Secrecy Of A Free And Open Society

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THE VERY WORD ‘SECRECY’ IS REPUGNANT IN A FREE AND OPEN SOCIETY Moving stiffly as if the starch from his uniform had leaked into his bones, he sat down in the witness box and crossed his legs. Could you please state your full name and rank for the record? He looked up quietly, his thin glasses barely touching the bridge of his nose. I could. He kept them waiting for his answer that wouldn’t come, as he reached into his breast pocket taking out a soft pack of Drina cigarettes. The judge sat up. Sir let me remind you that you should show this courtroom the respect it deserves. Oh, my apologies, are you no longer allowed to smoke in court? The stenographer looked at the judge, her cigarette ebbing to its death in her ashtray. Smoke all…show more content…
The judge cleared his throat looking at the General. He didn’t like the likes of him, who came into his courtroom, judging when it wasn’t theirs to judge. General, you will cooperate with prosecutor Lazo, or the court will treat you as a hostile witness. Your Honour, I assure there will be no need for that, the defense drawled. I don’t care much for your assurances Kožul. You can leave those at home with your wife. Richelieu, smirked, ashing his cigarette on the courtroom floor. I was stationed in the Stabilization Force in the city of Mostar. Lazo paced over to Emina, the stenographer, put her cigarette out and took the ashtray. Tell us, general, what was the purpose of the Stabilization Force being established? Lazo asked, setting the ashtray down in front of Richelieu. We were deployed as a peacekeeping unit. Deployed by whom? By NATO. So general, you’re saying that you were deployed to Bosnia and Herzegovina under orders of NATO, as part of a peacekeeping unit stationed in Mostar? Well, the SFOR was stationed in Banja Luka and in Tuzla, as well, but yes that is what I am saying, which I’m sure your doll of a stenographer could re-read for you. Emina’s fingers running across the typewriter suddenly stopped. She looked up at the general, as she opened her desk drawer. She tapped her pink-hued nails on the grip of her husband’s Zastava M57. She wanted to put a bullet in Richelieu nearly as much as she wanted to empty the magazine into her husband’s pork-like
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