After hearing nothing from the Tribunal for a week, Kevin called Mrs. Kelly to ask if she had any news.
“I’m afraid not, dear. That’s really too bad, coming with your family and finding out you have no job,” Mrs. Kelly commiserated. “At least the weather is good. Enjoy it while you can. It gets rather gray here.”
“We may only be here for the summer. I can’t afford to stay without any income.”
“How’s your family enjoying Holland?”
“You’re very kind to ask. We love living in Wassenaar. It’s got everything: woods, parks, sand dunes, even a windmill.”
“They call Wassenaar the Green Oasis of Holland for a reason. Of course, it’s nothing compared to Ireland. You have a daughter?”
“Yes. She’s eleven.”
“How’s she getting along?”
“She started summer camp at the American School this week. She’s already made friends and is riding all over town with them on her new bike.”
“It’s very safe here. That’s one of the things I like about it. With all the violence at home, you know. And what does the missus do?”
“She’s volunteering at the American School, helping get the library ready for the school year. The truth is my family is happy and busy. I’m the one at loose ends.”
“Oh dear, Kevin. I do hope something breaks soon.”
The next week, Kevin visited the Tribunal in person. He brought Mrs. Kelly a bottle of California wine from Sonoma County. She was delighted with the gift, but sorry that she still had no good news.
When Kevin returned to the lobby, he saw a familiar face.
“Nihudian,” he called. “How are you doing?” He strode over to the bench where Nihudian was sitting and offered his hand.
Nihudian shook it warmly. “Quite well, thank you. I just finished another morning in the monkey cage.”
Kevin smiled. “Do you have time to grab something to eat?”
“Sure. Have you been to the beach?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Come on. I’ll introduce you to the favorite food of the Dutch. My treat.”
The two men walked outside and through the guardhouse. Kevin told Nihudian about his expected employment as a prosecutor at the Tribunal, and the difficulties that had cropped up. At the corner, they hopped on a tram.
“The Yugoslavian Embassy’s over there,” said Nihudian, pointing to the south.
“What is the relationship between Bosnia and Yugoslavia anyway?” Kevin asked.
“Bosnia was one of the six republics that made up the Yugoslavian federation. Like one of the fifty states in the United States. Yugoslavia included Serbia, Croatia, Bosnia, Slovenia, Macedonia, and Montenegro.
“When did it break up?”
“In late 1991, Slovenia declared its independence, followed by Croatia, and then in early 1992, Bosnia. That’s when the war in Bosnia started. Bosnian Serbs wanted to remain part of Yugoslavia, united with Serbia, while the Muslims and Croats living in Bosnia wanted to be independent.”
Nihudian stood up as the tram came to a stop in front of a huge old hotel with a dome shaped like the U.S. Capitol. “That’s the Kurhaus Hotel,” he said as they got off the tram. “It’s where the rich and famous stay in The Hague.”
Kevin wondered if Nihudian was taking him for some fancy meal, and hoped that the Bosnian was not planning to spend his hard-earned money on lunch with Kevin. But instead of going inside the Kurhaus, Nihudian and Kevin followed a path around to the back of the hotel. It led to a wide strand of boardwalk and beach with a long covered pier, food and souvenir stands, and waterfront restaurants. Kevin saw the high surf of the North Sea bringing wave after wave onto the beach.
“This is Scheveningen, The Hague’s big resort area,” Nihudian said. “It’s packed on the weekends.” He pointed to an old metal food stand behind the Kurhaus Hotel. “That’s the place.”
“Two large orders of French fries with mayonnaise,” Nihudian told the man behind the counter.
“This is it,” he said handing Kevin a plastic container overflowing with French fries. “The Dutch delight.”
Kevin loved French fries, but wasn’t sure about the mayonnaise. They walked over to a bench where they could watch the waves and people on the beach. Many of the women were topless.
To his surprise, Kevin loved the fries and mayonnaise combination. He took a deep breath of salt air. “It doesn’t get any better than this,” Kevin said, picking out another French fry and dipping it in mayonnaise.
Nihudian laughed. “It’s a long way from Bosnia, that’s for sure.”
“What was Bosnia like before the war?”
