“I’m a lawyer. I wouldn’t understand a word you said. By the way, can you see me?”
“I do have a built-in camera. Point the red infrared lens on the side of the case at whatever you want me to see.”
“Do you have a dossier on me?”
“Of course. It’s quite extensive. I can extract some highlights.” Without waiting, the voice recited the basics of Hank’s life, including the exact amount in his checking account. “Oh,” Cassandra said, “this is very naughty. Apparently, you had a brief affair with Marci Lennox, the TV reporter …” Her voice trailed off. Hank whipped out the percom and opened it. Cassandra was on the screen reading from a long scroll, a bright blush on her face. She glanced up at him. “Well, I did say it was naughty. Was she really that skilled in bed?”
“That is none of your business.”
The image became serious. “Certainly,” Cassandra answered. “I won’t reference it again.”
“Why the cutesy imaging about being shocked and embarrassed?” Hank asked.
“Your profile suggested it was a way to add a personal touch to increase interaction.”
“And increase my dependence on you, which could lead to …” He stopped, waiting for her reaction.
“Which could lead to control,” Cassandra said, completing the thought for him.
“You guys are good,” Hank said, now certain the CIA was in the loop.
“Thank you. Shall I go on?”
“Tell me about Tyler.”
“Shall I read parts of it or do you want a printout?”
“How do I get a printout?”
“Find any copy machine or computer printer. Place the percom so it’s touching and tell me what you want to print out. I’ll do the rest.”
Hank started the car and headed for Washington D.C. “Please give me the abridged version on Tyler.” He listened as he drove.
“August William Tyler was born in 1960 in the Panama Canal Zone, graduated from the Air Force Academy in 1982, and married Clare Leeson four days later. They have two children, Michelle and Jason, and twin grandsons by their daughter. Women consider him very attractive and he’s received many offers for extracurricular activities. But he has always refused those. Career-wise, he flew F-15 fighters, fought in the 1991 Gulf war, commanded a fighter squadron when he was a lieutenant colonel, and the First Fighter Wing as a colonel. He was earmarked for general but retired in 2006 when he was forty-six years old to care for his wife.” Her voice grew sad. “She’s dying from complications resulting from lupus.”
“He sounds like a nice guy,” Hank said.
“By all reports, he is,” she replied.
“Can you call the assistant attorney general for me?”
“Of course. Would you like to make it a conference call with Mr. Weaver?”
“You know about our meeting this morning?”
“Of course,” Cassandra replied. “We don’t know what was said but we did make some logical assumptions.”
“Contacting Weaver will be sporting.”
“Do I sense a test?” Cassandra asked. She made the connections and had both men on the line in less than a minute. “I’ll do better next time.”
“Gentlemen,” Hank said, “I’ve decided to represent Colonel Tyler. So how do I proceed from here?”
“A plane will be waiting at Reagan International to fly you to the Netherlands,” the assistant attorney general answered. “Our embassy there will make the necessary arrangements.”
“We do appreciate your sacrifice,” Weaver said.
Hank broke the connection. “Cassandra, I need directions to the airport.”
“Of course. Turn left at the next stoplight. I’ll change it to green and stop the oncoming traffic. Hank, may I venture an observation?”
“Certainly.”
“I do wish Mr. Weaver had not said ‘your sacrifice.’”
“Yeah, I caught that. Can I trust them?”
“Hank,” Cassandra admonished, “this is Washington.”
FOUR
The Hague
“I am sorry,” Alex Melwin said, “that you have such a low opinion of my efforts on your behalf.” The Irish lawyer’s thick accent was almost incomprehensible and Gus strained to understand all he was saying. “I assure you, I have correctly followed the court’s procedures. Further, I seriously doubt that another lawyer will be able to do better, considering the case against you.”
