by Stan Mason
‘Well,’ began the defendant, ‘I planned to steal the information from my employer and I stayed late at the office one evening to do it. I chose a Tuesday because most of the management attend a squash club after work on Tuesday so they’re never around after five-thirty. It took me half an hour to set up the procedures... secret information can only be extracted from the computer by means of known codes... and I had to work them out. Then I had to print out the information. I was going to hand it to my rank leader in the organisation but at ten past six, just as the final pages were coming through, one of the senior departmental managers returned to collect some papers and demanded to know what I was doing. I was caught between the Devil and the deep blue sea. My only excuse was to say it was being done for a senior official in France. He made me hand the print-out to him, saying he would send it to France himself. So it passed out of my hands. I can’t do it again because I’m under surveillance at the office. There’s no chance of getting another print-out.’
‘Your value to the cause appears to have diminished rapidly,’ commented the Minister of Justice, tiring quickly of the evidence given by the defendant.
Henley bridled at the remark. ‘What are you talking about?’ he challenged. ‘This cause needs people like me! If it reacts every time there’s a blip, everyone will be scared of failure. What I’m telling you is the truth. I put my job on the line for this cause. I got you certain secrets on NATO before. Why all the fuss and bother this time?’
‘What if we insisted you obtain the same information again?’ asked Hayle. ‘What then?’
‘I told you, it’s impossible! They watching me like hawks. If I made a false move I could end up in jail. Perhaps in six months or a year’s time, I might be able to have another go. I’m also trying to recruit someone else in the office. I mentioned the cause and he’s very interested.’
Hayle appeared to seethe at the prospect. ‘You told a man you hardly know about International Three Thousand! You work in a government establishment filled with secrets and you approach a stranger and tell him about us! Did you never consider he might be employed to check out your activities?’
‘Geoff would never do a thing like that!’ continued Henley. ‘He’s not the sort of person they’d employ for that sort of thing!’
‘You’re certain of that, are you?’ The Minister of Justice was beginning to apply pressure. ‘You’d bet your life on it, would you?’
The man in the dock paused for a moment and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, I wouldn’t go as far as that. But, in my opinion, he’s an average employee like myself. We’re drinking pals. Last week we went out together and got drunk. We were almost arrested by the police for peeing over the pavement outside the pub.’
A howl went up from the audience that almost rocked the roof. As is often the case when tension prevails, and solemnity is the order of the day, people convulse with laughter at the slightest thing to the contrary. I recalled one of my uncles who couldn’t stop laughing at funerals, especially at the scene of the interment. I thought he was stupid and callous until discovering I was the one in error because I didn’t understand. It was a reflex action which couldn’t be helped. Ultimately, when he died, I found myself laughing as they buried him. The introduction of something amusing in the mock courtroom was spontaneous and had the effect of putting a lighted match to petrol. For a while, it became impossible to control the crowd. Hayle shouted for silence, banging the gavel on the wooden table in front of him, but he was forced to wait until the audience settled down. He glared at Henley afterwards, his eyes narrowing with hate as he considered the defendant was attempting to ridicule the court.
‘I’m going to warn you once... and only once!’ he cautioned angrily. ‘If you waste the time of this court...... . .’ he tailed off momentarily. ‘Confine your evidence to relevant matters!’
Henley realised he had lost the sympathy of the Minister of Justice... although he was beginning to doubt whether any had existed in the first place. For his part, he still felt pleased with himself in the belief he was favoured by the jury and the audience. As the hall became silent again, he continued with his story. ‘Geoff and I discussed International Three Thousand,’ he went on. ‘I was determined he should join us. After all, it’s everyone’s duty to find suitable recruits, and I knew he would be useful. Isn’t that what we need... more members?’ Henley paused to look at the jury as if to impress his argument upon them.
Martin Glazer’s eyes narrowed and a thin smile appeared on his lips. ‘You realise you’re guilty of the charge brought against you!’ he declared. ‘You failed to get the computer print-out!’
‘No I’m not! There were mitigating circumstances. I’ve explained it to you!’
A murmur went round the hall and the Minister of Police sat quite still for a few moments fully aware that the eyes of every person rested on him. ‘Mitigating circumstances!’ he snarled. ‘Where do you think you are? This is a court of justice held by International Three Thousand not a case being heard at the Old Bailey. We deal in common law for peace and international government. There’s no equity or mitigation when a person is guilty of violating our code of conduct. It’s also considered arrogant to ask for leniency when you know damned well you’re guilty of the crime. In fact, there’s a further charge to add to the indictment of divulging information about this cause to a civil servant who may be one of our enemies. The onus of proof is on you but you can’t present it. Therefore, you’re clearly guilty!‘‘
The defendant faced reality and he started to become concerned. ‘I’ll appeal!’ he shouted nervously. ‘I’ll appeal on both charges... on the grounds of injustice!’
The Minister of State entered the fray again to clarify the position. ‘You can’t appeal unless you have evidence to prove your innocence,’ he advised firmly. ‘And you don’t have it!’
