Peter Robinson - The Tribunal

“Oh, an innocent client,” Bud said, laughing. “You’ve turned into a real true believer, old buddy.”

“That Tribunal is a prosecutor’s dream. They hold all the cards. They almost put me in jail. Can you believe that? Then I filed a motion for intelligence agency files on my client and they pretended it never existed. Vanished, even though I had a file-stamped copy. It makes me think somebody is hiding something. I’ve been thinking that if I could get my hands on the CIA’s records, they might have a list of men under Draga’s command.”

“That could break either way for your client, you know?”

“Yeah, well, right now I’m willing to take the chance.”

Kevin had been edging up on something, but he let Bud take the lead.

“Hey, remember that lady and her husband who worked for the CIA and were convicted of selling information to the Russians? Andrew and Maria Jones.”

“Sure do.”

“You know, I handled a lot of the interviews with them.”

Kevin did know. He had remembered somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean on the flight to San Francisco about Bud’s involvement in the espionage case, wherein the Jones couple had eventually cooperated with the government in exchange for lighter sentences. Even in instances involving CIA officers, the FBI had jurisdiction to investigate criminal prosecutions of U.S. espionage laws.

“Maria is okay. She’s Italian, you know?”

“A real pisano , huh?” Kevin grinned.

“She found herself in some stuff that was mostly Andrew’s doing – that guy I did not like – and she went along for the ride. Anyway, she’s doing her time at the federal joint in Pleasanton. Go see her and tell her ole Bud says howdy.”

“It’s worth a try,” Kevin said, smiling inwardly, thinking: How many retired FBI agents would consider a convicted CIA spy “okay .” Bud Marcello was one of a kind.

Bud took out his pen and wrote something in Italian on his napkin. “Show this to Maria.” He handed Kevin the napkin. “In the meantime, I’ll make some calls.”

The next morning, Kevin drove to the women’s prison and was led into a conference room near the warden’s office. The prison resembled a college campus, except for the towering barbed wire fences that surrounded the facility. The inmates were allowed to roam freely within the fences, and after a few minutes, Maria Jones opened the door to the conference room and entered unescorted.

“Ms. Jones, I’m Kevin Anderson,” Kevin said offering his hand.

Maria Jones shook Kevin’s hand. “I was expecting you.”

“That’s good. A mutual friend asked me to show you this.” He pulled out Bud’s napkin.

Maria picked it up and read the note. She was a small, thin woman, who looked to be in her early forties. Her dark black hair was streaked with gray and pulled back in a bun. Her skin looked wrinkled and her eyes tired.

Kevin expected Maria to be cautious. She had received a twenty-year sentence, and Kevin figured that, like most inmates, she still clung to some hope of getting out earlier, either by cooperating further with the government or by filing post-conviction legal challenges. What he was asking her to do now did not fall into either category.

Maria smiled warmly. “Your friend has been good to my family since I have been in here. I’d like to pay him back by helping you if I can.”

“I’d sure appreciate any help you can give me,” Kevin replied, wondering what Bud had been up to with Maria’s family, and if the Bureau had known about it. “It would be confidential. Obviously, you’re not going to be a witness in my case. I’m trying to locate a list of men fighting in a paramilitary unit called the Black Dragons in the war in Bosnia. I represent the commander of that unit. They called him Draga.”

Maria Jones’ eyes widened. “You represent Draga?”

“Yes. So, you know about him?”

Maria ignored the question. “Has he told you what he did during the war?”

“Well, no. That’s the problem. He isn’t cooperating in his defense. He loves to talk about American football and eat pizza, but he hasn’t told me a thing about his case.”

Maria nodded understandingly. She was silent for a while.

“What do you know about Draga?” Kevin asked, practically holding his breath.

“I was in the unit that coordinated intelligence information on Yugoslavia. I know a lot about Dragoljub Zaric.”

“Do you know where I could find a list of the Black Dragons under his command? There apparently were people in Bosnia going around committing war crimes pretending to be members of the Black Dragons. Those crimes are going to be hung around Draga’s neck unless I can prove they were committed by people not under his command.”

“So you really don’t know.” Maria put her hands together and brought them to her lips. She was obviously thinking of something, but Kevin couldn’t seem to get it out of her.

“What don’t I know?”

Maria looked down at the napkin in her hand. “This could get me in a lot of trouble, Mr. Anderson.”

Kevin was perplexed. He decided to remain silent and see what Maria Jones would do.

She wrung her hands. “Your client was the most significant operative the CIA had in Yugoslavia,” she said finally.

“What do you mean?”

“Draga worked for the CIA. He passed on the best intelligence information we had on the war and on President Milosevic.”

Kevin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “How do you know that?”

“I read the reports of his handler, William Evans. That was my main job for three years at the CIA.”

“I’m speechless,” Kevin said after a long pause. “My client has never even hinted at such a thing.”

“The Agency probably promised to take care of him when his trial is over. They did the same to my husband and me. Then they gave him life and me twenty years.”

Kevin’s brain was working overtime to digest this new revelation. Then, reality set in. “I’ll never be able to prove it,” he said dejectedly.

“Yes, you will,” Maria said, looking Kevin directly in the eyes. “I kept copies of the reports.”

A shiver ran through Kevin’s body.

“My mother has them. She lives in Oakland.” Maria wrote her mother’s address on Bud’s napkin, along with a short note. “She’ll give you the papers. You might also want to talk to William Evans. He retired. I think he works for Hilton Hotels now, in security.”

Kevin thanked Maria profusely. His mind was racing as he drove directly to Oakland to see Maria’s mother. If what Maria told him was true – and he had no doubt that it was – how would this impact his defense of Draga? In passing vital information to the CIA, had Draga been working to prevent war crimes, not commit them? Could his first client as a defense lawyer really have been on the side of the good guys?

Kevin wondered why Draga hadn’t told him of the CIA connection. Was he willing to sit silently in prison for the rest of his life? Or had the CIA promised Draga his freedom, as Maria, who knew about these things, had strongly suggested?

As he drove on the freeway, Kevin suddenly wondered if he was being followed. The prison authorities could have notified the CIA of his visit to Maria Jones. They could have even bugged the conference room at the prison.

Kevin got off at the next exit. He checked his rearview mirror; three other cars were also exiting. He waited at the red light at the bottom of the exit ramp. When the light turned green, he continued straight ahead and re-entered the freeway. He looked to see if any of the other cars were doing the same maneuver. They were not.

Although he was still not sure if he was being followed, Kevin was anxious to see Maria’s mother as soon as possible. He wanted to get his hands on the reports before they disappeared like his graymail motion had vanished into thin air.