Vanguard (23 page)

“Peacekeeping mission.” Jaros spat out the term like an obscenity.” A farce contrived by the UN Security Council in order to prevent the Soviet Republic from exercising its veto powers.”

Michael ignored the comment and continued. “The press conference will include the announcement that UN peacekeeping forces will be headed by Major General Cecil Wilder of the United Kingdom.” This information was classified, and the Commandant would surely know that. Jaros’ pale blue eyes gleamed, and he leaned forward slightly.

“A total of twenty-one countries will be sending troops and observers, a tremendous show of support for a UN peacekeeping mission.” He paused to see Jaros’ reaction to this piece of information. How much of this the Commandant already knew through his own intelligence channels was unknown. What Michael needed to do was to ensure his own credibility as a source in the Commandant’s mind.

“You are well informed. Please go on.”

“The mission’s primary mandate is to secure Parnaas, and ensure that the refugees are being treated in a humane fashion. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees will join the Refugee Crisis Coalition in the camp, and eventually take control of operations here.”

The commandant’s expression tightened, as if he smelled something bad. “Not an unexpected development, but we will see. These things take time, much more time than the Security Council always anticipates. A great deal can happen between now and when your soldiers arrive. ”

Michael paused a moment. Then he played his first card, classified information Maxwell had given him on the phone earlier today.

“It will be announced at the press conference that Yejida Matunga will accompany the UNHCR at the direct request of the United Nations Security Council.”

Jaros’ left eyelid twitched suddenly, his face suddenly tensing. The two guards glanced at the Commandant, then at Michael, not understanding what had passed between them.

“You are familiar with Prosecutor Matunga,” Michael observed.

“Her work is known in the Soviet Republic, as it is throughout the world.” The Commandant drank from a bottle of water and quickly regained his composure. “Again, I fail to see how this is relevant. The Prosecutor of the International Criminal Court will be disappointed if she hopes to find evidence of war crimes in Parnaas.”

Planning to dispose of your handiwork before she arrives, Commandant? Think again.

“Regardless, the Soviet Republic does not permit the International Criminal Court to have jurisdiction over its citizens.” Michael heard a note of triumph in the Commandant’s voice. “We are not a signatory to that treaty and do not acknowledge that body’s authority. Or lack thereof.”

“True,” he said. “However, the war crimes alleged to have been committed in this camp – by your own hand, I might add – did not occur on Soviet soil. They were committed on Orlisian soil. Orlisia is a signatory to the treaty that formed the International Criminal Court. This means you can and will be compelled to appear before the court, if so ordered.”

“This is not Orlisia. This is Soviet territory.” Jaros’ eyes flashed with rage, his lips pulling back from his teeth.

The smile on Michael’s face vanished, and he leaned forward.

“Not in the eyes of the United Nations, Commandant,” he whispered in Orlisian. He saw Jaros’ hand go up to signal his guards. Michael moved his American passport forward so it caught the Commandant’s eye.

“Ah-ah, my friend.” Michael reverted to his flat American accent. “You don’t want to shoot me. I’m too well connected to be disposed of quietly.”

“I do not know who you are,” the older man snarled, “but it will not take me long to find out. And all you have accomplished is to provide me with advance warning as to the United Nations’ intentions. I can return to Moscow before any subpoena is issued. The UN cannot invade the Soviet Republic to retrieve me; that is far beyond the mandate of any peacekeeping mission.”

Last card.

“But what if your government does not protect you, Commandant Jaros?” He kept his voice soft, persuasive. “Your efforts to lay claim to the young men in this camp were done without sanction of your superior officers. On seeing the evidence of your war crimes, the Soviet ambassador to the United Nations is right now considering his options. One of which is surrendering you to the tribunal directly. Perhaps your country does not wish to be caught harboring 2014’s answer to Heinrich Himmler.”