“That seems like ages ago. Marshal Josip Broz Tito ruled Yugoslavia from the end of World War II until he died in 1980. Tito managed to keep the three major ethnic groups, the Serbs, Croats, and Muslims, united under a very tightly controlled central government during that time. In Bosnia, it was not uncommon to find a street with a Serb, Croat, and Muslim living next to each other. Everybody got along fine.”
“What went wrong?”
“After Tito died, politicians like Slobodan Milosevic, the President of Serbia, started fueling the fires of ethnic hatred, encouraging Serbs to seek revenge for injustices they had suffered in the past at the hands of the other ethnic groups. Ruthless Serbian gangsters formed paramilitary groups. They bombarded the people with paranoia that the Muslims were going to slaughter the Serbs. Pretty soon the people started believing it.”
“Who was the war in Bosnia between?”
“Good question. It started out with the Serbs against the Muslims and Croats. Then the Muslims and Croats starting fighting each other. They got back together and fought the Serbs again until the peace agreement was signed in Dayton, Ohio, in 1995.”
“What group do you belong to?” Kevin asked hesitantly.
“I’m a Muslim.”
“Were war crimes committed?”
“Oh, definitely. There was brutality on all sides. The Serbs carried out ethnic cleansing, where they would come into a village, take the Muslim men to concentration camps, and force the Muslim women and children to leave. Only Serbs were left, and entire Muslim populations were eliminated. In the camps, the Serbs shot, beat, and tortured Muslim civilians. It was awful.”
“It sounds like World War II all over again.”
“Don’t get me started on that. After World War II, the world leaders said the holocaust would never happen again. Well, it did happen again, in my country, and the world didn’t do anything to stop it.”
Kevin saw the powerful emotions that the war still stirred in Nihudian.
“Enough of the history lesson,” Nihudian said. “Let’s get back to the Tribunal so I don’t get fired.”
Kevin threw their empty containers into a garbage can and walked back to the tram stop with Nihudian.
“Tell me about some of your famous cases,” Nihudian said along the way.
“My cases aren’t that famous. But as long as it’s my turn, I’ll tell you a few of my war stories.” As they rode together on the tram, then walked back to the Tribunal, Kevin regaled Nihudian with the highlights of his prosecution career: a Neo-Nazi group committing murders and armored car robberies to start an all-white state; corrupt public officials taking bribes; bankers looting savings and loans; and police officers shaking down and beating up drug dealers.
When they arrived at the Tribunal, Nihudian said, “Courtroom 2 is going to be dull compared to that. Are you coming to watch today?”
“For a while, I guess.”
Soon, Kevin and his new friend were led back toward the visitors’ booth in Courtroom 2. As they approached the last corridor, Kevin spied the obnoxious prosecutor, Mr. Stone, standing near another guard in the hall about ten feet away.
“That’s him,” Stone said to the guard when Kevin and Nihudian approached.
The guard stepped in front of Nihudian, and handed him a piece of paper. “You have been subpoenaed as a witness for the prosecution,” the guard said to Nihudian. “You must come with me.”
Nihudian recoiled, and looked at the paper he was now holding. Before Kevin could say anything, the guard led him, alone, into the visitors’ booth. The guard banged the metal door shut, and locked Kevin inside.
What was that all about? Kevin wondered. There was no one to ask, though, as he was alone in the monkey cage. He thought about banging on the door, but decided to try to find out what happened at the recess. Kevin donned his headset and listened half-heartedly to Mr. Krasnic, the defense lawyer, take another witness through his testimony.
An hour later, the door to the visitors’ gallery swung open. The female guard who had escorted Kevin to the courtroom appeared. “Come with me, sir.”
Kevin looked at her, thinking there was some mistake. “Me?”
“Just follow me, sir.”
Kevin followed the guard as she marched silently down the corridor. She led Kevin into a windowless room. Kevin saw the room was bare except for a table and three chairs. Sitting in one of the chairs was Nihudian.
“What’s going on?” Kevin asked the guard.
“This man is a witness,” she said curtly. “He says he wants you to be his lawyer.”
Kevin looked at Nihudian. Nihudian was pale, a worried expression on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Kevin, “You’re the only lawyer I know.”
“Mr. Stone will be with you at the next recess,” the guard announced, shutting the door behind Kevin and locking it.
Kevin sat in a plastic chair across the table from Nihudian. “What’s this all about? Are you under arrest or something?”
