Free A Far Justice by Richard Herman

settled for “… cochon .” Pig. “I want a full media blitz starting tomorrow.”
    The assistant prosecutor gasped, his face wracked with shock. “Tomorrow is Sunday!” Being called in on a Saturday was bad enough, but working on a Sunday was outrageous, a gross violation of all human decency.
    “Sunday is a very slow news day,” she explained. “By announcing on Sunday, we will dominate the Monday news.” It was a trick that Chrestien had learned from the Americans. “Further, all leaks will be approved by my office.” She turned to Melwin. “In the future, I want close coordination on Tyler’s defense and no more surprises. Superintendent Blier, I want no one, and I mean no one, visiting Tyler without my approval. Have I made myself clear?”
    “Very clear, Madam Prosecutor,” Blier replied. She missed the Dutch stubbornness in his voice.
    “Does everyone understand what I want?” she demanded. She was answered with total silence. As one, her entire staff decided to call in sick on Sunday. The media blitz would have to wait until Monday.
     
     
    Hoevelaken, the Netherlands
    Cassandra played the guide to perfection. “Turn right off the Autoweg and follow the signs into town.” Hank relayed her instructions to the taxi driver and guided him through the small town. It was Monday afternoon and children streamed across the road, making their way home after school. He smiled at their fresh-scrubbed looks and bulging book bags. “You’re on Ooesterdorpstraat,” Cassandra continued. “The van der Nord’s farm is just ahead of you.”
    “I’m still in town,” Hank protested.
    “Dutch farms in this area are very narrow,” she replied, “maybe a hundred feet wide, and run back from the road.”
    He closed the privacy window between the front and rear seats. “I’ve read the file you gave me on Melwin and want to out him.”
    “When?”
    “Today.”
    “Consider it done. Here you are.”
    The driver saw the address and turned into the driveway of a traditional Dutch farmhouse with brightly painted shutters. Hank could see a modern barn in the rear and a narrow field that stretched back over two hundred meters. A young, very pretty, and heavyset girl was waiting for him. “I’m Aly van der Nord.”
    “She’s twenty-two years old,” Cassandra said in his ear. “Jason Tyler is waiting inside.” Hank paid off the driver and followed Aly inside. He blinked twice when he saw Jason and immediately thought of a professional football player on steroids. “He doesn’t use steroids,” Cassandra told him.
    “You guys are good,” Hank murmured, fully aware that Cassandra and the computers were honing his personality profile to a fine edge. Not only did they anticipate his question about Aly’s age, they gauged his reaction to Jason.
    “Thank you,” Cassandra replied. “That was the first thing I thought when I saw him.”
    “Professor Sutherland,” Jason Tyler said, extending his right hand. “We really appreciate all you’re doing.”
    They shook hands. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Hank said. He tried to keep a straight face. “Especially as Alex Melwin speaks so highly of you. By the way, I prefer to go by Hank.”
    “The Air Force will do whatever it can to help,” Jason said. “For obvious reasons, it has to be very unofficial. If you need anything, just tell me or Aly.” He handed Hank a thick envelope. Hank looked in the envelope and was surprised to see a thick wad of hundred dollar bills along with another credit card. “For expenses. The credit card is for an unlimited amount. Use it as you see fit. And you’ll need this.”
    Jason handed him a small 22-caliber Beretta semi-automatic pistol that fit his hand perfectly. Hank handed it back. “No way,” he said. “The ICC is death on any weapons inside the palace. Not even their bailiffs or security guards are armed.”
    Jason filed that information away and pocketed the automatic without a word. “I’m