Authors: Peter B. Robinson
The TRIBUNAL (6 page)
“I guess we won’t be hearing from you once you get your hands on that.”
“Let’s have father-daughter talk,” Ellen said, snuggling under her covers.
“Okay. What about?”
“Let’s talk about how our days went.” Ellen bounced up in the bed. “I’ll go first. At camp, we made cranes and bats by folding paper. It was cool. It’s called origami. And we played a game called wood crick. It’s kind of like cricket. Then Mommy picked me up and took me to get some school clothes. I like Nordstrom better.”
“Now, what did you do today?” she asked, fluffing up her pillow.
“I didn’t exactly have the greatest day,” Kevin said, wearily plopping on the edge of the bed. He told Ellen about his efforts to help his new friend, Nihudian, and his encounter with prosecutor Bradford Stone.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, as if hearing an exciting bedtime tale.
“I don’t know.”
“Dad, that guy Stone is nothing more than a big bully.”
“Ellen, you’re absolutely right.”
“You tell me not to let bullies boss me around.”
“I do.”
“Then just forget about the creep.”
Kevin smiled at the utter simplicity of the sound advice he’d just gotten. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” He rose from her bed. “Now go to sleep, my angel.”
Ellen was yawning, but continued stretching out her bedtime. “The song. You have to sing me the song.”
Kevin started singing their new favorite bedtime song called “Butterfly Kisses,” and soon heard Ellen’s rhythmic breathing.
The next day, Kevin rode the second-hand bike he’d bought from a neighbor to the American Book Center in The Hague. There, he picked up the latest adventures of Harry Potter. Then, he met Nihudian. He wanted to go over the testimony Nihudian would be giving in court. If he was going to be his lawyer, he was going to do it right.
“Come on,” Nihudian said when they met near the bookstore. “I’m going to take you for another Dutch delight.”
He led Kevin through the Binnenhof, an old, walled enclosure of stone buildings that housed the Dutch Parliament. They walked under an old brick arch. Nihudian pointed to part of the building shaped like a cylinder with a turret-like roof. “That’s where the Prime Minister of the Netherlands has his office.” Behind the building was a huge fountain of water in the large pond that bordered the Binnenhof.
“Look at this,” Nihudian said, pointing like a tour guide to the church-like building in the center. “That’s Knights’ Hall, the oldest building in The Hague. It dates back to the Medieval Era of the 13
th
century, when it was built by the Count of Holland as a hunting lodge. Once a year, Queen Beatrix rides her golden carriage here from her palace and opens the session of the Dutch Parliament.”
th
century, when it was built by the Count of Holland as a hunting lodge. Once a year, Queen Beatrix rides her golden carriage here from her palace and opens the session of the Dutch Parliament.”
“That is ancient,” Kevin agreed. “In California, a building from the 1800s is considered old.”
They walked through the arch on the opposite side.
“Now, for lunch,” Nihudian said. He led Kevin to another food stand just outside the Binnenhof, near a green statue of a Dutch monarch on a horse. A white seagull was perched on top of the statue’s head.
Nihudian took care of the ordering. “Two orders of kibbeling with fish sauce.”
The man behind the counter handed them two plastic containers full of fried fish pieces. Nihudian and Kevin carried their lunch over to some white plastic chairs overlooking the Binnenhof pond.
Kevin dipped a piece of kibbeling in the sauce, and immediately proclaimed it delicious. “You sure know your Dutch food, Nihudian.”
As they sat and watched the fountain spewing water high into the pond, Kevin quizzed Nihudian about his role in intercepting the conversations and about the notebooks. Nihudian’s testimony seemed to Kevin to be routine.
“I decided I am going to tell my boss at the Bosnian Embassy about having to testify,” Nihudian said after they had finished their lunch and were strolling past small shops lining the street toward the tram stop in the center of The Hague.
“Do you think you’ll lose your job?”
“I might. The people who work in the diplomatic area are very sensitive. But I could get in more trouble if they find out from someone else. Besides, the Tribunal will be in recess for the month of August, so I have less than a month of work left anyway. Someone new will take my place in September, and I’ll go back to teaching.”
