just off Orebić. I had to swim to land.”
“And Rebecca?”
“He threw us both off,” della Torre said.
“But you survived.”
“I . . . I wasn’t . . . my bindings came undone. So I could swim.”
“And Rebecca’s didn’t.”
“No.”
“Did you make any effort to save her?”
“I . . . I couldn’t.”
“But you knew she was still bound?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because he threw her in first.”
“And then you?”
“Yes.”
“He must have known she would drown.”
“Yes.”
“Did you say anything? Did you do anything to save her?”
“No.” No, he’d watched with horror, but he’d done nothing, said nothing.
“So it was likely his intention — the Montenegrin’s intention — that Rebecca should die.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you think that, Mr. della Torre?”
“Because Rebecca and her team were sent there to kill him.”
“This is your speculation.”
“This is my absolute knowledge.”
“It seems to me you’re making a leap of judgement, coloured perhaps by extenuating circumstances. Did you disagree with this supposed mission to assassinate Mr. Djil . . . the Montenegrin?”
“It is contrary to law.”
“You’re a lawyer, aren’t you, Mr. della Torre?”
“Yes.”
“Specialized in international law. I understand you studied for a master’s degree in London. From, let’s see, ’77 to ’78, I believe.”
“That’s correct.”
“And what was Mr. . . . the Montenegrin’s past?”
“He had been a senior member of the UDBA .”
“With a responsibility for liquidations on foreign territory.”
“He headed the wetworks, yes.”
“Was that legal?”
“He always operated within the framework of Yugoslav law.”
“This is something you know about, is it? This is within your expertise?”
“Yes, I was a member of UDBA ’s Department VI. We were in effect the UDBA ’s internal affairs. My responsibility was to investigate past killings UDBA had been involved in on foreign territory, to ensure that they had been —” Della Torre was about to say executed but thought better of it. “That they had been undertaken within the letter of Yugoslav law.”
He was limiting himself to telling the Americans only what he already knew they knew, though he suspected they knew a lot more.
“And did these murders comply with international law?”
“How so?” della Torre said.
Grimston cut in: “Were the Montenegrin’s actions permissible within the context of international law?”
“It was not my role to adjudicate on whether actions by officers of the Yugoslav state were in breach of international law, merely whether they had acted within the scope of domestic legislation. In my experience — and I investigated a number of past cases he had been involved in — he had always acted lawfully.”
“Yet you’re a specialist in international law.”
“Yes.”
“Setting aside international considerations and purely within the context of Yugoslav law, did you feel that it was your responsibility to prevent the assassination of . . . the Montenegrin?”
“It was my responsibility not to aid the operation directly.”
“So, insofar as you thought Ms. Vees was out to kill this gentleman, you would have interfered.”
“I would not have aided the project.”
“But you wouldn’t have actively intervened to prevent it?”
Della Torre paused, took out a cigarette, and lit it. How many had he already had that morning? He coughed. “I wouldn’t have gotten in the way.”
“Would you have encouraged someone else to do so? That is to say, encouraged someone else to interfere with such an operation, had it existed?”
“I don’t see how your question is materially different from what you’ve asked already.”
“Would you please answer my question.”
“I refer you to my previous answer.”
Anzulović looked from della Torre to the interviewers. Della Torre took a final drag of his Lucky and rubbed it out in
“And Rebecca?”
“He threw us both off,” della Torre said.
“But you survived.”
“I . . . I wasn’t . . . my bindings came undone. So I could swim.”
“And Rebecca’s didn’t.”
“No.”
“Did you make any effort to save her?”
“I . . . I couldn’t.”
“But you knew she was still bound?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because he threw her in first.”
“And then you?”
“Yes.”
“He must have known she would drown.”
“Yes.”
“Did you say anything? Did you do anything to save her?”
“No.” No, he’d watched with horror, but he’d done nothing, said nothing.
“So it was likely his intention — the Montenegrin’s intention — that Rebecca should die.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you think that, Mr. della Torre?”
“Because Rebecca and her team were sent there to kill him.”
“This is your speculation.”
“This is my absolute knowledge.”
“It seems to me you’re making a leap of judgement, coloured perhaps by extenuating circumstances. Did you disagree with this supposed mission to assassinate Mr. Djil . . . the Montenegrin?”
“It is contrary to law.”
“You’re a lawyer, aren’t you, Mr. della Torre?”
“Yes.”
“Specialized in international law. I understand you studied for a master’s degree in London. From, let’s see, ’77 to ’78, I believe.”
“That’s correct.”
“And what was Mr. . . . the Montenegrin’s past?”
“He had been a senior member of the UDBA .”
“With a responsibility for liquidations on foreign territory.”
“He headed the wetworks, yes.”
“Was that legal?”
“He always operated within the framework of Yugoslav law.”
“This is something you know about, is it? This is within your expertise?”
“Yes, I was a member of UDBA ’s Department VI. We were in effect the UDBA ’s internal affairs. My responsibility was to investigate past killings UDBA had been involved in on foreign territory, to ensure that they had been —” Della Torre was about to say executed but thought better of it. “That they had been undertaken within the letter of Yugoslav law.”
He was limiting himself to telling the Americans only what he already knew they knew, though he suspected they knew a lot more.
“And did these murders comply with international law?”
“How so?” della Torre said.
Grimston cut in: “Were the Montenegrin’s actions permissible within the context of international law?”
“It was not my role to adjudicate on whether actions by officers of the Yugoslav state were in breach of international law, merely whether they had acted within the scope of domestic legislation. In my experience — and I investigated a number of past cases he had been involved in — he had always acted lawfully.”
“Yet you’re a specialist in international law.”
“Yes.”
“Setting aside international considerations and purely within the context of Yugoslav law, did you feel that it was your responsibility to prevent the assassination of . . . the Montenegrin?”
“It was my responsibility not to aid the operation directly.”
“So, insofar as you thought Ms. Vees was out to kill this gentleman, you would have interfered.”
“I would not have aided the project.”
“But you wouldn’t have actively intervened to prevent it?”
Della Torre paused, took out a cigarette, and lit it. How many had he already had that morning? He coughed. “I wouldn’t have gotten in the way.”
“Would you have encouraged someone else to do so? That is to say, encouraged someone else to interfere with such an operation, had it existed?”
“I don’t see how your question is materially different from what you’ve asked already.”
“Would you please answer my question.”
“I refer you to my previous answer.”
Anzulović looked from della Torre to the interviewers. Della Torre took a final drag of his Lucky and rubbed it out in
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