“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.”
Kevin was back in his office for about twenty minutes when the phone rang. Zoran Vacinovic was livid. “You made no opening statement? What kind of defense is that?”
“We’ll have our turn later.”
“But you did not answer the prosecution’s case when the world is watching. The Serbs will be vilified all over the world tonight as butchers. You could have refuted that, but by saying nothing you admitted it was true.” The man was clearly upset.
“I didn’t admit anything,” Kevin replied defensively, somewhat shaken by the force of Vacinovic’s anger.
“My government expects a vigorous defense for Mr. Zaric, not someone sitting on their hands. People in Serbia are very, very upset right now.”
“I’m doing this the way I think is best. We’ve talked about this before. I cannot and will not defend Draga by claiming that the Serbs were the victims, because even victims have no legal right to commit war crimes.” Kevin realized he was almost shouting. He tried to calm down. “I will defend Draga by arguing that he didn’t commit any war crimes. That’s how it has to be.”
“We’ll be watching,” Vacinovic responded ominously, and hung up.
That night, after Ellen had done her homework and gone to bed, Kevin and Diane watched the coverage of the trial on the BBC and CNN. The media presented only the prosecutor’s allegations against Draga. The BBC report included footage of a crowd of emaciated men with their ribs clearly visible, looking hopefully at the cameras through a barbed wire fence. These were the infamous concentration camp scenes filmed during the war.
“I can understand why Vacinovic doesn’t like this kind of press coverage,” Kevin said. “Those pictures still give me the creeps.”
“Did Draga do that?”
“No. That’s exactly the point of my defense. I’ll let them paint all their gory scenes. Then I’ll ask them to point out Draga in their picture, or men they can prove were under his command.”
Before going to bed, Kevin put a new cassette into his tape player and stuck it in his jacket pocket. He expected to have company on his run the next morning. He had prepared a subpoena for Pete Barnes in the event that their negotiations broke down. He stuck that in his jacket pocket as well and went to bed.
The next morning was cold, but dry. Kevin headed south towards the center of Wassenaar on his usual running route. Barnes joined him at the same place as before.
“Morning.”
“Morning, Kevin.”
“Thanks for getting Maria moved.”
Kevin casually put his left hand inside his jacket and switched on the tape.
“You’re welcome. See, we can deliver.”
“That’s a good sign. And I delivered on my end as well.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Where do we go from here?”
“I still need the reports, and the Evans tape. Then, we’re done.”
“And I need something in writing to guarantee what you will do for my client.”
“We absolutely cannot do that. This kind of thing does not get put in writing.”
“So he just has to trust you?”
“That’s right. It’s non-negotiable.”
“Well, you’ll have to just trust us that we won’t use the reports and tape. I’m not giving them back to you without having a way to enforce your agreement with Draga. That’s non-negotiable.”
The two men ran stride for stride in silence for a while. “Kevin, you’re a highly regarded federal prosecutor with a great career. Don’t make this hard on yourself and everybody else.”
“I don’t need this aggravation either, believe me. I’ve got a case to try. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t insist that an agreement be in writing. Oral agreements spell malpractice for lawyers.”
“You don’t seem to understand. It ain’t going to happen. Period.”
“Then I guess I’ll just hang onto the reports and tape.”
Kevin turned onto his street. They were almost to his house.
“I didn’t want to do this, Kevin, but you’re so damn stubborn.” He reached into his right pocket and took out an envelope. He stopped running.
Kevin stopped as well and turned back to look at the envelope.
Barnes pulled out some snapshots from the envelope. Kevin could see by the light of the streetlight that they were surveillance photos of Ellen at school.
Kevin went ballistic. “What’re you doing? Picking on some eleven-year-old girl? This is how the United States government operates? That’s pretty damn low. But as long as we’re handing out presents, I’ve got one for you.”
Kevin produced the subpoena from his jacket. “You’ve been served. See you in court.”
Barnes looked up. His face was grim. “This isn’t a game, counselor. We gave you a chance to do it the easy way. Don’t blame us for what happens next.”
