Peter Robinson - The Tribunal

“We Muslims don’t drink alcohol. But I’ll have a large cappuccino.”

“That sounds perfect.”

Kevin sipped the cappuccino as he felt the tension leave his body. It was beginning to get dark outside. His mind returned to the judge and the tailor in Sokolaz who might have made uniforms for the men at Omarska. “Damn, I hate to leave without talking to that tailor,” he told Nihudian. “His evidence might prove Draga’s innocence.”

Nihudian was silent.

“How long would it take for us to get to Sokolaz tonight?” Kevin asked.

“It’s only about a 45 minute drive. But we’d be taking a big risk. It’s in the heart of Serb territory.”

“Yeah, but the Serbs will want to help Draga. He’s their hero, right? I have the papers showing I’m his lawyer and you’re his investigator.”

Nihudian looked up from his coffee at Kevin. “I guess we can try it,” he said. “No sane Muslim would go to Sokolaz at night, but we are working for Draga.”

Kevin felt emboldened by the adrenaline from the day’s events, and desperately wanted to find something useful for Draga’s defense. “Let’s go for it. Then I’ll head back in the morning with something to show for my trip besides sore wrists.”

The two men finished their drinks and returned to Nihudian’s car. They drove north from Sarajevo, and soon passed a sign telling them that they were entering Republika Srpska.

“At least there’s no border station,” Kevin said.

Nihudian was quiet.

They headed up the hill towards the town of Pale, where the ski events for the 1984 Winter Olympics had been held and which had been the home of Radovan Karadzic, President of the Republika Srpska, during the war. Then they turned north just before Pale and continued climbing until they reached a plateau near Sokolaz.

“How are we going to find this tailor?” Kevin asked as they approached the town.

“He’s probably well known. We can just go into a shop and ask.”

They drove toward the center of town. “There’s the headquarters of the Drina Corps,” Nihudian said, pointing out two buildings set back from the road.

“Let’s just go in there,” Kevin said. “They’ll probably send someone to bring the tailor to us if I explain to them how it will help Draga.”

“I don’t know,” Nihudian replied.

They drove down the main street, but the shops appeared to be closed. Some were boarded up. “I guess we can ask at the Army headquarters,” Nihudian said, and eased his car into a space in front of the old Sokolaz Hotel next to the Army building.

Kevin was feeling more confident as he got out of the car. Rather than worrying about the authorities, he would just go directly to them. This way, if there were any registration requirements or the like, he would simply be informed about them.

Nihudian walked tentatively behind Kevin as they entered the building.

A man in a green camouflage uniform greeted them in the lobby.

“Kevin Anderson,” Kevin said, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m the lawyer for Dragoljub Zaric in The Hague. I was hoping someone could help us get some information for our defense case.”

Nihudian quickly translated as the soldier’s puzzled expression disappeared. The soldier went into an office and returned a minute later. “Wait here,” he said in Serbian.

Kevin felt confident that this was the best approach to take and that they would gain the cooperation of the Bosnian Serb Army. He heard footsteps from the stairs in front of him and saw a bald-headed man in an Army uniform walking briskly down the stairs flanked by two other soldiers a half step behind him.

The man walked up to Kevin and said something in Serbian. Nihudian translated. “He wants to see some identification.”

Kevin took out his and Nihudian’s appointment papers from the Tribunal. He handed them to the man. The man looked at them briefly and threw them on the ground. He yelled something at Nihudian.

“He can’t read these papers in English,” Nihudian said. “He wants to see our passports.”

Kevin pulled out his American passport and Nihudian produced his Bosnian driver’s license. The man looked at Nihudian’s license. “A Turk?” the man asked scornfully. He said something in Serbian that Nihudian did not translate.

He looked at Kevin’s passport, then barked a command to the two soldiers with him. One man grabbed Kevin’s arm and the other Nihudian’s and began leading them toward the front door.

“What’s going on?” Kevin asked.

The man unleashed a tirade in Serbian. “He says he has no knowledge of this and we are to be put in a cell until he finds out what this is all about,” Nihudian translated.

“Oh, for Christ sake. Tell him to get someone to read these papers to him.”

Nihudian tried to speak to the man, but he and Kevin were hustled out the door. The soldiers led them next door to a small police station. They spoke to the police officer at the desk, who handed them a set of keys. The soldiers led Kevin and Nihudian behind some bars, down a hallway, and finally opened a steel door with one of the keys. One soldier told Nihudian to get inside and locked the door. At the next cell, the officer threw Kevin inside and slammed the door behind him.

Kevin found himself in a small stone cell with only a bench attached to one wall. But he did not feel as frightened as he had been at the police station in Sarajevo. He was, after all, working for one of the Serbs. Once the Army guy verified this, Kevin felt confident that they would help him, or at the worst send them on their way back to Sarajevo. Kevin wished he had thought fast enough to tell the officer that he could call Zoran Vacinovic at the Embassy in The Hague for verification.

Kevin walked over to the wall nearest to Nihudian’s cell. “Nihudian,” he called. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Nihudian replied. The sound was muffled, but audible.

“I’m really sorry about this. But I think it will get straightened out.”

Nihudian was silent for a moment. “I hope so.”

Kevin sat on the bench, suddenly feeling tired. What a day! They had been arrested by two separate governments. But if he could just get the information from the tailor, he could go home in the morning and it would all be worth it.

Kevin waited for about thirty minutes, making small talk with Nihudian through the wall from time to time. Then he heard voices in the corridor and the jingle of keys. He walked over to the door and could see some soldiers opening Nihudian’s cell. Kevin stepped back, expecting his to be opened as well.

He heard sounds of the officers raised voices saying something in Serbian, then heard Nihudian cry out. Kevin felt a wave of panic as he heard a thumping noise and Nihudian shouting and moaning.

“Hey,” Kevin yelled. “What’s going on? Leave him alone! We work for Draga.”

Kevin had a feeling of helplessness as the shouting and moaning continued. He banged on his door and yelled for the soldiers. They were probably coming for him next, he thought, and he began to get scared. Would he be able to survive their beating?

After what seemed like an eternity, there was an eerie silence from the next cell. Kevin looked out his window and saw some of the soldiers backing out of Nihudian’s cell. Then, a single shot rang out like a firecracker exploding.

“Oh my God!” Kevin cried.

His heart was racing as he saw the soldiers come out of Nihudian’s cell. They pointed in the direction of Kevin’s cell, and spoke among themselves. Then, they turned around and headed in the other direction, leaving Nihudian’s cell door open.

“Nihudian!” Kevin yelled racing to the wall separating their cells. He called Nihudian’s name several times, and put his ear to the stone wall, but could hear no reply.