Grigori was not going to take lessons in politics from Lev. “Russians want bread, peace, and land.”
“Anyway, I have a daughter in America. Her name is Daisy. She’s three.”
Grigori frowned doubtfully.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Lev said. “I didn’t care about Katerina’s child-what’s his name?”
“Vladimir.”
“I didn’t care about him, you think, so why should I care about Daisy? But it’s different. I never met Vladimir. He was just a speck when I left Petrograd. But I love Daisy, and what’s more, she loves me.”
Grigori could at least understand that. He was glad Lev had a good enough heart to feel attached to his daughter. And although he was bewildered by Lev’s preference for America, in his heart he would be hugely relieved if Lev did not come home. For Lev would surely want to get to know Vladimir, and then how long would it be before Vladimir learned that Lev was his real father? And if Katerina decided to leave Grigori for Lev, and take Vladimir with her, what would happen to Anna? Would Grigori lose her too? For himself, he thought guiltily, it was much better if Lev went back to America alone. “I believe you’re making the wrong choice, but I’m not going to force you,” he said.
Lev grinned. “You’re afraid I’ll take Katerina back, aren’t you? I know you too well, brother.”
Grigori winced. “Yes,” he said. “Take her back, then discard her all over again, and leave me to pick up the pieces a second time. I know you, too.”
“But you’ll help me get back to America.”
“No.” Grigori could not help feeling a twitch of gratification at the look of fear that passed across Lev’s face. But he did not prolong the agony. “I’ll help you get back to the White army. They can take you to America.”
“What’ll we do?”
“We’ll drive to the front line, and a little beyond it. Then I’ll release you into no-man’s-land. After that you’re on your own.”
“I might get shot.”
“We both might get shot. It’s a war.”
“I guess I’ll have to take my chances.”
“You’ll be okay, Lev,” said Grigori. “You always are.”
Billy Williams was marched from the Ufa city jail, through the dusty streets of the city, to the commercial college being used as temporary accommodation by the British army.
The court-martial took place in a classroom. Fitz sat at the teacher’s desk, with his aide-de-camp, Captain Murray, beside him. Captain Gwyn Evans was there with a notebook and pencil.
Billy was dirty and unshaven, and he had slept badly with the drunks and prostitutes of the town. Fitz wore a perfectly pressed uniform, as always. Billy knew he was in bad trouble. The verdict was a foregone conclusion: the evidence was clear. He had revealed military secrets in coded letters to his sister. But he was determined not to let his fear show. He was going to give a good account of himself.
Fitz said: “This is a field general court-martial, permitted when the accused is on active service or overseas and it is not possible to hold the more regular general court-martial. Only three officers are required to sit as judges, or two if no more are available. It may try a soldier of any rank on any offense, and has the power to impose the death penalty.”
Billy’s only chance was to influence the sentence. The possible punishments included penal servitude, hard labor, and death. No doubt Fitz would like to put Billy in front of a firing squad, or at least give him several years in prison. Billy’s aim was to plant in the minds of Murray and Evans sufficient doubts about the fairness of the trial to make them plump for a short term in prison.
Now he said: “Where is my lawyer?”
“It is not possible to offer you legal representation,” Fitz said.
“You’re sure of that, are you, sir?”
“Speak when you’re spoken to, Sergeant.”
Billy said: “Let the record show that I was denied access to a lawyer.” He stared at Gwyn Evans, the only one with a notebook. When Evans did nothing, Billy said: “Or will the record of this trial be a lie?” He put heavy emphasis on the word lie, knowing it would offend Fitz. It was part of the code of the English gentleman always to tell the truth.
Fitz nodded to Evans, who made a note.
First point to me, Billy thought, and he cheered up a bit.
Fitz said: “William Williams, you stand accused under part one of the Army Act. The charge is that you knowingly, while on active service, committed an act calculated to imperil the success of His Majesty’s forces. The penalty is death, or such lesser punishment as the court shall impose.”
The repeated emphasis on the death penalty chilled Billy, but he kept his face stiff.
“How do you plead?”
Billy took a deep breath. He spoke in a clear voice, and put into his tone as much scorn and contempt as he could muster. “I plead how dare you,” he said. “How dare you pretend to be an objective judge? How dare you act as if our presence in Russia is a legitimate operation? And how dare you make an accusation of treason against a man who has fought alongside you for three years? That’s how I plead.”
Gwyn Evans said: “Don’t be insolent, Billy boy. You’ll only make it worse for yourself.”
Billy was not going to let Evans pretend to be benevolent. He said: “And my advice to you is to leave now and have nothing more to do with this kangaroo court. When the news gets out-and believe you me, this is going to be on the front page of the Daily Mirror-you will find that you’re the one in disgrace, not me.” He looked at Murray. “Every man who had anything to do with this farce is going to be disgraced.”
Evans looked troubled. Clearly he had not thought there might be publicity.
“Enough!” said Fitz loudly and angrily.
Good, Billy thought; I’ve got his goat already.
Fitz went on: “Let’s have the evidence, please, Captain Murray.”
Murray opened a folder and took out a sheet of paper. Billy recognized his own handwriting. It was, as he expected, a letter to Ethel.
Murray showed it to him and said: “Did you write this letter?”
Billy said: “How did it come to your attention, Captain Murray?”
Fitz barked: “Answer the question!”
Billy said. “You went to Eton school, didn’t you, Captain? A gentleman would never read someone else’s mail, or so we’re told. But as I understand it, only the official censor has the right to examine soldiers’ letters. So I assume this was brought to your attention by the censor.” He paused. As he expected, Murray was unwilling to answer. He went on: “Or was the letter obtained illegally?”
Murray repeated: “Did you write this letter?”
“If it was obtained illegally, then it can’t be used in a trial. I think that’s what a lawyer would say. But there are no lawyers here. That’s what makes this a kangaroo court.”
“Did you write this letter?”
“I will answer that question when you have explained how it came into your possession.”
Fitz said: “You can be punished for contempt of court, you know.”
I’m already facing the death penalty, Billy thought; how stupid of Fitz to think he can threaten me! But he said: “I am defending myself by pointing out the irregularity of the court and the illegality of the prosecution. Are you going to forbid that… sir?”
Murray gave up. “The envelope is marked with a return address and the name of Sergeant Billy Williams. If the accused wishes to claim he did not write it, he should say so now.”
Billy said nothing.
“The letter is a coded message,” Murray went on. “It may be decoded by reading every third word, and the initial capital letters of titles of songs and films.” Murray handed the letter to Evans. “When so decoded, it reads as follows.”
Billy’s letter described the incompetence of the Kolchak regime, saying that despite all their gold they had failed
