The judges looked at each other.
“A total of seven men dead, murdered by you?” the hatchet-faced suddya said.
“Not murdered. Killed. They were shooting at Iryna and me.”
“Not even counting Cherkesov?”
“I didn’t kill Cherkesov. One of the Svoboda security men, Dimitri Shelayev, planted the bomb that killed Cherkesov and his people in the car.”
“So you say,” the hatchet-faced suddya said.
“This is absurdnyi!” Kulyakov said, standing up. He pointed at Scorpion. “This man has confessed to the crime. Trying to lay the blame on another, a patriot, in the hour of our country’s peril, is obscene!”
“How many times do you change your story, Pane Scorpion? Whenever it suits you?” the hatchet-faced suddya said.
“I can prove it,” Scorpion said.
The hatchet-faced suddya turned to Kulyakov. “Where is this Shelayev? Can we bring him to the sud?”
“I know Dimitri Shelayev,” Kulyakov said. “We were colleagues, friends. He went missing the night of the attack at the stadium.”
“So where is he?” the hatchet-faced suddya demanded.
“He was hiding in the Chernobylska Exclusion Zone,” Scorpion said.
“So you say,” the hatchet-faced suddya said once more, staring at Scorpion. “And where is he now?”
“Dead.” Scorpion looked down. “He killed himself.”
“Not true,” Kulyakov said. “We found Shelayev’s body. There was evidence of a struggle. He was murdered. This man,” pointing at Scorpion, “was the last man to see him alive.” He faced Scorpion. “More blood on your hands, ubeetsa.” Murderer.
“Tak,” the hatchet-faced suddya said, steepling his fingers and squinting at Scorpion. “You are a dangerous man to be around, aren’t you?” He turned to the other judges. “We’ll have to execute this mudak bastard fifty times over!” He turned back to Scorpion. “You keep saying you have proof.”
“Shelayev confessed. It’s on video,” Scorpion said.
“Where is this video?”
Time to show his cards. “Everywhere. It’s on the fucking yob Internet. On YouTube,” he said.
The judges didn’t react. Neither did anyone in the courtroom. Scorpion got a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach and the pain in his groin started up. Sure, Kulyakov and Gorobets had suppressed the TV video and gotten rid of everyone at the TV station, but how is it that they didn’t know about YouTube? What the hell was going on? Somebody had to have spotted it. It was impossible not to. Who the hell could have gotten to Google or forced them to suppress it? Could Gorobets have done that? He looked at Kulyakov. He was smiling. Someday I’ll kill you, Scorpion thought, but he couldn’t think anymore. The pain in his groin was getting worse. He clenched his fist.
“You see! He makes up stories and says he has proof, but all his witnesses are dead or nonexistent. Where is this video that no one has seen or heard of before?” Kulyakov said. “Cherkesov was sure to win the election. They hired this assassin to eliminate him.”
“Then why did I come to Gorobets in Dnipropetrovsk and warn him? You should know,” Scorpion said, pointing at Kulyakov. “You were there!”
Kulyakov looked coldly at Scorpion. “To get access to the stadium, to the tunnel where Cherkesov would be coming to his automobile. And to make an alibi for yourself and Iryna.” He turned to the judges. “Can you see? He is clever, this one.”
One of the other judges leaned over and said something to the hatchet-faced suddya.
“We see very well,” the suddya said. “What about the other criminal?” He looked down at his papers for a moment and back at Scorpion. “Iryna Mikhailivna Shevchenko. What part did she play in this?”
“She had nothing to do with this,” Scorpion said.
“Then what was she doing at the stadium with you, in the tunnel?” Kulyakov demanded.
The suddya held up his hand to quiet Kulyakov. He turned to Scorpion. “You admit she was at the stadium?” he said.
“Yes,” Scorpion replied.
“With you?”
“Yes.”
“Why was she there?”
“To make sure we stopped Pyatov. She didn’t trust me,” Scorpion said.
“Eta lozh! ” That’s a lie! Kulyakov shouted, leaping out of his chair and pointing at Scorpion. “They’re in it together! They’re thick as bedbugs, those two!”
“Molchat!” the hatchet-faced suddya said, holding his hand up for silence. “Is prisoner Iryna Shevchenko here?”
“She’s outside,” Kulyakov said.
“Have her brought in,” the suddya said.
Kulyakov signaled to one of the guards and a moment later Iryna was led into the room. She wore a gray prison shift, her hair in its pixie cut. She looked pale and very thin. They sat her in a chair a few feet from Scorpion’s. As they led her in, his eyes searched hers. She looked frightened, worried, he thought. He tried to smile at her, but he could see she was shocked at his appearance, his gauntness and bruises.
“You are Iryna Mikhailivna Shevchenko?” the hatchet-faced suddya asked. She nodded. He looked at his papers for a moment. “You were the campaign manager for Viktor Ivanovych Kozhanovskiy?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice so soft they had to strain to hear her.
“Speak up!” one of the other judges, a balding man with a goatee like Lenin’s, demanded.
“ Da, yes,” she said louder.
“You know this man?” the hatchet-faced suddya said, indicating Scorpion.
“Da.”
“You were with him at the stadium in Dnipropetrovsk when Yuriy Cherkesov was murdered?”
She looked questioningly at Scorpion.
“Look at me, not him!” the hatchet-faced suddya thundered. “You were with him?”
“Da.”
“To kill Cherkesov?”
“No, to stop Pyatov!” she cried. “We tried to stop it!”
“Even if it meant forcing Ukraina into war with Russia? Your political ambition was more important than the Motherland!”
“No! My father was Artem Shevchenko, founder of the Rukh, the Independence movement without which we wouldn’t even have a country! Ukraina would still be an oblast of Russia! How could I ever go against the Motherland?”
“Lies! You see how she twists things?!” Kulyakov said, leaping to his feet. “What business did the head of the Kozhanovskiy campaign have at a Cherkesov rally? She did it to make sure her lover,” pointing at Scorpion “went through with it! They are equally guilty!”
The hatchet-faced suddya looked at Iryna.
“You were lovers with this man, this Scorpion?”
Iryna looked desperately at Scorpion.
“I’m sorry,” she told him. “They made me.” She looked at the hatchet-faced suddya. “They did things to me, those mudaky bastards! Gospadi, do I have to say it?”
“Molchat!” Silence! the hatchet-faced suddya demanded, slapping the table sharply with his palm.
“She seduced him,” Kulyakov said. “Part of his payment for killing Cherkesov. She was his sooka whore. Tell them,” he said, coming up to her and grabbing her face tightly with his hand. “Admit it!”
“Is it true? You were lovers?” the suddya asked, his eyes focused on hers.
She tried to look desperately over at Scorpion, her eyes glistening.
“Da,” she whispered. “It’s true.”
“Why do we waste time listening to these lies?” Kulyakov said. “They have admitted they were there together. This man,” he pointed at Scorpion, “has admitted killing seven people at the stadium, not even including Cherkesov and the others in the automobile. He was the last one seen with Shelayev, who was also found