Jaros’ eyes bugged at the mention of the former Nazi commander who had died at his own hand rather than face justice for engineering the death camps of World War II.

“Perhaps more detail will be shared at the press conference,” Michael suggested. “Have you the facilities to watch it here?”

The Commandant composed himself and took a laptop from a shelf beside him. After several long minutes, CNN appeared on the screen, and shortly thereafter, the press conference began. The spokesperson for UN Secretary-General opened, and Michael prayed that his father’s information had been good.

Major General Cecil Wilder was introduced as the leader of the Orlisian peacekeeping operation, and he took the podium to answer selected questions about the mission. He handed off to the UN High Commissioner for Refugees himself, who spoke at length about the Parnaas camp.

Jaros watched the screen impassively. So far all of Michael’s information had checked out, but nothing truly classified had been shared yet. The spokesperson for the Secretary-General began talking again, and Michael saw the Commandant’s body posture stiffen.

“Following a request by the UN Security Council, International Criminal Court Prosecutor Yejida Matunga will begin a joint investigation into allegations of war crimes stemming from evidence and eyewitness accounts at the Parnaas Refugee Camp near the Orlisian border.” Matunga took the podium, gave a brief statement, and began accepting questions. Two or three reporters asked about the situation. Michael tensed when the spokesperson called on the world affairs reporter from the
Washington Post.

Please tell me Father got to her in time…

“It is my understanding that many of these eyewitness accounts are from the Refugee Crisis Coalition, currently working in the Parnaas camp. How much consideration will be given to the coalition and in particular the testimony of coalition leader, Sophie Swenda?”

Jaros didn’t move as the reporter took her seat and the prosecutor said that the Refugee Crisis Coalition would indeed be called upon for testimony and that their records would be subpoenaed by the Office of the Prosecutor.

“Anyone with information germane to the investigation could be called upon to testify. We expect that list to include Ms. Swenda and other members of the coalition executive committee, especially those with firsthand contact with the refugees who are alleged to have had war crimes visited upon them,” she concluded, and the spokesperson called for the next question. Jaros closed the computer and turned to face Michael, his face impassive.

“Sophie Swenda.” The Commandant tapped his pen on the desk. “How is my dear Sophie?”

“Lying in the infirmary, suffering from dysentery.” At least that much was true.

Jaros’ face clouded over. “I am distressed to hear this. You will convey my good wishes for recovery to her?”

He nodded. Just the sound of Sophie’s name on this madman’s lips made him want to commit an atrocity of his own.

“It appears that Sophie holds a great deal of influence over my fate,” Jaros said with a twisted smile.

“So it does. In fact, you would do well to stay in the good graces of the entire coalition executive team, I believe.”

Jaros pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed. Although it is hard to imagine what else I could do to make them feel more welcome here in this new Soviet territory. We have already given them all our hospitality.”

Michael bit the inside of his lip to keep from screaming. “Perhaps I could offer a suggestion.”

“I thought you might,” the Commandant said dryly.

“I first recommend clemency for the refugees. The kind of clemency that ensures no further ‘accidents’ of any kind occur.”

“A wise suggestion. But many have already met with unfortunate mishaps. What of them?”

“What’s done is done, Commandant. It cannot be changed. Nor can it be denied as the coalition has documented many of those affected. That documentation is already in New York, I should add. Of course, those refugees will be carefully monitored in the coming weeks to ensure none of them meets with any further accidents.” Jaros’ eyes blazed at Michael’s warning.

He continued. “Perhaps offering specific aid – or permitting the coalition to do so – could repair some of the damage? Many international interests would be willing to assist. I suggest you seek Dr. Shah’s advice on this matter.”
Translation: Anjali can recommend plastic surgeons around the world who could fix up the men you have mutilated.

“A unique goodwill gesture!” Jaros cried gleefully. Michael nearly broke a piece off the chair keeping his hands to himself. “Your advice is sound, Mr. Trent. Have you any more for me?”

