A Far Justice (19 page)

Cassandra spoke in Hank’s ear. “I sent it. This is de Rijn’s original video. It was only shown once, late at night on Dutch TV. You really need to see it, and there’s more coming.”

They watched the video without a word. “My God,” Hank whispered when the screen went blank. “They edited it. What were they thinking of?”

“Maybe they thought the original was safely buried,” Catherine said.

Melwin shook his head. “Europeans treat evidence much differently than Americans and the English.”

“It’s going to get very interesting on Monday,” Hank replied.

“Be careful,” Catherine counseled. “You’re stressing the judges.”

“That is the idea.”

“But you don’t want them to prematurely self destruct.”

“If NATO is any indication,” Jason scoffed, “a Belgian, German, and Italian will do that without any help.”

NINETEEN

Amsterdam

“What a lovely day,” Catherine said. She held onto Hank’s arm as they
browsed their way through the Sunday antique market on Nieuwmarkt Square. Catherine was an inch taller than her husband, and well proportioned for her height. Her salt and pepper hair was cut in a stylish bob and she drew more than a few appreciative looks. Occasionally, a head would turn, recognizing Hank. But for the most part, they were just two more tourists. “It’s hard to believe it’s December.”

Hank pushed their way through the crowd. “When the sun comes out, the Dutch make the most of it.” A church bell pealed and he pointed to their left. “Oude Kerk. There’s been a church there since the 1200s.”

“Can we go? Is it far?”

“Couple of hundred yards. But it’s right through the red light district.”

“It can’t be busy on a Sunday morning.”

“You’d be surprised. The Dutch are very enterprising, not to mention horny.” She laughed, enchanting him as always, and he gave in. “Okay, so don’t go blaming me later for making you go through there.”

“Of course I will.” They headed across the square and turned down a narrow street. “Introducing de Rijn’s tape was very clever of Du Milan,” she told him. “It fixed the horror in everyone’s mind.”

“There was no way I could keep it out. But they made a mistake. Shouldn’t have edited it.”

“So what are you going to do?”

He spoke very slowly. “Shove it down de Rijn’s throat bit by bit.” He held her arm tightly. “Don’t turn around. We’re being followed.” He made sure his percom was on. “Cassandra, are you there? There’s a blue Mercedes behind us.”

Her voice was in his ear, reassuring and safe. “I’m here. I’m not monitoring anything but I’ll notify the police. Turn left at the next street and head for the canal. Cross over the drawbridge and turn right. Keep the canal on your right.”

“It’s gaining on us.”

“Don’t panic. Do you see the canal?”

They walked faster. “In sight. Almost there.”

“Cross over and I’ll raise the bridge.”

Hank pressed Catherine’s elbow and they hurried over the little drawbridge. It started to rise. The Mercedes stopped, still trapped two cars short of the bridge. “Now slow down and take in the sights,” Cassandra said. “Tell me what the Mercedes is doing.”

“Hank, what are you doing?” Catherine asked.

“Sightseeing,” he told her.

She glanced at a theater’s marquee. “Well, I don’t have any need to see a ‘Real Live Fucking Show.’”

“Something for the family?” the barker in front of the theater called.

“The Mercedes is following us on the other side of the canal,” Hank told Cassandra.

“Good,” Cassandra said. “Turn around and head back. You’ll see two policemen coming your way. They’re looking for you.”

They turned around and walked past the theater. For a moment, the barker looked hopeful but they kept on walking. “Is that the Mercedes you told me about?” Catherine asked.

“I can’t be sure. It looks the same.”

“Hank, I think you’re becoming paranoid.”

The Hague

Jason and Aly waited impatiently at the prison’s main entrance and counted the minutes to visiting hours. Aly sat the big basket with dinner down and tried to calm an anxious Jason. “It’s really too early to tell.”

“I know,” Jason replied.

A guard opened the gate and they hurried to sign in and go through the mandatory inspections. Six minutes later, they were inside and hurrying down the long corridor to Gus’s cell. He was waiting for them in the open doorway. Aly ran into his arms while Jason pulled out his cell phone and dialed the Mayo Clinic. “Michelle’s waiting for the call,” Jason said. He handed the phone to Gus.

His daughter’s face appeared on the screen. “Oh, Dad,” she said. For the first time, there was hope in her voice and tears in her eyes. “The doctor’s think they’ve stabilized Mom.”

“Can I see her?” Gus asked. Michelle pointed the videophone at Clare and the image of an older, very frail woman came on the small screen. She was lying in bed, her red, gray-streaked hair pulled to one side, and her eyes closed. She was breathing regularly, without an oxygen cannula. Gus’s face softened as he gazed at his wife.

