A Far Justice (37 page)

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.

“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.”

Denise shot a sharp look at Bouchard who picked up his gavel.
Touched a nerve there,
Gus thought. Hank held up his hand and Bouchard laid the gavel down.

Hank continued to review the witnesses and evidence. “In the end, it comes down to a very simple question. What law applies? Is it the Rome Statute creating the International Criminal Court, which came into force some eleven years after Mutlah Ridge, or is it the international law of armed conflict? Need I remind the court that under the law of armed conflict, Gus Tyler has committed no crime?”

He turned to Denise. “The prosecutor appealed to our humanity and sense of justice when she said ‘We have before us the rare opportunity to bring a small justice to a far land.’ But how can we bring justice to a far land without first establishing justice in this court, in this land? A far justice begins here.”

He sat down as applause erupted from Gus’s rooting section and spread across the room. Bouchard banged his gavel and slowly regained control of his court.

Gus checked his watch.
Thirty-one minutes. Not bad.

Bouchard mustered as much dignity as he could. “The chamber will now retire to consider a verdict. The court stands adjourned.”

The clerk popped to his feet. “Please stand as the judges retire.”

The clock is running,
Gus thought, feeling sure and confident for the first time in months. He looked at Aly who nodded back.

Hank paced the carpet in front of his desk. “I blew it.”

Catherine exhaled in frustration. “You knew the odds when you went in. Be honest, it’s an ego thing. You hate to lose.”

Hank slumped in his chair. “I know.”

She leaned over him, her cheek next to his. “No one could have done better. Now let’s go to dinner.”

Aly ran into the office. She grabbed the remote control and cycled the channel to CNC-TV. Marci Lennox was seated in a studio with a bearded young man. “With us is Hans Gerhardt who is considered the world’s leading expert on electronic voice authentication.” She listened attentively as Gerhardt confirmed the voice they had just heard on the CD was Henri Scullanois. “Can you determine when the conversation took place?” Gerhardt said he could not, but the recording was authentic.

The screen cycled and Liz Gordon, the channel’s premier anchor in New York, appeared. “Marci, I have with me the Netherlands’ ambassador to the United Nations, Doctor Peter Rohr. Dr. Rohr, while we cannot reveal the source of this recording, I can assure you the source is unimpeachable. How will your government respond?”

The ambassador cleared his throat. “Well, I must confer with my government. However, if what you say is true, there does appear to be compelling evidence that the French minister of foreign affairs was in collaboration with officials in Beijing to use the International Criminal Court to bring undue influence to bear on the United States and turn it to political advantage not only in the United Nations but within the European community.”

“Dr. Rohr, the political alliance between Scullanois and the prosecutor’s husband, Chrestien Du Milan, is well known. What are the implications, not only for the trial of Gus Tyler, but for the United Nations?”

“I cannot speculate on that. But as you are well aware, there is a growing dissatisfaction among my countrymen with the trial of Colonel Tyler, and the exact role of the prosecutor, Denise Du Milan, in all this must be determined.”

The screen cycled back to a split image of Gordon and Marci Lennox in the Netherlands. “Marci, what has been the reaction in Europe?”

“It’s far too early to tell,” Marci answered. “But a high Dutch official I spoke to minutes ago said, and this is a direct quote, ‘It certainly raises the specter of a Doctor Strangelove prosecutor.’ What effect this will have on the three judges who have entered deliberations remains to be seen.” The newscast broke for a commercial.

Hank connected the dots. “So that’s what Westcot was up to.”

“Let’s go talk to Gus,” Catherine said.

Without a word, Hank opened his percom to jam the bugs in Gus’s cell. Cassandra announced that they were secure and called the Mayo in the States. Hank stepped outside to give Gus some privacy. Michelle answered on the first ring. Her voice matched the concern on her face. “The news is so confused over here,” she told him.

“It’s confused over here too,” Gus replied. “Don’t give up hope.”

“We won’t,” she said. “Here’s Mom.” Michelle swung the phone’s camera around as Clare walked across the room pushing a walker. She was wearing a stylish exercise outfit and moved with surprising confidence.

“Hello darling,” Clare said. They talked for a few moments and she reassured him she would be walking unaided in a few more days. “I’m making amazing progress. Now, what’s happening over there?”

“I’m not sure what’s going to happen now.” He lowered his voice so Hank couldn’t hear. “I don’t know when I can call again.”