John Nance - Headwind

The rest of the tape was an identical recitation of the logistics of the plan, a handshake, and Reynolds’s exit back through the west door of the Oval with a brief shot of the hallway beyond.

Jay stopped the tape, ejected it, and returned to his seat wholly distracted by the final frames of the tape, the same fleeting scene that had snagged his interest on the first viewing. He now recognized it.

Michael Garrity rose slowly to his feet, gesturing in the direction of the television.

“My Lord, this recording is obviously in direct opposition in meaning and import to the one Mr. Campbell first played. In Mr. Campbell’s version, President Harris is clearly guilty of ordering an act of torture and murder in his official capacity as President. In our version, he is clearly concerned about making certain no such actions are taken. Which one is correct, then?”

“Indeed, Mr. Garrity,” O’Connell said, “that appears to be the question.”

“Both of them,” Michael continued, “contain the very identifiable voice of the President, and both of them have the same voice identified as Mr. Reynolds, and therefore, it would seem, one must be real, and one must be fake. The point is, however, if one can be fabricated, so can the other . It is not a matter, My Lord, of which one is the real one so much as it is a matter of the demonstrated reality that either could be faked that should be important to the court. The extremely serious nature of what this Interpol warrant seeks to accomplish… namely the arrest of a former president… demands that supporting evidence be beyond serious question, and yet we have a clear demonstration that the voices can be faked, and thus neither can be accepted as conclusive without independently verifiable evidence.”

Mr. Justice O’Connell’s eyebrows suddenly came together as a flash of anger clouded his face.

“Mr. Garrity! Are you saying, sir, that the tape you’ve just shown this court was a fake?”

Michael hesitated, not expecting the onslaught.

“Yes, My Lord. My legal team retained last night the services of perhaps the best impressionist in Ireland, Mr. Byrne McHenry, a professional entertainer, and in only a few hours of work with an ordinary tape recorder he produced the sound track you heard in order to demonstrate…”

The explosion of sound from the judge startled everyone in the courtroom.

“THAT,” he sputtered, his eyes flaring, “is perhaps the most despicable act of purposeful misleading of a court I have ever experienced as a judge! Mr. Garrity, you may well stand to charges before the bar as a result of this dishonorable stunt. You’ve wasted the time of this court and attempted to use false evidence to sway us. SIT DOWN!”

Michael Garrity faced the judge calmly, still on his feet.

“No, My Lord, I will not sit down with your verbal indictment ringing in my ears.”

“YOU WILL SIT DOWN, SIR, OR BE HELD IN CONTEMPT!”

“I did not use false evidence, My Lord. I used evidence of falsity . There is a substantial difference.”

O’Connell had his gavel pointed at Garrity again, but he stopped short of verbalizing the blast he had planned, and instead replaced the gavel on the bench and sat back, shaking his head.

“Very well, Mr. Garrity, stand or sit or do whatever you like, but you’re little trick has backfired on you and your client. You have done precisely the opposite of what you intended, sir, because I shall now disregard your offered evidence as non-credible.”

Michael sat down slowly, his eyes tracking the judge.

“Mr. Garrity, this is very serious business, this action for perfection of a warrant and an order of extradition. It is serious business because of several factors. First, the Treaty Against Torture demands the faithful adherence of every signatory nation, and after dragging our lazy feet for over a decade, Ireland has finally ratified it as well. That means, sir, that no extradition treaty with Peru is needed. We have the treaty’s provisions for extradition, and they will suffice. It also means that a matter of a U.S. President ordering the killing and torture of individuals sets up without question a prima facie case for issuance of a corresponding Irish warrant for the arrest of the accused party. The treaty requires that the complained of action, in this case premeditated torture and murder by proxy, be a violation of the criminal law of the country considering extradition. Clearly these acts are crimes in Ireland. In addition, it is reprehensible that this involves a former U.S. President, since the United States bears much shame for dragging its feet for years on these matters even after it ratified the treaty. Its conduct during the Pinochet matter in England was unforgivable in my view. Washington sat by in stony silence when they should have been actively supporting immediate extradition. Why do I say this from the bench? Because it is the duty of each signatory nation to deal with matters under the treaty very rapidly. We must avoid even the appearance of foot-dragging or delayed compliance if international law is to have real meaning. Therefore, if I had the power to do so, I would not only order Mr. Harris arrested today, I would order him placed within that hour on the next transport to Lima, Peru, for trial. Unfortunately, our extradition procedures require additional steps, including a certification from the Peruvian government that there be no imposition of a death penalty. But, I am going to call a brief recess and study whether or not I can accelerate those procedures and extradite the man immediately through denial of appeal and perhaps some other legal method.”

Michael jumped to his feet. “Mr. Justice O’Connell, I object…”

“SIT DOWN, Mr. Garrity! Of course you object, and the record will carry your objections, and I fully expect you to appeal on the grounds that I’m biased, or prejudging the case, or whatever. I expect you’ll challenge my assertion of jurisdiction, the driver’s license I used to get here this morning, and perhaps even what I ate for breakfast. And if our Supreme Court wants to reverse me, so be it. But in the meantime, I will rule in my court the way I see fit, without the interference of the likes of you , sir!

Stunned to silence, Michael sank slowly into his chair.

Sherry Lincoln caught the ashen expression on Jillian Walz’s face as Jillian left the cockpit. Sherry got to her feet, cornering Jillian in the forward galley.

“What’s wrong up there?”

“Oh, nothing. Just technical…”

“Jillian! I know I’m a civilian and not one of your crew, but I can tell B.S. when it’s thrown at me. What’s going on? If it’s a personal thing, I’ll back off, but if it has to do with the operation of this flight, you’re going to tell me.”

Jillian looked away and pursed her lips for a second, then met Sherry’s eyes and tried, unsuccessfully, to smile. “We have a small problem. The winds are far worse than planned, and… and…”

“You’re… not telling me we’re going somewhere else but Ireland?”

Jillian exhaled sharply. “Ah… no … I’m not. We’re… going to be landing at Galway because we’re very short of fuel.”

“How short?”

“One approach only, and there’s fog, and since you must know, I’m scared to death.”

It was Sherry’s turn to swallow hard. “But we are going to make it?”

“Craig says yes, but it will be close. I know these fellows, and what’s scaring me is that I’ve never seen them this quiet.”

Before Mr. Justice O’Connell could formally declare the brief recess he had decided to take, Michael Garrity jumped to his feet. “My Lord…”