Gus stormed into the hospital and headed for the surgery ward. He was wearing a sweat-stained flight suit and lines from his oxygen mask were imprinted on his face. Clare was waiting for him outside the recovery room. “He’s out of the operating room and in recovery,” she told him. “He’s going to be okay.” She reached out and touched his face. “Benjy didn’t make it.” For a moment, Gus didn’t move. Benjy was Jason’s best friend. She spoke quietly, her voice measured and in control. “They were with a bunch of kids at the lake and Benjy drove home. They were hit by a drunk driver.” Gus held onto his wife. “It wasn’t their fault, Gus. But they had been drinking and the police are going to charge Jason.” Gus’s anger flared. “For what? Being a kid?” Clare held onto him. “We’ll get through this.”

“Dad,” Michelle said, bringing Gus back to the moment. “They need to do another operation to harvest bone marrow and remove some lung tissue. They need a lot.”

“We’ll get through this,” Gus murmured.

TWENTY

The Hague

Harm de Rijn took the stand Monday morning and gazed serenely over the
courtroom. “Now there’s a confident man,” Hank murmured loud enough for the spectators immediately behind him to hear.

“Respect your elders,” Melwin said as Hank stood.

“Of course,” Hank replied. He walked to the podium carrying a thin leather folder much like a weapon, which was exactly how he planned to use it. He placed it unopened on the podium. He fixed Bouchard with a long look and let the tension build. “Where’s Henri?”

“The court has ruled on the matter of Henri Scullanois,” Bouchard replied.

Hank shrugged and turned to de Rijn. “Good morning, Mr. DeGroot.”

“Good morning, Hank. I prefer to he called by my professional name.”

“I understand. But unfortunately, the prosecutor identified you by your real name on their witness list. As the court has closed the witness list to additions and modifications, we must use the name your parents gave you.”

Denise stood. “We have no objections to referring to the witness as Harm de Rijn.”

“The court concurs,” Bouchard said.

“We note that the witness list has been so modified,” Hank said. He handed the clerk a small plastic jewel case holding a mini CD. “If it may please the court, this is the complete and unedited video that was presented to the court on Friday.”

“Objection!” Denise shouted. “The video as shown to the court was edited for relevance.”

“Then let Mr. DeGroot so testify,” Hank replied, “after the court has been shown the complete video.”

Bouchard conferred with Della Sante and Richter. “Overruled,” Bouchard intoned. “Monsieur Sutherland, please refer to the witness by his professional name.”

“Of course, your Honor. I was using the witness’s name at the time the video was made for the sake of accuracy.” The lights darkened and the screen descended from the ceiling. The same video shown on Friday started to play. Suddenly, the image of a destroyed tank appeared in sepia tones. Hank paused the video. “Mr. de Rijn, wasn’t this excerpt, shown here in sepia, part of your original video that was aired on February 29, 1991, but was edited from the video shown to the court last Friday?”

“Yes it was.”

Hank played the video and stopped it twenty-two more times, each time asking the same question and getting the same answer. When the lights came on, Hank turned to the bench. “If it pleases the court, the amended video is presented as defense exhibit one.”

Denise remained silent as Bouchard looked at the other two judges. They nodded in unison. “The amended video is so entered,” Bouchard ruled.

“Thank you, your Honor. Mr. de Rijn, you earlier testified that two thousand trucks and vehicles were destroyed, and over three thousand men and women burnt and dismembered. Is that correct?”

“That is correct.”

“And the video, as fully restored and entered into evidence, documents what you actually saw?”

“That is what I saw.”

“Yet I counted only two hundred and forty-eight destroyed vehicles on the video. That number includes seven tanks, twelve armored personnel carriers, and five mobile surface-to-air missile batteries, which were all edited from the video entered into evidence by the prosecution on Friday. Further, I counted only seventy-six bodies.”

Denise was on her feet. “Objection! Objection!” She calmed down. “Obviously, Monsieur de Rijn has other sources for his figures.”

“Then please present them to the court,” Hank said. “As of now, you have made it a matter of record that only two hundred and forty-eight vehicles were destroyed and seventy-six people killed. Or are we dealing with something other than facts here?”

Bouchard rapped the bench with his gavel. “Your sarcasm is not called for.”

“I apologize, your Honor. By the way, what is your ruling on the learned prosecutor’s objection?”

“I will not warn you again, Monsieur Sutherland.”

“Again, I apologize, your Honor. But my question remains before the court.”

Bouchard humphed. “The prosecutor may clarify her points on redirect examination.”

Hank turned to de Rijn. “How many of these seventy-six bodies were civilians?”

“They were burned beyond all recognition, but a few were women who were not in uniform.”

“But you just testified they were burned beyond all recognition. Which is it Mr. de Rijn?”

“Women were reported traveling in the convoy.”

