Headwind

by John J. Nance

  Michael hesitated, not expecting the onslaught.

  “Yes, My Lord. My legal team retained last night the services of perhaps the best impressionist in Ireland, Mr. Byrne McHenry, a professional entertainer, and in only a few hours of work with an ordinary tape recorder he produced the sound track you heard in order to demonstrate . . .”

  The explosion of sound from the judge startled everyone in the courtroom.

  “THAT,” he sputtered, his eyes flaring, “is perhaps the most despicable act of purposeful misleading of a court I have ever experienced as a judge! Mr. Garrity, you may well stand to charges before the bar as a result of this dishonorable stunt. You’ve wasted the time of this court and attempted to use false evidence to sway us. SIT DOWN!”

  Michael Garrity faced the judge calmly, still on his feet.

  “No, My Lord, I will not sit down with your verbal indictment ringing in my ears.”

  “YOU WILL SIT DOWN, SIR, OR BE HELD IN CONTEMPT!”

  “I did not use false evidence, My Lord. I used evidence of falsity. There is a substantial difference.”

  O’Connell had his gavel pointed at Garrity again, but he stopped short of verbalizing the blast he had planned, and instead replaced the gavel on the bench and sat back, shaking his head.

  “Very well, Mr. Garrity, stand or sit or do whatever you like, but you’re little trick has backfired on you and your client. You have done precisely the opposite of what you intended, sir, because I shall now disregard your offered evidence as non-credible.”

  Michael sat down slowly, his eyes tracking the judge.

  “Mr. Garrity, this is very serious business, this action for perfection of a warrant and an order of extradition. It is serious business because of several factors. First, the Treaty Against Torture demands the faithful adherence of every signatory nation, and after dragging our lazy feet for over a decade, Ireland has finally ratified it as well. That means, sir, that no extradition treaty with Peru is needed. We have the treaty’s provisions for extradition, and they will suffice. It also means that a matter of a U.S. President ordering the killing and torture of individuals sets up without question a prima facie case for issuance of a corresponding Irish warrant for the arrest of the accused party. The treaty requires that the complained of action, in this case premeditated torture and murder by proxy, be a violation of the criminal law of the country considering extradition. Clearly these acts are crimes in Ireland. In addition, it is reprehensible that this involves a former U.S. President, since the United States bears much shame for dragging its feet for years on these matters even after it ratified the treaty. Its conduct during the Pinochet matter in England was unforgivable in my view. Washington sat by in stony silence when they should have been actively supporting immediate extradition. Why do I say this from the bench? Because it is the duty of each signatory nation to deal with matters under the treaty very rapidly. We must avoid even the appearance of foot-dragging or delayed compliance if international law is to have real meaning. Therefore, if I had the power to do so, I would not only order Mr. Harris arrested today, I would order him placed within that hour on the next transport to Lima, Peru, for trial. Unfortunately, our extradition procedures require additional steps, including a certification from the Peruvian government that there be no imposition of a death penalty. But, I am going to call a brief recess and study whether or not I can accelerate those procedures and extradite the man immediately through denial of appeal and perhaps some other legal method.”

  Michael jumped to his feet. “Mr. Justice O’Connell, I object . . .”

  “SIT DOWN, Mr. Garrity! Of course you object, and the record will carry your objections, and I fully expect you to appeal on the grounds that I’m biased, or prejudging the case, or whatever. I expect you’ll challenge my assertion of jurisdiction, the driver’s license I used to get here this morning, and perhaps even what I ate for breakfast. And if our Supreme Court wants to reverse me, so be it. But in the meantime, I will rule in my court the way I see fit, without the interference of the likes of you, sir!

  Stunned to silence, Michael sank slowly into his chair.

  FORTY-SIX

  EuroAir 1020, in Flight—Thursday—11:05 A.M. Dublin Time

  Sherry Lincoln caught the ashen expression on Jillian Walz’s face as Jillian left the cockpit. Sherry got to her feet, cornering Jillian in the forward galley.

