,” she began, “when Justice Bouchard would not allow Person to testify, I have never seen you
so angry.”

  Gus set the small cup down and tried to look forlorn. “That was the whole ballgame right there.” He drew in a deep breath and gave a little shudder. Don’t overdo it, he thought. “The court will never hear the truth and Horan’s testimony will convict me.”

  “Have you spoken with your wife recently?” she asked, desperate to move him away from the despair she believed would drive him to suicide. She reached into her handbag and handed him her cell phone. “Please. It’s late morning in Minnesota.” She retreated to her desk to give him as much privacy as she could.

  Gus punched in the number and Clare answered. His spirits soared. “How are you, love?” he asked.

  “I’m sitting by the window and reading. The sun is out and Michelle is doing volunteer work at the boys’ school. We’re all doing fine.”

  “You sound great. How about turning the camera on so I can see you?”

  “No way!” she laughed. It was the same laugh that had enchanted him so many years ago, and, for a moment, he was young again. “They’ve got me on a new medication and my hair is falling out. It’s not chemo but I am having a reaction to it. Don’t worry, I’m much better.”

  The psychiatrist tried not to listen as they talked, but she couldn’t help herself. Gus was intelligent, loyal, and warm with charm and consideration. He was exactly what she valued in any human being. When they were finished, she rejoined him. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “I have an engagement tonight in Amsterdam and won’t be here. If you need help sleeping, I can have the prison’s doctor bring you a sedative.”

  “Thanks. I’ll need it.”

  FORTY-ONE

  The Hague

  Gus sat down in the dock and glanced at the audience. His rooting section was there and had grown. Now that’s encouraging, he thought. He stood when the judges entered. Bouchard sat and peered over his glasses as he went through the opening formalities. He nodded to Denise. “The prosecutor may present her closing statement.”

  Denise walked slowly to the podium as commentators in the media booth talked about her regal beauty. Her hair was pulled into a bundle on the nape of her neck and she was wearing new glasses. She methodically uncapped her OMAS pen. “War is a terrible thing that we must end.”

  You’re preaching to the choir, Gus thought. Convince the other guys. He listened as the prosecutor spoke, and, after seventy minutes, doubted if she would say anything new. He hid his disgust when she said, “We must discard our emotions and evaluate the horror of Mutlah Ridge for what it was, a senseless exercise in killing. The Iraqis were an army in disarray and retreat. There was no need to attack them.”

  The Kuwaitis might have a few words to say about that. Again, he listened. After another hour, he was beginning to wonder if she would ever finish.

  “The evidence has shown that the criminal Tyler knew civilians were present, and he attacked with this knowledge.”

  Yeah. Right.

  “When every soldier understands that killing defenseless civilians is prohibited and will be punished, humankind will have taken a significant step in ending war.”

  There are some things still worth fighting for. Again, he listened as she ticked off her points, wielding the pen like a wand of indictment. Twice she sipped at the glass of water by her side, and twice she used the pause for effect. It was a well-rehearsed performance that built to a climax.

  “By his own admission, the defendant employed prohibited weapons that are specifically prohibited under Article 8. Further, the coward Tyler employed them from the safety of a supersonic jet at a safe altitude.”

  Two hundred feet isn’t high and 540 knots isn’t supersonic.

  “Following orders is not justification for murdering innocent civilians as finding an enemy spread over a large area does not excuse employing unjust means for attacking that enemy. Our common sense tells us all these things. We have before us the rare opportunity to bring a small justice to a far land, and in the name of humanity, I charge you to do your duty. Do not let this cold-blooded murderer escape the consequences of his actions.” She sat down to a burst of applause from the audience.

  Do I get a vote?

  Bouchard checked the time. “As the hour is approaching one o’clock, we are in recess until three this afternoon. He tapped his gavel as the commentators in the booth assured their audiences that Denise Du Milan had driven the last nail into Gus Tyler’s coffin.

  Marci Lennox followed her cameraman as he cleared a path through the mass of people marching down the broad boulevard leading to the palace of the International Criminal Court. She keyed her microphone. “The police estimate that over ten thousand people have poured into this quiet seaside city. Ahead of us, you can see the Dutch police lining the sidewalk and sealing off the palace from the demonstrators.” The cameraman panned the area and focused on Ewe Reiss holding his sign proclaiming HIGHWAY OF DEATH in front of the police line. Another demonstrator stood beside him holding a sign proclaiming NOT GUILTY. It was an image made to order for TV.

