“That’s for us to decide,” said Agayan.
“Is he fit to appear in court?” asked Charlie.
“Yes,” said Badim.
“Can he stand?”
“Sufficiently. There’s a crutch.”
Looking more closely into the room Charlie saw there was an old fashion, T-shaped support propped against the side of the wheelchair in which Bendall was already seated. “Then you’ve fulfilled your function. We want the room empty except for attorney Abbott, myself and militia colonel Melnik.”
Agayan moved to protect further but Olga said, “That’ll be all right. We haven’t a lot of time.”
There was a shuffle of passing people. Inside Charlie recognized that Bendall was dressed in the jeans and long-sleeved sweater the man had been wearing during the tussle on the TV gantry, although they appeared to have been cleaned. He didn’t recognize the faded fabric windcheater in which Bendall only had his right arm, the left side pulled over the man’s injured shoulder. There was scarcely anybulge from the bandaging and Charlie guessed it had been further reduced. There didn’t appear to be a particularly thick dressing at the man’s hip, either. The routine of arranging their own recording was practically automatic.
Charlie said, “Sorry I wasn’t here yesterday, Georgi. You had something you wanted to talk to me about?”
“No,” said Bendall.
“You kept asking for Charlie,” reminded Anne.
“Not important anymore.”
“It might be,” said Charlie. “Why don’t we just talk it through.”
“I don’t want to.”
“There aren’t the facilities for us to talk in a court cell,” said Anne. “That’s why we’re here.”
“OK,” said Bendall.
“I mean we’ve got to talk about anything here,” said Anne.
“There won’t be another chance.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You remember our telling you yesterday that this isn’t the full trial? It’s just to formally list the charges.”
“I know.” There was a tinge of irritation in Bendall’s voice.
“You’ll have to stand, for a few moments, while the charges are put.”
“I can do that.”
“Arkadi Semenovich will enter the plea. You don’t have to say anything. You’ll be allowed to sit when that’s over. The prosecution will ask for an adjournment and that will be that, OK?”
The faintest smile pulled at the corners of Bendall’s mouth.
“You don’t say anything, Georgi,” stressed Charlie. “You let your lawyer say it all. You got anything to say, say it to me here, now.”
“Changed my mind.”
“Don’t!” urged Charlie, the frustration burning through him. Bendall said, “I want to go now. I’m ready.”
“Let’s talk about it some more.”
“No!” refused Bendall, his voice raised.
There was movement from the outside corridor. Olga said, “The prison transport’s waiting.”
Charlie said, “We don’t want any outbursts in court, Georgi.You’ll get your chance to say all you want, but not today. You understand?”
Bendall said, “I want to go.”
“We’ll come here afterwards,” promised Charlie. Back in the embassy car, he said, “I fucked up yesterday.”
“Badly,” agreed Anne, at once.
So many roads were closed or restricted because of the funeral security that they had to make an elaborate, looping detour to get to the Central Criminal Court building. There was a bristled hedge of television cameras, stills photographers and sound and print journalists blocking its front and Charlie too late regretted the identifiable embassy car. He shouldered a path for Anne, wincing at the klieg light and flashbulb glare, both of them ignoring the shouted demands, in English, for them to identify themselves. None of the uniformed, lined-up militia officers made any effort to help them. The yelling, jostling scrum pursued them into the pillared vestibule and Charlie only picked out Noskov because the man towered over everyone else.
When they reached the Russian lawyer Charlie, to whom public identification was anathema, said, “Let’s get into court, out of this!”
It was a comparative oasis of calm and quiet beyond the heavy doors. It was the first time Charlie had been inside a Russian court and his initial impressions was that it was very similar to those he knew from England, apart from the more functional raised bench for the five examining judges being necessarily longer but without any carved canopy. The centrally positioned dock was raised the same as in England, topped with a familiar surrounding rail, and to its sides and rippled out in front were benches for lawyers, their support advisors and court officials. Two rows were cobwebbed with headsets for simultaneous translation and at the second sat the sixstrong American legal team, selecting their channels and testing the sound. The rest of the court was already nearly full. A stenographer was at his table, beside the one facing row directly beneath the judges’ bench. To one side was the press enclosure, from which reporters were overflowing into a standing line in front. There was a lot of noise coming from an overhanging balcony into which Charlie couldn’t see but which he assumed to be the public gallery. Theglassed booth from which the proceedings were being televised was at the same height as the public gallery, adjoining the translators’ pod. Olga was seated next to a tightly bearded, impressively uniformed and medalled man, with other officers attentively around them. At his entrance Charlie saw her bend to the man, who turned expressionlessly to examine him. Olga gave no facial reaction, either. There were two uniformed militiamen at every door into the well of the court and a further two at each of the two doors leading on to the judges’ bench. John Kayley was away from the rest of the Americans, in one of the shorter rows to the side of the dock. When he saw Charlie he gestured that there was a seat beside him.
Noskov said, “Anything?”
“He’d changed his mind,” said Charlie.
Noskov sighed. “You warned him about histrionics.”
“As well as I could.”
Noskov led Anne to the first row facing the bench and Charlie eased himself next to the American. Kayley said, “What’s new?”
“Nothing,” said Charlie. “You found any of those missing from our fifteen?”
“Not a one.”
“Have the militia added any?”
“Nope. Going to talk to Olga about it, later. You coming straight back?”
“Returning to the hospital first, to talk to Bendall.”
The noise abruptly increased and there was a turning of heads and Charlie turned too, to see Bendall’s wheelchair being lifted from an unseen stairwell into the dock. Seated, the man’s head scarcely came level to the rail. Bendall looked alertly around him, smiling up at the television position, and Charlie thought, an actor. He was sure Bendall would attempt his promise to be sensational, which it probably would. From the slight smile on Kayley’s face, the American guessed it too.
There was the usher’s demand, in Russian, to stand for the crocodiled entry of the five judges. The dock warders supported Bendall until he got his balance on the single crutch beneath his right arm and prodded him to remain upright, after everyone else sat, for thecharges to be read. Bendall stood tight against the dock edge, showing no discomfort.
The clerk set out the charges in both names, the chosen Russian identity first, beginning with the conspiracy to murder and finishing with the intent to endanger or take life. Throughout Charlie sat twisted towards the dock, waiting, although he was aware from the corner of his eye of the huge lawyer levering himself to his feet for the equally formal pleas. He saw, too, that Anne was turned completely towards the dock, as expectantly as he was.
