Peter Robinson - The Tribunal

Kevin paced around his cell. His first instinct was to bang on his cell door, but he decided that calling the soldiers to his cell was not a good idea. His shirt was soaked with sweat as he paced around the cell, alternately looking out the window of the door and calling Nihudian’s name.

Kevin heard nothing for the next five hours. He was exhausted with worry for Nihudian. Had the men taken Nihudian out of his cell without Kevin seeing it, or had they shot and killed him? Kevin prayed that Nihudian was alive.

Finally, Kevin’s cell door was opened before Kevin even heard anyone approaching. A tall, handsome soldier with neatly combed dark hair appeared alone in the doorway. Kevin jumped up from his bench.

“Mr. Anderson,” the officer said. “I am Major Nikolic, the Corps Communication officer. I speak English, so they called me down here to speak with you.”

Kevin let out a breath and relaxed a bit. The man did not look like he was about to beat Kevin. “What’s going on? What happened to my interpreter?” Kevin asked.

“You were very foolish to show up here without making arrangements. The Corps Commander is very upset.”

“I’m sorry. I thought the Army would be able to help Draga. I was in a hurry because I have to return to The Hague in the morning. Where’s my interpreter?”

Major Nikolic ignored the question. “I’ve translated your documents for the Commander. We’ve determined that you are Draga’s lawyer, but we cannot help you. You will need to leave here immediately.”

The major handed Kevin the documents from the Tribunal.

“Okay,” Kevin said, taking the papers. “I’m very sorry.”

Major Nikolic handed Kevin a set of keys. “Here are the keys to your car.” He turned and walked out of the cell.

“But what about my interpreter?” Kevin asked as he followed the Major out of his cell. “Where is he?”

“I’m afraid there has been a misunderstanding,” Major Nikolic replied as he walked down the corridor past Nihudian’s cell.

Kevin followed, and then looked inside the cell.

Nihudian lay on the floor in a pool of blood.

Kevin ran into Nihudian’s cell. He knelt down by Nihudian’s head and looked at his face. It was chalky white and lifeless. “Nihudian!” He reached for his arm to check his pulse. There was no pulse.

Kevin’s body shook as he put his head in his hands.

“You’ve killed him!”

“It was an unfortunate mistake,” Major Nikolic said from the corridor. “I assure you that those involved will be severely punished.”

Kevin looked numbly at the smooth-talking Major. He was too shocked to speak at that moment, and his brain was processing a flurry of thoughts at once.

“I can identify the men who did this,” Kevin finally said. “I saw them.”

“That won’t be necessary. We’ll be conducting a full investigation, and we will notify the family of the deceased immediately. I am sorry.”

Kevin stood, and walked numbly out of the building.

Although he would not remember the drive, he somehow found his way to the Sarajevo airport and took the first flight out for The Netherlands.

At home, Diane insisted in desperation that Kevin quit the case.

After Nihudian’s death, he felt as if he was in a constant daze. He had been the one who insisted on going to Sokolaz, despite Nihudian’s reservations. Now, because of him, two little girls in Sarajevo had lost their father. While Kevin didn’t have the will to resist Diane’s stance, neither did he do anything to take himself off the case. He was stuck in limbo, as if he had become a numb caricature of whom he had once been.

Slowly, after a few days and some long jogs through the Wassenaar dunes, Kevin’s instinct to fight began coming back. If he quit now, Nihudian’s death would have been for nothing. Even if he lost, at least if he saw Draga’s case through, he would vindicate the principle that even war criminals should receive a vigorous and effective defense. A Muslim man had died while trying to obtain favorable evidence for an accused at the Tribunal. The least he could do, Kevin decided, was to continue the pursuit of that evidence.

“I’m going to stay on as Draga’s lawyer,” he finally told Diane. He explained his reasoning as she recoiled with fear. “But I promise I’ll never set foot in Bosnia again.”

If she was relieved in the slightest, Diane didn’t let on.

Kevin decided to try to get his hands on a list of the bona fide Black Dragons who were trained and enrolled under Draga’s command. Under the Tribunal’s rules of superior responsibility, if Kevin could prove that a crime was committed by someone impersonating a Black Dragon, Draga could not be held responsible for that crime. Kevin needed a roster of the Black Dragons to look for the name Victor Vidic and other persons who had been identified as having committed war crimes.

He wrote Bradford Stone, but received a sharp reply that they had no such list.

Draga was sorry about Nihudian, but when Kevin asked him about the existence of such a list, his client was steadfast in not wanting to participate in his defense.

Kevin next asked Zoran Vacinovic, but Vacinovic said his government wouldn’t serve up lists of its citizens that the prosecution might use to indict people for war crimes.

Kevin found the entire scenario unbelievably frustrating. In the U.S. Attorney’s office, he could get his hands on a document by having an FBI agent serve a subpoena. As a defense lawyer, he was reduced to begging, and still he couldn’t get what he needed.

That night, Kevin helped Ellen pack her suitcase for their long-planned Christmas visit to California. “Guess what?” he said casually. “What you said about people dressing up like the Black Dragons is coming true.” He told her about what the former judge had said.

Ellen was proud. “You ought to listen to me more often, Daddy. I’ll solve your cases for you.”

“Well, solve this for me, Ms. Detective,” said Kevin, sitting down on the edge of her bed. “How do I get a list of real Dragons to prove that the people who committed the war crimes are not on that list and therefore were not under Draga’s command?”

“What are the choices?” Ellen always wanted her problems to be multiple choice.

“Number one, we get it from Draga. Number two, we get it from the Serbian government. Number three, we get it from the prosecution. But they’ve all said no.”

“Elementary, my dear Daddy,” Ellen said. “I choose number four.”

“But there’s no number four.”

“Think outside the box, dude,” Ellen said, giggling. “That’s what you tell me.”

“You’re a big help, Sherlock. Here’s your fee.” Kevin reached over and tickled Ellen on her sides. She convulsed with laughter and scampered away.

Think outside the box . Good advice , Kevin mused.

It made him think of his old friend and former colleague, Bud Marcello, who had survived a long career in the bureaucratic FBI by doing just that – again and again.

Two days later, Kevin was lunching with Bud Marcello at Mac’s in Santa Rosa.

“I still can’t picture you as a defense lawyer, Kevin.”

“It’s not exactly what I had in mind either,” Kevin admitted as he sipped a Diet Coke. “I never knew dealing with a client could be so difficult. I wish Draga would help with his defense. Some clients want to help too much, but this guy won’t help one bit.”

Bud was amused. “He wants to be a martyr. That’s his choice. At least he can’t complain about the outcome.”

“I just can’t play to lose. It’s not my nature. Plus, I’m not convinced he did what he’s charged with.”