A Far Justice (29 page)

THIRTY-THREE

Duk Faiwil, Southern Sudan

Jason glanced at his watch and tried to go back to sleep. It was still dark
and the hospital compound was quiet, perched on the edge of morning. The hut he shared with Hon had lost its stifling heat and was comfortable enough, but frustration laced with anger twisted his stomach into a hard knot, driving the last vestiges of sleep away. He glanced at his watch again. But other than the passage of a few minutes, nothing had changed. It was still Wednesday morning, December 29, and Toby was still in the hospital running a vicious fever. They had to get Toby to Juba and proper medical care but he hadn’t been able to find transportation and Paride still hadn’t returned after three days. “Too damn many ‘stills,’” he muttered to himself.

The knot in his stomach tightened as his mental alarms screamed at him, warning him that the trial was entering its final stages, and they were marooned in this forsaken Sudanese town. His right hand flashed out and he squashed an insect between his thumb and forefinger before it could bite the still sleeping Hon. At least he could still do that. He stood in the open doorway as the hospital compound slowly came to life. What had D’Na said about morning in Africa? It was the best time of day when all was new and fresh. He wanted to believe that.

A commotion outside the compound drew his attention and woke Hon. “Something is going on,” Jason said.

“I go see, Boss,” Hon said. “I try to find food.”

“That would be nice,” Jason said, trying to ignore the hunger that was part of their life. Hon pulled on his T-shirt and headed for the gate while Jason sat in the doorway. A fact of life was that one of them always had to stay and guard their meager possessions or they would be stolen.

Hon came back, running for all he was worth. “Boss! Soldiers come!”

“Pack up,” Jason ordered. “I’ll go get the Reverend.” He ran for the hospital as the sound of approaching helicopters beat at him. He looked up as two tan colored helicopters flew low over the town. Their distinctive roundels flashed in the sun – Sudanese Air Force. A third helicopter flew past. A wall of people rushing out of the compound blocked his way but he managed to push and shove his way into the ward where Toby was staying. Fortunately, the missionary was sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling on his clothes. His face was bathed in sweat and he swayed from the effort. Jason knelt down and slipped on Toby’s boots, quickly tying them.

Toby tried to stand but he didn’t have the strength. Jason helped him to his feet and carried him piggyback out of the hospital. Hon was waiting, packs shouldered and holding their two MP5s. “Let’s go,” Jason said, joining the crowd of people surging through the small town and fleeing to the south. Four teenagers split off from the gangs ransacking the marketplace and surrounded them. One grabbed at the packs Hon was carrying and dragged him to the ground while the second one grabbed the MP5s. The last two pushed at Jason and snarled. The first two stripped the packs and MP5s away from Hon and ran, disappearing into the crowd but the other two kept coming at Jason. He dropped Toby to the ground and drove his right fist into his closest attacker’s sternum, knocking the wind out of him. A hard kick to the knee sent his assailant to the ground screaming in pain. The last one drew his machete and swung at Jason. But the big American’s reflexes were rattlesnake quick and he feinted to his right, avoiding the machete. The teenager started to swing, and then checked it. He grinned wickedly as he parried and thrust, coming at Jason. A short burst of heavy machine gun fire cut into the young thug, almost chopping him in two. Jason dropped to the ground and rolled, using the teenager’s body for cover. “It’s okay, Boss,” Paride yelled.

“Man, am I glad to see you,” Jason called.

Hon struggled to his feet, still dazed but not hurt. He blinked his eyes, his face fearful. “What …?” he asked, pointing at the high-wheeled armored personnel carrier stopped behind Paride. Four heavily armed white men clambered out the back. A big, burley, blond-haired man was the last to climb down.

“It’s called a Wolf Turbo, Mate,” the man said.

“They are friends,” Paride said. “They find me.”

The man stuck out his hand to Jason. “Hans Landerrost.” They shook hands. “You are the devil to find. Paride here tells me the Reverend is wounded.” He spoke with a South African accent. “We have an airfield near here.” The Afrikaner looked up as two more Sudanese helicopters flew over. “This is getting bloody fuckin’ interestin’.”

