In Justice

  Chapter Thirty

  JOHN WAS PENSIVE, Andrea was animated, and Paul and Reneé simply tried to keep out of the way on the non-stop flight to Rome’s Leonardo DaVinci Airport. After a long delay on the tarmac at Washington’s Dulles International and nearly nine hours in flight in their government-paid coach seats, everyone but Andrea was ready for a long rest. But upon arriving at their hotel, the St. Regis Grand on the Via Vittorio Orlando, around the corner from the Via Veneto and right in the center of the great city, their desire to sleep evaporated, replaced by the thrill of being in Italy.

  It was barely 10:00 a.m. in Rome when the State Department van dropped them off in the porte-cochere. Regally dressed bellmen raced to take their bags, and a small crowd of Europe-based State Department and U.S. Embassy personnel waited to greet them just inside the main lobby. They had made arrangements for an early check-in, but they had just enough time to go to their rooms and freshen up. The embassy staff made lunch reservations for the entire group at the hotel’s intimate five-star Ristorante Vivendo.

  They enjoyed a long, colorful, boisterous Italian lunch, punctuated with multiple wine courses, after which embassy staffers briefed John and the team on protocol and other in-country issues. The embassy staff gave them new travel documents, all in Italian, and just in case, John was also shown how to get in touch with the CIA station chief in Florence in the event he or any of the team were approached by “curious strangers.” The only other request came from Foreign Service staffers who were eager to hear the latest news from Washington.

  None of the travelers had been to Rome. Despite their state of near exhaustion, they were so close to so much history; a short walking tour with a couple of quick taxi rides proved too tempting. The Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain, and the Via Veneto were minutes away; the Flavian Amphitheater—known to tourists as the Coliseum—and Roman Forum were just a bit further. Since their stay in the capital was so brief, they had to see them all in one tour. Riding on adrenalin and the desire to make a good impression, John and the others enjoyed themselves for a few hours, but by six o’clock that evening they reached their limit. Returning to the hotel, John slipped from his clothing and crawled onto the bed for a long nap. That night he dined alone in his room and assumed the others did the same. He did nothing else until it was time to get ready for an early departure the following morning.

  From the Termini Train Station, it was an hour and a half ride to Florence. They were joined in the hotel lobby by two members of the Rome-based staff, one of whom they had met the previous evening. Julian Giordano was an embassy lawyer, a specialist in U.N. and E.U. judicial policy. He had finished Harvard Law six years after John, but said he knew the assistant attorney general by reputation and had even heard him speak on one occasion. He told John he was thrilled to be joining them for the conference.

  The young man would be John’s eyes and ears. He was an able translator, but even more important, having lived nearly half his life in Italy, he understood the nuances of European law and custom. He would help John keep track of conference proceedings and the implications of everything that happened there, from the DOJ’s point of view.

  The second person joining the group was Judith Ravenell, an Assistant Secretary of State and mid-career Foreign Service officer who had been posted at the embassy in Rome for the past five years, but was scheduled for reassignment in a few weeks. She was John’s counterpart and an avid supporter of his equality initiatives. Judith appeared to be in her early forties with deep brown eyes and exotic Mediterranean features.

  Her dark hair flowed gently over the shoulders of an English riding jacket. She carried a small valise in one hand—surprisingly small, John thought, for a four-day junket—and a black calfskin briefcase hanging from a strap over her left shoulder. She spoke with confidence and self-assurance. She completely captivated John. Several times he caught himself staring.

  He was attracted to Judith Ravenell, not just because of her beauty and charm, but because she had the right connections. She was polished. She was an officer of the State Department, at his own level. And she knew the territory. For the first time, he realized the trip to Florence wasn’t simply important.

  It might even be fun.

  THE TRAVELERS ARRIVED at the Santa Maria Novella Train Station in Florence just after 11:00 a.m. To everyone’s surprise, a police escort consisting of three motorcycle policemen and an officer in a small blue-and-white patrol car met them. After loading their luggage into two Mercedes limousines reserved by the embassy, they were driven at break-neck speed—blue lights flashing and horns blaring—to their hotel in the city center some twenty blocks away. Once the travelers were safely deposited at the hotel, the escort disappeared as quickly as it had come. John loved it.

