Brian Freemantle - Kings of Many Castles

“Then make others see!” urged Charlie. “It’s going to be a show trial, like the show trials of the 1930s! But this time not just the outside world but Russia will recognize the staging, recognize that the people responsible aren’t going to be accused. Politically it’ll be a disaster!”

“Yes it will be,” Natalia agreed, in further understanding.

“Argue against it!” insisted Charlie.

“It’s not a decision in which I’m personally involved, have any part of.”

“You’re at the very center of everything!”

“Except this.”

“You’ve got the ear of people! The Federal Prosecutor and Yuri Trishin, for Christ’s sake! Who can be more involved that those two!”

“Maybe it needs rethinking,” Natalia conceded.

“You told me Okulov backed you when you confronted Karelin,” further reminded Charlie. “That strength-his confidence-will be known now wherever it’s necessary to be spread. An empty trial, which this will be, will make Okulov look ridiculous.”

“It’s an independent legal decision.”

“Bollocks!” rejected Charlie. “It’ll be twisted by Okulov’s opponents to be his decision, in his eagerness properly to take over as president.”

Natalia offered her glass, to be refilled again. As Charlie was doing it she said, “We’re talking politics, Russian politics at that. I thought our job-your job particularly-was to solve a crime.”

“Okulov backed you against the FSB. I don’t-we don’t-want Okulov displaced.”

Natalia was silent for several minutes. “I hadn’t thought that far forward.”

“Now we have.”

“You have. I’ll make the point.”

“As strongly as you can,” encouraged Charlie.

“As strongly as I can,” promised Natalia.

They prepared dinner together-starting with the Beluga he’d bought at the airport-and halfway through Charlie realized that the polite reservation had gone. That night though, when he reached out for her, Natalia had turned her back. He changed the gesture into arranging the covering more closely around her before turning, sleeplessly, on to his back. Somewhere he’d professionally missed something, he decided, something that he was sure, even though he didn’t know what or where it could be, was important. Vital even. Then he wondered what Anne was doing and wished he hadn’t.

Arkadi Semenovich Noskov was a huge man, both in height and girth and made to look even bigger by the full, unclipped beard like a black canopy over his chest. The bass profundo voice rumble from low within the barrel chest and Charlie thought the man would have better occupied one of the opera stages Natalia had tried so unsuccessfully to convince him he should enjoy than a courtroom. Charlie hoped that in the theater Noskov had chosen he wouldn’t be called upon to sing too many tragedian lament, although the performancein which Charlie had so far featured that day weren’t encouraging Charlie’s biggest frustration was not being able to disclose the Russian intention to arraign George Bendall, which made largely pointless this first conference with the lawyer. Charlie’s dissatisfaction was compounded by the outcome of every telephone call he’d so far made, in attempted anticipation of the meeting.

The first had been to the incident room and after outlining the British ballistic opinion he said, “The rifle-and the bullets-aren’t any longer at the American embassy. They were withdrawn-physically removed by Olga Melnik-when the militia walked out of the cooperation arrangements. Our ballistics experts will only provide a definitive opinion-testify if called upon to do so-if they can scientifically examine Bendall’s weapon.”

“And it’s not usual for the prosecution to make physical evidence available for defense analyses, either,” rumbled Noskov. “I’m surprised they did, in the first place.” He looked directly at Anne. “And you know from your consultations in London that it’s unlikely they’ll limit themselves to one charge.”

“Which brings us back to mental impairment,” said Anne.

It was Charlie’s cue to recount his London meeting with the Home Office psychiatrist, which he concluded with a forewarning from another of his unproductive calls. “I’ve tried to speak to Olga Melnik but was told she’s unavailable. I’ve left messages, telling her we’re going to the hospital.”

“We’ve been officially told we won’t be able to interview Bendall alone,” reminded Anne.

“They’re making simultaneous recordings,” Noskov pointed out. “We’d hardly gain anything by being by ourselves with the man.”

“Do we have Russian psychiatrists available?” asked Anne.

The huge man nodded. “But I want to see Bendall by myselfwith just you two-first. I want to gain my own impression before getting theirs.”

Charlie half expected Olga Melnik to be waiting for them at the Burdenko Hospital, but she wasn’t. There was no attempted body search by the foyer protection squad but they insisted upon examining the briefcases that Noskov and Anne carried. Only Guerguen Agayan waited beyond the cordon.

At Bendall’s ward Noskov said to the obviously alerted second group, “Two of you stay. The rest get out, to make room.”

“I’ll stay, too,” insisted the psychiatrist. “I don’t want another collapse.”

Charlie was impressed by the lawyer’s unchallenged command. Even with only two guards and the doctor remaining, Noskov’s size meant the room was crowded, as the embassy car had been bringing them, Anne squashed into a corner of the rear seat with Charlie gratefully relegated to the front, beside the driver.

From the moment of their entering the solitary ward Charlie’s concentration upon George Bendall was absolute, registering the man’s consciousness of everything around him, instantly isolating the intentness with which Bendall’s eyes followed the initial chairshuffling uncertainty of accommodating themselves in the confined space. Charlie was very aware of how close to him Anne had to sit; he had to learn across her, physically touching, positioning the tape recorder carefully away from the already operating Russian equipment.

“Remember me, Georgi?” invited Charlie. Noskov had agreed during their cramped drive that Charlie should try to follow the London psychiatrist’s direction.

Bendall didn’t respond, his attention entirely upon the gargantuan Russian lawyer.

“It’s good to see you out of bed,” said Charlie, who hadn’t imagined the man would have been fit enough to be put into a chair. The injured shoulder didn’t look to be wrapped so heavily and without the head bandages the fair hair flopped, greasily.

Bendall continued to look unwaveringly at the bearded Russian.

Charlie said, “You’ve given us a hell of a lot of work, Georgi. And we’re getting nowhere. You really planned everything very well, didn’t you?” The attention faltered, briefly, Bendall’s eyes flickering towards Charlie who went on, “I don’t just mean us, the British. Everyone else, too. America. Russia. You’re really leading us by the nose.”

Bendall finally looked properly towards Charlie, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. The wailing hum was almost inaudible.

Charlie said, “I don’t know what we’re going to do. Admit we’re beaten, I guess.”

The dirge grew stronger. Noskov shifted, creaking his overburdened chair.

Charlie said, “You knew you could do it, didn’t you Georgi? Beat us?”

“Course I did.”

“That’s what everyone’s going to recognize, how much better than anyone else you’ve been.”

“I know.”

“I wonder if that KGB guy will realize it; the one who talked to you with your father that time?”

Bendall frowned but said nothing.