The bark of AK47s echoed in the distance.

The Hague

Gus made small talk as they waited for the trial to reconvene. “How was Christmas?”

“Strange enough, one of the best we’ve had,” Hank answered. “Catherine hit the ground running when she got back, but for some reason eased off. We didn’t go through all the usual hoopla and spent Christmas Eve decorating the tree.”

“Is Catherine coming back?”

Hank allowed a little smile. His wife was his best friend and anchor. “She’ll be here tomorrow.”

“So what’s on the agenda for today?”

“We have to discredit Schumann’s testimony. Fortunately, his charge about using napalm is bogus so we can tie that can to his tail.”

“Unfortunately,” Gus admitted, “we did use it.”

“Ah, shit,” Hank moaned. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. The Marines used it at least once. I’m not sure where or when.”

“Was napalm used on Mutlah Ridge? By anyone?”

“No and no,” Gus answered.

“Did the Air Force ever use napalm in the Gulf.”

“Not that I’m aware of. The Air Force stopped using it back in the seventies in Vietnam. It was a crappy weapon to begin with, and not very effective. Tactically, CBU’s are much better. The canisters separate clean from the aircraft with a good trajectory. You always know where they’re going and it really chews up the bad guys without all the bad publicity.”

Cassandra whispered in Hank’s ear, outlining a strategy her legal team had devised. Hank visibly relaxed. “I can handle this,” he promised. It was time, and he left for the courtroom where Aly was waiting. Every seat in the courtroom was taken and an expectant hush fell over the crowd when Hank entered the side door. He sat down and handed Aly his percom. “There’s a message from Cassandra I need printed out. Also, we need to recall Roger Marks, one of Du Milan’s weapons experts. Is he available?”

“I’ll find out,” she replied. She hurried out of the courtroom as Gus was escorted to the dock. The red light on the clerk’s desk flashed and they were back in session.

Hank studied Bouchard’s face as he sat down, looking for signs of ill health or strain. Then it hit him – the judge was wearing makeup. “This court is in session,” Bouchard intoned. “We hope all enjoyed their holidays and are ready to bring these proceedings to a timely conclusion.”

Hank stood to test the waters. “Is time now a factor, your Honor?” Given the political situation in the United Nations, he strongly suspected that it was.

Bouchard humphed. “Of course not. As is the custom of the court, does the prosecution or defense have any business to bring to the court’s attention?” Denise said the prosecution had nothing for the court.

Hank wondered when the judges would rule on the petition to transfer Gus to Iraqi custody. He decided Bouchard had to pick the right moment, probably the day Gus took the stand. “The defense has nothing … ” he let his voice trail off and relief spread across Bouchard’s face. “… at this time,” Hank added, ratcheting Bouchard up a notch. Aly rejoined him and handed him a five-page printout from Cassandra.

“Roger Marks is hovering in the witness lounge,” she told Hank. “He wants to be recalled to the stand.”

“The guy really needs his fifteen minutes of fame,” Hank replied. “I think we’ll give it to him.”

“Call your next witness,” Bouchard said.

Hank suppressed a smile at what was coming next. Aly read the signs right and said, “Don’t get full of yourself.”

“The defense recalls Roger Marks to the stand,” Hank said. He waited at the podium while the Englishman entered the side door. He was the same man as Hank remembered, nondescript, paunchy, and desperate for his time in the sun. The same anger and frustration Hank had sensed the first time was still there.

Hank waited while Bouchard thanked him for returning and reminding him that he was still under oath. Hank decided that a few ego strokes were in order. “Mr. Marks, let me also thank you for sharing your valuable time and expertise with the court. From your prior testimony, it was established that you were present in Kuwait during the Gulf War. Can you elaborate on exactly what you observed?”

“Objection,” Denise called. “This is a new line of questioning. The rules of the court specify that cross-examination must be confined to Mr. Marks prior testimony.”

