A Far Justice (9 page)

“I’ll put them all on our witness list. I also need the names of weapons experts and professors of international law who can help us, preferably European. Also, can you research the prosecution’s witness list?”

“Will do,” Cassandra promised.

Hank glanced at the second name on the prosecution’s list. “Who in the world is Uwe Reiss?” He scanned the list, quickly ticking off the easy ones. A name buried in the middle caught his attention. He pulled out one of Melwin’s files and his eyes opened wide as he read. “Son of a bitch!” He buzzed Aly on the intercom. “I’ve got to talk to Gus. Can you cross-reference Melwin’s files with everything the prosecutor gave us?” Aly said she’d get right on it.

It was after the evening meal when Hank reached Gus. “How’s it going?” the lawyer asked. He sat down, opened his briefcase, and made sure his percom was on.

“Things got better after your interview on TV,” Gus said. There was a gaunt look in his eyes.

Hank sensed Gus was fighting off a major bout of depression. Being locked up did that to a sane person. “The Dutch are very sensitive to public criticism. Hopefully, I can make them even more responsive.”

“You’re being monitored,” Cassandra said. “Shall I scramble it?”

Hank nodded at the percom. “Gus, as you know, the trial is scheduled to start in a little over a month. I can request a delay, it’s up to you.”

“Look, I want out of here so bad my eyes are crossed. But isn’t that rushing things? Can you be ready by then?”

Hank took a deep breath. “If this were the States, no way. But this isn’t the States and …” His voice trailed off.

“And the verdict’s already in. I’m going down, aren’t I?”

Hank had anticipated this moment. Long experience had taught him that the prosecution’s case always looked strongest at the beginning and that it took time and work to break it down. He was afraid a truthful explanation would drive Gus deeper into depression, and he wanted a vigorous, upbeat, morally outraged August Tyler for the world to see and judge. “Well, Du Milan thinks you are,” Hank replied. “I haven’t found the right hammers yet. Don’t worry, I’ll find them.”

Cassandra’s voice spoke in his ear. “I’m using up a lot of power and need to recharge. Place me against an electrical outlet.” Hank did as Cassandra asked and leaned the percom against a wall plug. “Ooh,” she purred. “That feels better.”

“Am I’m going down?” Gus repeated.

“Get that out of your head. Nothing here is a done deal. From the evidence I’ve seen so far, they haven’t got much of a case. My plan is to go for maximum media exposure and once we’re in the courtroom … well, let’s just say I’ll make it very interesting for them.” Gus did not look convinced.

“The court doesn’t have juries,” Hank continued. “Well, I’m going to use the media and make the public the jury. I’m going to take the verdict away from the judges.”

“Can you do that?”

Hank cracked a tight smile. They were making progress and Gus was coming around. “Well, you saw what happened after one interview on TV. It’s a media circus out there and no one wants to be caught in the spotlight. Look at poor Melwin.”

“I’m supposed to feel sorry for him?”

Hank shook his head. “No, not at all. What I’m trying to say is that a guilty verdict is not a done deal. Don’t let Du Milan get inside your head. That’s why she isolated you, to break you down and make you vulnerable.”

“So what do I do now?”

“Tell me about the Reverend Tobias Person.”

SEVEN

The Hague

Gus paced the floor. “Toby Person. He was a backseater in Strike Eagles,
that’s the F-15E. We were in the same squadron. He looked all of eighteen years old, a little pudgy, and maybe five feet six inches tall. His hair flopped down over his forehead like a sheepdog, and he spent a lot of time gazing into space, seeing a world no one else saw. Not a figure to inspire confidence, but he was the best damn WSO – weapons systems officer – to ever strap on the jet. When there was serious work, Toby was the man.” Gus shook his head in wonder. “Toby Person. Who would’ve ever thought?”

Hank nodded in agreement. The Reverend Tobias Person was a living legend in Africa, a missionary in the Southern Sudan. “You said you were in the same squadron.”

“Yeah. I was chief of training and didn’t have a regular WSO, so I hijacked him for the Mutlah Ridge mission to fly in my backseat. Jim Cannon, our wing commander, had teamed him with a pilot who couldn’t fly worth diddly squat.” He snorted. “Davis Armiston. What a prick.”

Hank’s head came up. “The General Davis Armiston?”

“One and the same,” Gus replied. “He was a captain then and totally lacking in situational awareness.” He drew into himself, going back in time. “Toby learned Arabic over there.” He gave a little laugh. “We gave him a bad time about it at first, but he just pressed ahead. We stopped laughing when the Saudi Air Force liaison officers attached to the Wing started to ask for his help in explaining things. Toby was different. After the Mutlah Ridge mission I found him in the chapel. It was a small room set aside for the chaplains to use. He was just sitting there, staring at the table they used for an altar, like he was seeing what wasn’t there. I never thought he was overly religious but I’ll never forget what he said. ‘I guess we did good out there.’ It was the way he said it. Not painful, just sad.”

“What did you say?” Hank asked.