Michael paused for effect, thinking. “The unfortunate young man back in the coalition camp…” He waited to see if Jaros would pick up the thread.

“The one Sophie used to develop the vaccine that stopped the pneumonia outbreak?” Jaros asked carelessly. “What of him? My guards tell me he is on the brink of death. Has he died?”

Michael looked at the Commandant, aware of the irony of the question. Was he dead?
You might be after tonight
, said a helpful voice in the back of his mind.

The person he’d been when he’d left for Orlisia last summer no longer existed. Most of him had been burned away by his horrifying time in the resistance. The remaining part had died as he had sat beside Sophie’s bed, watching her fight against the dysentery and realizing what an utter fool he had been for the last decade. Perhaps the terrible act he’d visited on her earlier that day was the final echo of a lifetime of pride and misplaced anger.

“Yes,” he said. “He is dead. It would be a significant gesture on your part, Commandant, to allow the coalition to return the body to the young man’s family, wherever they might reside. He did not appear to have any family with him in Parnaas. A fitting end for one who gave his life for the benefit of others. It also demonstrates your willingness to cooperate with Ms. Swenda’s wishes.” There was such a long pause that Michael thought he had lost him for a moment.

“Of the prisoner and his resting place, I care nothing,” said Jaros. “But for Sophie Swenda, I have much respect. If it pleases her to do this, I’ll allow it. I expect the two guards to return to me once the body is disposed of.”

“I believe these gestures will improve your standing with the coalition executive.” Michael glanced out the window as if in surprise. “It is dark. I should return to the camp in order to debrief the team.” He rose and, with an inward shudder, extended his hand to the man who had violated Orlisia’s citizens and mutilated the woman he loved. Jaros shook it, and they walked together to the door, followed by the guards.

“I hope we have the pleasure of future conversations, Mr. Trent.” Jaros turned to him as they reached the door. “For an Orlisian, you have a lively mind. You remind me much of Sophie herself.”

Michael gave his first genuine smile of the entire wretched interview. “That is one of the finest compliments anyone has ever paid me, Commandant. Good day, sir.”

He waited for the bullet to enter his back as he walked across the gravel. The coalition vehicles were gone, save for his SUV and one Jeep. He was shocked to see Will sitting in it, shivering against the encroaching night wind and smoking a cigarette.

“Tobacco is harmful to your health,” Michael grunted as he approached his vehicle.

“So my wife tells me. Which is why I only smoke when I’m hanging around outside refugee camps in the dead of winter waiting for people who have no business being alive to appear at the side of my car.”

He extended the pack to Michael, who took one and attempted to light it off Will’s. Michael’s hands shook so badly that he dropped both in the dirt.

“Rats.” Will cranked the engine, which started with a protesting groan in the cold. “Oh well, better for both of us, I guess. Anjali hates it when I smoke. Are you good to drive, or do you want to come with me? The SUV might survive the night out here. I mean, stranger things have happened.”

“No, I can drive,” Michael said. “But I will follow you as I am less familiar with the road in the dark.” He climbed into the SUV, gunned the engine, and drove out behind the Jeep.

~~ - ~~

He had created an intricate house of cards, built on illusion, promises, and favors – the currency of Eastern Europe and a building block of the society in which he had grown up.

Almost everything Michael had told the Commandant was true, information provided to him by Maxwell during his conversation that morning. All he’d done was reveal it to Jaros in such a way as to make him look reliably informed. Get one reporter to ask a question that suggested Sophie Swenda’s testimony could carry significant weight when it came to the Commandant’s case. Then tell Jaros a few ways by which he might keep Sophie’s favor.

Almost everything was true. Except that the Soviet Republic would never give up one of its own to the UN Security Council or the International Criminal Court. Maxwell had said as much that morning. Someone had already made the error of making such a suggestion to the Soviet ambassador to the UN. The ambassador had reportedly struck that unfortunate individual in the face.