Aly gasped when she switched on the lights in the office. Gus, Jason, and his three fellow security policemen were sprawled out around the office, still asleep. It was an assault on Aly’s Dutch sensibilities and she glared at Jason. “Clean it up before Hank and Catherine arrive.” Jason tried to explain that things were going to get messy when five men had to camp out overnight but she wasn’t having any of it. “I’m going to the canteen and when I get back, this had better be spotless.” She dropped a clean uniform shirt for Gus and Jason’s shaving kit on her desk. “You all need to shave,” she ordered. She jerked her head in the direction of the restroom and walked out.
“Now that is one tough lady,” one of the security cops said.
“Tell me,” Jason muttered as they dressed and went to work. They were still cycling in and out of the restroom when Hank and Catherine wheeled Toby in.
“How’s it going?” Gus asked. The two men talked for a few minutes and it was clear that Toby was still weak but well on the road to recovery. “We saw your interview with Marci Lennox last night,” Gus said.
“It’s all over the TV,” Catherine added.
Hank smiled. “You blew ‘em out of the water, Toby. If that doesn’t get a few folks to thinking, nothing ever will. One thing’s for damn sure, Marci got max play with this one.” He humphed. “She’ll probably get an Emmy out of it.”
Gus sat beside Toby. “I don’t think there’s anyway I can thank you enough.” Toby arched an eyebrow, not understanding. Gus tried to find the right words. “I feel responsible for what happened at the mission, by sending Jason there.”
“Jason just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Toby said. “Stop blaming yourself.”
Jason shot Aly a knowing look and she answered with a little nod. “When are you going back?” Jason asked.
“As soon as possible,” Toby replied.
“You totally astound me,” Gus said.
A gentle look spread across Toby’s face. “Do you remember what you said after Mutlah Ridge when I asked you why we do what we do? You said, ‘There is an obligation to serve that we must honor.’ It was true then, it’s true now.”
“Yeah, but we don’t talk about it. Doesn’t go with the image.”
“Time to go to court,” Aly said.
Catherine leaned across the bar and spoke in a low voice when Denise entered the courtroom. “How can anyone look so beautiful and so devastated? She’s Marie Antoinette going to the guillotine.” As one, Gus, Aly, and Hank twisted around to see.
“Or Mary Queen of Scots,” Hank said.
“I’m voting for Anne Boleyn,” Gus added.
“Stop it,” Aly commanded.
The door behind the bench opened. Relieu, wearing a blue robe, led Della Sante and Richter to their seats. Relieu sat down in Bouchard’s seat as the clerk called the court to order. He opened a folder and read. “It is with sadness and regret that we must announce Justice Gaston Bouchard cannot continue because of ill health and must withdraw from this court. In accordance with Article Seventy-four of the Rome Statute, the presidency must replace a member of a trial chamber if a member is unable to continue. After due deliberation, I was appointed to fill the vacancy.
“Further, Article Seventy-four states ‘The judges shall attempt to achieve unanimity in their decision, failing which the decision shall be taken by a majority of the judges.’ However, given the late stage of the current proceedings, my participation in any deliberations would require rehearing the entire trial.”
“Which means Toby takes the stand,” Hank whispered to Gus. “Which is the last thing they want.” He couldn’t help himself and asked in loud voice, “Where’s Henri?”
Relieu ignored him. “As it is still possible to achieve a majority verdict without a third vote, the presidency of the court has ruled that Justices Della Sante and Richter must continue and try to reach a verdict without my participation in the deliberations. They have done so. Unfortunately, they have not been able to unanimously agree.”
“For shame!” a man shouted from the rear. Two court security guards escorted the man out as the audience buzzed with anticipation.
Catherine leaned forward. “You hung the court.”
“Thanks to Gus,” Hank said.
Relieu rapped for order. “When the court is not unanimous in its verdict, the trial chamber is required to state the views of the minority, which, in this case, is twofold.”