  Making their way from the bustling entryway to the registration desk at the Westin Excelsior Hotel, however, proved a bigger challenge than the drive from the station. They were surrounded by men and women of all nationalities, speaking every conceivable language and wearing costumes the Americans had seen only in books and films. It was routine for the Rome-based crew, but John was astounded. While John, Paul, and Renée were doing their best to take everything in, Andrea was glowing. For someone who, until this trip, had never been farther than the Chesapeake Bay—a forty-minute drive from her Washington apartment—this was paradise.

  The hotel was the most impressive building John had ever seen. It looked like a palace plucked straight out of the Middle Ages, with massive marble columns, high-beamed ceilings, and crystal chandeliers. There were rare and beautiful antiques everywhere. Situated on the sprawling Piazza Ognissanti facing the River Arno, right in the heart of the city’s fashion district, it was like something from another era, or another world.

  Once they had checked into their rooms and put away their belongings, the six members of John’s party met in the terrace bar, overlooking the river, for lunch and drinks before making a quick tour of the premises. The hotel was in walking distance of several of the best-known historical and architectural landmarks in Europe, including the magnificent Ponte Vecchio Bridge, the Uffizi Gallery, and the Pitti Palace, where treasures of the Medici dynasty that governed Florence in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries were displayed.

  Everything on the official agenda would take place in the hotel. Following the directions she found in the conference literature, Andrea had made reservations for a museum tour and a dinner cruise on the river.

  Officially, the four-day event was called “Conférence sur les modèles intergouvernementaux pour la résolution de l'extrémisme international, l'oppression religieuse, l'égalitéaet la voie àtsuivre. Conference on Inter-Governmental Models for the Resolution of International Extremism, Religious Oppression, Equality, and The Way Forward.”

  It was that last part that first appealed to John: the “Way Forward.” It was the reason he had traveled so far. He had come to say that DTED had found the way forward, that they had and were changing social dynamics in his country. Many obstacles still existed, but the trajectory of his success was promising, and he believed that was a message worth sharing. It was a model the rest of the world could follow: government-mandated equality and hopefully, the end of American exceptionalism.

  The first day’s opening presentations were formal and dry, a showcase of famous politicians and former heads-of-state, each more venerable than the last; each extolling the virtues of diplomacy and “statecraft,” and praising the work of the United Nations to end the impact of religious aggression. Each of the men and women on the dais gave a short synopsis of the sessions and workshops they would be hosting. John’s name was not mentioned, although his topic was listed in the program as the main plenary session on the final day.

  The most compelling presentations came on the afternoon of the second day. The first speaker after the lunch break was a former Muslim from the United Arab Emirates who described common themes within Christianity and Islam, and focused on the autocratic nature of the
se so-called “great religions.” Because he had lived and studied in both Europe and America, this man understood how Western culture, beliefs, and society had corrupted human nature.

  “The desire to proselytize and control the beliefs of others,” he said, “has transformed mankind’s innate yearning for transcendence—from hope to human tragedy, from innocence to ignorance, and from tolerance and acceptance to hate.” The theme resonated with John; he made a note to mention it in his own presentation. For a moment, he wondered how Matt would have responded.

  The second speaker was a tall, stately former African leader who wore the traditional Babariga robe, with embroidered hat, flowing Buba garments, and white cotton trousers. As a child, he had lived in a village frequently visited by Western missionaries. Before he reached the age of six, both his mother and father had died of AIDS, and he spent the next ten years in a Christian orphanage.

  “Instead of teaching children about AIDS and STDs,” he said with emotion, “they showed us The Jesus Film over and over again. They tried to corrupt our natural values and beliefs and convert us to their religion. They preached abstinence and suppressed our need for sexual growth, which is unhealthy and impossible. All but a handful of the boys and girls I grew up with are dead. Jesus didn’t save them; the Holy Bible didn’t save them; the American missionaries didn’t save them. They all died. So many of them died.” His voice broke and he stepped back from the microphone for a moment, composed himself, and then continued. “If the missionaries cared for us, why didn’t they teach us about condoms and use their money for AIDS research? They only talked about Jesus and refraining from our natural sexual expression.” When he finished, the speaker received a standing ovation.

  The third and final presentation of the day focused on technical issues specifically directed toward participants from the EU countries and the United Kingdom. Since John and his team weren’t particularly interested in those topics, they left quietly during the break.