  “What’s wrong up there?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just technical . . .”

  “Jillian! I know I’m a civilian and not one of your crew, but I can tell B.S. when it’s thrown at me. What’s going on? If it’s a personal thing, I’ll back off, but if it has to do with the operation of this flight, you’re going to tell me.”

  Jillian looked away and pursed her lips for a second, then met Sherry’s eyes and tried, unsuccessfully, to smile. “We have a small problem. The winds are far worse than planned, and . . . and . . .”

  “You’re . . . not telling me we’re going somewhere else but Ireland?”

  Jillian exhaled sharply. “Ah . . . no . . . I’m not. We’re . . . going to be landing at Galway because we’re very short of fuel.”

  “How short?”

  “One approach only, and there’s fog, and since you must know, I’m scared to death.”

  It was Sherry’s turn to swallow hard. “But we are going to make it?”

  “Craig says yes, but it will be close. I know these fellows, and what’s scaring me is that I’ve never seen them this quiet.”

  The Four Courts, Dublin, Ireland

  Before Mr. Justice O’Connell could formally declare the brief recess he had decided to take, Michael Garrity jumped to his feet. “My Lord . . .”

  “Sit down, Mr. Garrity, you have no credibility before this court! You shall not speak.”

  “Then perhaps you’ll hear me, judge.”

  Even though Mr. Justice O’Connell had seen Jay Reinhart get to his feet, the fact that someone not a member of the bar had dared address his court momentarily stopped him.

  “What?”

  “Your honor . . . I’m sorry, My Lord . . .”

  “You have no standing to address this court, Mr. Reinhart.”

  “Judge, if you have disqualified our barrister, and the defendant is not here to speak for himself, then I am the only voice left.”

  “SIT DOWN, SIR!”

  “No, My Lord . . .”

  “YOU DO NOT CALL ME ‘MY LORD’! You are not a barrister before this bar!”

  “True, but I am a lawyer, sworn to the law, and able to speak for my client if no one else can. And I will call you whatever you deem appropriate, Mr. Justice O’Connell.”

  The judge sat back heavily in his chair, his eyes flickering to Campbell, then back to Jay.

  “What, exactly, do you have to say, Mr. Reinhart?”

  “Just this, Judge. It was I who conceived the idea of fabricating the new sound track, merely to demonstrate clearly the point Michael Garrity made, that either sound track could have been fabricated. Never was there any intention to mislead this court. Quite the contrary. There was no way, I felt, to properly demonstrate this point by merely stating it. We had to show you it could be done. We had to show you that a good imitator could do a convincing version of John Harris’s very distinctive voice. And we established that. We also demonstrated that a talented mimic could even fabricate Mr. Reynolds’s voice. No matter how angry you may be, sir, at the tactic, it did, in fact, make that critical point. Without the supporting evidence that his tape’s sound track is real . . . and clearly Mr. Campbell simply cannot provide such evidence today in this forum . . . there is no way for him, for us, or for this court to know the truth. Absent that truth, his tape cannot be used as prima facie support of the charges against John Harris.”

  “Are you through, sir?” O’Connell said in an acidic tone.

  “Yes, Judge. Thank you.” Jay sat down.

  “The recorder will strike that entire speech from the record,” the judge d
irected. “Nothing in it has in any way changed my opinion of the circus you’ve tried to make of my court, Mr. Garrity, although . . . I am constrained to consider this anew. We’ll take a fifteen-minute recess, and then I shall rule on both the warrant and the order of extradition.”

  EuroAir 1020, in Flight

  The sudden ringing of the satellite phone caused both pilots to jump slightly, so intense was their concentration on the unfolding battle between remaining fuel and remaining distance.

  Alastair answered, almost not recognizing Jay Reinhart’s strained voice.

  “I just got Sherry’s message that you’ve turned around! Tell me it’s not so.”

  “It is, I’m afraid,” Alastair said. “In fact, it appears we’re going to have to land in Galway for fuel because we’re a bit short.”