The accused man realised his arguments were wasted, recognising he was up against a system more formidable than he had first imagined. The trial was beginning to assume a sinister trend and Henley lost his good humour. He had presumed the evening would offer some harmless fun and entertainment in a mock trial, but now it had turned sour. ‘This is a bloody Kangaroo Court!’ he yelled. ‘That’s what it is! A rotten Kangaroo Court! No defence counsel... no mitigating circumstances... no right of appeal! It’s a damned Fascist dictatorship!’
‘Be silent!’ The words of Hayle echoed through the hall as he began to impose his personal authority more tightly. The audience could smell blood and experienced the scent of the hunt. The Minister of Justice knew it would soon be over and that he would be the victor. ‘Have you stated your case fully?’ he asked finally.
The man in the dock glared at him fiercely.. ‘No I bloody-well haven’t! And if you think I’m going to stand for this nonsense you’ve got another think coming. I didn’t mind coming here and joining in for a laugh, but you’ve got to admit a joke’s a joke!’ He turned to leave and push his way through the crowd, but two men dressed in black uniforms appeared from behind a curtain near the rear doorway and took hold of him. One of them bent Henley’s arm behind his back until he howled with pain, and they returned him to the dock to stand guard behind him. A murmur of awe rippled through the hall as Henley’s face showed pain and anguish.
The sight of the uniforms took me greatly by surprise. They were jet black and the collars and armbands bore insignias I was unable to recognise. In addition, the men wore jackboots and peaked caps. There was no doubt in my mind they emulated the style of dress worn by the German SS in World War Two in every detail, with the exception of a different insignia on the collars and armbands. I looked across to Jack Berg to check his reaction. His face was tense; his jaw muscles tightly drawn. I could imagine his thoughts playing on the atrocities perpetrated by the regime that sent his parents to their deaths at Dachau, and his resentment of a similar organisation rising like a phoenix in its place some dec
ades later. Why did people always want to emulate the bad elements in life and make the same errors again? They never seemed to learn!
‘I thought this was going to be a mock trial,’ I whispered but Berg simply shrugged his shoulders.
The accused man was in imminent trouble. He had come along for some sport and realised suddenly the others were playing an entirely different game. ‘Look!’ he pleaded. ‘This has gone far enough. We ought to call it a day!’
Hayle stared at the defendant with a bland expression on his face, glorifying in the fact that everyone was waiting for him to make the next move. ‘As you are guilty of the crimes alleged,’ he boomed in a stentorian voice, ‘there’s no necessity to ask the jury for their verdict. However, you still have the right to close your arguments... if you deem it necessary.’
Terry Glazer found himself unable to take his eyes off the men in uniform. The surprise, which showed in his eyes, was sufficient to allow me to believe that one of the leading lights in International Three Thousand was developing the cause in his own way without consultation with his colleagues. The Minister of State had not been informed and the shock made him decide to take the sting out of the trial, regardless of the impact it might have on his personal integrity. ‘Albert Henley,’ he intervened without warning. ‘We know you have the interest of the cause at heart. Bearing that in mind, I suggest you make a profound apology to this court and plead for mercy, promising to make every attempt in the future to obtain the information so vital to the cause. In that way, everyone will be aware of your atonement.’
Conrad Hayle glared at his merciful colleague as though he could cheerfully strangle him, and he turned to the dock angrily in an effort to redress the situation. ‘You may well do that!’ he growled. ‘But I doubt whether it will do you much good! To ask for mercy you must prove you will never commit the same offence again. Unfortunately, you have no proof so this Court cannot accept a promise. I advise you to close your case quickly and let’s have an end to it!’
Terry Glazer bit his lower lip to prevent himself from blurting out a tirade in defence of the accused. In his view, Hayle had assumed total control of the trial despite the presence of two other judges acting with him, and the jury.
Henley was upset but he had enough common sense to find a way out of his predicament. His only option was to castigate the leaders, identifying to the audience the danger of lawlessness... of people in authority taking the law into their own hands. ‘It’s all very well for you to scare me,’ he reminded them, staring in particular at the jury, ‘but there’s one thing you’ve forgotten. You make the mistake of thinking you’re in power. Well... that’s not the case! The law of this country prevails. When International Three Thousand eventually comes to power, you can say and do what the law then says. But, until that time arrives, you can do nothing... you’re powerless!’
Hayle didn’t take the challenge too well, for it was a direct attack on the competence and authority of the organisation. However, Henley had a point and what he said was perfectly true. Yet if the judges conceded, they would be faced with a situation muting their power and preventing any further trials being held. As a result, there would be no control on breaches of policy or subversive activities. ‘I cannot concede that point,’ he told the blond giant. ‘If we fail to enforce law and order now, any small undesirable element could disrupt our programme, hold us to ransom, and stop us from succeeding in our aims. It would be a travesty of justice, acting detrimentally against those members who work so hard for our cause. This cannot be a Court where justice is not allowed to prevail. Is there anyone here who refutes that claim? If so, stand up and make your views known.’
At that moment, another four uniformed men appeared near the stage, and a long silence shrouded the hall. Terry Glazer stared at the audience almost wishing someone had the guts to get to their feet to protest... or at least to question the validity of certain aspects of the trial. When nothing happened, he leaned across to his brother and whispered to him. ‘Wouldn’t it be a good idea to hold a referendum?’ he suggested. His brother remained silent and merely shook his head unhappily. It became patently clear that Henley was on his own... without the support of anyone in the hall.