A loud murmur swept through the spectators and Richter tapped his microphone until it was quiet. “The question of the defendant’s guilt is not in question.” He recapped the elements of each charge and the evidence that proved Gus’s guilt. He droned on, summarizing the legal logic that justified a guilty verdict. He finally reached the end. “In view of the above and after careful deliberation, I find the defendant, August Tyler, guilty as charged.” Loud applause surged through the spectators and Relieu let it ride and build. Finally, the spectators quieted.
Now it was Della Sante’s turn. “The question of Colonel Tyler’s guilt .” She was interrupted by a collective gasp for using Gus’s proper title. She scowled at the spectators. “August Tyler earned his rank with honorable service to his country and should be so acknowledged. As I was saying, the question of Colonel Tyler’s guilt is overshadowed by two erroneous interpretations of the Rome Statue. First, Colonel Tyler is not subject to the court’s jurisdiction as he is a citizen of the United States, which was not, nor is now, a signatory to the Rome Statute, and hence, not a member of the court. While I personally believe that the court can reach back in time and prosecute crimes against humanity, this capability must be exercised with extreme care and diligence, applies only to members of the court, and can only proceed at the behest of the member party.
“Second, at the time he employed the weapons in question, the Statute’s Elements of Crimes did not prohibit them for the simple fact that the Rome Statute and the court did not exist. A fundamental principle of criminal law forbids prosecution of acts that were not identified as crimes at the time they were committed. This standard is so basic that to violate it strikes at the very legitimacy of this court.” She swept the audience with a stern look. “This court must be governed by the law and be above political influence.
“In the matter of the first count of willful murder, there is enough evidence to suggest that Colonel Tyler was responsible for the death of at least one civilian. However, this was not proven beyond a reasonable doubt. Therefore, I find the defendant, Colonel August Tyler, not guilty.” She jerked her head, signifying she was finished.
A smattering of applause worked its way around the courtroom. Relieu waited for it to subside. “In view of the above,” Relieu said, “this case is returned to the prosecutor for her consideration and the defendant is returned to the custodial State. This chamber has completed its task and stands adjourned.” He stood and marched out of the courtroom with Della Sante and Richter close behind. Jason and his three companions immediately marched down the aisle and formed a human wall around Gus.
“Does that mean I go back to jail?” Gus asked.
Hank stood. “Well, the Dutch don’t have jurisdiction in the palace and they aren’t about to come in to get you. So that means court security has to transport you to Dutch jurisdiction.”
“Which ain’t gonna happen,” Jason announced.
Gus took charge. “It looks like we’ve got a classic standoff going. Let’s go back to the office and see what it takes to get out of here. Toby, you want to come with us? It might get a bit pushy.” Toby readily agreed and Gus turned to leave but Therese Derwent was standing a few feet away, blocking the way, her face serious.
She nodded at him. “August Tyler, I will never understand you but I will always count you as a friend.” A half smile played at her lips and she made a zooming motion with her right hand, down and away, the classic gesture of a fighter pilot peeling off and diving. Gus saluted in acknowledgement. She stepped aside as Hank pushed T
oby in his wheelchair, leading a V formation out of the courtroom with Gus safely in the middle. Aly closed the huge double doors and vowed never to enter them again.
They all crowded into the elevator for the short ride to the second floor, and marched down the deserted corridor to their office suite where Max Westcot was waiting with Winslow James, the deputy charge of mission from the embassy. “What the hell is going on?” Gus demanded.
“The Dutch have released Colonel Tyler and declared him persona non grata,” James said. He checked his watch. “We have twelve hours to get you out of the country.”
“How did that happen?” Hank asked.
Westcot was obviously pleased with himself. “Let’s just say the Dutch want nothing to do with you. Winslow here …”
Gus exploded and turned his anger on James. “You worthless toad!”
Westcot held up a hand. “… has arranged for a helicopter.” He checked his watch. “It should be here any time and the Navy has a cruiser waiting off shore. Go easy on Winslow, Gus. He can make things happen. Besides, as long as he’s here, no one is going to touch you.”