Back at the house, Kevin mentioned none of his encounter with the CIA to Diane. He went directly to Ellen’s room to check on her.
She looked so peaceful asleep, and was such a dynamo when she was awake.
Kevin was still seething. The CIA wouldn’t dare do anything to a little girl.
Kevin made some soft noises by scraping against a desk, moving a chair, and brushing by the strings of beads hanging from the ceiling in Ellen’s room. He always woke Ellen up by making indirect noises instead of barging in and calling her name or turning on the light. Ellen had told him she liked being woken up gently and slowly.
Ellen sat up in her bed and yawned. She was wearing her Britney Spears nightgown, and her hair had been braided before she went to sleep to make it easier to comb in the morning.
“Good morning,” Kevin said cheerily. “It’s Tuesday, the 9th of January. And it’s not raining in Holland today.”
“I can’t wait for it to snow so the canals will freeze over,” Ellen stretched in her bed. “I can’t wait to ice skate on them.”
“That’ll be fun, but not for me.”
Ellen smiled. She and Diane were good ice skaters. Kevin couldn’t skate at all. The few times he had tried at the ice arena in Santa Rosa he had staggered like a drunk, lurching for the walls on the side of the rink to hold himself up. He wouldn’t even dare try skating on the canals, where there was nothing to hold on to.
“Let’s get dressed. I’ve got a trial to go to, and you’ve got school.”
Ellen sprung out of bed. “I’ll race you,” she said. “First one to get done with all their bathroom stuff and get dressed wins.”
“That’s not fair. I have to take a shower, and put on a suit.”
“Tough luck, buddy.” Ellen glided past Kevin into her bathroom.
Kevin turned and dashed down the stairs. His ploy had gotten her moving, but he wasn’t about to concede defeat.
After Kevin had gotten out of the shower, but not yet dressed, Ellen yelled to him from downstairs. “You can take your time, slowpoke. I already won by a mile.”
When Kevin finally finished and came downstairs for breakfast, Diane was making sure that Ellen had everything she needed for school in her backpack.
“What’s going to happen at Draga’s trial today?” Ellen asked.
“Not much. Just some expert witnesses giving the judges background information on the war.”
“When can I come watch?”
“Maybe on a really exciting day.”
“Do you promise?”
Kevin looked over at Diane. She was frowning.
“Well, I can’t promise for sure. The Tribunal rules say you have to be sixteen to watch the trials. But I’ll see what I can do to get a special exception made for you.”
“I can be really quiet.”
“I know that. You’ve been to more trials than most lawyers.”
“You need to get going. It’s 8 o’clock,” Diane said to Ellen.
Ellen grabbed her backpack and headed out the back door.
“Since it’s not raining, I think I’ll bike today, too,” Kevin said.
When he got to the Tribunal, Kevin found that he had thirty minutes to spare before court started. He went into to the holding area to visit Draga. He told Draga about the conversations he had with Pete Barnes and Zoran Vacinovic.
“I feel like we’re walking a tightrope here. Your friends are unhappy because I am not fighting for you and the CIA is unhappy because I am fighting too hard.”
“When everyone is unhappy, that usually means you’re doing a good job,” Draga said. “Let’s just get the trial over with. I hate sitting here listening to that tight-ass Stone.”
“I’m still trying to win your trial.”
“That’s what I like about you, Kevin. You’re a dreamer. Just keep working on my deal with Pete and the boys. Let’s see if we can move up the date of my proposed death.”
The prosecution’s first witness was a professor of Slavic Studies at Yale University. Kevin listened as prosecutor Charles Osgood led the witness through a lengthy description of his background and qualifications, including the books and articles that he had authored on the former Yugoslavia. Kevin leafed through the professor’s thirty-page curriculum vitae as the man droned on about his numerous publications, and conferences at which he had presented papers.