“They want me to testify about some conversations I overheard. I was in the Muslim army in 1995 when the Serbs began attacking Srebrenica. I was part of a team that intercepted radio communications of the Bosnian Serb Army. Each member of the team worked in shifts, and wrote down the conversations in notebooks. Apparently, the prosecution has gotten access to the notebooks, and they want me to testify.”
“How did they find you?”
“The guard said that they sent a list of witnesses they needed to the Embassy, and the embassy told them they could find me in Courtroom 2.”
“Well, it seems straightforward enough. The prosecution just needs you to authenticate your handwriting in the notebooks so they could use them in court. Do you have any problem with testifying?”
“I have a wife and two little girls in Bosnia. I don’t want anything to happen to them. And if I am a witness, I might lose my job at the Bosnian embassy. They hired me as a neutral person to observe the cases and report what’s going on.”
Kevin nodded. “Those are legitimate concerns. Perhaps you can tell this to the prosecutor. Maybe they can find some way not to use you or keep your identity secret.”
“That is why I wanted a lawyer. Can you help me?”
Kevin thought for a minute. He certainly didn’t want to get on the opposite side of the prosecutor’s office. On the other hand, Nihudian was a witness for the prosecution. They would be on the same side. “I guess I can help you. It seems simple enough.”
Nihudian smiled and his face relaxed. “Thank you so much, Kevin.”
Soon, the door flew open. The prosecutor entered, his black robes flowing behind him. “I’m Bradford Stone,” he said, extending his hand to Nihudian. Then he looked at Kevin.
“I’m Kevin Anderson. Nihudian has asked me to represent him. I’m a federal prosecutor from the United States. I’ve actually been hired by your office to work as a prosecutor, but the funds are frozen so I haven’t started working yet.”
“I see.” Stone’s voice did not reflect any camaraderie. “This man is a simple fact witness. He doesn’t need counsel.”
“Well, he has some concerns about the safety of his family and his employment. I thought I might be able to help him resolve these things.”
“There’s no need,” Stone said emphatically in his clipped British accent. “We can take care of all that.” He turned to Nihudian. “If you’ll just come this way now.”
Nihudian looked at Kevin.
Kevin wasn’t sure what to do.
Nihudian stood up, and so did Kevin.
“You need to wait here,” Stone said to Kevin. “I’ll call a guard to escort you out.”
Kevin was surprised. “I’m the man’s lawyer.”
“No, you’re not.”
Kevin was silent. He didn’t want to offend the prosecutor, but he had promised to help Nihudian. He didn’t know what to say.
Stone turned around and continued toward the door.
Kevin walked on behind him. “What do you mean I’m not his lawyer?”
Stone turned back to face Kevin. “Are you on the list of assigned counsel?” he asked arrogantly.
“No.”
“Then you’re not authorized to be his lawyer, are you? The man is a witness. He doesn’t need a lawyer.”
Kevin looked at Nihudian. Should he just back off? He didn’t want to hurt Nihudian’s standing, nor his own. Nihudian looked scared.
“I want this man to help me,” Nihudian said in a weak voice.
“He’s not authorized to help you. He’s not on the list of assigned counsel.”
Stone reached the door and opened it for Nihudian.
“Nihudian,” Kevin asked, “Do you have a Euro?”
Nihudian and Stone stopped. Nihudian reached into his pocket and produced a Euro coin. Kevin took it from him, and said to Stone, “The man has just retained private counsel. He won’t be needing assigned counsel from the list.”
Stone’s face was crimson; he was clearly agitated. “Both of you – wait right here.” He slammed the door behind him.
Kevin looked at Nihudian.
“The prosecutors here are a bunch of bullies,” Kevin said, shaking his head.
“You are so powerful, Kevin. Just like Johnnie Cochran.”
Kevin groaned. Apparently the O.J. Simpson trial had made its way to Bosnia.
“I am so grateful to have you on my side,” Nihudian said.
“Well, you just got my services for one Euro. Let’s hope you didn’t overpay.”
A few minutes later, Bradford Stone returned.
“Right this way,” he said brusquely, opening the door for Nihudian and Kevin.
They followed him upstairs to an interview room.