James drew himself up to his full five feet three inches. “Colonel Tyler, I am not a brave man. However, I know my duty.”
The phone rang and Aly answered. She listened and then hung up. “The court is typing up an order transferring Gus to the Iraqis. It should be signed and served within the hour.”
“Some poor bastard is gonna get it shoved up his ass,” Jason promised.
“Please, be calm,” James urged. “The court can issue arrest warrants or transfer orders until they run out of paper. But it has no enforcement authority in itself and must rely on its members to act in its behalf. And right now, there is too high a political price to pay for the Dutch to touch you.”
Hank understood and turned to James. “Thank you.”
“We had to put some quid pro quos in play,” James admitted, “and the Dutch realize it is in their best interests to disengage in this matter.”
“I had to shut Cassandra down,” Westcot added. “I don’t know what got into her but she was playing havoc jamming communications. The Dutch were mightily upset so I turned her off.”
“You know she did talk to me afterwards,” Hank said. Westcot nodded. “Please don’t fire her.”
“Not to worry,” Westcot said.
The phone rang again and Aly answered. Without a word, she turned on the TV. Marci Lennox was broadcasting in front of the ICC. “We’ve just learned that the prosecutor, Denise Du Milan, has submitted her resignation effectively immediately.” The TV camera panned the crowd that was surging back and forth, pounding at the police line. “The situation is very confused here and I can only tell you that this is a very angry crowd on the verge of becoming an uncontrollable mob.” The police line broke and people rushed through, coming directly at the reporter. The camera was still on and gyrating wildly as Marci and her crew ran for safety.
Overhead, a US Navy helicopter hovered into view and landed on the roof.
“That’s for you,” Westcot told Gus. “Let’s go.”
Winslow James led the way and held eight court guards at bay when they crossed the fly bridge connecting the two towers. Halfway across they stopped and took in the scene. The palace was completely surrounded by demonstrators as a black sedan pulled out of the staff entrance. The mob rocked the sedan and forced it to stop. A demonstrator broke a rear window and wrenched the door open. Even from seven floors, they could see Denise’s distinctive mane of auburn hair as two men and a woman dragged her out of the car. “They’ve got Du Milan!” Catherine shouted.
“They’ll kill her,” Hank said, remembering the killing lust that had captured the mob on the Bay Bridge. “I don’t see any police.”
“Go get her,” Toby said quietly.
Gus sighed loudly. “Gimme a break, Toby.”
“It’s what we do, Gus,” Toby replied.
For a moment, no one moved. “Let’s go,” Gus ordered. He ran for the elevator with Hank, Jason, and the three security cops right behind him.
Westcot hesitated. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He ran after them and piled into the elevator. Aly and Catherine joined Toby and James at the window to watch and wait.
Far below, the seven men erupted from the building in a tight V formation, and headed straight for the sedan. Jason was on the point as they ripped into the crowd. For a brief moment, a knot of demonstrators stopped them. Jason’s right hand punched at the man in front of him, his fingers curled into a hard karate fist. He drove his knuckles into the man’s Adam Apple, shouting obscenities at the top of his lungs. The man went down and they pushed over his twisting body. A jolt of pure fear shot through the people caught between the charging Americans and Denise. They scrambled to get out of the way, only to be caught between the demonstrators surging forward.
But the Americans couldn’t be stopped. They bulldozed a path, driving whoever couldn’t get out of the way to the ground and stepping on them. They finally reached the car where a snarling woman had Denise by the hair and was throwing her around like a rag doll. Jason kicked at the woman’s left knee and she collapsed, falling over Denise and dragging her head across a broken bottle lying on the ground. The jagged glass cut into her scalp, peeling it away. Gus pushed the prostrate woman aside and carefully laid Denise’s bloody scalp back in place. He scooped her up in his arms, and with one hand pressed against her wound, retraced his steps, heading for safety. A burley, wild-eyed young man made the mistake of trying to cut him off and one of the security cops came at him. The cop feinted and then drove a fist into the man’s sternum, collapsing his lungs. His mouth came open as he tried to breath. But nothing happened. “Someone give him mouth-to-mouth,” Jason shouted. He grabbed the man’s shirt and threw him into the arms of a man and pushed them both back, clearing a path. Then they were in the palace.