Kevin was disappointed that his friend would soon be leaving. He was also surprised about the court recess. “You mean that the whole building closes down?”
“Yes. Everyone goes on holiday.”
That was news to Kevin. If he didn’t get hired by the end of this month, he would be out of work for August as well. A quarter of his planned year here would have been frittered away – leaving only nine months left. The prosecutor’s office might not even want someone for such a short stint. His prospects appeared to be dimming further.
When Nihudian’s tram arrived, the Bosnian shook Kevin’s hand before boarding.
“Thanks, Kevin. I feel so much better with you on my side.”
Kevin hoped his client would feel the same way after testifying.
That afternoon, Kevin delivered the Harry Potter book to a very thankful reader.
“Oh, Daddy!” Ellen exclaimed, throwing her arms around Kevin’s neck. She ran into the living room, sat down on the couch, and began reading.
For the next week, Kevin would hardly hear a peep from her.
The day before Nihudian was to testify, Kevin called Mrs. Kelly.
He had told Diane that he was waiting for some paperwork to be completed before starting at the Tribunal. But now, three weeks had passed.
“Still no good news,” Mrs. Kelly said sadly. “But I hear you have a new client.”
“Oh, I’m just helping out a prosecution witness,” Kevin said, embarrassed that word had gotten to her. “But I’m afraid I may have offended Mr. Stone.”
“He’s a bother. It was a mistake to have hired that pompous young man in the first place.”
“He told me I’d never work as a prosecutor there. Do you think that’s true?”
“I don’t know. He does seem to have the ear of the Chief Deputy, Mr. Oswald, I’m sorry to say. I’d send in that defense counsel application. There’s no word on the funding freeze, and who knows what mischief Bradford Stone might cause.”
Kevin thanked Mrs. Kelly and hung up the phone. When Diane and Ellen came home from the American School, Kevin was glum.
“We need to talk,” he said over dinner that night. “It seems there’s a funding freeze on in the prosecutor’s office and they can’t hire me after all. And this prosecutor, Bradford Stone, seems to have it out for me. We might have to go back home at the end of the summer.”
“I just got used to being in Holland, Dad,” Ellen whined. “I’m not ready to go back home. I want to go to the American School for sixth grade with my new friends.”
Kevin looked at Diane for her reaction. She seemed to be thinking.
“Is there any other work you could do for the court, like being an assistant to a judge?” she asked finally.
“No. The only other thing I can do is put my name on the court’s list of defense lawyers. I don’t want to do that. I’m a prosecutor.”
“You’re defending Nihudian,” Ellen piped up. “He’s not a bad guy, right?”
“He’s just a witness,” he said. “That’s not the same. I’ve always been on the side of the good guys.”
“That bully Stone isn’t one of the good guys,” Ellen retorted.
“The prosecutors here do seem like they have too much power,” Kevin said. “The Tribunal probably needs good defense lawyers to keep them honest. But I just don’t think it’s for me.”
Diane took a sip of wine. “You wouldn’t be defending Milosevic or any of those war criminals who did all that ethnic cleansing, would you?”
As if recoiling from her own words or thoughts, she looked up with a start. “Those people were no better than the Nazis.”
Her normally warm brown eyes had turned hard and piercing.
“I want to stay here, Daddy,” Ellen said. “Please, please. You always tell me to try new things. I am, and I like it.”
“Well, I suppose I can put in the application anyway and keep our options open,” Kevin said, more to not disappoint his daughter than anything. “I hear it’s difficult to get assigned a case though, so don’t count on it. The defendants all want Yugoslavian lawyers who speak their language. They probably won’t trust an American, especially one who’s spent his career as a prosecutor.”
“Just go for it, Dad. They’ll want you once they find out how good you are.”
Diane frowned, but kept her thoughts to herself.
The next morning, Kevin tucked the defense application into his jacket before leaving the house.
“I’ve put a magic spell on you, Daddy,” Ellen said. “You’re invincible today. Or did the spell say invisible? Oh well.”
