Peter Robinson - The Tribunal

The man was wearing a baseball cap and a striped jogging suit. “I’m Pete Barnes,” he said. “Do you know who I work for?”

“Yes. You’re the CIA officer who called on my client.”

“You’ve got a great reputation in San Francisco. First class prosecutor, straight shooter.”

“That’s nice to hear.”

“So you’re not going to give us any trouble over those reports are you?”

“Not at all.”

“We need them back, and the tape you made with Mr. Evans.”

“What are you going to do for my client?”

“Exactly what I told him we’d do. Relocate him and his family after the trial.”

“Do the prosecutors at the Tribunal know what Draga did for your agency?”

“I don’t know. They wouldn’t care anyway. He’s their big trophy. They want to nail him.”

“So how are you going to deliver on your promise to get Draga to serve his time in the U.S. and spring him from prison?”

“We have our ways. Don’t sweat it.”

Kevin kept running. He came to an intersection. “Mind if we make a left here? If we don’t turn around, I’ll be too tired to make it home.”

Barnes was matching Kevin step for step. He was not laboring at all.

The men turned left and continued their conversation. They looked like two friends out for a morning jog.

“I’m a defense lawyer now,” Kevin said. “It’s my job to sweat this kind of stuff for my clients. If you put it in writing for Draga, you can have the materials. You can understand that without something in writing, your promise to him can’t be enforced, or even proven.”

“That’s out of the question. We can’t put anything like that in writing. You know that.”

“We would only use it if you didn’t keep your promise. Otherwise, I’m going to tell the judges all about Draga’s role in my opening statement on Monday.”

“The Serbs will consider your client a traitor if this comes out. He and his family will be killed. You wouldn’t be that irresponsible.”

“I thought it was your job to protect your informants. If you won’t, my client is prepared to protect himself and his family. But I’m sure as hell not going to let him go down for a life sentence without fighting with everything I’ve got.”

Barnes looked over at Kevin. Water dripped down from the bill of his cap. “I hate running in the rain,” Barnes said.

“So do I, but in the Dutch winter, if you wait for a clear day, you wouldn’t be running much.”

“What’s it going to take to get you not to use this stuff?”

“A promise to Draga in writing.”

“What’s your second choice?”

“I don’t have a second choice. Give me a suggestion.”

“We’re really not in a position to do anything.”

“Then, how do I know you’ll be in a position to keep your oral promise to my client?”

“He’ll have to trust us. We’ve always been square with him before. We’ve already sprung him from prison once – in Germany.”

“I was a federal prosecutor for twenty years. I’ve never seen you guys spring anyone from a federal prison in the U.S.”

“It’s no problem.”

“I’ll tell you what. You get Maria Jones out of solitary confinement at Pleasanton before Monday, and I won’t use the material in my opening statement. Then we’ll talk again next week.”

“I don’t think we can do that.”

“Then you sure as heck can’t set up an escape for Draga.”

Barnes was silent. They had just about reached Kevin’s house.

“I’ve got to go,” Kevin said. “The ball’s in your court.” He turned down the path to his house, opened his front door, and entered without looking back.

When he shut the door behind him, Kevin took off his wet Gore-Tex running jacket. He reached into the left pocket and turned off the tape recorder, then hit the rewind switch.

His tape collection was growing.

“All rise! Veuillez vous lever! ”

The gallery for Courtroom 1 was packed for the start of Draga’s trial. As he looked out to the other side of the glass, Kevin saw correspondents for the major television networks sitting in the press section. The public gallery was also packed.

“Prosecutor against Dragoljub Zaric, case number IT-96-30,” the Deputy Registrar bellowed. “Counsel, your appearances, please.”

“Charles Oswald and Bradford Stone for the Prosecution.” Kevin looked over to the prosecution side of the courtroom. Their investigator, Allen Jacobson, and a paralegal flanked Oswald and Stone. Three more assistants sat in the row behind them.

Kevin stood up in his black robe. “Kevin Anderson for the accused.” He sat alone at the defense table. Behind him, Draga was in his chair, wearing a bored expression and the Oakland Raiders jogging suit Kevin had brought back as his Christmas present.

“Good morning,” Judge Orozco said pleasantly.

Judge Linares smiled and nodded to both sides. Judge Davidson stared straight ahead.

“Is the prosecution ready for trial?” asked Judge Orozco.

“Yes, Your Honor.”

She turned to Kevin on her right. “And the defense?”

“We’re ready, Your Honor.”

“Very well,” Judge Orozco looked pleased that there had been no last minute glitches. “Let’s hear the opening statement for the prosecution.”

Bradford Stone rose from his seat and took his place at the podium. “Your Honors,” he began, “the evidence during this trial will show that the man seated at the far left of the courtroom, Dragoljub Zaric, known as Draga, is responsible for the murder of thousands of people, and the beating, torture, and rape of thousands more.”

Stone pointed his bony finger at Draga. “The evidence will show that this man selected, trained, motivated, and commanded a group of vicious killers known as the Black Dragons, and that he and his men marched through Bosnia like a tornado, killing and destroying everything in their path.”

Kevin noticed that the press in the gallery were furiously scribbling as Stone colorfully described the prosecution’s case. But, strangely, Kevin felt relaxed. The trial was underway; he was at last on his turf.

Kevin had spoken with Bud Marcello yesterday. Maria Jones had indeed been released from solitary confinement. Kevin had also had a long talk with Draga last night. They had agreed that Kevin would make no mention of the CIA evidence, at least until the prosecution had rested its case. In the meantime, Kevin would work on getting the CIA’s promise to Draga in writing.

Bradford Stone’s opening statement lasted most of the first day. His assistants placed large color-coded maps and charts on the easel as Stone painstakingly detailed all of the locations in Bosnia where the Black Dragons had struck. Three scale models of the Omarska, Foca, and Keraterm prison camps sat on tables in the well of the courtroom, in front of the Deputy Registrar and usher. Stone pointed out the buildings in the camps where Black Dragons had called out prisoners for beatings, torture, and rape.

It was 3:45 when Stone finally sat down to the nods and polite accolades of the other members of the prosecution team.

Judge Orozco thanked Stone, and then turned to Kevin. “Mr. Anderson, in light of the hour, perhaps we should hear your opening statement tomorrow?”

Kevin rose. “Your Honors, the defense will not be making an opening statement at this time. Pursuant to Rule 84, we wish to reserve our opening statement until after the prosecution has rested its case and before we begin calling our witnesses.”

Judge Orozco looked surprised. Judge Davidson appeared to be looking up Rule 84, as did the prosecutors. After a pause, Judge Orozco said, “Very well. Court is adjourned until ten o’clock tomorrow morning. We’ll begin then with the Prosecutor’s first witness.”