“I told him we were just doing our job. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t good. Then he asked, ‘Why do we do this?’ Hell, what was I supposed to say? I asked myself that same question every time one of our buddies bought it. Do you know how many memorial services and funerals I’ve been to?” Gus drew into himself. “I quit counting at fifty.”

“What did you tell him?”

Gus shook his head, still not satisfied that he had found an answer. “‘There’s an obligation to serve that we must honor.’”

Hank sensed he was seeing a part of Gus Tyler that very few would be privileged to experience. “Even at the risk of your own lives,” he added.

Gus looked up and his wry grin was back. “Yeah, but we don’t talk about that. Doesn’t go with the image.”

“We’re going to have to go over the mission in detail,” Hank said. “But it can wait for now.”

“There’s a videotape of the mission,” Gus told him. “Recorded through the HUD, that’s the heads-up-display. It’s got the audio and all the symbology; airspeed, altitude, weapons settings.”

“What happened to it?”

Again, Gus shook his head. “I have no idea. Jim Cannon, the wing commander, had it sealed and me certify it. The last I heard it was sent to Headquarters CentCom.”

“We’ll find it,” Hank said, continuing to take notes. “So what happened after the attack on Mutlah Ridge?”

“The war was over in a few days and we rotated back to the States. Toby resigned his commission, got out, and we lost contact. I sort’a followed his career. He fast tracked a medical degree in Florida then went to Mission Awana in the Sudan, near Malakal on the White Nile. He was in the news big time two years ago when the Sudanese Army attacked the mission.”

“Right,” Hank said. “The Air Force had a detachment of C-130s at Awana flying relief and peacekeeping missions for the U.N. They were almost wiped out and the commander killed.”

Gus shook his head. “Dave Alston, an old buddy from the Air Force. He was seriously wounded but he made it.”

“Cathy and I heard the Reverend Person talk at a fund raiser,” Hank said. “Powerful. You wouldn’t recognize him now. Skinny, balding, burnt by the sun, hands like claws. He’s made a difference in the Sudan.”

“Why all the interest in Toby?” Gus asked.

“I apologize for doing it this way, but I had to get your unbiased reaction. The Reverend Tobias Person is on the prosecutor’s witness list. According to Melwin’s notes, Person made a sworn statement that claims you and he knowingly bombed civilians on Mutlah Ridge.”

Gus stared at the lawyer. “No way he’d say that. You don’t know Toby. Make that no fucking way.”

“That’s good to hear. I haven’t seen the statement yet, but there is no way they’ll get it in.”

The Palace of the ICC was deserted when Hank returned and a sleepy security guard let him in. “Use the rear entrance at night,” the guard grumbled. The motion-activated lights followed Hank’s progress across the entrance rotunda and down the main hallway. He stopped outside the main courtroom where Gus’s case would be heard and tested the big double doors carved from African mahogany. He felt them give and he pushed his way inside. The lights automatically came on.

Although the décor was austere and modern, the floor plan was much the same as any courtroom. But the differences were telling. Hank sat down at the defense counsel’s table and sank back in the leather chair. Like a good soldier, his eyes scanned the battleground where he would engage the enemy. The prosecutor’s table was to his immediate right and a small reading lectern was centered between the tables and facing the judge’s bench, which was constructed of the same rare wood as the doors.
“How many trees died for this?” he asked in a low voice. On the left side of the bench, the dock, the small enclosure where Gus would sit during the trial, replaced the jury box. The witness box was on the right side of the bench. The long clerk’s table was in front of the bench, between the lectern and the judges. Over a hundred seats for spectators filled the back half of the room, and a TV control room overlooked the courtroom from high above the big entrance doors at the rear.

Cassandra’s voice was low and urgent. “Hank, don’t say a thing. I monitored a signal. The room is bugged. Tap your fingers on the table.” He did as she asked. “The bug is underneath,” she told him. He sank back into the chair, thinking. Reluctant to give up the comfortable chair, he pulled himself to his feet and headed for the stairs. Again, the lights marked his progress. “Smile,” Cassandra said. “You’re on Candid Camera.”

“Very original.”

“Well,” she replied in a huff, “I’m
only
a computer, not a comedienne.”

Aly was alone in their new offices still feeding documents into a scanner so the computer could automatically cross-reference Melwin’s files with the prosecutor’s evidence package. “How’s it going?” he asked.

“I’m almost done,” she answered.

“Can you search for Tobias Person and a Colonel James, or Jim Cannon?”

“Of course.” She typed a command into the computer. “There are six references for Person but so far there is nothing on Cannon.”

“Let me know if something turns up.” He keyed the computer and searched for Toby’s statement. He found the file number and dug it out only to discover it was in French. “Aly,” he called. “How’s your French?”

“Not bad,” she answered. “It was my third language in high school.”

“Can you translate this for me?” She did and Hank gave silent thanks for the Dutch educational system. When she finished, he kicked back in his chair. “Damn,” he muttered. “We’re going to need an official translation.” She promised it by the end of the next day and went back to work.

