Peter Robinson - The Tribunal

Nihudian’s face had gone pale. “They are saying that we are under arrest.”

The policemen handcuffed Kevin and Nihudian and led them to a police car. Kevin felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead, though it was a brisk December afternoon. “What’s happening?” he asked Nihudian.

The policeman pushed Kevin’s head down as he placed him in the back seat of the car while another officer shoved Nihudian in from the other side. Kevin was breathing hard, and his thoughts flashed to the beatings and executions he had heard about in Bosnia. “Can you ask them why we’ve been arrested?”

Nihudian spoke in Bosnian to the police officer in the passenger seat.

“We’ll be told that at the station,” Nihudian reported.

Kevin blanched at the thought of going to a police station. He didn’t trust police in third-world countries. He had seen one too many movies like “Midnight Express,” a frightening story about an American in a Turkish prison.

They drove in silence down the hill into the center of Sarajevo. Kevin tried to sort out his thoughts. “Tell them I demand to see someone from the American Embassy.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Kevin. Let’s wait until we get to the station.”

They arrived at the back of the police station, and the policemen pulled Kevin and Nihudian out of the car. They led them through a hallway, which was crowded with families. The people all looked poor. Kevin guessed they were either families of people who had been arrested, or victims of crimes. He thought of his own family. He was glad he hadn’t brought them on this trip, which Ellen had lobbied hard to make him do.

The officers left Nihudian and Kevin alone in a windowless room. The handcuffs were beginning to dig into Kevin’s skin.

“What should we do?” he asked Nihudian.

“We have to find out what the problem is. We might be able to pay them a bribe.”

Kevin would gladly have paid a bribe to have the handcuffs removed and to get out of there, but he didn’t want bribery added to the charges. He thought the interview room was probably bugged, so he said nothing.

A few minutes later, a short, plain-clothed man in his forties with a thin black mustache entered. He said something in Bosnian and unlocked the handcuffs from Nihudian and Kevin. Kevin rubbed his sore wrists. He saw Nihudian reach into his pocket. Kevin thought he was getting money for a bribe, but Nihudian turned to him and said, “He wants to see our identification.”

Nihudian took out his Bosnian driver’s license and Kevin produced his American passport. Without saying anything, the man began copying the information onto a form that looked like a police report. Kevin wanted to demand an explanation, but thought it better to wait until the man was finished.

After writing down the information, the man spoke gruffly. Nihudian translated. “He wants to know what you are doing in Bosnia.”

Kevin spoke directly to the policeman. “I am a lawyer for a person being prosecuted at the War Crimes Tribunal in The Hague. I’m here to interview witnesses who will be testifying at his trial. Nihudian is my interpreter.” He tried to downplay Nihudian’s role.

“Did you register with the Ministry of Justice before you began conducting an investigation in Bosnia?”

“No, was I supposed to?”

“Yes,” the policeman replied through Nihudian. “It is required under our law.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“We cannot have foreigners coming to Bosnia and bothering our citizens,” the man said, shaking his head for emphasis. “This is a serious matter.”

“I was authorized by the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia to come here. I did have official permission. And this man,” Kevin said, gesturing to Nihudian, “he was just interpreting for me. He had no duty to register did he?”

“You still did not comply with our law,” the man said sternly. “But you are correct about your interpreter. He is free to leave.”

Kevin looked at Nihudian. “Go, before they change their mind.”

“I can’t leave you here,” Nihudian replied. “You can’t even speak to them.”

“Let them get their own interpreter. You go and contact the American Embassy.”

Nihudian reluctantly got up, and said something to the man. He walked out the door leaving Kevin and the policeman sitting across the small table from one another. Kevin wondered how they would communicate. He also felt an even greater fear now that he was alone.

“So you are the lawyer for the famous Mr. Draga?” the officer said in English.

Kevin was surprised to hear the man speak English. He quickly replayed the previous conversation with Nihudian in his mind, hoping he had not said anything inappropriate. “Yes, I was assigned by the Tribunal to represent him.”

“He is responsible for the death of many in Bosnia,” the officer said solemnly.

Kevin did not like the direction the conversation was taking. “That’s what I am here to find out about.”

“Is there any doubt?”

“Probably not to the people of Bosnia. But I wasn’t here during the war, so I have to find out these things by talking to people who were.”

The man shook his head. “You should have followed our laws.”

“I didn’t know about your law.”

“You’re a lawyer. You can tell that to the judge.”

Kevin groaned inwardly. Was he going to have to stay in jail until he was taken to court? “What happens now?” Kevin nervously asked the man.

The man smiled for the first time. “You will be treated like any other person arrested in the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina. You will remain in jail until we complete our investigation. If we find that you have broken the law, you will go to court. If not, you will be freed, like your interpreter.”

“How long will it take?”

“This is a very simple matter.” The officer rose from his chair. “You have already admitted committing the crime. We should be able to wrap up our investigation in a few days.” The man abruptly turned and walked out the door.

Kevin was alone in the interview room for the next two hours. He tried not to think about what the jail cells were like, or who else was in them. He tried the door, but it was locked. He prayed that Nihudian would get some help from the American Embassy. Otherwise, he would be stuck in a Bosnian jail for several days at least.

Finally, the plain-clothed officer reappeared.

Kevin dreaded having to leave the interview room for a cell.

“Mr. Anderson, you are free to go if you agree to depart Bosnia in the morning and not return in the future unless you have approval from our Ministry of Justice to conduct an investigation here. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Kevin suddenly felt light-headed.

“Do you agree?”

“I agree,” Kevin replied quickly. He would figure out how to get the remaining witnesses interviewed later.

The man opened the door and indicated Kevin should follow him. At first, Kevin felt unsteady on his feet, but he walked quickly through the lobby. When the man pointed to the front door, Kevin practically broke into a sprint. When he burst out the door, he spied Nihudian standing next to his car in front of the building.

“Thank you, Nihudian,” he said as they got into the car. “Damn, that was close.”

“Let’s go get a drink,” Nihudian replied. He drove to a cafe nearby, as he explained how he had gotten the help of someone at the American Embassy, who had made some calls on Kevin’s behalf.

“I owe you. I was going to have to sit in jail for days before I even saw a judge.”

They reached the cafe and sat down, with sounds of American rock music blasting from the music system. “Want a beer?” Kevin asked Nihudian.