Peter Robinson - The Tribunal

Watching Ellen operate the computer with ease gave Kevin an idea. “Ellen, could you spend a minute being a detective again?”

“Sure, Dad.”

“I need to try to find a William Evans who works for Hilton Hotels. I want to know what city he works in. How would I do that?”

“That’s easy.” Ellen turned back to the computer and typed in www.google.com. “This is a search engine. It searches all kinds of places on the Internet.” She typed in the words “William Evans” and “Hilton”.

Kevin stood, looking over Ellen’s shoulders. Ellen scrolled down through several entries that appeared on the screen. Then she clicked on one of them. It was a newspaper article about the recent prosecution of a skimming operation at the casino of the Flamingo Hilton Hotel. The article said that Hilton’s internal security staff, headed by William Evans, had uncovered the fraud.

“He’s in Las Vegas, Dad,” Ellen said matter-of-factly.

“Santa found me even in a hotel!” Ellen shouted.

She burst out of bed in their hotel room, flipped on the light, and looked at two wrapped Christmas presents at the foot of her bed. “Can I open them?”

Kevin looked at the clock radio on the night stand. It was 5:03 a.m. “Santa came early, it’s still dark out. But go ahead and open them.”

He and Diane struggled to clear their heads and open their eyes. They sat up in bed and watched Ellen attack the wrapping paper.

Her first present was a “Talk Girl” portable tape player. “This is great! Now, I can record messages in Holland and send them to my friends in Santa Rosa.”

Ellen put the tape player aside and opened Santa’s second present. The second gift was a “Password Diary.” It was a journal for writing in, but to open it you had to say a password into the microphone on the side. It had voice recognition technology, so only the holder of the diary could get in, even if someone stole the password. Ellen was delighted. “I love it!” she squealed, hugging it to her chest.

Ellen tried out the diary right away.

Kevin was thankful that Santa had included batteries. He imagined himself driving around Santa Rosa at 5:30 a.m. on Christmas looking for a place that sold batteries. After Kevin, Diane, and Ellen opened their presents to each other, it was still early.

Kevin decided to jog up to Lake Ilsanjo in Annadel State Park. He started out fine, but found himself struggling once he got to the hills. He had been running in a flat country for the past six months, and he could definitely feel the difference. When he finally reached the lake at the top, Kevin’s mind began working on how to approach William Evans in Las Vegas. He decided to get some advice from Bud Marcello.

Two days later, after getting Bud’s input and assistance, Kevin flew to Las Vegas. When he arrived, he was met by two beefy escorts in a black Lincoln Town Car. A broad-shouldered, clean-cut young man, who looked like an NFL lineman, got out of the passenger’s side. “You Kevin Anderson?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Striker. Hop in.” He held the door open.

Kevin got in the backseat. The driver turned around and said, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Anderson. I’m Jim Timmons from LST Security.” He was about the same size as the passenger, which translated to huge and muscular.

Kevin knew from Bud that both escorts were former elite military and worked for CEOs and entertainers who paid top dollar for high-level security. Kevin did not have to pay for their services this morning – Bud had called it a “trade out.” He hadn’t asked what Bud would be trading back. He didn’t want to know.

“Your man’s at work this morning at the Las Vegas Hilton in the second floor security office,” Timmons said as they headed down the Las Vegas Strip. “What do you want us to do?”

“I’d just like you guys to come in with me and wait in the reception area. I want Mr. Evans to see you, but I need to meet with him alone.”

“Ten-four.”

They drove to the front of the Hilton. The driver parked the car right in front of the hotel. Kevin saw him slip the bellman a bill. Greasing palms was the way business was done on the Strip.

As they took the escalator to the second floor, Kevin turned on the mini tape recorder he had brought in his jacket pocket, and spoke into it: “This is Kevin Anderson, today’s date is December 27 th, and I am in the Las Vegas Hilton Hotel to meet with William Evans, formerly of the CIA.”

When they got to the suite of offices on the second floor of the Hilton, the three men approached the receptionist. “I’m Kevin Anderson. I’m here to see William Evans.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“No, but something urgent came up and I need to see him as soon as possible.”

The receptionist dialed a number on her telephone console. Kevin could hear her talking to Evans. She put the phone on her shoulder and looked at Kevin. “What is this regarding?”

“I’m afraid it’s personal. It has to do with his previous employment.”

The woman returned to the telephone and repeated what Kevin had said. Kevin hoped that he would not have to be more insistent. He was relieved when the receptionist hung up the phone and said, “Mr. Evans will be with you in a few moments.”

Kevin stood between his two new friends as they waited for Evans to appear. In a few minutes, a short, tanned, gray-haired man came striding down the corridor from behind the receptionist. From a distance, Kevin quickly sized up William Evans; late 50’s, former military, in shape, no-nonsense guy.

Evans looked at Kevin, dwarfed by his two companions.

“Mr. Evans, I’m Kevin Anderson. Thank you for seeing me without an appointment. I’m a lawyer from Santa Rosa, California, and I represent a friend of yours who is in trouble. Can I talk with you in private for a few minutes?”

Evans looked at the business card that Kevin handed him.

“Come into the conference room,” Evans said, leading Kevin into a large room near the lobby.

Kevin’s two escorts – who had given him a small radio-beam “panic button” to depress if he needed them immediately – remained by the receptionist.

Once inside the room, Kevin’s eyes darted to a bank of closed-circuit televisions on one side of the room. The televisions monitored different locations on the casino floor.

Kevin and Evans sat down at a large table. “I represent a man you know as Draga. I was appointed to be his lawyer by the War Crimes Tribunal in The Hague.”

Evans’ face registered neither surprise nor recognition.

“He needs your help.” Kevin paused and waited for Evans to speak.

The man’s face was a mask. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Evans denial came a bit too late, however, and was delivered without any hint of surprise.

Kevin wished he could have been videotaping their meeting.

“I don’t have time to play cat and mouse. My client’s trial starts the week after next. I want to show you some papers that I received.”

Kevin took out copies of Evans’ reports and placed them on the table.

Evans looked at the reports without saying a word. Beads of sweat began to form on his temple.

“Mr. Evans, my client risked his life for you and your agency. The least you can do is talk to me.”

“Alright,” Evans turned to Kevin. “I’ll talk to you. Your client was the CIA’s best asset in Yugoslavia. I know because I was his contact, as you can see. But you’ll never get me to say that in court or anywhere else.”

“Draga’s going on trial for crimes that he is not responsible for. That’s why I came to you. Can’t something be done to help him?”

“He ran that risk from the beginning.” Evans looked Kevin directly in the eyes. “I can’t help him now.”