A very concerned woman newsreader was standing in front of a map of the Netherlands. “The body of Harm de Rijn was discovered in his car, an apparent suicide. The car was found in his garage with the engine running. His wife told investigators that he had been severely depressed since testifying before the International Criminal Court.” A knock at the door demanded their attention.
“That was quick,” Hank said. He padded to the door and let Jason in.
“There’s a pretty ugly crowd outside,” Jason said.
“In Holland?”
“Yeah, in Holland. I’ve got a security team in place. Stay inside.” He didn’t tell them the security team had been guarding them from the very first and that he had one guarding Aly and her parents. “But I can’t locate Melwin.”
Catherine was standing in the doorway to the bedroom. “Try Marie Doorn’s apartment.”
“What the hell is he doing there?” Hank asked.
“They seem to have clicked,” Catherine replied.
“Cassandra,” Hank said, “do you have Marie Doorn’s address?”
Delft, the Netherlands
The light was still on in Marie Doorn’s small third-floor apartment when Jason arrived shortly after midnight. He was not surprised when Marie answered his knock dressed in a silk negligee. He spoke briefly to Melwin and, satisfied that all was well, returned to his car. He wrapped a lap robe around his shoulders and used a night scope to scan the apartment building a hundred yards away. He punched at his cell phone and called for another security team. The controller told him a team was on the way, and that all was quiet at the Amstel Intercontinental and the van der Nord farm. Jason settled down to wait for the team.
“Oh, oh,” he murmured. Two men were walking down the side of the apartment building, headed for the rear entrance. He bolted from the car and punched at his cell phone as he ran for the apartment. “I got two unknowns inside Doorn’s building. Going in.” The controller told him the security team was ten to twelve minutes away. Jason drew his 9mm Glock and chambered a round. He was through the front door and bounding up the stairs. He reached the third floor and cracked the stairwell door leading into the hallway. Nothing.
He checked the hallway again. The door to Doorn’s apartment was cracked open.
How had he missed that? Before he could move, two muffled shots, little more than loud pops, echoed from the apartment. He crouched at the doorway as two more pops carried down the hall. A bitter taste flooded Jason’s mouth. He was too late and two people were dead. The two men emerged from the apartment. The first one headed for the stairwell as the other closed the door and walked quickly away in the other direction.
Jason drew back into the shadows and waited. He shifted the Glock to his left hand. The door slowly opened and a man came through. He headed for the stairs and didn’t see Jason at his back. “Freeze,” Jason ordered. The man was a blur of motion as he spun around and kicked at the Glock with his right foot. But Jason was quicker. He raised the Glock and caught the man’s ankle with his right hand. He held him off balance, his hand a crushing vice. The man drew a small semi-automatic and fired. The bullet creased Jason’s bicep and smashed into the wall. Jason reacted automatically and twisted the man’s leg. The man jerked and pulled his leg free as Jason drove a fist into his chest. The assailant stumbled backwards and pitched over the side of the railing. His scream came to an abrupt halt when he bounced off the concrete floor three stories below. The semi-automatic clattered as it bounced, an ending punctuation. Jason charged down the stairs.
Outside, he saw a shadow hurrying down the walk and gave chase. The man saw him and ran. Jason breathed easily as he chased the man, in no hurry to catch him. He wanted to run him a bit to tire him out. He put on a burst of speed when the man reached a parked car and jumped inside. The engine roared to life as Jason reached the car. The man slammed the car into gear and twisted the steering wheel as Jason squeezed off a round into the windshield. He missed. But like so many European windshields, it splintered into a thousand bits and shreds, momentarily blinding the driver. Jason fired a second round through the opening. This one tore off the driver’s ear. The car crashed into a parked minivan.
