AFTER CLEARING HIS THROAT AND glancing down at his notes, Judge Korlov continued.
“What we did not hear—nor did we expect to hear—was testimony relating to the international aspects of the armed conflict involved in this case. The basic facts surrounding the actions of the BATCOM unit and Colonel Marlowe, on behalf of the United States of America within the sovereign territory of the nation–state of Mexico, are essentially uncontroverted. They are not contradicted. They seem to be assumed by all parties.
“Colonel Marlowe—indeed, the Solicitor General’s Office of the United States in its amicus brief—argues that the BATCOM unit was there because of the U.S. war on terrorism. The office of the esteemed prosecutor seems to agree that was the putative reason, but argues that the occurrence itself at Chacmool clearly exceeded any tactical or military advantage that might have justified the killing of four innocent human beings. Thus, those are the undisputed positions of all of the parties here. That is the framework of this case. That is also, we regret to add, the dilemma facing this tribunal.”
As Korlov concluded his remarks, he folded his hands in front of him, and the two other judges—one on each side—stared directly ahead.
“The dilemma is simply this—the actions of the United States government, and Colonel Caleb Marlowe in particular, show a disregard for the human rights of Mexican citizens—indeed, show a disrespect for the sovereignty of Mexico.”
It was at that point Will considered rising to object. The court had not even heard the closing arguments from counsel, and it appeared to be issuing its decision of guilt. However, something told the attorney he should hold his peace.
He was glad he did.
“Nevertheless,” the judge intoned, glancing over at the bank of interpreters behind the glass wall along the side of the courtroom, and then looking back, directly at Will Chambers, “it is the decision of this tribunal—”
But before he could continue, Judge Ponti reached over and grasped his arm. The two began arguing vigorously. It looked like Ponti was making a last-ditch effort to redirect the tribunal’s decision. Korlov was shaking his head. The French judge’s hands were now frantically jabbing the air. The Russian judge argued back. Judge Brucker of Germany, expressionless, was leaning into the discussion, but listening only.
Ponti raised his voice one more time, but Korlov had reached his limit. He slammed the palms of both hands down on the bench. And then he raised his voice and gave his final response to his associate—one that could be heard throughout the room and needed no interpreting.
“Nyet!” he said forcefully.
Then he turned back to the courtroom and continued reading the decision.
“The defense motion for acquittal…that motion must be granted.”
Will, Redgrove, Jacki, and Marlowe all simultaneously jumped up from their seats. The professor thrust his hand into that of his colleague’s and whispered, “Well done, well done!” Will was momentarily numb.
Judge Korloff hammered his gavel to quiet the defense bench and then continued. “There is an ambiguity within an element of the war-crimes offense that is the subject of this case. It is not entirely clear that the episode here, issuing as it does from America’s self-proclaimed ‘war on terrorism’ qualified as a form of ‘international armed conflict’ within the language or the intent of Article 8, Section 2(b)(iv) of the War Crimes Code. Because this is a criminal case, we must err, under the well-known doctrine of lenity, on the side of disfavoring a conviction based on a criminal code of uncertain interpretation. This case is dismissed. The accused is hereby ordered discharged from custody.”
From somewhere Will heard a gasp—he was not sure where. But before he could wrap his thoughts around the immensity of what he had just heard, Les Forges dashed to the podium, her arms outstretched.
“Your Honors, I strenuously object. We do have a right of appeal under ICC procedure. Before I can make a decision on an appeal, I would respectfully request that the accused be detained in custody, rather than released.”
Will was halfway to the podium to counter her argument when Judge Korlov signaled for him to sit down.
“The request is denied, Madame Prosecutor. You may make the decision to appeal if you wish, but the accused is released.”
Francine Les Forges was stunned—she stood for a moment with her eyes wide open and unblinking. Then she cocked her jaw and tossed her head ever so slightly—like a teenage socialite who suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, found herself without a date for the ball.
She was too immersed in the agony of her own defeat to notice Atavar Strinsky, who was seated at the counsel table struggling not to smile.
Not that it would have made any difference if Strinsky had broken into a grin. He had been out interviewing anyway and had already secured a new position—with a large law firm in Belgium specializing in EU trade law. In a few weeks he would give notice to his superior and the personnel administrator at the ICC.
And so all three judges rose to their feet, and at a quickstep, disappeared from the courtroom through the chambers door, followed by two of the armed bailiffs.
Another took a smiling, relieved Caleb Marlowe down to the detention area to gather his personal effects.
Len Redgrove wrapped his arms around Will in a huge bear hug, and whispered, almost in tears, “God bless you, Will. Magnificent.”
Jacki was clapping her hands and laughing, struggling to find an adequate response—but failing.
“You better get outside in the corridor—the press is going to be salivating for a comment on this. This is most incredible!” Redgrove declared.
Will turned to his old law professor. He smiled and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Len,” he said with a smile, “I want to go down and escort Marlowe out of the jail myself, and I would greatly appreciate it if you and Jacki could go face the media hounds and give them some good sound bites—what little you can actually say. You know how to do it. You know the routine.”
He paused. “And thank you both. From the bottom of my heart.”
Will took a side door out, went down to the detention center, and announced to the jailers he was there to escort Marlowe out of the building after his release. They acknowledged they would let him know when his client would be free to go.
Will understood there would be paperwork and a processing procedure that might take some time. But after nearly an hour, Will grew tired of waiting.
“Would you check on the status of Colonel Marlowe? He was discharged by the court more than an hour ago. How are we doing with his release?”
The jailer agreed to check and she disappeared behind a door. Another twenty minutes went by.
Then the jailer returned, shaking her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said with a thick accent, “Colonel Marlowe has already been discharged. He’s left the detention center.”
“Did he leave a message for me? I’m his defense counsel. He was supposed to meet with me.”
The jailer simply shook her head. Puzzled, Will left the building and walked out onto the street. Briefcase in his hand, he walked along it toward the harbor on the North Sea. It was good to get some fresh air to clear his head. He wanted to call Fiona immediately and tell her the great news, but he was wondering what to do about his client…and about the strange feeling of foreboding in the pit of his stomach. When he reached the water, he dropped his briefcase at his feet, and leaned against one of the large gray posts with a tourist telescope.
Then he sensed someone’s presence and looked up. It was a familiar face, a familiar uniform. Standing next to him at the North Sea harbor was Lieutenant General Cal Tucker.
Tucker extended his big hand and shook Will’s firmly.
“Congratulations,” he said, smiling.
“You heard the good news about Colonel Marlowe?”
The general nodded.
“You came all the way here to follow the outcome?”
“In a way, I did,” Tucker said. “I came in with some of the Navy. Your little case here came close to an international incident.”
“How much can you tell me?”
“Just this. Earlier this morning, the President of the United States sent a letter to the President of the International Criminal Court. Putting the ICC on notice that Marlowe’s continued detention posed a risk to the national security of the United States.”
Will nodded. He now understood what the note had been that Judge Korlov had received during the last day of the trial.
“I suppose you can’t tell me what the president would have done if the ICC had found Marlowe guilty?”
“You’re right,” General Tucker replied. Then he gave Will another handshake and quickly walked back to his waiting aides, who escorted him to a small landing craft. In a few minutes, Will saw the vessel motoring rapidly out of sight.