“Where’s the infirmary?” Gus yelled at the court’s security guards who closed and barred the door. One pointed down a hall and Gus strode quickly in that direction, leaving a trail of Denise’s blood on the floor. Jason and the three cops were right behind him.
Westcot bent over, his hands on his knees, and breathed deeply. He looked up at Hank. “Damn. This is more fun than owning a football team.”
Gus tried to push through the double doors leading into the infirmary but they were locked. Without a word, Jason stepped around Gus and kicked the doors open. He charged through and quickly found an examination room. “Put her in here,” he told his father. Gus laid Denise on the table. “Keep pressure on her scalp,” Jason said as he rifled through the cabinets, finding the supplies he needed.
Denise was fully conscious, her eyes locked on Gus’ face. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered.
“It’s what we do,” Gus answered. “Not that you would understand.”
Jason pushed Gus aside and pulled on a pair of surgical gloves. “Time to stitch you up.” He went to work, quickly cutting away her heavy hair and dosing the wound with Betodine. The smell of the antiseptic filled the small room. He ripped open a suture kit.
“You’ve done this before?” Gus asked.
“I’ve been getting a lot of practice lately,” Jason replied.
“Are you going to use an anesthetic?”
“Hell, no. She needs to remember this. Besides, it will give her something to complain about later.” He quickly tied the first stitch, talking as he worked. “You’ve lost a lot of blood and will probably need a transfusion.” She flinched as Jason stitched her scalp closed and stopped the bleeding.
Denise reached out and touched Gus’s hand. “Merci,” she whispered. She was crying, but not from the pain. “I do understand.”
Aly was standing in the doorway. “Gus, you’ve got to go. Now.” She held the door for her future father-in-law and followed him out. Suddenly, Aly turned and gave Denise a contemptuous look. “You owe them.” Without waiting for an answer, she spun around and hurried after Gus,
leaving Denise alone.
Winslow James led the way onto the roof where the helicopter was waiting. Aly hugged Gus and wouldn’t let go as tears streamed down her cheeks. “Did Jason tell you?” she asked.
“About you two going with Toby?” Gus replied. She nodded, her cheek cradled against his chest. “I’m so proud of you,” he said. She let go and he turned to Hank. “I don’t know what to say. But thank you.”
“It was my pleasure,” the lawyer replied. Then the old Hank was back. “Besides, it beats the hell out of teaching at Berkeley.” They shook hands.
Catherine gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and stepped back as Max Westcot waved at him. “See you in the States.”
“Go!” Toby said. Gus threw him a quick salute and climbed on board the helicopter. James followed him in and a crewman closed the door.
The small group clustered together and watched the helicopter as it headed out to sea. “I’m freezing,” Aly said as Jason pushed Toby towards the elevator. “Before you go back to Africa, will you marry us?”
“I’d be honored,” Toby said. “But shouldn’t your minister do it?”
“You are our minister,” Jason replied. “We want to join you, as soon as I can get out of the Air Force.”
Toby’s eyes were still fixed on the helicopter. “Why?”
“It’s something we have to do,” Jason replied.
Toby understood. “You sound just like your father.”
EPILOGUE
Riverview, Maryland
Clare got out of the car and took in the colonial-style home overlooking the Potomac River. “It’s lovely,” she said. “I must see the garden.”
“This is where Hank first met Max,” Gus told her. He rang the doorbell. “He says the garden is a thing of beauty.”
Catherine Sutherland opened the door and ushered them into the sunroom with its magnificent views of the Potomac and Mount Vernon. Hank was standing next to the window with Suzanne Westcot while Max occupied the couch, smoking a cigar. “How is the family?” Catherine asked.
A Far Justice Page 38