Peter Robinson - The Tribunal

“Does that mean we can stay, Daddy?” Ellen asked excitedly.

“I don’t know yet,” he said cautiously. “The defendant will have to decide to keep me, and I’ll – well, there’s some other considerations.”

“Well, I guess congratulations are in order,” Diane smiled wanly.

“Goody, goody,” Ellen squealed. “We can stay!”

That night, alone in the living room, Kevin switched on CNN. The story he was looking for came third after the top of the hour.

“United Nations troops arrested the infamous Serbian warlord Draga last night at the Romanian border with Serbia,” the announcer reported. “The arrest of Dragoljub Zaric was made after a rival Serbian gang reportedly kidnapped him and delivered him to U.N. officials. Zaric has now been transported to The Hague where, along with Slobodan Milosevic, he becomes one of the most significant persons arrested for the War Crimes Tribunal.”

A picture of a brash, confident man in his mid-thirties, tall, and well groomed, flashed on the screen. He was wearing a black beret and black Ninja-like uniform. Other footage showed him at his wedding, when he was married to a popular Serbian movie star, and at a Belgrade stadium cheering on the local soccer team.

Kevin found a yellow legal pad and began jotting down notes.

“The Black Dragons, a paramilitary group headed by Draga, is believed responsible for thousands of deaths during the war in Bosnia. Draga has been one of Europe’s most wanted fugitives. In addition to his alleged war crimes, Draga is wanted by authorities in Belgium, Sweden, and Germany for a string of robberies in the 1980s. He previously escaped from a German prison. Security is expected to be tight when he makes his first appearance before the U.N. War Crimes Tribunal.”

Kevin turned off the TV as the announcer went on to the next story.

He was surprised to see that he had been silently joined by Diane and Ellen.

“Is that your client, Daddy?” asked Ellen, wide-eyed.

“Well, for the time being,” he said, sneaking a quick look at Diane.

“He’s handsome,” Ellen said. “He can’t be all bad – a movie star married him. Will you be on TV, too, Daddy?”

“Ellen, you have that report to work on,” Diane said sternly. “Run upstairs now.”

When they were alone, Diane sat on the couch. She put her head in her hands.

“When you went to Seattle and prosecuted that Neo-Nazi group, I was so proud of you. I was hoping I’d feel the same way about your work here. But now – ”

“Look, honey,” he stammered, “this wasn’t what I had in mind.”

Kevin saw that her face was filled with pain and fury.

“ Not what you had in mind ? Kevin, are you crazy? Milosevic is Bosnia’s Hitler and this guy Draga is Himmler for God’s sake! And you’re his defense lawyer?”

“I – uh, well, I really didn’t know who he was when I agreed.”

“You know now! What are you going to do about it?”

“I have a responsibility here, Diane. I’ll have to meet with him. It’s just temporary.”

“You’re on the wrong side!” she hissed.

Diane rushed from the room.

The next day, Kevin rode his bicycle to the Tribunal’s detention center, located at a Dutch prison near the dunes at Scheveningen. It was not far from where he and Nihudian had eaten fries with mayonnaise.

At its entrance was a huge brick gate with a coat of arms on the top. The prison complex, built in the 19th century, had been used by the Nazis to imprison members of the Dutch resistance when Germany occupied Holland during World War II.

After showing his ID and passing through a metal detector, Kevin was directed to a brick building called “Unit 4,” and eventually to a windowless interview room.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Kevin found himself face to face with the infamous Draga. He seemed even bigger than he had on television. His muscular arms were huge.

“I’m Kevin Anderson.” Kevin extended his right hand. “The Tribunal has assigned me to be your lawyer – at least for the time being.”

Draga looked at Kevin’s hand, but did not take it. He remained standing.

“An American?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t need a lawyer.”

Kevin looked up at Draga standing over him, trying not to show any fear.

“What do you mean you don’t need a lawyer?”

Draga spat out his words: “This War Crimes court is a joke. There is no justice here. They paid a bunch of hooligans to kidnap me from my home. They dragged me here in chains. I am a prisoner of war. This is nothing but an imperial American show trial to justify its genocide against the people of Serbia.”

“Your English is very good,” Kevin said, trying to diffuse Draga’s anger. “But you still haven’t told me why you don’t need a lawyer.”

Draga glared at him. “I am not going to participate in this illegitimate court. Let them do with me what they wish.”

Kevin looked at Draga. His first case as a defense lawyer was starting badly. Did he really want this angry man for a client? “Look, it’s your decision. I can tell you that the Tribunal will probably assign you a lawyer whether you think you need one or not.”

“What can you do for me?” Draga demanded. “Get me out on bail?”

“I suspect not.”

“Help me escape?

“Definitely not.”

“Then you are wasting my time.”

“You don’t seem to understand, Mr. Zaric. The Court is going to give you a lawyer whether you want one or not. And no lawyer is going to get you out on bail or help you escape.”

“Can I represent myself?”

Kevin thought about that. He wanted to be honest with Draga. “I suppose so.”

Draga was silent again.

“But even when a person is allowed to represent himself,” Kevin continued, “the Court usually appoints a lawyer as standby counsel. So you’re going to have a lawyer in your life one way or the other.”

“I don’t need a lawyer.”

They were back to square one.

In some sense, Kevin was relieved. It seemed to be working out for the best. Obviously, he wouldn’t be on this case that long. It would be a professional escape, and a personal one as well.

Kevin shrugged. “Tell it to the Court tomorrow. Meanwhile, until I’m off the case, I’m required to appear in court with you.”

Draga said nothing.

“I brought a copy of the charges against you,” Kevin continued, placing a thick group of papers on the table.

Draga made no effort to pick them up or look at them.

“Basically, you’re charged with about every crime that occurred during the war. The Tribunal has what they call ‘superior responsibility.’ Under their rules, commanders are responsible for the war crimes of their men if the commander knew or had reason to know of the crimes and failed to prevent them or punish the persons who had committed them. It’s very broad.”

Draga showed no reaction.

“Tomorrow, you’ll be asked to enter a plea.”

Draga turned and walked toward the door from which he had entered, signaling an end to the interview.

“I guess I’ll see you in court tomorrow,” Kevin said weakly.

Draga turned and stared at Kevin. “I told you. I don’t need a lawyer.” Then, he opened the door and left the room.

Kevin walked out of the prison and got back on his bicycle. As he rode on the bike path along the sand dunes towards Wassenaar, he realized how much he preferred being a prosecutor. As prosecutor, he’d always called his own shots. This defense work felt too much like being someone’s stooge.

The next day, Kevin was shown to Courtroom 1 at the Tribunal where Draga would be arraigned. The courtroom was much bigger than Courtroom 2, and had a large visitors’ gallery – separated from the courtroom by bulletproof glass – that held about 150 people. Kevin looked out and saw that every seat was taken.