  “Galway?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you . . . refuel there and try it again?”

  Alastair shook his head no without even glancing at Craig. “No way. The winds have gone to hades in a handbasket.”

  There was a brief pause on the other end. “I see. Ah, I need to speak to Sherry.”

  Craig picked up the PA microphone and paged her to the cockpit, and she responded within ten seconds.

  “It’s Jay, Sherry. I told him we were returning to Ireland,” Alastair said, handing her the phone.

  “Jay! You heard we’re coming back.”

  “It’s all backfired, Sherry. Everything we’ve tried. This judge is hellbent to send John packing to Lima, and he’s off on a recess right now trying to figure out if he can bypass the normal appeals and slam him on a plane immediately.”

  “Oh my Lord.”

  “Your returning here couldn’t come at a worse time.”

  “So what do we do, Jay?”

  His voice was dejected but the instructions he gave were firm. “Just get yourselves safely on the ground wherever and call me. Leave a message if I don’t answer immediately, then sit tight. I . . . think I’m out of options here, but until I’m sure, I’d rather keep you aboard.”

  “I understand. Good luck.”

  The Four Courts, Dublin, Ireland

  More than forty minutes had elapsed when Mr. Justice O’Connell reentered his court.

  “My Lord,” Stuart Campbell said, rising slowly.

  O’Connell looked slightly startled.

  “Yes, Mr. Campbell?”

  “Before you rule in this matter, My Lord, there is one additional point I need to make regarding our videotape.”

  Mr. Justice O’Connell hesitated, then let out a slightly exasperated sigh.

  “Is this truly necessary, Mr. Campbell? You’ll be gilding the lily.”

  “It is necessary for the record, My Lord.”

  “Very well. Proceed.”

  Jay had selected the vibrate function on his GSM phone before walking into the courtroom hours before, but he’d forgotten it through the proceedings. The insistent vibrations now coursing through his coat pocket finally reached his conscious mind, and he pulled the phone out and triggered the “on” button as he quietly got to his feet to step outside the courtroom.

  “Mr. Reinhart?” a familiar voice asked. “This is Secretary Byer.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jay replied.

  “I’m going to patch you back to Washington, Mr. Reinhart, where one of my people has an answer for you. We’ll be there in a half hour, but you may need to hear this now. In a nutshell, you were right.”

  When Secretary Byer had finished, Jay stopped him from disconnecting.

  “I have a question, Mr. Secretary. You’re intimately familiar with the Oval Office. Would you describe for me what’s outside the door on the western wall? I need to check my memory, and trust me, this is very important.”

  In the courtroom, Campbell had hit the “play” button on his camera, starting the tape toward the end of the sequence when the President and Reynolds were apparently leaning over a map discussing the impending raid.

  Campbell pressed the “pause” button then and turned to O’Connell.

  “My Lord, as to the authenticity of this recording, I call your attention to the small item visible on the desk. You see there the Great Seal of the United States in the form of a medallion encased in what appears to be lucite, and just to the right you can see several papers bearing John Harris’s signature.”

  Campbell returned to his table and selected a piece of paper that he handed to the clerk before handing a copy to Michael Garrity.

  “I would enter into evidence at this time a personal item from my own collection of mementos, a letter from John Harris dated in 1985, which bears his signature. You can see that his signature on those letters on the screen, and the one in this exhibit, are identical.”

  Michael thought of objecting on the grounds that it wasn’t the opinion of a graphology expert, but the gesture would be futile at best.

  “I’ll admit that, Mr. Campbell.”

  Jay had returned and was sliding back into his chair as Stuart Campbell turned the camera off. Jay began whispering urgently to Michael Garrity.

  “Mr. Garrity?” the judge asked. “Do you rest, sir?”

  “Just a second, My Lord,” Michael answered, ignoring the scowl on the judge’s face. In a few moments he stood up and gestured toward Jay.