  Judith Ravenell approached John. “I wonder if you would join me for a stroll along the river. We can talk privately there.”

  “Nothing would please me more.”

  She took his arm and they slipped away from the conference hall and out of the majestic hotel.

  For the next two hours they strolled along the fountains and through the lavish gardens on the river walk, making small talk and getting better acquainted. They compared notes on education and where they’d grown up, and found that both of them were passionate about the work they did. Judith’s impressive rise in the Foreign Service was similar to John’s ascendancy in the Justice Department. Both had sacrificed family life for professional advancement, and both were compulsive workaholics who put career ahead of everything else.

  They also had a highly developed aesthetic sense. They loved contemporary art and modern culture, and saw most of classical art, music, and literature as an anachronism—interesting but generally useless. They agreed that history was a record of human failures and missed opportunities, but there was magic in living in the moment, and by some miracle of fate they had been put in positions to influence history, and perhaps even to change it forever.

  John was amazed to meet someone so brilliant and who shared so many of his own beliefs. Yet, they were still very different. While John had grown up in the foothills of the Colorado Rockies and moved east after high school, Judith had grown up mostly in Europe, and attended boarding schools in Switzerland. She had lived in Washington for a few years after graduating from Wellesley College, and finished at the top of her class at the Foreign Service Academy. She never considered the U.S. her legitimate home, a fact she usually kept to herself. She would be returning to Zurich in a matter of weeks. There she would assume the position of Deputy U.S. consul.

  “John, the leaders of this continent took the opportunity to officially turn their back on their dark, religious, Jesus-believing past.”

  “How, Judith?” John asked.

  “Back at the beginning of the century there was a Pope, John Paul II, who asked the EU to include recognition of Europe’s so-called ‘Christian Heritage’ in their first constitution.” Judith laughed and continued, “But with the Berlin Declaration and other actions, that foolishness was soundly rejected. That declaration highlighted European values like democracy and a vision for growth like fighting climate change. That was the official nail in their coffin. Now let’s talk about you.”

  When Judith asked about the formation of the Diversity and Tolerance Enforcement Division, John told her he would cover it all in his talk on Thursday, but he said he had spearheaded the effort with the blessing of the Blaine administration and the Justice Department. When she asked about the caseload waiting for him back in Washington, he hesitated, but then mentioned the problems with Pat’s “Jesus-the-only-way” case. She had read about the indictment in the International Herald-Tribune. He explained the prospect of having to drop the prosecution, or at least delay it indefinitely while going back to a new grand jury.

  “Why don’t you try the case here?” she asked.

  “Here? In Italy? What do you mean?”

  “No, not Italy. The Hague. The International Criminal Court now hears cases just like this all the time, and, frankly, it would be refreshing to see the American justice system finally recognize the authority of the international tribunal for such crimes. Your preacher’s hate speech had worldwide harm and impact through the Internet and we still have lots of Catholics and evangelicals in Europe who believe Jesus is the world’s Messiah. A case like yours could be just what we need to advance the quest for religious equality worldwide.”

  For a moment, John was speechless. The whole idea of trying a case in Europe was revolutionary. It was something he would never have thought of. “I don’t know. I doubt we could do it. We don’t have experience with something like that. Our attorneys are not certified to practice before the bar over here and it would need State and White House signoff.”

  “Well, think about it. It’s just an idea. But if the ICC wanted to establish a precedent, to get the U.S. more involved, I imagine an experienced attorney—someone already admitted to the Supreme Court Bar, for example—could become certified fairly easily. And if someone like, say, a deputy U.S. Consul, or the United Nations Commissioner for Human Rights, who happens to be the moderator of the conference, were to provide letters of reference for a certain individual, I suppose certification to practice before the European court could be arranged.” She looked into John’s eyes and smiled. “Just an idea.”

  John chuckled. “Yeah, just a simple idea; almost too big an idea. Still…”

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING John, Paul Atoms, and Reneé X joined a group of conferees and their Italian guide for a private tour of two of the world’s most famous art galleries, the Galleria degli Uffizi, in the former Medici Palace, and the Galleria Dell'Accademia, which houses some of the best known paintings and sculptures by Michelangelo, including The Four Prisoners, the partially finished Pietá Palestrina, and the larger-than-life statue of David.

