Andrew Kaplan - Scorpion Winter

“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 murdered. Both these criminals have confessed to their crimes! They have shown no evidence of innocence or remorse. What more is needed?”

“I agree,” the goateed suddya said. “The evidence is overwhelming.”

“And I,” the hatchet-faced suddya said.

The judges began to confer among themselves. They talked and nodded their heads.

Iryna turned toward Scorpion. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hold out,” she said.

“Did you tell them about my code name, Scorpion?” he whispered to her.

“Gospadi!” she cried, looking away. “Is that what you think of me?”

The three judges passed around a paper. Each of them signed it in turn.

They were going to execute both of them, Scorpion realized. For him it was foregone, but there might still be a chance for Iryna.

“We have concluded-” the hatchet-faced suddya began.

“Podazhdite!” Scorpion cried out. Wait! “You’ve got it backward. She didn’t seduce me! I seduced her! I killed Cherkesov! It was a Western plot. Iryna,” nodding at her, “tried to stop me. I forced her to come with me after the assassination. I did it! She is innocent!”

“ Tak, you admit you killed Cherkesov?” the hatchet-faced suddya said.

“I did it!” he said, looking at Iryna. “She had nothing to do with it.”

“Why? What was your reason?”

“I was paid.”

“But by whom? Who wanted Cherkesov dead?”

“An international conglomerate who thought Kozhanovskiy would be more sympathetic to their interests. Everyone here knows that Kozhanovskiy wanted to be closer to the West.”

“An American company?” the goateed suddya put in.

“An international company, but yes, of the West,” Scorpion said.

For a moment no one spoke.

“He’s lying. He’s trying to save her,” Kulyakov said, looking at Scorpion.

“That’s stupid,” Scorpion said. “If as you contend, she brought me into this, if I’m about to die because of her, why would I want to save her? I’d want to see her dead!”

The hatchet-faced suddya stared at Scorpion for a long moment. No one in the room said anything. He turned and whispered quickly with the other judges. The goateed judge was disagreeing about something. Suddenly, there was a stir.

Two Black Armbands came into the room, their hands on their gun belt holsters. Someone followed them in, followed by two more Black Armbands. The hatchet-faced suddya was about to object to the interruption when he saw who it was. Scorpion recognized him instantly. Heavyset in a dark suit, bald, horn-rimmed glasses.

Gorobets.

“Vybachte,” Gorobets said in that same soft voice. “Excuse the interruption.”

“The sud is honored, Minister,” the hatchet-faced suddya said.

Gorobets walked over to the bench and, leaning over, spoke with the three judges. Once, he turned to look back first at Scorpion, then at Iryna. He and the judges spoke for another few minutes, then Gorobets turned to leave. He glanced again at Iryna and fixed Scorpion with a long hard look. Then, without a word, Gorobets and his Black Armbands left the room.