Hank closed his eyes, relaxed, and let his mind wander. It was a technique he had developed years before when he was still a deputy district attorney, and the strangest ideas and connections would often emerge. Sooner or later, something worthwhile would pop out and capture his attention. He drifted off as a hodge-podge of images cycled out of his subconscious. He fell asleep.

Hank’s eyes snapped open. Early morning light streamed through the windows and he was alone. He smiled. “Folks,” he murmured, “things just got interesting.” Aly had left a note for him. She had finished and had found three more references on Tobias Person but nothing on a James Cannon. She’d be back around noon, and Jason should return with the office safes sometime that day.

“Cassandra, I need to locate James Cannon, a retired Air Force colonel who was Gus’s commander in the Gulf War at Al Kharj Air Base. Also, we need the videotape of Gus’s mission over Mutlah Ridge. It was recorded through the HUD of his F-15. It was sent to Central Command in 1991.”

“If it still exists,” she answered, “we’ll find it. Searching for Cannon now.” Then, “Most unusual. Please wait a moment.”

Hank played with the computer and called up the new references on Toby. “What’s the current situation in the southern Sudan?”

“There’s a very nasty civil war going on down there. Islamic fundamentalists captured the government in Khartoum, and control all the oil revenues. The southern Sudan tribes, mostly Dinka and Nuer, are fighting for their independence.”

Another thought came to Hank. “Can you search the court’s data base for Person and Cannon without them knowing?”

She made small talk while doing it. “All of the registrar’s records are part of the public record and are on the Internet. But the prosecutor’s files are protected by a firewall and a sophisticated entry protocol.”

“Can you get past it?”

“Ooh, you are wicked. Hold on, this may take a few moments while I break in. This is more difficult than I thought. Here we go. There’s nothing in their computer on Cannon and they gave you everything they’ve got on Tobias Person.”

“At least everything that is in their computer,” Hank corrected. “Have you found anything on Cannon yet?”

“Nothing,” she replied. “Apparently he’s been secured.”

“What does that mean?”

“He works for either the CIA or the National Security Agency. I can’t go there.”

“Lovely. I need to call Melwin.”

“His cell phone is off, but he’s at the Anabella Haus.”

“What’s he doing there at this hour?”

“He’s trapped again. Three paparazzi are waiting outside.”

The paparazzi were sitting in their cars outside the Anabella Haus when Hank drove up. Knowing there was no way he could avoid them, he knocked on one’s car window and asked if Melwin was inside. “Been in there all night, mate,” the photographer replied.

“Got any photos yet?” the Englishman shook his head. “I’ve got to talk to him,” Hank explained. He walked up to the front door; fully aware he was being photographed. He rang and a beautiful girl opened the door a crack. “Tell Melwin to call me on my cell phone.” He jotted a number down on his card and handed it to her. He pointed to the waiting paparazzi. “They won’t go away until he comes out.” The girl nodded and closed the door. Hank waved at the photographers and retreated back to his car. His percom buzzed before he got there. “I’ll take it,” he told Cassandra.

“What do you want?” Melwin asked.

“I want you back on the team,” Hank told him.

“Colonel Tyler won’t approve.”

“He will after I tell him why. Alex, I read four of your opinions and was impressed. You also know how the court works and I think you want to help Gus. Besides, what do you have to lose?”

“Did you set me up?”

Hank lied. “No. Du Milan was using you, and you set yourself up. I’ll be in my office all day.” Hank broke the connection and laughed. For the first time since arriving in Europe, he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He headed for his hotel to shower and change. It was going to be a long day.

It was late afternoon when Jason, still wearing his uniform, wheeled in two five-drawer office safes. It amazed Hank the way Jason easily moved the heavy safes around, and he understood Melwin’s fear. “I’ll need to reset the combinations,” Jason said.

“Can you sweep the office for bugs first?” Hank asked. Jason pulled a small black wand out of his heavy attaché-style briefcase and went to work. Within moments, he had found three microdot monitors not much larger than the head of a pin.

“This is good stuff,” Jason told him. “I’ve never seen anything this small.”

“Get rid of ‘em.”

“You’re not going to register a complaint?” Jason asked.

“Nope. But sweep the office every morning.” Hank thought for a moment. “Jason, we need to find a Colonel Jim Cannon, Gus’s commander during the Gulf War. Apparently, he’s got some sort of hush-hush job with the CIA or whatever the spook du jour organization is these days. Maybe one of your sergeant buddies knows something, or someone.”

“The NCO Good-Old Boy and Kick Ass Society is alive and well,” Jason replied. “I’ll shake the tree and see what falls out.”

The percom was on and Cassandra’s laugh filled Hank’s ear. “Do I sense a little competition here?” Hank fought the urge to answer her. “Actually,” she conceded, “he might be able to backdoor Cannon’s whereabouts. Good thinking.”

“Hank,” Aly called from the window overlooking the forecourt. “You need to see this.” Hank hurried over and was stunned by the size of the crowd flowing into the forecourt two floors below them. A huge banner was unfurled against one wall.