  The Medici Palace had seen much of history over the past five hundred years, but John was surprised to see that this renowned gallery was showing signs of wear. Portions of the building had been flooded years earlier, and one section had been damaged by a car bomb. It was amazing, nevertheless, to see so many famous paintings, sculptures, and mosaics within arms reach—works John had only seen in picture books.

  During the tour, they saw famous paintings by Titian, Caravaggio, Cimabue, Giotto, Michelangelo, and even the Dutch Master, Rembrandt van Rijn. They saw Botticelli’s stunning Birth of Venus and the Annunciation and Adoration of the Magi by Leonardo da Vinci that appeared in Hollywood movies.

  But John thought it was unsettling to have Piero di Cosimo’s Perseus Liberating Andromeda, an image from classical Greek mythology, in the same collection with Dürer’s Adoration of the Magi, Raphael’s Madonna of the Goldfinch, and Raphael’s portrait of whom John called a corrupt, indulgenc
e-selling pope, in the picture known as Pope Leo X and Two Cardinals. There were countless others, but the juxtaposition of secular and religious was, to his mind, inappropriate and frustrating.

  They saw work by Fra Bartolomeo, Andrea del Sarto, and Perugino from the sixteenth century, along with several primitive, two-dimensional works from the third and fourth centuries, most of them stilted biblical scenes. As historical relics, they were mildly amusing, but the religious allusions reminded John of the tragedy of Western history. By the time they completed their self-guided tour of the Accademia, John and Reneé were ready to head back to the hotel.

  As they were leaving the museum, John said, “What a sad, sad shame the world lost so many centuries to this foolishness. Just think of the countless dollars, the human energy, and the talent wasted on churches and cathedrals, and all the paintings and statues devoted to the mythology of Christianity. What if all that energy had been devoted to something real and substantial—housing the poor, feeding the hungry, educating the illiterate and uninformed—imagine how much more that could have benefited mankind.”

  When they arrived at the hotel, Paul was obviously way past his capacity for any more art appreciation and offered to buy a round of drinks. John was planning on attending the afternoon sessions, but agreed to stay for a few minutes. There was something on his mind he wanted to flesh out. On the walk back from the gallery, Reneé had broached an idea that piqued his interest; but there was something troubling about what she said, and he wanted to think it through.

  “Whenever I see something like that,” Reneé said, holding up her copy of the museum brochure, “with all those paintings and sculptures from religious mythology, it makes me nauseous. What we ought to be discussing at a conference like this, instead of paperwork and procedures, is how to regulate and limit this kind of thing. Someone needs to teach these people their own history, and show them how much damage has been done in the name of religion.”

  Paul nodded in agreement, but John said it wasn’t as simple as that. “I know what you’re saying, Reneé, but I don’t entirely agree with you. Not because people don’t need to be better educated, but because these Christians are so fond of martyrdom. You saw the pictures. Did you count them? Dozens. Christ on the cross, Peter on the cross, Paul beheaded, Jack and Jill on the cross, Savonarola going up in flames, martyrs by the score. The Romans went wrong by helping these people become heroes.”

  “I see your point, John,” Paul said, “but when they start bombing abortion clinics and killing innocent children they have to be dealt with. Don’t you agree? They attack homosexual and transgendered persons. They shoot federal officers. Somehow, they must be silenced. If that makes them martyrs, I don’t see how it can be avoided.”

  “Yes, but let’s not make them saints, Paul. That’s the difference. Putting a stop to their missions and their tricks for converting people is one thing: That’s the proper role of government. But we have to stop them short of martyrdom. That’s what law enforcement is for. And that’s what DTED is for.”

  “Are you thinking about the Preston case?” Reneé asked.

  John hesitated. “It crossed my mind. I think we’ve done a good job keeping that case in the right perspective, so the world can see the risk that men like Preston pose to free-thinking people, but, on the other hand, maybe the fact that everything exploded on us isn’t such a bad thing, after all.”

  “How so?” Paul asked.

  John smiled, “More on that later. I’ve been thinking about something. It may be our ace in the hole.”

  John spotted Judith Ravenell crossing the lobby on her way to the conference center, and he quickly excused himself from the group.

  Andrea and Giordano had been hanging out together, missing most of the sessions. John had never seen his assistant so animated. But since Giordano had done very little to help, he decided to leave them alone. Besides, he thought, the excitement was probably good for both of them.

