Peter Robinson - The Tribunal

When Draga returned he handed Kevin a stack of papers. It was a computerized list, in alphabetical order, of the names and dates of birth of all of the Black Dragons.

“This is the same list I gave to Evans a long time ago.”

Kevin looked through the list. He did not see Victor Vidic or any other names that he recognized as having committed war crimes.

“Thank you,” Kevin said. “This means a lot.”

Draga took a deep breath. “I guess we have crossed a bridge today.”

Kevin nodded. “Yes. I’ve been hoping for this since the day we met.”

Draga nodded. “Do I still get pepperoni pizza?”

“You bet. But there’s no way I’m forgiving your gambling debts.”

Draga’s face broke into a grin. “What do we do next?”

“Well, I imagine that we’ll be hearing from the CIA. Why don’t I see if they’ll put your deal in writing so you can make them honor it down the road, if that’s what you want to go for.”

“That’s what I want to do. Getting the deal in writing would be very good.”

“I don’t like the idea of an innocent man being found guilty.”

“Do you like the idea of an innocent man being found dead?”

“No.”

Draga got up from his chair. “You’ve been pretty lucky at football, sport. Let’s see how you play hardball.”

That night, Kevin and Diane walked down the street to pick up Ellen at her friend’s house. She was not exactly happy to see them. “Can’t I play longer? Why do you always come on time? Don’t you know what it means to be fashionably late?”

Kevin brushed off the cool welcome. “I’m glad you’re having such a good time, but I haven’t seen you all day.”

“I haven’t seen Katie for two weeks,” Ellen protested as she came outside to walk home with Kevin and Diane.

Ellen soon forgot her complaint. “I’m going to listen to Harry Potter,” she said as she walked between Kevin and Diane. “I’ve been dying to start the tapes since Christmas.” She had gotten the four Harry Potter stories on tape for Christmas.

If the CIA decides to bug our house , Kevin thought, they’re going to get an earful of Harry Potter .

It was dark when the Andersons turned onto their street and walked the last block to their house. Kevin heard a car come up from behind and was startled when it slowed to a stop alongside him and his family. The car was a large dark colored Mercedes and appeared to be occupied by only the driver. Kevin squinted to make out the driver’s face. Diane had stopped, grabbed Ellen by the hand, and pulled Ellen towards her.

“Mr. Anderson.” Kevin recognized the man now. It was Zoran Vacinovic. “I was in the neighborhood. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Sure. Why don’t you park your car and come in?”

Vacinovic pulled over to the curb while Kevin rejoined Diane and Ellen.

“It’s the man from the Serbian Embassy. I need to talk to him.”

“He’s always ‘just in the neighborhood,’” Diane noted skeptically.

Vacinovic patted Ellen on the head when they all walked into the Anderson’s row house. “Please excuse the interruption on your time with your father.”

“That’s okay,” she replied brightly. “I’m going to start listening to my Harry Potter tapes anyway.”

Kevin led Vacinovic up to his office on the second floor, while Ellen and Diane stayed downstairs.

“That’s quite a girl. You must be very proud of her.”

“I am.” Kevin closed the door. “What’s on your mind?”

“I just wanted to talk to you before the trial started next week. As I have told you, it is very important to my country that a full record be made of the atrocities committed against the Serbs.”

“But, Mr. Vacinovic,” Kevin replied, “there is no way the court will allow me to introduce evidence of war crimes against Serbs to justify war crimes that they committed in return. The Tribunal has already specifically rejected this defense. An eye for an eye may have been the law on the battlefields of Bosnia, but it is not the law in the courtrooms of The Hague.”

“They just want to trick you into playing by their rules. But in the court of public opinion, the atrocities committed against the Serbs over many years more than justify what was done. That is how Draga should be defended.”

Kevin could see that Vacinovic was agitated. “My government views these trials at the Tribunal in a broader context. The West is trying to create a historical record that will condemn the Serbs for the rest of history. That record must be set straight through evidence of the wrongs done to the Serbian people.”

“How can I do that when the Tribunal will refuse to hear that evidence?”

“Look,” Vacinovic said, opening his briefcase, “some of the people in the Justice Ministry in Belgrade have drafted an opening statement for you to use.” He handed Kevin some papers.

Kevin took the papers and began reading them. They were full of anti-Muslim and Croat rhetoric, with references to the Ottoman Empire and World War II. There was not a single mention of Draga. As he read the statement, Kevin tried to think of how he was going to handle this diplomatically. “I appreciate all the work that went into this.”

Vacinovic smiled.

“But I can’t use it.”

The smile disappeared from Vacinovic’s face. “Why not?”

“Because it’s irrelevant at the Tribunal. I understand your government wanting to present their side of the story, but this is not a United Nations debate. It’s a criminal trial. I’m defending a human being, whose freedom hangs in the balance. I have to try to win within the rules of the Tribunal. Otherwise, I’d be violating my duty to my client.”

Vacinovic raised his hand to his head in exasperation. He stared at Kevin. “Mr. Anderson, I would think this over very carefully if I were you. A lot of people will be watching your opening statement and how you handle yourself in this case. I wouldn’t want the wrong people in my country angry with you.”

Kevin got up to end the conversation. “Well, you are a smart man, Mr. Vacinovic. You understand my problem. I will leave it to you to educate those in your government who don’t. Good night.”

He led Vacinovic downstairs. When they reached the door, Kevin opened it for Vacinovic.

“Say goodbye to your lovely daughter for me.”

The next day, Kevin planned his cross-examination for the first few witnesses. The prosecution would begin its case with background testimony from academics and military personnel who had studied the war in Bosnia.

Kevin was interrupted by a long-distance call from Bud Marcello. “I have bad news. Maria Jones was put in solitary confinement.”

“Damn,” Kevin said. “I feel terrible.”

“Just be careful, Kevin. You’ve got some people stirred up, I’m sure.”

“I haven’t heard from them yet.”

“You will,” Bud predicted.

Two more days passed. Kevin wondered if he would hear from the CIA, or if he would have to try and contact them. On the Friday before the trial started, he went out for his wet, early morning run on the streets of Wassenaar. He heard another runner behind him.

“ Goedemorgen ,” Kevin said, giving his standard Dutch greeting to those he encountered in the morning.

“Good morning, Mr. Anderson,” the man replied in English.

Looking at the man, Kevin kept his stride as he put his left hand inside his jacket pocket. Even on this main street in Wassenaar, they were alone in the dark at six o’clock in the morning. Kevin realized that he could be killed here quite easily. He hoped that the man just wanted to talk.

“Not too many of us early morning runners,” Kevin observed.