back. They’ll trade. You’re going to have to trust us on this one. With luck we can have you out of here within the next twenty-four hours.”
“My ass is hanging out there,” McAllister said. His stomach was tight. He glanced over at the defense attorney who was watching them. “They say they have my confession.”
“It doesn’t matter, Mac. Just plead guilty and we’ll get you out of here in one piece. Soon. I promise you.”
McAllister looked at Lacey. He compressed his lips and nodded slightly. “You’re the boss,” he said. “How’s Gloria?”
“Worried,” Lacey said. “She’s back in Washington. We thought it best under the circumstances, to get her the hell out of here.”
“Good…” McAllister started to say, when a door at the head of the chamber opened and the three tribunals filed in.“All rise,” a clerk intoned.
“This will be over in a couple of minutes,” Lacey whispered. “Hang in there.”
“Sure,” McAllister said, and he moved with his guards to the rail for the accused, directly in front of the bench. A set of headphones hung on a hook for the translation. He didn’t bother with them. By now they knew he spoke Russian.
The tribunals looked down sternly at him as the clerk read out the charges specified against him before the Moscow Northeast District -1 People’s Special Court. Spying against the People’s State of Bulgaria, the German Democratic Republic, the People’s States of Czechoslovakia and Poland, Afghanistan, and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. He was also charged with carrying a deadly weapon, and with assault on an officer of the KGB who was, at the time of the assault, conducting lawful business of the State.
The tribunals sat down, and then everyone else sat except for McAllister and his guards.
“In the matter before the court, comrades,” the District Prosecutor said getting up, “the State has prepared several items of evidence including the accused’s sworn confession, the accused’s deadly weapon which he was carrying at the time of his arrest-sworn to by Comrade General Suslev-and of course Comrade Colonel Miroshnikov’s own testimony of the assault made on his person.”
Attorney Tarasenko got to his feet. “If it pleases the court, we would like to make a brief statement before we proceed.”
All three tribunals had shifted their gaze from the prosecutor to Tarasenko.
“My client wishes to plead guilty to all of the charges specified against him, without mitigating circumstances.” The attorney turned and dramatically pointed a stern finger at McAllister. “There, comrades, stands an American spy. An agent for the Central Intelligence Agency, by his own admission. A puppet of a State gone terribly.. oh so terribly bad.” He turned back to the tribunals, a new respect in his voice. “Acting on orders from his masters, he has admitted that since 1975, when he began spying against the People’s State of Bulgaria, he has engaged in the systematic assault on all good Soviet peoples … in fact upon all peace-loving peoples of the world. By his own admission, comrades… and with remorse, I might add. the accused stands humbly before this court begging understanding and forgiveness for his heinous crimes against mankind.”
“Are you pleading guilty to these crimes, Comrade Tarasenko?” the chief tribunal asked. He was an older man, his voice as dry as winter grass.
“Yes, comrade, I am, with the fervent wish that compassion and mercy will be shown here.”
“The District Prosecutor’s office has no animosity toward this unfortunate man,” the prosecutor said.
“What of you, Comrade Colonel?” the chief tribunal asked. Miroshnikov smiled sadly as he glanced at McAllister. He shook his head. “No, comrade, I hold no animosity toward Mr. McAllister. In fact he has become my friend. Believe me when I tell you that I genuinely care for this man. I see a good and kind person beneath the trappings of his professiona load, I might add, that he no longer wishes to carry.”
“You are a generous man, Comrade Colonel,” the chief tribunal said.
McAllister felt as if he were in a very bad high school play parodying a Russian kangaroo court. The kids couldn’t have done a worse job than the real participants.
“May I speak?” McAllister said in very good Russian. The tribunals seemed genuinely surprised. The chief tribunal’s eyes knitted. “Only if you wish to contradict the very fine words that have already been spoken on your behalf.” He leaned forward. “Everyone in this room is on your side, young man.” McAllister glanced back at Lacey who sat without expression. “Well?” the chief tribunal demanded.
McAllister turned back. “I wish to enter a plea of guilty.”
“That has already been done,” the chief tribunal said impatiently. “Have you anything else to add?”
“Nyet,” McAllister said after a moment.
The chief tribunal continued to stare at him for several long seconds, then he leaned over and said something to the other two tribunals. He nodded and straightened up again.
“The death penalty is indicated for a crime so vast as yours,” he said, addressing his remarks to McAllister’s attorney. But even the prosecutor has had very kind words to say about you. However, it cannot be forgotten that you carried a deadly weapon-here in Moscow of all places-and that you assaulted the body of a good and just man while he was engaged in the performance of his lawful duties.”
McAllister might not have been there. His attorney was the object of the chief tribunal’s mounting wrath. Only Bill Lacey’s presence behind him buoyed his spirits.
“It is the unanimous opinion of this court that you be sentenced to life imprisonment at hard labor in the Autonomous Republic of Yakutsk. It is also the unanimous opinion of this court that your imprisonment shall commence immediately, and shall be without possibility of parole or exchange.” The chief tribunal rose up a little higher in his seat, and now he looked directly at McAllister. “Here you shall live out the rest of your days as a reminder to all foreign interventionists and adventurers that the Soviet peoples are a peace loving peoples who want nothing more than to live without interference.
Yarasenko and Miroshnikov were smiling. When McAllister turned around Lacey was gone from the courtroom.
Evening had come to Moscow, and with it the first few flakes of an approaching snowstorm whipped by a building cold wind. General Alexandr Borodin sat alone in his Lubyanka office, his ashtray filled, his mouth foul from too many cigarettes, and his uniform tunic off, his tie loose and his shirt collar open. He pressed the earphone more tightly against his left ear as he worked the tape recorder controls with his right hand.
At first he could hear the sounds of a door opening and closing, and then footsteps. He could hear the rustling of fabric as McAllister was undressed.
He had listened to all of these sounds over and over again a dozen times or more in the last two hours since the edited interrogation tapes had finally been sent up to him.
He leaned forward and closed his eyes as if by these actions he could hear better. He turned the volume up as high as it would go.
“Look to Washington. Look to Moscow. Zebra One, Zebra Two.“There it was again. No mistaking the words this time. No mistake at all. “What?” Chief Interrogator Miroshnikov had asked. A pause.
“Fuck you,” McAllister’s words again.
General Borodin reached out and savagely snapped the machine off. He was reminded of an old Russian proverb: Once a word is out of your mouth, you can’t swallow it again. Had Miroshnikov heard? Had he understood what McAllister had babbled in his delirium?
Look to Washington. Look to Moscow. Zebra One, Zebra Two. Fuck your mother, but this wasn’t going to turn out so good. He reached out for the telephone on his desk, but then stayed his hand. There had to be a way out. But how? Where? To whom could he turn without starting in motion the machinery of his own destruction?
Chapter 4
It was very late at night, but they were flying west so that the dawn for them would be delayed. They were seated alone in the first-class section of Air France’s nonstop service to Paris. Behind them, in coach class, the other passengers were quiet, most of them sleeping, their seat backs reclined, their overhead lights switched off. There was nothing to be seen below, in any event. Since this was an overnight flight out of Moscow a regular meal