Gus wanted to beat Melwin senseless and looked around his cell for any tool that would do the job. By US standards, the cell was very spacious, comfortable, and private. It was complete with a TV, a wall-mounted telephone, private bathroom and a kitchenette. Still, it was a jail cell. When things go wrong get aggressive, he thought. It was a credo he lived by when flying combat. “Alex, you are one cheerful, absolutely worthless son of a bitch. Now go find me a real lawyer and crawl back under the Blarney Stone.” Melwin stared at him in shock. “You look like a constipated beagle.”
“I do not share your expertise on the bowel movements of beagles,” the lawyer finally said.
Gus laughed. “That’s funny. Okay, indulge me for a moment. How strong is this so-called ‘case’ against me?”
“The war crimes you are charged with under Article Eight have very specific elements, which Madam Du Milan, based on the evidence I have seen, will have no trouble establishing that you factually committed.”
“That I ‘factually committed,’” Gus repeated. “Now how is she going to prove that? Besides, what happened to the presumption of innocence?”
“Of course you are assumed innocent, that’s why the prosecutor must present the facts to the court.”
“Melwin, I know a kangaroo court when I see one.”
“I assure you, we are not a kangaroo court.”
“Does the term ‘bullshit’ have meaning around here?”
“It’s obvious you don’t understand our system of law.”
“You are absolutely right about that. By the way, do I have attorney-client privilege under your system?”
“Please remember that I am a member of the court, and have certain obligations to the court that override attorney-client privilege as you Americans understand it.”
I’m going to wring your scrawny neck, Gus promised himself. “So what brings you here today?”
“Madam Du Milan is going to meet with us and offer what you Americans call a deal.”
“A plea bargain,” Gus corrected.
“For admitting your guilt to the court, she will recommend a sentence of 12 to 25 years which means you will be eligible for parole in eight years.”
“Eight years doesn’t sound like a bargain to me. I’ll take my chances.”
“An unwise choice. She is due here at any moment and you should listen to her.”
“Do I have a choice?” Melwin shook his head and stared at the floor. Gus leaned back in his chair and waited in silence as he plotted what to do with the Irishman’s body.
The door lock clicked and Denise entered the cell unannounced. Both men stood and Melwin offered her his chair. She sat and crossed her legs. “I assume Alex has explained why I’m here.” Gus nodded but said nothing. “Considering the circumstances, I believe it is a very generous offer.”
Gus’s fingers drummed a tattoo on the table as he framed an answer explaining exactly what she could do with her “generous offer.” He decided it was anatomically impossible but certainly worth a try. “Excuse me if I don’t bounce off the walls with joy, but eight years sucks.”
“Please remember who you’re talking to,” Melwin cautioned. “Madam Prosecutor, I must apologize for my client’s …”
Gus interrupted him. “I’m not your anything, Melwin. So shut up and get the hell out of here.”
“Your hostile attitude is counter-productive,” Denise said.
“Hostile? Madam Prosecutor, you haven’t seen hostile.” He came to his feet. “First, I have done nothing wrong. Second, I’m not sure if Melwin here
is my prosecutor or executioner. Third, my wife is terminally ill and she’s the most important thing in my life. I should be with her.”
“Monsieur Tyler,” Denise said, “you are a war criminal who wantonly massacred thousands of innocent people. You are exactly where you should be.”
“Those ‘innocent people’ were doing their damndest to kill me, and it was only a couple hundred.” Gus and Denise stared at each other, locked in a contest of wills. The phone on the wall rang breaking the hard silence. Gus picked it up. “Yeah?” He listened for a moment. “Send them in.” He banged the phone down. “I’ve got visitors.”
“You are only allowed visitors with my approval,” she replied. She stood and took a step toward the phone.
Gus stared at her. “They’re from the American Embassy.”
“They have no status here,” Denise said.
“Justice Landis is concerned about visitation privileges,” Melwin said. It was enough to make her hesitate. “And the registrar did approve contacting the US Embassy.” Denise gave the Irishman a look of total contempt.
