“That process is clearly flawed,” Assistant Attorney General Alex McLaughlin said, “which no one realized at the time of ratification.”
Michael Goldboro shook his head. “The reality is that using legalistic interpretations to justify what we’re considering is arrogance. If we’re to be the champion of international law, it’s our responsibility to conform to its principles. In our domestic legal system, what do we tell ourselves? If a law is bad, a procedure flawed, work to change the law or procedure, not ignore or disobey it. We must honor international law with the same dedication.”
“Mr. President,” Jack Rollins said, “there’s additional activity around that gate. I really do think it’s probably now or never.”
The President turned to General Davidsen. “What’s the status, Bill?”
“That staff car is in position to intercept President Harris, sir, and the rest of them may move on the ramp at any moment. Jack’s right.”
The President turned back to Michael Goldboro. “Mike, what changes would fix this, and how would that process be served by leaving Harris to twist in the wind? Quick answer. We don’t have time for a panel discussion.”
“Modify the treaty with a specific procedure, requiring a preliminary hearing on any warrant to determine quickly and fairly whether it sets up valid charges. Each nation can hold such a hearing in accordance with its own legal system as long as it’s fair. If the evidence is insufficient, the warrant is quashed then and there and the former head of state or whoever is free to leave in a few weeks.”
“There’s a helicopter with Italian military markings landing in front of the 737,” Diane Beecher said.
President Cavanaugh nodded. “All right. Then let’s get him out of there, tell the world why, and then put on a full court press to make the case for an addition to the treaty.”
“From what position of moral authority, Mr. President?” Goldboro shot back. “The moment that C-17 lifts him off Italian soil, we have no moral authority on this issue, and we will not be able to change the treaty. Once again it’ll be the might of the United States of America making right.”
“Excuse me, Mr. President, may I add something?” General Davidsen said.
The President nodded, his eyes still fixed on his National Security Advisor.
“Sir,” Davidsen began, “we have an assumed imperfection in a treaty. He’s suggesting we essentially sacrifice a former Commander in Chief in order to be able to raise the issue that a new procedure is needed. Sir, excuse me, but that’s bullshit!”
“Okay, Bill,” the President said.
“No, sir. With all due respect, let me finish. If the Italians want this problem off their shores, and they most obviously do, then they’ll find a way to send him to Lima if we leave him there, and then we’re into a monstrous propaganda problem and maybe even the spectacle of a U.S. President facing a firing squad or climbing a gallows. It’s absurd to knuckle under to the possibility that some Third World nations will take this as an example of arrogance.”
“Alex?” the President said, looking at McLaughlin, then turning to Baker, “and Rudy… do you two think we can put enough diplomatic pressure on Italy to keep them from shipping John Harris out of the country before we can get full judicial process on the merits of the warrant?”
“I don’t understand the question, sir,” Alex McLaughlin replied.
“Nor do I,” Rudy Baker said.
“Okay, quickly. The main danger here is that Harris gets whisked away to Lima. I agree that must not happen.”
Alex McLaughlin was shaking his head. “It’s very unlikely the Italians will foster that, but they can’t control their judiciary any more than we control ours.”
“From State’s point of view,” Baker added, “the Italians are trying to help us right now. God only knows what kind of political pressures they may face in the next few hours, days, or weeks. You want certainty? Getting Harris on that C-17 right now is the closest version of it you’re going to get.”
The President turned and paced to one end of his desk in absolute silence as General Davidsen held the telephone receiver and watched him for the slightest sign of a “go” gesture. Taking a deep breath, Jake Cavanaugh turned toward his Chief of Staff and shrugged.
“The hell of this office is dealing with the reality that so often doing the right thing will yield the wrong result, while doing the wrong thing is even worse.”
“Sir?” Jack Rollins prompted.
“Mike’s wrong to discount the role of perceived power and occasional arrogance in keeping us strong. It’s still a vital tool of American foreign policy in a dangerous world. But he’s right about our responsibilities. The way to tame a dangerous world is through respectable leadership.” He shook his head. “I can’t do this.”
“Sir?” General Davidsen said, his mouth dropping open.
The President took another deep breath and turned toward the general.
“Get that C-17 off the ground immediately. Without President Harris. Rudy? Have our ambassador relay this decision to the Italians with my personal request for rapid negotiation on how we may cooperate to protect both due process and our former chief executive. I’ll want to talk to them within the hour, and I’d like the Italian ambassador here as fast as possible. Diane? Stay a few minutes along with Jack so we can figure out what to say when this hits the media. Who has the connection to President Harris? I’ll tell him personally.”
“Line four, sir,” Jack Rollins prompted.
“Mr. President,” General Davidsen began, “are you sure? I mean, before we let that C-17 go…”
President Cavanaugh turned to look him in the eye as he placed his hand on the general’s shoulder.
“Yes, Bill. I’m sure.”
SEVENTEEN
The frustration of not being able to access the same live broadcast of the Sigonella flight line that half the world could see had driven Stuart Campbell to keep his staff in Brussels on the phone line from their conference room, where the projected TV image filled a wall. One of his partners narrated the scene as it unfolded, describing everyone moving on or around the ramp area in the picture.
“If a mosquito moves down there, I want to know,” Campbell had demanded, listening carefully as his partner described the movements of people around the Boeing.
Without warning the C-17 had started engines and taxied away, leaving Stuart Campbell in a sudden quandary over whether John Harris might have somehow slipped aboard.
“Did you see anyone walk from one to the other?”
“Well, yes, as I said. Two mechanics, and several uniformed officers, and one or two others. But always as many came out as went in the C- 17.”
“Were you taping it?”
“Yes.”
“Play it back, and look very closely. See if Harris could have changed clothes with one of them and slipped out that way.”