“Did you actually see them?” De Rijn shook his head. “The witness is shaking his head in answer,” Hank said. “Did you actually witness the attack?”

“No.”

“Do you have any direct knowledge of the nationality of the alleged aircraft that supposedly caused the deaths and destruction you saw?” De Rijn stared at him and didn’t answer. “I understand why you are reluctant to answer that question. May I ask how long it was after the attack before you were present at the scene?”

“I don’t recall.”

Hank reached into his folder and handed two sheets of paper to the clerk who handed them to de Rijn. “Mr. de Rijn, this is a list of passengers who cleared Dutch immigration at Schiphol Airport on the evening of February 26, 1991. Would you please read the highlighted name on page two, the passport number, and destination?” De Rijn glanced at the list and handed the list back to the clerk without a word. “For the record, the highlighted name is Peter DeGroot, the passport was issued to the witness under that name, and the destination of his flight was Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. Mr. de Rijn, when did you arrive in Riyadh?” Hank tapped the folder with his right forefinger, challenging him.

“Late the next day.”

“That would be on February 27, 1991. Is that correct?”

“I believe so.”

“Did you drive or fly to Mutlah Ridge?”

“We had to drive.”

“How long did it take you to cover the 600 kilometers?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Can we safely assume that you could not have arrived at Mutlah Ridge no sooner than the morning of February 28, 1991, approximately 48 hours after the attack?”

“Objection,” Denise said. “Monsieur de Rijn has already testified that he doesn’t remember.”

“Sustained,” Bouchard said without looking at Della Sante or Richter.

Hank had the passenger list entered as the second defense exhibit and picked up the leather folder as if he were finished. De Rijn started to stand, anxious to escape. “One last question, sir. Who were you working for at the time?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Who paid you when you were covering the Gulf War?” Hank placed his folder on the podium and tapped it with his finger.

“I was freelancing at the time.”

“Really?” Hank said as he opened the folder. He extracted three sheets of paper and handed them to the clerk who passed them to de Rijn. He closed the folder. The newscaster glanced at them and paled. “Please read the first document, sir.” De Rijn shook his head and handed it back to the clerk. “If it may please the court,” Hank said, “this is a contract employing the witness as a reporter for the Iraqi Ministry of Information. The witness, and the Iraqi Minister of Information, who is present in the witness’s anti-chamber and listed as a defense witness, signed it on November 16, 1990. And the second document, sir?” Again de Rijn refused to answer and handed it to the clerk. “The witness was shown a certified copy of the first check he received from the Iraqi Ministry of Information. It is in the amount of eight thousand dollars and was cashed on January 1, 1991. And the last document, sir?”

“It’s another check,” de Rijn croaked as he handed it back to the clerk.

“From the Iraqi Ministry of Information in the amount of eight thousand dollars and cashed on March 1, 1991.” He tapped the closed folder, challenging de Rijn to discover what was inside. “Do you deny that is your signature on the contract and two checks?”

“No.” De Rijn’s voice was barely audible.

“Defense enters the contract and checks as defense exhibits three, four, and five.”

Bouchard hesitated, expecting to hear an objection from Denise. But there was only silence. He looked at Della Sante and Richter who nodded. “So entered.”

“I have no more questions of this witness.” Hank turned away from the podium. “And where’s Henri?”

Bouchard ignored him and adjourned for the day.

Marci Lennox was in her broadcast team’s van talking to her director in New York over the satellite feed. “I expected fireworks, but nothing like this. Sutherland ripped de Rijn a new one.”

“And that makes us all look bad,” the director added. “Play it down.”

“Why? This is a hot one. It plays like this; ‘Under cross-examination by Hank Sutherland, the Netherlands’ premier newscaster was shown to be a paid stooge for Saddam Hussein, a liar, and seriously cast the prosecution’s case in doubt.’ This could have legs.”

“Remember who owns us,” the director warned.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. We’ve been bought out by Dutch interests.”

“That’s the way the world turns, sweetie.”

The small group huddled around the TV in Hank’s office. “That’s not Marci’s style,” Hank said. “Normally, she’d be all over something like this.”

“That’s very straightforward reporting,” Catherine said. “She’s sticking to who, what, when, and where. Perhaps it’s just as well. You’ll never have another day in court like this one, and I don’t want it going to your head.”

“Not to worry,” Melwin counseled. “Today’s TV coverage speaks for itself.” He thought for a moment. “I seriously doubt Du Milan will be able to get de Rijn back on the stand for redirect. For that matter, I imagine most of her witnesses are running for cover. You can be sure we’ll never get Scullanois on the stand, not after today.”

“Which is fine with me,” Hank replied.

“By the way,” Catherine said, “Gus is magnificent. I think half the women in the courtroom are in love with him.”

“Are you suggesting we play to that?” Hank asked.

“You’d be foolish not to.”