“Alex,” Gus said, “you just might make a lawyer yet.”
The door lock clicked and a guard opened the door. A fussy, potbellied, immaculately dressed little man walked in carrying a slim black briefcase. Hank Sutherland followed immediately behind. The man reached into his breast coat pocket and whipped out his identification. “Winslow James, United States Embassy.” He held up a gold embossed black leather ID holder for examination.
Denise didn’t bother with it. “You are?”
“The deputy charge of mission, Madam Prosecutor.”
Denise quickly re-evaluated the situation. After the ambassador, the elegant little man was the most important US diplomat in the Netherlands. He was definitely not someone to trifle with and chance angering the ICC’s Dutch hosts. But something about him suggested he could be manipulated. “Monsieur James, while the court acknowledges your country’s interest in this criminal, you are lacking jurisdiction.”
James lived up to her suspicions. “Madam Du Milan, we are fully aware of the court’s position; however, we beg your indulgence …”
Hank interrupted him. “The same statement is true for the court. It has an interest, but no jurisdiction.”
Denise and Melwin turned as one towards Hank. “You are?” she asked.
“May I present Professor Henry Sutherland,” James said, trying to defuse the tension. “Professor Sutherland is Professor of International Law at Boalt Hall, the University of California.”
“Professor Sutherland, I’m honored,” Melwin said. He extended his hand and was relieved when Hank shook it. He turned to Denise. “Professor Sutherland is the United States’ preeminent authority on the court.”
“I’m aware of his reputation,” Denise said. “Your purpose here?”
“To represent Colonel Tyler,” Hank replied. “If he so desires.”
“He so desires,” Gus said.
“But the court does not recognize Monsieur Sutherland as being qualified,” Denise said. “Further, the president of the court has reviewed Colonel Tyler’s petition for a change in counsel and has rejected it. That decision is final and Monsieur Melwin will remain the attorney of record.”
“As I understand the court’s procedures,” Hank replied, “Colonel Tyler’s counsel may be assisted by others, including professors of law with relevant experience. No certification is required and Melwin here only has to file a letter of notification with the registrar. Or has that changed in the last twenty minutes?”
Denise stared at Melwin. The Irishman got the message and gulped. “I … ah … at this point in time … I have no need of assistance.” Denise smiled at him.
“Well then,” James said. “As I am satisfied as to Mr. Tyler’s well being …”
Hank interrupted. “It’s Colonel Tyler.”
“Of course,” James replied. “We have no further business here.” He buzzed for security central to open the door. The lock clicked and the door swung open. James minced out but Hank didn’t move.
“You’re excused, Monsieur Sutherland,” Denise said. Hank hesitated for a moment and considered his options. He nodded and followed James. “Monsieur Tyler,” Denise said as she stood, “may I suggest you listen to your attorney?” She cocked her head and gave him an inquisitive look. She turned and left, closing the door behind her.
“Well,” Melwin said. “We do need to talk.”
“Get the hell out of here before I give you a drowning lesson in the toilet.”
“I am acting in your best interests, Mr. Tyler.” Gus stared at him, his eyes hard and unblinking. “Ah, I mean Colonel Tyler,” Melwin said.
“You finally got that one right,” Gus said. He reached across the table for Melwin who darted for the door.
“I’ll report this to the guards!” Melwin shouted as he jabbed at the buzzer. The door opened and he darted to safety.
“Do that!” Gus shouted down the corridor. Two guards rushed in and Gus held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, just exercising a little attorney-client privilege.”
The first guard shook his head. “Please Gus,” he said in impeccable English. “We cannot allow you to hurt him.”
“Melwin’s a manlike object, not a him.”
The second guard snorted. “True enough.”
“I give you my word that it won’t happen again,” Gus promised.
The two guards looked at each other, nodded, and left, slamming the door. Gus took a deep breath, sat down, and buried his face in his hands. Ah, shit, he moaned to himself.
