“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.