  “These two demonstrators are a microcosm of what we are experiencing here on this cold and clear day where the demonstrators appear evenly split as to the guilt of Gus Tyler.” She continued to walk. “While this is a very orderly and somber demonstration, you can feel the tension building underneath, awaiting the spark to set it off.” She was off the air.

  “That’s a good one, Marci,” her director in New York said. “Now get the hell out of there.”

  “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “I know a powder keg when I see one.”

  Hank stood and slowly scanned the room, letting the moment build. You’re spinning your wheels, Gus thought. The verdict was in before I was arrested.

  “If it may please the court,” Hank began. “August Tyler is a warrior who does not run from the truth. He is a fighting man who has willingly risked his life fighting for the freedom of others. And for this, he stands before this court accused of war crimes. August Tyler is a pilot, a master of his aircraft with the heart of a hunter. He is that rare breed of aviator called a fighter pilot. He blends skill and ability with intelligence and dedication that few pilots can match. He follows the rules of his profession diligently and with honor. And for this, he is accused of the willful killing of civilians, and employing prohibited weapons.

  “But this is an honorable court, as Alex Melwin and Marie Doorn proved at the price of their own lives. It is entirely proper and fitting that we should hold to account any individual who falls within the jurisdiction of this court, and has committed crimes within the court’s purview, for we are an honorable court.”

  Bouchard’s face flushed and he raised his gavel, glaring at Hank. Hank mouthed the words “go ahead.” For a moment, they silently locked wills. “May I continue?” Hank asked. Bouchard lowered his gavel. “August Tyler freely acknowledges he participated in the Gulf War. He was one of the many who helped free over two million people from the grinding oppression of a ruthless dictator who invaded their country. Can there ever be a more just war? And for this, this court would take his freedom from him. But no one in this room that I know of can wear a similar badge of courage.

  “Did anyone in this courtroom watch August Tyler’s face when he had to relive the hell he created on Mutlah Ridge? That is the price an honorable and decent man pays for war. He never denied that he employed cluster bomb units on the fleeing Iraqis. And for this, he is being prosecuted as a war criminal. Supposedly, he is before the court as a Panamanian citizen, a country that did not participate in the Gulf War. Yet, he is a citizen of the United States, born of United States citizens. He is not a citizen of Panama. The prosecutor relies on the concept of ‘universal jurisdiction’ as a basis for prosecuting August Tyler. But there is no chain of jurisdiction, universal or temporal, binding him to this court.”

  Gus studied Denise’s reactions as Hank went through the evidence, tearing it apart. She’s a cool one.
r />   “You have before you August Tyler’s personnel record,” Hank continued. “It would have been easy to portray Natividad Gomez as a spy who betrayed the trust of her fellow countrymen. But really, she is only a woman in love who was badly used by her lover. Further, there is nothing in his record to be rationalized away or explained. It offers you a snapshot of his career, a career marked by dedication and professionalism. We welcome it into evidence. Then there is the testimony of Davis Armiston, a politically ambitious man deficient in flying skills. His motivation speaks for itself.

  “With the exception of Hassan Ghamby, a truck driver who was transporting goods stolen from the Kuwaitis, the prosecution has failed to directly link August Tyler’s attack on the convoy to a single civilian death.” Hank pointed at the pile of evidence stacked on the clerk’s desk. “Yet the only evidence of Ghamby’s death is the word of one witness, a scarred and politically motivated man, and an identification bracelet taken off a body by a doctor. Given the turmoil and chaos of war, it is reasonable to assume that body was Hassan Ghamby. But given the looting and pillaging that was rampant among the Iraqis, it is only an assumption, and not a proven fact.

  “Ultimately, the prosecutor’s case rests on the tainted deposition submitted by Watban Horan. Yet the one witness who could substantiate or refute the deposition entered into evidence against August Tyler was not allowed to testify because defense counsel did not adhere to court procedures. Such is the game of justice.”