Jason dragged the man out of the car and spread-eagled him against the minivan. “I always give a man a choice,” he said. “Talk or start bleeding.” The man spat in Jason’s face. “Your choice,” Jason growled. He squeezed off a third shot and shattered the back of the man’s right knee. He screamed in pain as Jason jammed the muzzle into his rectum, lifting him clear of the ground. “I always give a man a choice …”
TWENTY-THREE
The Hague
It was early Friday morning and Marci Lennox’s crew switched on small high
intensity floodlights, lighting the Palace’s deserted forecourt. She looked into the camera. “A triple tragedy with the suicide of Harm de Rijn and the brutal murder of defense counsel Alex Melwin and his legal assistant, Marie Doorn, has stunned this small and normally placid country. Harm de Rijn had often been called the Netherlands’ Walter Cronkite, and apparently took his own life after it was revealed that he was employed by Saddam Hussein’s regime during the Gulf War of 1991.
“The demonstrations that swept through Amsterdam following the news of de Rijn’s suicide melted away in the aftermath of the double killing which has all the earmarks of an execution-style murder. The murder is under investigation, and we are told that the trial will remain adjourned at least until Monday.”
Jason spread the stark crime photos on the office’s conference table as Hank, Aly, and Catherine crowded around him. “They’re two thugs from Marseilles. The one who took the header down the stairwell was the leader. The one I convinced to talk claims ‘the Family’ let the contract for the hit and that’s all he knows. The Rijkspolitie, that’s the Dutch national police, says the Family is a group of Corsicans that provides whatever services the underworld might require, and I was lucky to get the thug to even admit the Family was involved. So we’re pretty much at a dead end.”
“Are the police going to charge you?” Hank asked.
“As far as the Dutch are concerned, I did them a favor.”
Hank thought for a moment. “Why Alex and Marie?”
Jason shook his head. “We’ll never know, not now. But I think they were going after you and couldn’t hack it. So they took out who they could.”
“Why would they do that?” Catherine asked.
“According to the Rijkspolitie, it’s the way the Family does business. Cash on the barrelhead and it’s a matter of honor to provide results.”
Catherine was still confused. “Why couldn’t they get to Hank?”
“Let’s just say we had his back.”
Catherine was very worried. “Is Hank safe?”
Jason nodded. “Oh, yeah. Count on it.”
Catherine’s eyes opened wide as the pieces came together. “By any chance do your people drive a blue Mercedes?”
A little smile flickered across Jason’s lips. It was time they knew. “Sure do. If you get in trouble and need help, look for it or a silver Audi.” He studied the two lawyers for a moment. “So where do we go from here?”
Hank paced the floor. “The game’s changed.” He opened his percom and sat it on the table. “Folks, meet Cassandra.” He explained how the personal communicator worked and let them get acquainted. Then, “Cassandra, what’s your estimate of the situation?”
“Losing Alex was a major setback,” she replied. “He knew how to argue the legal issues and most of the judges on the court listened to him. Now that he’s gone, we’re very worried about keeping the Reverend Person’s statement out.”
“Have you been able to establish contact with Person?” Hank asked.
“Not yet. There is a report that a supply convoy got through to the mission.”
“Is the airfield open?” Jason asked.
“It’s reported closed,” Cassandra replied.
“Gus claims that Toby would never make that statement,” Hank said. “At this point, I’m willing to go with that. But we’re back to the basic problem; getting him here.”
“We contacted the State Department,” Cassandra said. “No help there. They said the United States is hands-off in the Sudan. Even if we got to him, we don’t know if he would agree to testify.”
Hank stopped his pacing and looked at Jason. “If we can work something out, would you go get him?”
“In a heartbeat,” Jason replied. “Toby will remember me and listen.”
“Cassandra, can you make that happen?” Hank asked.
“I’ll get right on it.”
“So what do we do for now?” Jason asked.
“I’d suggest you pack,” Cassandra answered.
Bouchard’s opening remarks when he reconvened the court on Monday were somber and fitting, and, for the first time, Hank saw a hint of humanity as he paid tribute to Alex Melwin and Marie Doorn. Denise stood when the judge finished and added her condolences. Bouchard thanked her and turned to Hank who was sitting alone at the table. “The court will hear with favor any request for a postponement.”
