Peter Robinson - The Tribunal

No answer.

“I wanted to come by and find out if you were going to be signing Mr. Krasnic’s papers or if you wanted me to continue as your lawyer?”

No answer.

Kevin paused. “Well, until the Court relieves me, I’m your lawyer. So I’m going to do the job as best as I know how. I’d like your help.”

No answer. Draga was staring at Kevin with his arms folded. He had an expression of annoyance on his face.

“Is there anything at all you’d like to talk about?” Kevin asked.

No answer.

“Okay,” Kevin said with a shrug. “Well, let me tell you a little about this court and what you can expect.”

He sat down, while Draga remained standing.

“The International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia was created in 1993 by a resolution of the United Nations Security Council. It has jurisdiction to try people for war crimes committed in the former Yugoslavia. You will be tried by three judges, although Judge Davidson, as the pretrial judge, will be handling most of the court appearances before the trial. Before your trial, you are entitled to copies of the evidence that the prosecutor will use against you, as well as any evidence that points to your innocence. That’s called discovery. You also have the right to raise any legal challenges or discovery issues by filing pretrial motions.”

Draga remained standing, his eyes fixed on some imaginary point of interest on the ceiling.

“Let me tell you what I’m going to be doing on your behalf. If you have any objections, or suggestions, be sure and let me know. First, I will obtain the discovery from the prosecution, and bring a copy for you to read as well. Do you have any problem with that?”

No answer.

“Next, I am going to prepare some pretrial motions to be filed with the court. As you know, I’m trying to make them hold an identity hearing in your case. I also want to challenge the circumstances of your kidnapping and arrest. I need your help on that one. Can you tell me what happened that day?”

No answer.

Kevin tried to appear unfazed. “What I thought I might do,” he said, “is go to your Embassy and make a formal request on your behalf that they investigate and arrest the persons responsible for your kidnapping, I don’t imagine your government wants to condone this kind of thing. Do you have any problem with my doing that?”

No answer.

“Good,” said Kevin, trying to get a rise out of Draga. “I’ll let the Embassy know I have your full approval.”

No answer.

“I also want to file what is known as a ‘graymail’ motion. It’s a request for information on you in the files of the major intelligence agencies in the world like the CIA.”

Draga looked over at Kevin, showing interest for the first time.

“It’s a routine motion in a case involving international events. The strategy is to try and put the prosecutor in a position where they have to choose between revealing sensitive intelligence information and dismissing the case. Once in a great while, the intelligence agencies won’t reveal the information and the case gets dismissed. But most of the time the intelligence agencies deny having any records relevant to the case, and the motion is rejected.”

“Do you have any reason to believe that intelligence agencies have information on you?” Kevin asked.

No answer. Draga turned away and resumed his study of the ceiling.

“Well, I’ll give it a try, anyway. Then, after all the pretrial motions are decided, your trial will begin. I’m not sure when that will happen. I would guess that your trial would start sometime next spring. They don’t have the death penalty here at the Tribunal. That’s one piece of good news. But, if you’re found guilty, I think you can expect a life sentence.”

Draga turned and walked out of the room. He had not said a word to Kevin.

Undaunted, Kevin bicycled over to the Yugoslavian Embassy. As he passed the huge stately buildings of the Embassy district of The Hague, he thought more about Draga’s arrest. If he could prove that the U.N. forces had planned and encouraged Draga’s kidnapping and arrest, he could file a motion to get the case thrown out. And what if he succeeded? Was he doing too much here ? he wondered. He dismissed the worrisome thought, knowing that the motion would surely be denied. Besides, it was the kind of thing that defense attorneys did. Too, he liked the idea of tweaking the insufferable prosecutors.

The building housing the Embassy of Serbia and Montenegro was an old three-story brownstone in need of repairs, and surrounded with ragged landscaping. Like some poor cousin, it stood alongside the stately embassies of Germany, Colombia, Finland, and the Ukraine. The economic sanctions imposed against the government of Slobodan Milosevic appeared to have taken their toll.

Kevin tried the front door, but it was locked. He found an intercom near the door and pushed the button. A female voice said something in Dutch.

Kevin spoke into the intercom. “My name is Kevin Anderson. I’m a lawyer for a citizen of your country who is in jail here in The Hague. He needs your help. Can I speak to someone about his situation?”

There was a long pause. Then, there was a click from the lock on the door.

Kevin opened the door and entered.

A short man with a gray mustache and goatee greeted Kevin in the hall. He was wearing a white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and a bright yellow sport coat. A large pot belly pushed his pants down below his waist. “I am Zoran Vacinovic, Special Assistant to the Ambassador. How can I help you?”

Kevin offered his hand. “I’m Kevin Anderson. I was appointed to represent Dragoljub Zaric at the War Crimes Tribunal. As you probably know, he was kidnapped within the borders of your country and handed over to U.N. forces. On his behalf, I wish to file a formal request for your government to investigate his kidnapping and to prosecute those responsible.”

Vacinovic paused. He did not look like much of a diplomat to Kevin.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think my government will cooperate with an American lawyer?”

“Well, our interests in this are the same. If I can prove that U.N. officials conspired to kidnap my client, then perhaps I can prove that the arrest was illegal and win his freedom. Then, maybe it will not happen again in the future to one of your citizens. That would be a good thing for your country, would it not?”

Vacinovic stroked his goatee. “That would be a good thing.”

“Then will you forward his request to the proper authorities?”

Vacinovic eyed Kevin warily. “Mr. Anderson, a lot of people are not happy that an American lawyer was assigned to represent Mr. Zaric. I’m not sure how long you’ll remain in that capacity.”

“Well, anything you can do to uncover the circumstances of Mr. Zaric’s arrest will be very helpful to whoever ends up representing him.”

Vacinovic walked to the door and opened it. “I’ll see what we can do. Good day, Mr. Anderson.”

It felt like a diplomatic brush-off, and Kevin left disappointed. Draga would be better off with a Serbian lawyer. At least his lawyer would have received a warmer reception at the Embassy.

For the rest of that week, Kevin worked at the Peace Palace, a magnificent building with a large clock tower jutting into the gray skies of The Hague. It housed the World Court, formally known as the International Court of Justice, which decided civil disputes between countries, and contained a law library containing the largest collection of international law books in the world.

As he walked through the building, Kevin felt like he was in a true temple of justice. A marble statue of Lady Justice greeted visitors on the main staircase. Elaborate murals by French artists depicted the wisdom of settling disputes with judges, rather than by war. Stained glass donated by Great Britain depicted the world as it had been torn by wars, and as it looked when people lived in harmony and settled their disputes civilly.