ECLIPSE (21 page)

T
HE NEXT SOUND
Pierce heard was the rattle of chains. Stiffly, Bobby Okari rose from the filth around him, gripping the bars for leverage. “Damon?” he said feebly.

Pierce was filled with pity. “Do you know about Karama’s speech?”

“Yes. They play it for me every night, again and again.”

Pierce placed his hand over Bobby’s. “I don’t have much time. But for whatever it’s worth, Michael Gladstone’s offered to intercede.”

“Karama’s handmaiden.” Bobby shook his head. “Does he require me to go deaf, blind, and dumb?”

“Merely silent. And in some other country.” Though quiet, Pierce’s tone was urgent. “Once in America or England, you can say what you like. Your only alternative, as Gladstone knows, is to hope that my firm and I can somehow get you out of this.”

Bobby’s face hardened. “Gladstone must think a lot of me. And very little.”

“Gladstone claims to doubt your innocence. He wonders, as I do, why you didn’t condemn those lynchings. Nonetheless, he seems to prefer that you not die.”

“As well he might.” Bobby drew himself up. “This is my message to him: help free me, and things will be better for PGL. Help me salvage our
land and waters, and things will be better for PGL. But don’t ask me to become a stranger to my people.”

Pierce could feel his own pulse. “Even for Marissa?”

“Even so.” Audibly, Bobby inhaled. “You’re afraid for her, as am I. But neither your fear for her nor mine can outweigh what you’ve seen here.”

“I’ve seen many things,” Pierce said tightly. “Including Okimbo.”

Briefly, Bobby’s eyes shut. “Two favors, then. At whatever cost to me, try to keep Marissa safe. But do not tell her of my refusal. It will cause her great pain and accomplish nothing.”

“Not nothing. If they ever let her see you, she might be more persuasive than I’ve been.”

Bobby grasped Pierce’s wrist. “Are you so willing to break a confidence, Damon? Do you wish to come between Marissa and me? That is not the act of a lawyer.”

Caught in his own conflicted feelings, Pierce could not respond. The shadow of a memory surfaced in his mind: that, on meeting Bobby Okari, he had sensed that this man’s life might not be long. But then martyrs, like believers, envision an afterlife. Damon Pierce was neither.

“Give Gladstone my answer,” Bobby told him. “And Marissa my love.”

S
ITTING ON THEIR
patio, Marissa took Pierce’s hands in hers. Her face was drawn, her eyes haunted, as though what she had experienced was beyond the power of time to heal. It struck Pierce that he had never seen her cry.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said gently. “There’s nothing more I can do here. But even in America I may accomplish very little. My law firm may not let me take this case. The courts might not listen if I do. I have no legal right to return here, any more than you have the right to leave. Whatever I might wish, I may never see Luandia again.”

Marissa tried to muster a smile. “Think of all you’d miss.” For a moment, her throat worked, and then she spoke with fresh resolve. “I’ve already made a list for you of people I’d like you to call: human rights groups, media contacts, Luandian exiles, friends. Anyone in America who can help.”

Pierce felt the weight of all he had not told her, and of what might happen once he left. “I’ll do all I can,” he promised.

For a time, she looked at him intently, as if committing his every feature to memory. As though on impulse, she brushed her lips against his. “Then go now,” she said softly. “At least I’ll know you’re safe.”

I
T WAS LIKE AWAKENING IN ANOTHER DIMENSION.

Pierce sat in Larry Kahan’s corner office. Night had fallen; through the tall windows the lights of scattered boats blinked on the darkened bay between the city and the glittering hills of Marin County. The Asian decor around them befitted the managing partner of a fifteen-hundred-lawyer firm whose offices girded the globe, from San Francisco to London to Shanghai to Tokyo. Kahan, whose demeanor Pierce had once described as “Jewish-mandarin,” appraised him with a look of sympathy and skepticism. Pierce was in no mood for either; he had come directly from the airport after twenty-seven hours in transit. “You look like hell,” Kahan told him.

“This couldn’t wait,” Pierce answered. “Any day now Okari may be dead.”

Kahan’s eyes, almond slits in the broad planes of his Slavic face, narrowed further. “Executed by the Luandian government,” he amended. “What do you propose we do about that?”

“Two things. Let me defend Okari before this joke of a tribunal, and file a suit in federal court for the wrongful death of his father—”

“Against whom?” Kahan cut in. “This may not be my area, but I do know that you can’t sue Karama and his regime in an American court for violating international law.”