The scantily clad girl walked Melwin to the door and helped him with his coat. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. The proprietress caught it and pulled a long face. It was obvious the two were very fond of each other, and who knew what the besotted Irishman would do? Marriage was not unheard of and she didn’t want to lose one of her top producers. She decided to increase the girl’s price the next time Melwin called for an appointment. “Same time next week?” the girl murmured.
“As always,” Melwin said.
He gave her a little squeeze and stepped into the night. The door closed quickly behind him. He stood for a moment under the light that illuminated the discrete sign that announced Anabella Haus, the best bordello in Holland outside of Amsterdam, and carefully buttoned his coat against the rain. He hurried down the walk toward his car. A shadow split off from a tree and materialized into a man who stood almost six and a half feet tall. His muscular frame blocked the path. “Mr. Melwin, may we talk?”
Melwin pushed by the man. “And you are?”
“Jason Tyler. I’m Colonel Tyler’s son. You haven’t returned any of my calls.”
“This is an inappropriate conversation,” Melwin said, walking even faster.
“Guess again,” Jason answered in slow measured tones. Melwin heard the steel in his voice and half-ran to his car as he fumbled for the remote control. He jabbed at a button and was relieved when the car lights blinked and the locks clicked open. Melwin jumped inside and slammed the door, making sure he was locked safely inside. He fumbled with the key as Jason knocked on the passenger-side window. “Please, sir. This will only take a moment.” Panic ripped through Melwin and he dropped his keys. Jason wrenched the passenger door open as Melwin found the keys and jammed them into the ignition.
The engine roared to life as Jason shoehorned his body into the passenger seat. He seemed to fill his side of the car and handed Melwin the car’s door handle. “You need to get this fixed. Cheap German crap.”
Melwin’s jaw started to quiver. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“If I wanted to do that, I’d have nailed you the moment you stepped out of that whorehouse. We just need to talk for a moment.” Melwin jammed the car in gear and mashed the accelerator, barely missing the car parked in front of him. The car careened down the street, its path a perfect reflection of the panic twisting inside the Irishman. “Why don’t you park over
there before you kill us both.”
Melwin did as commanded and pulled to the curb. Ahead of him he saw the distinctive shape of a Rijkspolitie patrol car and breathed easier. “Get out of my car.”
“My, my, a little backbone. Now here I thought I was going to have to assemble one and jam it up your ass. Or do you Irish say ‘arse’ like the Blokes?”
“What do you want?”
“The Dutch won’t let anyone visit Dad. I want him to have regular visiting privileges and an American lawyer.”
“Both are beyond my control.”
Jason opened the door. “Then resign and get someone who can make it happen.” He got out of the car.
Melwin’s eyes were locked on the patrol car. “Threaten me again and I’ll have you up on a charge.”
“That was merely a friendly piece of advice, not a threat.” He stepped back, waiting for Melwin to leave. “But I do have your address if we need to talk some more.” Melwin gunned the engine and sped past the still motionless patrol car as Jason watched. He walked past the patrol car and the two policemen who were sound asleep.
The guard glanced at the untouched food on Gus’s tray. “Is it that bad?”
Gus shook his head. “I’m just not hungry.” The wall phone rang and Gus picked it up. He listened and acknowledged the call before hanging up. He sat down and attacked the food, feeling much better.
“Good news?” the guard asked.
“My so-called lawyer is here with Professor Sutherland, the man I want to represent me.”
“That is good news,” the guard conceded. “May I join you?” Without waiting for an answer, the guard sat down and spoke in a low voice. “Madam Du Milan is in Paris until Monday and the prison superintendent has granted you normal visiting privileges.”
“I’m most appreciative,” Gus answered. “Please thank Superintendent Blier.”
The guard stood. “My government supports the court, but all this is not right.” He left, leaving the door open as Gus attacked the food.
He was on his second cup of coffee when Hank arrived. “Where’s Ichabod Crane?”
A Far Justice Page 5
