Kevin spoke directly to the policeman. “I am a lawyer for a person being prosecuted at the War Crimes Tribunal in The Hague. I’m here to interview witnesses who will be testifying at his trial. Nihudian is my interpreter.” He tried to downplay Nihudian’s role.

“Did you register with the Ministry of Justice before you began conducting an investigation in Bosnia?”

“No, was I supposed to?”

“Yes,” the policeman replied through Nihudian. “It is required under our law.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“We cannot have foreigners coming to Bosnia and bothering our citizens,” the man said, shaking his head for emphasis. “This is a serious matter.”

“I was authorized by the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia to come here. I did have official permission. And this man,” Kevin said, gesturing to Nihudian, “he was just interpreting for me. He had no duty to register did he?”

“You still did not comply with our law,” the man said sternly. “But you are correct about your interpreter. He is free to leave.”

Kevin looked at Nihudian. “Go, before they change their mind.”

“I can’t leave you here,” Nihudian replied. “You can’t even speak to them.”

“Let them get their own interpreter. You go and contact the American Embassy.”

Nihudian reluctantly got up, and said something to the man. He walked out the door leaving Kevin and the policeman sitting across the small table from one another. Kevin wondered how they would communicate. He also felt an even greater fear now that he was alone.

“So you are the lawyer for the famous Mr. Draga?” the officer said in English.

Kevin was surprised to hear the man speak English. He quickly replayed the previous conversation with Nihudian in his mind, hoping he had not said anything inappropriate. “Yes, I was assigned by the Tribunal to represent him.”

“He is responsible for the death of many in Bosnia,” the officer said solemnly.

Kevin did not like the direction the conversation was taking. “That’s what I am here to find out about.”

“Is there any doubt?”

“Probably not to the people of Bosnia. But I wasn’t here during the war, so I have to find out these things by talking to people who were.”

The man shook his head. “You should have followed our laws.”

“I didn’t know about your law.”

“You’re a lawyer. You can tell that to the judge.”

Kevin groaned inwardly. Was he going to have to stay in jail until he was taken to court? “What happens now?” Kevin nervously asked the man.

The man smiled for the first time. “You will be treated like any other person arrested in the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina. You will remain in jail until we complete our investigation. If we find that you have broken the law, you will go to court. If not, you will be freed, like your interpreter.”

“How long will it take?”

“This is a very simple matter.” The officer rose from his chair. “You have already admitted committing the crime. We should be able to wrap up our investigation in a few days.” The man abruptly turned and walked out the door.

Kevin was alone in the interview room for the next two hours. He tried not to think about what the jail cells were like, or who else was in them. He tried the door, but it was locked. He prayed that Nihudian would get some help from the American Embassy. Otherwise, he would be stuck in a Bosnian jail for several days at least.

Finally, the plain-clothed officer reappeared.

Kevin dreaded having to leave the interview room for a cell.

“Mr. Anderson, you are free to go if you agree to depart Bosnia in the morning and not return in the future unless you have approval from our Ministry of Justice to conduct an investigation here. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Kevin suddenly felt light-headed.

“Do you agree?”

“I agree,” Kevin replied quickly. He would figure out how to get the remaining witnesses interviewed later.

The man opened the door and indicated Kevin should follow him. At first, Kevin felt unsteady on his feet, but he walked quickly through the lobby. When the man pointed to the front door, Kevin practically broke into a sprint. When he burst out the door, he spied Nihudian standing next to his car in front of the building.

“Thank you, Nihudian,” he said as they got into the car. “Damn, that was close.”

“Let’s go get a drink,” Nihudian replied. He drove to a cafe nearby, as he explained how he had gotten the help of someone at the American Embassy, who had made some calls on Kevin’s behalf.

“I owe you. I was going to have to sit in jail for days before I even saw a judge.”

They reached the cafe and sat down, with sounds of American rock music blasting from the music system. “Want a beer?” Kevin asked Nihudian.

“We Muslims don’t drink alcohol. But I’ll have a large cappuccino.”

“That sounds perfect.”

Kevin sipped the cappuccino as he felt the tension leave his body. It was beginning to get dark outside. His mind returned to the judge and the tailor in Sokolaz who might have made uniforms for the men at Omarska. “Damn, I hate to leave without talking to that tailor,” he told Nihudian. “His evidence might prove Draga’s innocence.”

Nihudian was silent.

“How long would it take for us to get to Sokolaz tonight?” Kevin asked.

“It’s only about a 45 minute drive. But we’d be taking a big risk. It’s in the heart of Serb territory.”

“Yeah, but the Serbs will want to help Draga. He’s their hero, right? I have the papers showing I’m his lawyer and you’re his investigator.”

Nihudian looked up from his coffee at Kevin. “I guess we can try it,” he said. “No sane Muslim would go to Sokolaz at night, but we are working for Draga.”

Kevin felt emboldened by the adrenaline from the day’s events, and desperately wanted to find something useful for Draga’s defense. “Let’s go for it. Then I’ll head back in the morning with something to show for my trip besides sore wrists.”

The two men finished their drinks and returned to Nihudian’s car. They drove north from Sarajevo, and soon passed a sign telling them that they were entering Republika Srpska.

“At least there’s no border station,” Kevin said.

Nihudian was quiet.

They headed up the hill towards the town of Pale, where the ski events for the 1984 Winter Olympics had been held and which had been the home of Radovan Karadzic, President of the Republika Srpska, during the war. Then they turned north just before Pale and continued climbing until they reached a plateau near Sokolaz.

“How are we going to find this tailor?” Kevin asked as they approached the town.

“He’s probably well known. We can just go into a shop and ask.”

They drove toward the center of town. “There’s the headquarters of the Drina Corps,” Nihudian said, pointing out two buildings set back from the road.

“Let’s just go in there,” Kevin said. “They’ll probably send someone to bring the tailor to us if I explain to them how it will help Draga.”

“I don’t know,” Nihudian replied.

They drove down the main street, but the shops appeared to be closed. Some were boarded up. “I guess we can ask at the Army headquarters,” Nihudian said, and eased his car into a space in front of the old Sokolaz Hotel next to the Army building.

Kevin was feeling more confident as he got out of the car. Rather than worrying about the authorities, he would just go directly to them. This way, if there were any registration requirements or the like, he would simply be informed about them.

Nihudian walked tentatively behind Kevin as they entered the building.

A man in a green camouflage uniform greeted them in the lobby.

“Kevin Anderson,” Kevin said, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m the lawyer for Dragoljub Zaric in The Hague. I was hoping someone could help us get some information for our defense case.”