“This is Allen Jacobson. He’s one of our investigators.” Stone spoke to Nihudian, ignoring Kevin.
Nihudian and Kevin shook Jacobson’s hand and sat down.
Jacobson produced a notebook and passed it across the table. “Do you recognize your handwriting in this?” he asked Nihudian in accented English.
“Before we get to that,” Kevin interjected, “my client has some concerns about his safety and employment that we would like to clear up.”
“You’ll have to take that up with Mr. Stone,”
Kevin turned and saw that Bradford Stone had left the room.
The investigator opened a page of the notebook.
“Is that your writing?” Jacobson asked Nihudian.
Kevin couldn’t believe these people. “I’m sorry,” he interrupted, “but I’ll need to speak with Mr. Stone before my client answers any questions.” Borrowing a famous line from Brendan Sullivan, the lawyer for Colonel Oliver North in the Iran-Contra hearings, Kevin added, “I am not a potted plant.”
Jacobson shook his head slowly.
Kevin was perplexed. Either he was doing something wrong or these prosecutors had no respect for people’s rights.
Jacobson frowned, got up from his chair, and left the room without saying a word.
“I hope I’m not getting you in trouble, Nihudian.”
Nihudian rubbed his forehead. “I hope I’m not getting you in trouble, Kevin.” He looked at the notebook on the table. “Do you want me to see if this is my writing?”
“No. Interview rooms are often bugged with hidden microphones. I don’t think we should talk about anything here.”
Kevin and Nihudian sat in silence.
After a few minutes, the door opened and Jacobson walked in with another man. “This is Charles Oswald. He’s the Chief Deputy Prosecutor.”
Oswald offered his hand to Kevin. He was an older man, mid-fifties perhaps, with white hair, a jowly face, and glasses. He spoke with an accent that Kevin thought was from Australia or New Zealand. “Mr. Anderson, what seems to be the problem?”
Kevin explained Nihudian’s concerns about his family and his job at the Bosnian embassy. He tried to be as friendly as possible. After all, Oswald might be his future boss.
When Kevin had finished, Oswald replied, “We deal with these things all the time. There is no problem. It is most unusual for a witness to have counsel, however.”
“I’m really just trying to help him out,” Kevin said in a conciliatory tone. “Perhaps you can explain how you will address his concerns and we can get on with the interview.”
“Yes, well, I’ll have Mr. Stone come back here and do that. Good day.”
With that, Oswald turned and left the room.
Bradford Stone appeared a few minutes later. “I understand I’m to give you a lecture in witness procedures,” he said sarcastically to Kevin. He sat down and explained that Nihudian’s identity would not be revealed to anyone other than the defense lawyers and that he would be referred to in court by letter and not name. There would be no need to tell the Bosnian Embassy that Nihudian was testifying.
Kevin was anxious to smooth over any feathers that were ruffled, and Nihudian appeared to be satisfied with the prosecutor’s assurances.
Jacobson again opened the notebook. “Can we go ahead now, counselor?” he asked Kevin, a hint of bitterness in his voice.
“Sure.”
Nihudian identified his writing in the notebook and explained how the notebooks were prepared simultaneously while he was listening to the Bosnian Serb Army radio communications.
Jacobson and Stone seemed satisfied, and ended the interview in half an hour.
“You cannot go back into Courtroom 2 until after you’ve testified,” Stone instructed Nihudian. “You’ll be testifying a week from tomorrow. In the meantime, the defense attorneys might contact you for an interview. There’s no need to talk to them.”
Kevin bristled. Where he came from it was unethical for a prosecutor to discourage a witness from talking to the defense.
“We’ll make that decision if and when he’s asked,” Kevin asserted.
Stone shot him a cold look. “Be in the lobby promptly at 8:30 in the morning next Wednesday,” he said to Nihudian.
Kevin hoped that now that Nihudian had proven to be a useful witness, his own standing with the prosecutor would improve. He wanted to end their meeting on a good note. “I’ll just watch Nihudian’s testimony from the visitors’ gallery,” he told Stone as they were leaving.
Stone stopped and turned to Kevin.
“Yes, do that,” he said, his voice dripping with scorn. “You won’t be seeing the inside of the courtroom anytime soon. Your career here as a prosecutor is over before it even started. Pity.”
With that said, Bradford Stone stormed away.