  “My Lord, we have received additional evidence that is extremely material to this case, and I ask you to permit Mr. Reinhart to recite it as he has just recited it to me.”

  “No.”

  “My Lord . . .”

  “If you’ve something to say, Mr. Garrity, you will say it. You are the barrister before this court.”

  “Very well, My Lord, although I was afraid I had no further credibility before you.”

  O’Connell looked at Garrity as if he were seeing him for the first time.

  “Mr. Garrity . . . I have reflected on my previous comments, and they were, perhaps, a bit hasty. I shall not cite you for contempt for your . . . your show earlier.”

  “Thank you, My Lord.”

  “State your new evidence.”

  “As your Lordship knows, the Treaty Against Torture, otherwise known as the United Nations Convention Against Torture, under Article Three specifically prohibits any member state from sending, by extradition or otherwise, any person to a country in which there is a reasonable possibility that prohibited acts of torture or infliction of pain without coloration of law may be inflicted. Mr. Reinhart has just received confirmation from the Secretary of State of the United States, and from Washington, that the United States Government has new evidence that the government of Peru is about to be cited by a section of the United Nations for human rights abuses, specifically for the systematic torture of political prisoners, including the infliction of torture and unusually harsh punishment against two former Peruvian legislators. Placing Peru on such a list formally declares that until removed by the U.N., Peru is to be considered as a matter of law to have a demonstrated propensity for torturing any prisoner of former political standing. This information meets the applicable definitions of the Treaty Against Torture wherein it prohibits extradition of any person to a state that may reasonably be expected to use prohibited methods of torture or unusual punishment against such a person. Clearly, a former President of the United States fits this category, and since Peru may be said to have a clear intention to inflict torture and unlawful pain on the person of John Harris, any request for his extradition to Peru must be summarily denied.”

  “Mr. Garrity,” the judge replied, “have you anything but verbal statements to make to support this charge?”

  “Yes, My Lord, but it will take several days to physically receive the certification from the United Nations Directorate involved.”

  “Then your motion to vacate the application for extradition is denied.”

  “My Lord, I then move to adjourn this matter for ten days, or in the alternative, if the court proposes to issue orders, I move to stay execution of any such arrest or ext
radition order, for ten days. We must have time to produce those instruments.”

  “I imagine,” the judge said, “that Mr. Campbell will have a rather impassioned response to that motion, Mr. Garrity.”

  Stuart Campbell remained seated, his face impassive as O’Connell looked at him with increasing puzzlement. “What say you, Mr. Campbell?”

  “My Lord?”

  “I assume you have an objection to Mr. Garrity’s motion?”

  “No, My Lord. I do not.”

  “No?” O’Connell asked, his face betraying complete confusion.

  “No.”

  “Mr. Campbell, Mr. Garrity is asking to adjourn these proceedings for ten days, and you are not objecting?”

  “No, My Lord.”

  The judge sat in confused silence for a few seconds before sighing and shaking his head.

  “Very well, then. I am going to consider granting the motion. We’ll take a momentary recess.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  EuroAir 1020, in Flight—Thursday—12:15 P.M.

  “How far out?” Craig asked, his voice crisp but more strained than Alastair had ever heard it.

  “One hundred forty miles from the airport. About ninety from land.”

  Craig studied the fuel gauges over his head, his lips almost white.

  “How much left?” Alastair asked.

  “Not enough. We’re under six hundred, if I can believe the gauges.”

  “Six hundred per side?”

  “No. Total.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Alastair said.

  “I don’t want to descend down at the normal point,” Craig said. “Let’s wait until we’re within fifty miles of the field, just in case.”

  “Agreed.”

  Craig punched the interphone button and waited for Jillian to come on the line.

  “Jillian, I want you to get Elle and Ursula briefed and strapped in with life jackets on. Get Sherry, the Secret Service guy, and the President in life jackets as well as yourself, and get everyone seated about midway back in aisle seats. Review where the life rafts are. And hurry. I don’t think we’re going in the water, but I want to take no chances.”