Pierce looked at him more closely. “Why do I sense, Larry, that someone got to you before me?”

“The chairman of PetroGlobal Oil,” Kahan answered bluntly. “John
Colson himself. He claims you threatened the managing director of PGL with a lawsuit this firm hasn’t authorized.”

Pierce’s anxiety quickened with anger. “To get them to use their leverage with Karama—”

“In return for which Okari is unwilling to back off an inch.” The last trace of sympathy vanished from Kahan’s manner. “PGL says that any lawsuit would be slander in the guise of a pleading. Even to me, blaming PGL for the Luandian military’s actions in that village is a reach. What can you allege with any confidence?”

“Several things. PGL pays and equips the Luandian army. PGL asked it to ‘restore order,’ knowing full well that might mean a massacre—”

“Who else were they supposed to call? The Red Cross?”

“The army works for PGL like hired mercenaries.” Pierce’s voice rose in frustration. “Okimbo committed an earlier atrocity in the town of Lana, and PGL damn well knew that. Before
this
atrocity, its helicopters were used to reconnoiter Goro. The army invaded in PGL’s choppers and boats, and no doubt slaughtered the villagers with guns the company paid for. For all I know PGL’s personnel flew the copters, piloted the boats, and helped plan the operation in advance.”

Kahan shook his head. “For all you know, Damon, PGL knows nothing except that Okimbo hijacked their equipment. What does Gladstone say?”

“Exactly that—as I’m sure you already know. Did you expect him to take credit for a massacre? To state the obvious, Luandia’s not America—”

“And yet you propose suing in an American court. You’re perilously close to asking Kenyon & Walker to put its name on a lawsuit against one of this country’s most powerful corporate citizens without any basis in fact. If some jackal of a plaintiff’s lawyer did that to one of your Wall Street clients, you’d ask the judge to sanction him—”

“Wait a fucking minute,” Pierce said with real heat. “Let’s break this down.

“First, jurisdiction: under the Alien Tort Statute, a foreign national like Bobby Okari can sue an American corporation like PetroGlobal in federal court. Next, substance: the ATS allows suits for violation of international human rights norms under statutes like the Torture Victim Protection Act—which, by the way, covers murder.”

Kahan held up his hand. “According to PetroGlobal’s general counsel, PGL is exempt from suit under something called the Act of State Doctrine—”

“Jesus, Larry—how many phone calls did it take for them to feed you all this bullshit?” Pierce lowered his voice. “I know international law inside and out. On your better days, you also wouldn’t accuse me of wanting this firm to file a bogus suit. PetroGlobal is desperate to save its own ass.”

Leaning back in his chair, Kahan crossed his arms. “So they’re not objective? Neither are you, Damon. By your own admission you’re close to Okari and his wife, and the only leverage you have on Karama is through PGL. Aside from the connections you’ve already mentioned—payments, use of equipment, maybe some awareness of Okimbo’s proclivities—what do you think you’ll find to nail PGL?”

Pierce thought quickly. “Ideally? Direct payments to Okimbo before
and
after the massacre. Direct involvement in its planning. Direct involvement of PGL employees in the operation itself: reconnaissance, staging, and carrying it out—on Asari Day, Marissa says, she saw a white man’s face when PGL helicopters hovered overhead.” Sitting back in his chair, Pierce spoke more slowly. “Going back in time, I’d want communications between PetroGlobal, Karama, and Okimbo establishing that Okimbo can be considered an agent of PGL. In Luandia nothing gets done without someone getting paid. I’m betting there are documents that breach the supposed wall between PGL and the Luandian government.”

“Even assuming that, PGL knows all the delaying tactics you do. In what decade do you expect their lawyers to hand you the smoking gun?” Kahan’s tone became clipped. “We’re meeting here tonight because Karama can try, sentence, and execute Okari within weeks. In that time, you won’t see a single document from PGL—let alone a single witness. You’d be lucky to get a trial on the tenth anniversary of his death.”

For the first time, Pierce smiled. “That’s why I propose to ask for in-junctive relief and accelerated discovery. Within days, not years, I mean to depose Gladstone and PGL’s chief of security in the delta, Roos Van Daan.”

“Injunctive relief,” Kahan repeated with real astonishment. “To prevent what actions, and by whom? You can’t undo a massacre and put Dad’s head back on.”