The defendant became concerned at the silence and tried to whip up some enthusiasm for his welfare. ‘Come on, you guys! Can’t you see what’s going on here? It may be one of you standing here next time!’ He paused for a moment and when there was still no answer he made his final appeal. ‘I’m one of you. A member of the cause. Do I look like someone who’s a traitor?’
His words fell on deaf ears and Hayle was feeling better now the danger of brinkmanship had passed, although he had to admit to himself that the situation had hovered for a while at the cross-roads. ‘I presume you’ve closed your case,’ he ventured to Henley. The smile he always displayed when he knew he was about to win showed again on his face. He looked at the audience directly and summarised the case. ‘You’ve heard that Albert Henley pleaded not guilty but then admitted to the Court that he not only failed to provide vital information in his possession but also divulged details of the cause to a person likely to be employed by our enemies. He insists all his actions are honourable, claiming mitigating circumstances. Let me say that history has exonerated many wrongdoers under that simple claim, but it bears no significance here. It is our ruling that by his own admission Albert Henley is guilty of two crimes for which he must be punished. The verdict of this court must be... guilty!’
As soon as the last word was uttered there was pandemonium in the hall. People waved their arms, scarves, caps, and other articles to show their approval. Although Hayle hammered on the table with his gavel, it was impossible to restore order. The three of us sat silently watching everyone else give vent to their excitement and I became nauseated by the abuse of power where none actually existed. The self-appointed Minister of Justice had totally ignored the decision which should have been made by the jury. I reflected some misgivings in the legal history of Britain in the Middle Ages. At that time, some juries were put on trial themselves because they failed to bring in the verdict directed by the judge. It was clear that in this Court they wouldn’t get the chance to offer any opinion at all! Nor did any of the judges confer before the verdict was given! It was as the accused had claimed... a Kangaroo Court! Poor Henley! The rules had been made up as they went along. Whatever arguments he presented had been shot down in flames. Held by the two uniformed men, he waited for sentence to be passed silently as fear welled-up inside him. At one time, a thought went through his mind to attempt an escape, but he decided against it. There was no chance of reaching the front entrance because of the mass of people in the way and the men guarding the main doorway. Then he realised there was the door behind the curtains from where the uniformed men had emerged. It would mean ducking under the two guards, pulling open the door, and running for his life. But which way did the handle turn?
The noise reached a crescendo and Hayle gave up trying to maintain order. He stopped banging the gavel and let the crowd continue to yell and shout until they tired of it. When the last voice had faded, and the attention of the audience reverted back to him, he looked solemnly ahead and pronounced judgement. However, the unhappy man in the dock was still not finished. ‘You can’t punish me!’ forestalled Henley. ‘The policy document of the organisation outlines two forms of punishment. Death or deportation to a depressed sector to work for the United States of Europe for as long as the sentence given. You can’t do either. The first would be murder and, with all these witnesses here, you won’t risk your own skins, that’s for sure. And the second one doesn’t exist yet so you can’t deport me anywhere. What are you going to do? Beat me up to show you mean business? No... that would make you worse than me, wouldn’t it. Beating up a member of the cause. But you can suspend my sentence... or put me on probation. How about that for an idea?’
Hayle was furious at the sudden attack
on his authority at a time when he thought the case was over. He nodded to the two uniformed men who took a tighter hold of the man in the dock. ‘It’s not for you to decide the punishment!’ he snarled. ‘If it were possible to send you to a depressed sector I would have done so. But, as you so rightly say, it’s not yet possible. Therefore, the only alternative is the death penalty.’
The hall fell into a deep silence as the words sank in. They had come to see blood but now that death had been proclaimed they shied away from the reality. Henley was right. If the verdict applied to him, it applied to them all! Terry Glazer leaned across to Hayle. ‘No way!’ he hissed. ‘How the hell can you pass the death penalty? You’ve gone too far!’ The Minister of Justice ignored the caution, superior in his moment of triumph. He intended to exert his power to the full.
Henley didn’t share such feelings and he became agitated. ‘You’re crackers!’ he shouted at the top of his voice. ‘All crackers!’ He tried to move back but he was held too tightly. He looked at the curtains again, visualising the door behind it. Did it open outwards or inwards? If he was going to make a break for it, he had to guess right the first time. There would be no second chance. With a sudden rage, he swung round, shaking himself free of the two men, and tore through the curtains. He turned the handle to the left and pushed hard but it didn’t budge. He had guessed wrongly and it cost him his freedom. Before he could try again, they were on him. They placed his hands behind his back, fettering them with handcuffs, pulled the door inwards and marched him out forcibly. There were lots of questions to be asked and many to be answered but no one made the effort. Hayle thanked the audience for their indulgence and the three judges left the stage. It was all over! We left the Assembly Hall with evil gnawing at our minds. The policy document of the organisation clearly segregated Britain into sectors run by people besotted with their new-found power and they were merciless, It was a frightening thought!