Gus came to his feet. “Your Honor, if I may.” Bouchard granted him leave to speak. “As you may know, I had many differences with Alex Melwin when he was first appointed as my defense counsel. But as time passed, I came to trust him and respect his judgment. Alex was many things, imperfect in some ways, but in one thing constant and true. He believed in this court and what it stands for. He once wrote that ‘the court is seriously flawed but at same time it is a beacon for our future.’ Perhaps the best way we can honor Alex Melwin is to continue, to remedy those flaws and find that beacon that he spoke of.”
For a moment, there was only silence. Then Della Sante stood and bowed her head. “You honor us, Signore.”
“If there is no objection,” Bouchard said, “we will continue.” Routinely, he asked if there were any issues for the court. Denise said no as Hank came to his feet. Bouchard closed his eyes and took a deep breath in obvious frustration. “Yes, Monsieur Sutherland?”
“If it may please the court; reference is made to the Prosecutor’s petition ‘Initiation of Investigation into United States War Crimes in Iraq, March 19, 2003, to January 20, 2009.’ The prosecutor was granted permission by the court to proceed with the investigation on October sixth of this year. However, she exceeded the intent of the court when she extended the investigation outside of the aforementioned dates. Therefore, the prosecutor lacked the authority to arrest and charge the defendant, and he must be released immediately.” He handed the blue-covered petition to the clerk and sat down.
Denise smiled indulgently. “This is a minor matter of little more consequence than a typographical error.”
“Is it?” Hank asked.
Bouchard’s face went rigid. “Monsieur Sutherland, you are splitting hairs and the court agrees with the …”
Richter interrupted. “I find this very troublesome and urge the court to take defense council’s petition under immediate review.” He closed his notebook with finality.
Bouchard’s face turned a mottled red, and his jaw quivered as he spoke. “We are adjourned until further notice.” He stood and hurried out without waiting for the other two judges.
Hank turned to Catherine and Jason. “How about that?”
“You’ve openly split them,” Catherine replied.
Denise’s high-heels clicked an angry tattoo on the parquet floor when she stormed into Bouchard’s office. She ripped off her robe and dropped it on his secretary’s desk as she passed. “He’s not to be disturbed,” the secretary warned. Denise ignored her and pushed through the double doors. The secretary picked up the phone. “Aly,” she began.
Bouchard came to his feet, his anger matching hers. “I’m tired of these endless challenges to the court’s authority,” he snapped.
“At least we agree on that. Stop him.”
“And how am I to do that?”
Denise paced the floor. “Delay. Let these foolish petitions pile up.”
“I can’t. Richter is pressing for final arguments before Christmas and Della Sante is questioning everything now.”
“Which one is dissenting on your rulings?”
“Both. Fortunately, they’ve split so far but, sooner or later, they will agree.” The intercom buzzed and his secretary announced that Sutherland was outside. He glared at the offending instrument. “I’m in conference.” The door banged open and Hank barged in.
“If you two meet once more without me, I’ll file a protest with Relieu and go public.”
“We are all officers of the court,” Bouchard protested. “President Relieu encourages cooperation at all levels.”
“But not in secret. Do you want to see how that one plays with the media?” He held the door and motioned for Denise to leave. She hesitated for a moment and then walked out.
New York, New York
Elizabeth ‘Liz’ Gordon, CNC-TV’s premier anchorwoman hosting the evening newscast, spun around in her chair and faced the large screen, her trademark short skirt and long legs in full view. Marci Lennox was on the screen, standing in the deserted courtroom. “Marci, what exactly is going on?”
“Liz, it appears that Hank Sutherland is pounding at the very legitimacy of the court and has apparently split the three judges hearing the case.”
“Is there any substance to the rumor we’ve been hearing over here about Iraq?”
“I can confirm that Iraq has ratified the Rome Statute and is now a member of the International Criminal Court, which makes it the third Arabic country to do so.”
“What impact will that have on the case?”
“It is far too early to tell and given the unpredictability we’ve witnessed so far, I would not even want to hazard a guess.”
“Well, it does sound exciting.”
Marci grew even more serious. “Not if your name is Gus Tyler.”