“Invisible might be good,” he laughed.
Kevin gave her a big hug as she squirmed to get away.
“Good luck,” Diane said, giving Kevin a quick kiss as they stood in the doorway.
She had surprised him by taking to Holland so well. He thought she’d jump at the chance to return home to California. She did seem to be enjoying herself, having found work she enjoyed and some new local friends. Kevin realized that if they were forced to return home early, he would have two disappointed females on his hands.
At the Tribunal, Kevin left his completed application with Mrs. Kelly. He nervously waited for Nihudian in the lobby. What if Nihudian didn’t show up? Bradford Stone would surely think Kevin was behind it. Nihudian would be a fugitive, and Kevin would be charged with aiding and abetting. His imagination was in overdrive.
To Kevin’s relief, Nihudian appeared right on schedule.
“I told the people at the Embassy about my situation,” Nihudian said. “They were very understanding, but they thought it was best that I should not continue my work here. So, I am going home tonight.”
“I’m sorry you lost your job over this.”
“It’s for the best. My daughters were so happy when I called and told them I will be home tonight. I have missed them.”
“How old are they?” Kevin asked.
“Eleven years and seven years.”
“My little girl is eleven. Daughters are pretty great.”
Nihudian got a dreamy look in his eyes. “The best, my friend. God’s gift.”
A few minutes before 9:30, Bradford Stone appeared in the lobby and summoned Nihudian, without greeting Kevin. While Nihudian went with Stone, Kevin was escorted to the Courtroom 2 visitors’ gallery. Kevin felt nervous for Nihudian.
Once the session started, Bradford Stone slowly and thoroughly led Nihudian through the events chronologically, beginning with Nihudian’s training. He ended with Nihudian reading entries from the parts of the notebooks that the prosecution thought important to its case.
Stone’s direct examination took about one hour. The judges seemed satisfied with Nihudian’s direct answers. Kevin held his breath as Vladimir Krasnic, the defense lawyer, rose from his chair to begin his cross-examination.
Krasnic launched into a highly technical discussion about the capability of the interception equipment. He questioned whether the model Nihudian was using was as effective as other models. He asked about the radio frequency used when intercepting the conversations. Nihudian’s answers were simple.
“I don’t know how the equipment worked,” he replied more than once. “I just turned it on and wrote down what I heard.”
After about forty-five minutes of technical questions, Krasnic told the judges. “I have just a few more questions, Your Honors.”
Kevin allowed himself to relax a bit. Maybe Nihudian would get through this without any hitches. Or was the lawyer saving his best cross-examination for last?
“Did you yourself commit any war crimes?”
“No.”
“Did you murder any civilians?”
“No.”
“Did you rape any women?”
“No.”
“Did you treat any prisoners inhumanely?”
“No.”
“Yet it is true, is it not, that before you would speak to the prosecution in this case, you insisted on having a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Now, you are not a wealthy man, are you?”
“No.”
“Yet you retained a lawyer from the United States to represent you did you not?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did the Bosnian government pay for your lawyer?”
“No.”
“You paid him with your own funds?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell this Court how much you paid this lawyer?”
Kevin looked at Bradford Stone in anticipation. That question was irrelevant. There should be an objection. But Stone sat there silently.
“One Euro.”
“One Euro, that’s all?”
“Yes.”
The President of the trial chamber, the woman from Kenya, interrupted. “Witness,” she asked, “what kind of lawyer would work for one Euro?”
Before Nihudian could answer, Bradford Stone was on his feet. But it was not to make an objection. “You can see for yourself,” Stone announced. “The lawyer is sitting right there. His name is Kevin Anderson, or something.” He pointed to Kevin, sitting in the small booth on the other side of the glass.
All eyes turned to Kevin. Kevin fought to keep himself from turning beet red, a battle that he lost. He also tried to look confident, but felt unbelievably embarrassed.
“I guess you get what you pay for,” Stone volunteered, offering Kevin a snide smile. There was laughter in the courtroom.
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