“Mr. Marks testified earlier that he was in Kuwait. I am now asking for specifics.”

Bouchard spoke quietly to Della Sante and Richter. “The objection is overruled,”

Marks swelled with importance as he related how he was a reporter for Scientifica Europa, a quarterly journal published in France. He had arrived in Saudi Arabia a week before the land phase of the war started and had spent over three months examining the environmental damage caused by the war. For the next two hours, he expounded on how he had documented the effect of weapons on the environment. Hank’s patience was rewarded when Marks mentioned that he had been to Mutlah Ridge. It was the opening Hank needed and he held his breath to see if Denise would object. Marks continued to talk without an objection from the prosecutor.

“Mr. Marks, based on your investigation and documentation, what specific weapons did you discover in your research?” Again, Marks was effusive in answering and listed every type of weapon and the associated damage he had discovered. “Mr. Marks, you stated you were on Mutlah Ridge. Was this before or after the fleeing Iraqi convoy was destroyed?”

Denise finally realized where Hank was going. “Objection! Mr. Marks presence on Mutlah Ridge is new evidence and beyond the scope of defense counsel’s cross-examination.”

“The witness testified earlier to being in other areas in Kuwait without objection,” Hank replied.

Della Sante leaned into Bouchard and spoke rapidly, her voice inaudible but her face animated. Bouchard grumped an answer and Richter’s mouth moved, saying something in German. Bouchard straightened up. “Objection overruled. The witness may answer the question.”

“I arrived at Mutlah Ridge the day after the attack and spent over forty-eight hours examining the battlefield.”

“Did you discover any evidence supporting the allegation that the coalition forces used napalm at Mutlah Ridge?”

Marks hesitated, fully aware of Schumann’s testimony. He did not want to answer the question. He looked at Denise who stared at him. He gulped. “No. But my test kit was exhausted.”

“Why did you need a test kit?”

“Napalm leaves a distinct chemical signature. I had tested many areas for napalm and was out of test chemicals.”

“You testified earlier that you interviewed many doctors about the wounds they treated. Were napalm burns ever mentioned?”

Marks’ “No” was barely audible.

“In earlier testimony by Doctor Gustav Schumann, the court was told about another team investigating weapons employed by the coalition forces in Iraq.” He passed two pages of the trial transcript to Marks. “Would you be so kind as to read the highlighted passages?” Marks swallowed, his throat now dry, and started to read. His flat, dry drone stripped away the emotional impact that Schumann had created. Hank leaned forward when Marks reached the critical passage.

“Prosecutor: What weapons did the investigation team document had been used by the coalition forces against the Iraqis?

“Schumann: The list is long. There were, of course, the so-called ‘smart bombs;’ cluster bomb units, or CBUs; anti-tank missiles, cruise missiles like the Tomahawk; the standard conventional bombs, and many more that I do not recall at this moment, for which I apologize.

“Prosecutor: We understand, perfectly, Doctor. Did your investigators document the weapons used on Mutlah Ridge, the Highway of Death?

“Schumann: The investigators spent a full day examining the carnage. Many weapons of mass destruction had been used, such as cluster bomb units and napalm.”

Hank moved in for the kill. “Did you encounter Doctor Schumann’s investigators while you were at Mutlah Ridge?”

“Yes.”

On cue, Aly handed Hank the same thin leather folder he had used in examining Harm deRijn. Marks stared at it, his lower lip quivering. “Please be more specific as to when and where you encountered Dr. Schumann’s investigators.”

“We were escorted as a group for safety and had to stay together for the entire time they were there.”

“Yet, you discovered no evidence that napalm had been employed against the Iraqis. Were you wrong?”

Marks hesitated, desperate to avoid answering. He looked at Denise who stared at him. He gulped when Hank opened the leather folder. “I found no evidence of napalm.”

Hank closed the folder. “Thank you for your honesty.” He sat down.

Denise was on her feet, determined to salvage what she could. “Did you specifically ask the doctors you interviewed about napalm burns?”