“I recall the case,” said Merriwell.
“Before we brought the charges, a papal envoy showed up in Kindle County to tell me that my actions would cause thousands of people to lose their faith. And I’ll say to you what I said to him: ‘The last thing you want me doing is your job.’ He was in charge of ministering to the faithful, and folks like Roger and you can worry about American foreign and military policy. I’m just a glorified Joe Friday.”
The comparison brought a small smile and a brief toss of Merriwell’s head in disagreement. We’d reached another caesura. He allowed himself a moment of distraction with his handheld. I asked if he needed a longer break, but he was ready to go on, except for a second glass of water.
“General, you said you had two major regrets. I assume the other was failing to capture Laza Kajevic?”
Just the mention of Kajevic caused Merriwell to wince. It was the most emphatic emotion he’d shown.
“The man was a monster,” Merriwell said. “Given the opportunity, he would have slaughtered as many as Stalin and Hitler and Pol Pot. He was never a political leader—just a sadistic thug with a dormant conscience and an ego that could dwarf Jupiter.”
“I’m sure you were horrified by the casualties in Doboj, when you tried to capture him.”
“The hardest part of being a battlefield commander, Mr. Ten Boom, is always the loss of life, especially your own soldiers. We spent eight years in Bosnia without a combat fatality. To see four soldiers die and eight others wounded, three quite seriously, while a malignancy like Kajevic went free made for one of the saddest moments in my career.”
“And how was it that he got the drop on your forces? I assume there was an intelligence failure.”
“‘Failure’ is too strong. Even diligent efforts in that arena don’t always succeed. As was reported at that time, we badly underestimated how well armed they would be. We’d missed Kajevic only a month before, and in order to escape in disguise, they had abandoned almost all their weapons.”
“But they also seem to have known exactly when you were coming.”
“So it appears.”
“And how did they get that information?”
“If I knew, Mr. Ten Boom, I would not be at liberty to tell you. I can assure you, however, that we didn’t repeat prior mistakes.” In my reading, I’d been astonished by reports that the French had sabotaged a number of earlier efforts to capture Kajevic, believing that would push the Serbs toward the Russians. “The operational details of our plan to arrest Kajevic in Doboj were probably the most closely guarded secret of my time at Mons,” he said, referring to the city in Belgium where Allied Command Operations was located. The French, in other words, had been frozen out.
“Then what’s your best guess about how Kajevic knew?”
“Conjecture only? Something happened on the ground that betrayed our plan. We tried to respect the local Bosnian authorities. There were Muslim leaders who didn’t want Kajevic captured, for fear that it would set off the whole fracas again. And of course he had plants in every police force. All I can tell you, Mr. Ten Boom, is that we investigated the hell out of that question. There was not an American serving in Bosnia who wasn’t deeply upset by the casualties at Doboj.”
“Upset enough to kill four hundred Roma?”
Merriwell again drew back, the same skinny eyebrow elevated once more. I continued in the face of his silence.
“There is a well-trod story around Tuzla that the massacre at Barupra was related to the failed capture of Kajevic.”
Merriwell shook his head before he answered.
“Again, Mr. Ten Boom, we are getting into intelligence information, which I am not free to disclose.”
I was trolling here, but I had learned on cross-examination that one key to success was to continue at the same pace and with no change of expression. Merriwell’s last answer suggested there might be something to tell about the Roma’s role.
“Well, in thinking very hard about this, General, and asking myself what the Roma might have done in connection with the Kajevic raid that would get them all killed, one clear possibility is that they assisted the Americans somehow.”
Merriwell hesitated a second longer, making me surer I was onto something. In the end, he smiled broadly.
“Let me see, Mr. Ten Boom. How many traps does that question artfully set? First, I’ve told you that I don’t believe there was a massacre. And I’ve also said that I can’t comment on intelligence.”
“But if you were wrong about a massacre occurring, General, without asking you to disclose any classified specifics, would your first suspicion be of Kajevic and his followers?”
He thought that through with his mouth knotted.
“By character, of course. Killing hundreds in vengeance would be a trifle to him. But we looked intensively for Kajevic in the area around Tuzla throughout the last weeks of April in 2004, and it would seem foolhardy of him to return.”
“Or spectacularly arrogant.”
After a beat, Merriwell dipped his chin to acknowledge the point. I knew he could say no more, but his demeanor continued to suggest I was on the right track.
Throughout the interview, I had not glanced at the single page of notes Roger had said I could bring. I reached into my vest pocket now to be sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.
In trying to figure out why Roger had wanted to arrange this interview, I’d finally realized it offered one clear plus for the US. When the OTP filed the required public report with the Court at the end of our investigation, we could no longer say that the US military had completely stonewalled us. Yet if that was what they wanted, it made sense to press for more cooperation from the Army, and I did.
“I’m not hopeful of that, Mr. Ten Boom.”
“But if it’s as important as you say that there be no false insinuation of US involvement, then the only way Americans are going to be cleared is if we find other perpetrators or, failing that, if we get the evidence the Army possesses that would exonerate your troops.”
“Isn’t it hard to prove a negative, Mr. Ten Boom?”
“I’m not a military expert, but things like truck logs and duty rosters could shed a lot of light. If the military documents reflect no troop movements, that could be significant. But the fact that the Army isn’t even willing to say publicly that it’s examined all those records troubles me. It feels like they won’t look because they don’t want to see what’s there. And that means your troops will always be suspects.”
Merriwell’s gray eyes, which had begun to remind me of two pencil points, fell to his lap as he calculated.
“I hear you, Mr. Ten Boom, but we’re well past the time when such matters were within my control. Is there more?”
He stood then and I followed. The general offered to walk out with me.
It was cherry blossom time in DC and the city was a display of soft-focus beauty. At the Tidal Basin, the Japanese trees were a nimbus of pink. Even in this neighborhood some were in bloom, and their small pale petals decorated every breeze, a showy reminder, after our discussion of mayhem and force, of the delicate things that still enhance life.
I was rolling my bag behind me, and the general asked whether I was headed for the airport. I explained that because I’d been unsure how long our meeting would take, I’d arranged to stay in DC overnight before heading to Kindle County early tomorrow.
“And what are your plans this evening, if I may ask?”
“I’m going to my hotel to write down as much as I can remember of our conversation, and then make a few calls to The Hague before I crash.”
“I can offer you dinner, if you like. Get you on your way by nine. I have an early plane myself in the morning.”
“That’s very kind,” I said.