Kevin looked at the judges. Judge Davidson, seated closest to him, was fidgeting with his pen. Judge Orozco, in the center, was alternately looking at the witness and down at some written materials she had in front of her. Judge Linares, seated furthest from Kevin, was staring blankly at the computer terminal in front of him, where the simultaneous transcript was being typed on the screen as the witness spoke.
By the time Oswald had completed his questions on the professor’s qualifications, it was time for the morning break. Everyone in the courtroom rose, grateful for the opportunity to stretch and break up the monotony.
Kevin walked over to Draga. “This is torture,” Draga complained. “I never did anything this cruel to any Muslim.”
Kevin saw the guards on both sides of Draga unsuccessfully try to suppress a grin.
“Do I have to be here?” Draga asked.
“Yes, you do. If I have to be here, you have to be here.” Kevin walked over to his briefcase and pulled out the sports section of USA Today. “Can I give this to him?” he asked one of the guards.
“Sure.”
“Here’s something for you to read. Maybe you can study for this week’s NFC and AFC Conference Championships. You’ve got two weeks to go and I’m still ahead by 10 Euros.”
Draga took the paper. “Bring me one of these every day. It will give me a reason to live. If I have to listen to this every day, I might kill myself.”
Kevin shook his head. His client was turning out to be a real comedian, and Kevin’s only friend at the Tribunal.
The professor’s testimony lasted the entire day, and most of the next day. He had not made a single reference to Draga or the Black Dragons. An almost audible sigh of relief could be heard in the courtroom when Oswald finally announced, “Thank you, Professor. I have no further questions at this time.”
All eyes turned to Kevin. He stood up and turned on his microphone. “Do you have any personal knowledge of any war crimes committed by my client, Dragoljub Zaric or by men under his command?” he asked.
“No, I don’t.”
“Thank you, Professor.” Turning to Judge Orozco, Kevin said, “Thank you, Madam President. I have no further questions.”
Kevin took his seat. He could tell that everyone in the courtroom was surprised. On the other side of the glass, he saw some of the press corps turning around and conferring with one another.
“Very well,” Judge Orozco said after a moment. She turned to the prosecution. “Call your next witness.”
The next witness, and the two that followed over the balance of the week, were also academics. They painstakingly traced the social, political, cultural, and military events prior to 1992 that led up to the war in Bosnia. Kevin asked each of the witnesses the same question and all acknowledged that they had no personal knowledge of any war crimes committed by Draga, or by men under his command.
By Friday afternoon, the visitors’ gallery had all but emptied. “Trial by tedium,” one of the reporters had called it. Kevin was grateful that the week had passed without any further contact from Pete Barnes or Zoran Vacinovic. For now, all was quiet.
It was only 3:30 when Kevin packed up his briefcase and headed for home. When he reached the Tribunal lobby, a reporter came up to him. “Mr. Anderson, do you have any comment on Toma Lanko’s story?”
“I haven’t seen it.”
The reporter handed Kevin a paper. Kevin read the headline. “Draga’s Lawyer Putting up No Defense.”
“No, I don’t have any comment,” Kevin said, returning the paper to the man. His critics would just have to be patient. Revealing his defense would just tip off the prosecutors. He didn’t trust Bradford Stone to play fair.
Diane was sitting in the living room when Kevin came in. “I’m home early. How are you doing?”
“Fine. I’m still waiting for Ellen to come home from school. She’s usually home by now.”
“Well, it’s Friday. She’s probably making some plans for the weekend with her friends.”
They heard the siren of a police car in the distance. When the police car with flashing blue lights stopped in front of their house, both Kevin and Diane stood up. They saw a large woman get out of the police car and stride towards their front door.
Diane walked quickly to the door with Kevin right behind her. She opened the door before the officer could knock.
“What is it?” Diane asked worriedly.
Kevin held his breath.
“Kevin and Diane Anderson?” she asked with a Dutch accent. The woman’s eyes showed concern.
“Yes?”
“I’m Detective Michelle Weber of the Wassenaar Police.”
“What is it?”
“I’m afraid your daughter has been kidnapped.”