“True. But I can enjoin PGL from fomenting further acts of violence.”

“For God’s sake—”

Pierce spoke over him:
“And
from collaborating in a drumhead tribunal that—on its face—violates Okari’s due process rights under international law. Stopping an unlawful execution is certainly grounds for injunctive relief. Executing Bobby without due process is an ‘extrajudicial killing’ under the Torture Victims Protection Act. There’s no unbiased tribunal, right of appeal, or rational process for amnesty, pardon, or commutation of sentence. Even if there were, a trial in thirty days denies him the time for an adequate defense.

“Karama’s created a mutation outside any recognized system of law. It’s a pretext for murder dressed in a black robe. Henry the Eighth’s decapitated wives had more rights than this.”

Kahan shook his head. “No American court has the power to enjoin Karama, or to bar PGL from cooperating in a foreign legal proceeding—especially one arising from the murder of its own employees. Why are any flaws the fault of PGL?”

“Because PGL is completely entwined with Karama. In fact, I’m almost certain that it could stop this trial altogether.”

Kahan pressed his lips together. “What if the evidence shows that Okari planned these murders?”

Pierce shot him a look of incredulity. “What ‘evidence’ would
you
believe in a tribunal like this? There’s every chance any ‘proof’ against Bobby will be trumped up. And if PGL gets drawn into its fabrication, that’s another violation of due process.

“Look, every rogue regime uses show trials to help perpetrate its crimes. The Nazis did it; the Soviets did it; the Russians and Chinese still do it. And every one of them requires the cooperation of outsiders. Somewhere in the process PGL will get drawn into the sewage.”

Kahan settled back in his chair, as though to consider Pierce from a different angle. “PGL will claim it’s only doing what it has to.”

“Too bad. Okimbo is effectively PGL’s man in Asariland. If it’s legally responsible for
his
acts or Karama’s, it’ll have to do business some other way. Fuck it if that’s unfair. What’s really unfair is profiting from legalized murder.”

Kahan turned, gazing out the window. At length, he said, “You’ll need more than a judge with an unusual sense of urgency, or the usual human
rights advocates picketing the Luandian embassy, or even a few damning documents. You’ll need someone inside PGL to help you weave it all together. That’s not likely.” He turned to Pierce again. “PetroGlobal’s chairman was fierce. To Colson, you’re trying to drive a stake through its heart. PetroGlobal’s instinct will be to fight
you,
not Karama. It won’t acknowledge fault for doing business with him—it can’t open itself to lawsuits or admit complicity in the acts of a murderous regime.

“In PetroGlobal’s eyes, remaining in Luandia is an act of corporate patriotism. It’s supplying the lifeblood of America—oil—and it has powerful friends in this administration. They won’t just go after you in court, but in every way they can.”

Pierce shrugged. “So who deserves our sympathy? Regardless of what we do, PGL will survive. Bobby may not.”

Kahan folded his hands. “This is too serious for our Pro Bono Committee to decide,” he said at last. “I’ll have to go to the Executive Committee. Until they vote, anything you do will be as a private citizen,
not
a member of this firm.”

Pierce fought back his weariness. “Then tell ExCom this: That PGL’s displeasure is nothing compared to a good man’s life, and the safety of his American wife. That this case won’t last nearly as long or cost nearly as much as the death penalty appeals we take on as a matter of principle. That if Karama executes Bobby, he’ll do it in record time. And that if we don’t try to stop him, I’ll resign.”

Kahan stared at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Completely. If Nelson Mandela had been facing execution and this firm had been presented with a chance to save him, would we have taken it? The firm
I
joined would have—no matter who opposed us or who we had to sue. This case is the closest Kenyon & Walker will ever come to that.”

Kahan gave him a thin smile. “I’ll be sure to mention that.”

B
EFORE DAWN THE NEXT DAY
, P
IERCE HAD CONTACTED
A
MNESTY
International and Human Rights Watch; engaged a publicity consultant to help coordinate a public relations campaign; e-mailed Bobby’s celebrity contacts in England and the United States; strategized by telephone with Joshua Kano, an exiled Luandian journalist who was the Asari people’s spokesman in Washington; and, through Grayson Caraway, requested meetings with key officials at the State Department and the United Nations. Then, at Kano’s suggestion, he opened his copy of the
New York Times.