“Good!” O’Connell replied sarcastically. “See there? You can do it if you try to get to the blasted point. Very well. You are challenging Mr. Campbell, here, to provide some reliable proof that the Interpol warrant is based on substance, and I happen to agree with you. Mr. Campbell? What evidence exists that would justify an Irish arrest warrant and extradition order, beyond the fact that an unknown Peruvian judge wants Harris arrested?”
Stuart Campbell rose smoothly to his feet, his six-foot-four frame towering over the table and dominating Jay’s field of vision. He introduced the existence of the videotape, where and how it had been made, and offered document after document to validate it with sworn statements from Barry Reynolds, along with evidence of who physically possessed it and how it had been kept under tight control.
Jay scribbled notes furiously during the presentation and passed them in a constant stream to Michael Garrity as copies of each document were handed over by Campbell’s staff. He could feel the GSM phone vibrating at one point, but he had no time to answer it, and the subsequent small vibrations told him a message was waiting, which he’d have to get to later.
Mike… pls object to this!!! The tape was illegally obtained.
This sworn statement he’s offering merely states that he swears he’s making the statement, not that it’s true!
B.S.! He wants the judge to accept the idea that the technology for this kind of tape existed during John Harris’s term. He needs an expert for that! We don’t know if it did or not, and the presumption should not be our burden.
Michael objected repeatedly to every document, and he was overruled every time.
“Sit down, Mr. Garrity,” O’Connell finally barked. “I am going to receive any and all documents that even appear to be genuine, and then I will decide whether they should be considered real. I’ll hear no more objections on that point.”
“My Lord,” Campbell said at last, “with your permission, I should like to show the court the videotape in question.”
Michael was on his feet instantly. “My Lord, please.”
“What now, Mr. Garrity? Surely you’re not going risk a contempt citation by entering yet another objection contrary to my orders?”
“My Lord, the truth regarding the inadmissibility of this proffered videotape is being wrongly sequestered by My Lord’s orders forbidding me to object. I would beg the court’s leave to apply for a writ of habeas corpus to release that truth.”
O’Connell shook his head in disgust. “Good heavens, Mr. Garrity! That’s a precious and somewhat entertaining attempt, but the process of habeas corpus, as you well know, for approximately six hundred years, has been used to release human beings, not the truth as you see it. Overruled.”
“My Lord,” Michael continued, “had you not banned me from objecting to the showing of this tape, I would be pointing out at this moment that our code of criminal procedure prohibits the use of illegally collected evidence, and this tape under U.S. law is illegally made, and thus inadmissible in Irish proceedings.”
“But, in fact,” O’Connell said, leaning partially over the bench and shaking a gavel at him, “I have banned you from doing so, and thus I’ve heard not a syllable of what you’re not supposed to have said in the first place. Now SIT DOWN, Mr. Garrity, so I can view this tape before we all die of old age.”
FORTY-FIVE
While Sherry Lincoln had been in the cockpit using the satellite phone, neither Craig nor Alastair said anything about the tight fuel status or their return to Dublin. She spoke a few words into the phone, sighed, and handed it back to Craig.
“Couldn’t get through?”
“He’s in court. I’m sure he can’t answer it. I left a message.”
“Come back up anytime if you want to try again.”
“Thanks, fellows,” she said, moving out of the cockpit and closing the door behind her.
Alastair had been working a separate air-to-air radio frequency and quietly polling other aircraft flying the North Atlantic Track System for the latest winds displayed on their onboard flight computers, precisely accurate readouts not immediately available to weather forecasters. Craig was monitoring Shanwick Control and listening as well to the other frequency Alastair was on. He heard the copilot thank another flight crew, then sit up and look left. “I think we’d better try flight level three one zero,” Alastair said quietly.
“Why?”
“That was an eastbound flight about two hundred miles ahead of us. A seven forty-seven. He’s at three one now and getting winds of zero six five true at thirty knots. There’s an Airbus A340 at three seven zero just twenty ahead of him bucking headwinds of zero six six at fifty-four knots.”
The expression on Craig’s face was one Alastair did not want to see, but it was clear that the captain understood.
“Alastair, we had a tailwind coming out here! We still have…” Craig looked at the wind display on his flight computer. “Uh, oh… almost zero wind.”
“The low is coming south, Craig, and we’re flying into the counterclockwise flow.”
“My God, how fast is it moving?”
“Fifty to sixty knots at least, maybe faster. This wasn’t forecast.”
There was an eternity of silence before Craig spoke again. “So, what does this do to our fuel projections?”
“Nothing pretty. If those winds are correct, we can’t make it back to Dublin, even with dry tanks.”
“It really is Galway, then?”
Alastair nodded. “And getting a bit tight at that.”
Craig’s face turned dead serious. “Alastair, you’re not telling me we’re going to have trouble making the coast of Ireland now, are you?”
The absence of an immediate demur froze Craig’s blood as he watched the copilot sigh and hold a hand out, palm up. “I think we’ll make Galway, but without a lot of reserves. We… turned around a little late.”
“Oh my Lord!” Craig said, almost under his breath.
“That’s why we should go down to flight level three one zero, Craig. We gain more speed than we lose fuel economy.”
Craig nodded. “Call Shanwick Control. Let’s do it. We have to make this work, old buddy.”
Stuart Campbell had already connected his video camera to the television monitor. At a nod from Mr. Justice O’Connell he pressed the “play” button, just as several reporters filed into the back of the court to watch the black-and-white images of the Oval Office unfold on the screen.
Jay sat in painful silence and endured the replaying of the exchange between Reynolds and the President, glancing at his watch as surreptitiously as possible.
They should be past the halfway point by now, he calculated. He could imagine Sherry’s relief at the thought of actually touching down on U.S. soil.
When the tape ended, Campbell carefully pressed the “stop” button and turned to face the judge.
“My Lord, based on the sworn statements of Mr. Reynolds as to how this tape was made and whose voices and images are on it, I submit to you that the words of President John Harris himself irrefutably establish a prima facie case that not only fully supports the issuance of the Peruvian Interpol warrant, but mandates under the Treaty Against Torture that this court must issue an immediate arrest warrant under Irish jurisdiction, and must enter an immediate order of extradition of the defendant to Peru, subject to the normal appeals process.”
“My Lord,” Michael Garrity said, getting to his feet.