  At eight o’clock that evening, just as the sun was descending over the Arno River, all six members of their party, dressed in their nicest suits and evening wear, met briefly in the hotel lobby. They strolled across the piazza and descended the concrete steps to the boat ramp, where their dinner cruise waited.

  The river at night was especially beautiful. Streetlamps, multi-colored lights in the restaurants and shops along the river, and the elegant old bridges, all brilliantly illuminated as their pleasure boat passed beneath them, made the night come alive. A trio of handsome young waiters entertained them with jokes in broken English, and sang to them as they delivered each course to the table. The cruise took them through Florence and past the city lights into the Tuscan countryside, punctuated by small, picturesque villages and large farms. Motorists, bicyclists, and fishermen greeted them along the way, waving a friendly hello as they passed.

  During the meal, they made small talk. Much to John’s surprise, Paul had a lot to say about the gallery tour. He had been paying attention, and seemed genuinely impressed by what he had seen. Reneé, on the other hand, was eager to pick up on their earlier conversation. She said she’d been thinking about his comments all afternoon and couldn’t wait to find out what he meant. “John, you’ve got to tell us what you’re going to do. Don’t hold out on us.”

  John laughed. “You’re right. I have an announcement to make, Reneé, but I think I’ll hold off on that until my talk tomorrow. It involves all of us, and I think you’ll like it. But that’s enough for now. So please don’t push me.” He looked at Judith, sitting just to his right, he said, “Actually, it was Judith’s idea. We were talking earlier, and she gave me something to think about. I’m still thinking. I promise I’ll get into it later. I made some calls and I’m waiting for a couple of sign-offs.”

  They teased John, saying that he was afraid to tell them, or that they weren’t important enough for such a big announcement, but John held his ground.

  Reneé turned serious. “I have a question. Why would the U.N. choose Florence for this conference? Why a city saturated with so much Christian art and architecture?”

  “It’s the perfect place,” John said. “Florence is a world cultural center, a city that has preserved so much art from the past, but in a country that has flushed all the faith restraints that were so oppressive—like marriage and the slavery of women to child bearing. They’re past that here. This is a very liberated country.”

  “That’s very perceptive,” Judith responded. “That’s why international law is so important for your judicial system in America, as President Blaine addressed in his State of the Union speech this year. There is still a lot of resistance in some quarters to getting U.S. judges to cite European, Asian, and African precedents. Just mentioning landmark cases, as the Supreme Court did in the Lawrence sodomy decision, back in 2003, still makes some people in America crazy. But it’s going to be very important for the American people to find out why Europe has become such a great and free society. We’ve managed to demystify the mythology and suppress the oppression of religious beliefs that held this continent back for so many centuries.”

  Giordano and Andrea had spent most of the first three days in each other’s company, except for two sessions when John specifically asked Giordano to attend. For much of their time on the cruise, they seemed to be in their own world. While the others were chatting, sipping wine, and admiring the allurements of the Tuscan night, the romantic couple strolled to the bow of the boat and watched like children as they passed beneath each successive bridge.

  When they returned to the group, it was apparent that Giordano had been paying more attention to the conversation taking place around the table than they had thought. As he slipped into his seat, he looked at Judith. “In Italy, fewer than 5 percent of the people ever darken the door of a church, except for the artwork or the occasional wedding. And I suspect that number will continue to drop.”

  “In Britain it’s already less,” Judith said. “Instead of paying homage to the ravings o
f the religious crowd, most people in Europe understand that marriage and family are matters of choice. They don’t place unnatural limits on relationships, and they don’t make rules that force some antiquated definition of family on everyone. They have children when they want them, not because they believe it’s the right thing to do. I’m sure you know the birthrate is very low in this country. Muslims are still propagating, but most Europeans are beyond that. We get the picture.”

  “Wouldn’t it be wonderful,” Reneé said, “if the United States could be so enlightened.”

  John raised his glass of wine. “To enlightenment.”

  The others lifted their glass to toast the sentiment.

  By the time they returned to the hotel, the moon had gone behind the clouds. The hour was late, and everyone in the group was thoroughly inebriated. When John said good night, he noticed that Giordano and Andrea were headed back to the lobby bar. Apparently they were going to make a night of it.