Brian Freemantle - No Time for Heroes

Danilov felt matchingly self-conscious. He hadn’t expected the open praise – and didn’t think Cowley had either – but if the gratitude was to be as muted as this he thought it would have been better not to have bothered at all. Muted or not, it was a celebration of sorts, so the extent and degree of the prosecution had been determined. Tentatively he said: ‘So all the decisions have been made?’

‘We think so.’

‘We,’ isolated Danilov. Why was Smolin being left to make the announcement, if indeed he did intend telling them everything? Where were the others who’d felt it so necessary to involve themselves until now?

‘I’ve heard from Washington there has been agreement on how the case should be prosecuted,’ encouraged Cowley. He wanted the vodka, but had only taken token sips to respond to the Federal Prosecutor’s toast. He knew the sequence Danilov wanted and was even more anxious than the Russian about whether it would be possible. He genuinely didn’t see how it could work but it was the only chance of survival he had and he was clutching it, a drowning man hanging on to the thinnest straw.

‘There have been a lot of exchanges with other governments, apart from America,’ disclosed Smolin. ‘With Italy and with Switzerland. We think it has been resolved very satisfactorily.’

‘How?’ demanded Danilov directly.

The prosecutor looked between the two investigators and for a brief, stomach-dropping moment both Danilov and Cowley thought the man was going to refuse to answer. Instead Smolin said: ‘The priority has always been establishing – or perhaps confirming – confidence between governments…’ He smiled bleakly at Cowley. ‘Particularly in America, where the crimes began – or at least were thought to have begun. Washington have accepted completely there was no official Russian connivance in any organised illegality, through our embassy. That what connection there was came from the past, and from people and crime of the past, not the present…’

Danilov thought that statement stretched the known facts but he didn’t consider interrupting with a question, wanting Smolin to talk himself out.

‘There is no doubt the murders of Michel Paulac and Petr Serov have been solved, and the American government know it,’ insisted Smolin. ‘We have a complete admission, together with supporting and corroborating confessions and more scientific evidence than any other murder case I have ever known. Mikhail Antipov will be properly tried and properly sentenced, under Russian law. Every legal requirement will be satisfied. Legal representatives from the Swiss and American embassies will attend, as observers.’

‘Then the rest must come out, publicly,’ said Gowley, risking the intrusion from which Danilov was holding back.

Smolin shook his head. ‘The trial of Mikhail Pavlovich Antipov will be in a closed court. Statements will be issued, at the end of each day’s hearing.’

‘How can that be justified, legally?’ persisted Cowley.

‘It would unquestionably have been a matter of state security if a Mafia cell had been operated out of an accredited Russian embassy, wouldn’t it?’ demanded the prosecutor. ‘There is every justification for hearing and fully examining such evidence in camera, to prevent the sort of unsubstantiated sensationalism that followed the revelation of the Mafia names in Serov’s possession.’

‘And after the full examination of the evidence, it will be declared an unsubstantiated allegation?’ anticipated Danilov.

‘Which is the truth,’ said Smolin easily.

‘So how did Paulac and Serov get shot in the mouth?’ demanded Cowley. They couldn’t parcel it up like this! It would have to leak out!

‘We’re denying ongoing, entrenched Mafia presence,’ said Smolin patiently. ‘Not that there was any criminality. Petr Serov was involved in organised crime. But by himself, without the knowledge or assistance of anyone else in the embassy or the government. And Michel Paulac was also involved in crime. We will issue a detailed apology that a Russian diplomat was so engaged, at the end of the Antipov trial, when his sentence is announced. Which will be the truth, because we do regret it. Switzerland will do the same, which is again the truth, because they regret it. And Washington will publicly respond by welcoming our assurance that there isn’t a Mafia cell in the embassy. Which again will be the truth, because there isn’t.’

The prosecutor stopped, for them to assimilate the explanation.

It was possible, Cowley conceded, although still unsure there was not an oversight somewhere. As Smolin was setting it out, there were no lies, no dishonesty: just events and evidence sanitised to satisfy everyone and everything.

They were the facts, conceded Danilov: it was the truth viewed through a reversed telescope, the proper images minimised instead of being magnified. But it worked: simply, logically, acceptably, it worked.

It was the sceptical Cowley who tried to point out a flaw. ‘What about the Italian trial? That won’t be controlled, with the public excluded. The Italians have already publicised it as much as they can.’

‘Publicised what?’ returned Smolin, appearing to enjoy the debate with the two people most closely involved with the entire investigation. ‘It will be a murder trial! A murder trial which will detail the smashing of a Mafia chain that was going to span the world! That’s what all the publicity will be about. That it was a link-up to smuggle drugs will be a factor, but how it was to be financed will be a very incidental part of the prosecutor’s case: certainly there will be no mention of funds in Switzerland looted from Communist Party sources, or of people in Moscow who until very recently still had political influence being involved.’

There had been a lot of exchanges with other governments, acknowledged Danilov. ‘What if Zimin talks about it in open court, as part of his defence?’

‘It doesn’t provide any defence,’ argued Smolin. Heavily he added: ‘It might affect our thinking about returning him here to serve his sentence, though.’

‘Which he will be told, before any public trial?’ anticipated Danilov. It was easy to understand why policemen became totally cynical if they didn’t become totally corrupt.

‘There will be the need for you to go to Italy again, ahead of even the preliminary hearing,’ said Smolin, answering the question without provably suggesting Danilov exert the pressure. ‘You will need to re-interview him, about the evidence he can offer here, against Antipov.’

Danilov’s first thought was that the trip would give him the opportunity to juggle lire into dollars conveniently to help him set up home with Larissa. At once he despised himself for it. Still wanting the information he needed to bring the case to what he would personally regard as its absolute end, Danilov said: ‘We could charge a lot more people in the two Mafia Families here: badly disrupt a lot of organised crime.’

Smolin regarded him almost irritably. ‘We have already badly disrupted organised crime. The people to whom you’re referring, in both the Chechen and the Ostankino, were involved with the stolen money. Which they did not succeed in getting. So a crime was not perpetrated: the man who did steal the money is dead, beyond punishment. We know a lot of Mafia identities, which we didn’t before. How they operate, even. That could be useful, in the future.’

Was it solely to control government embarrassment? wondered Danilov, giving his cynicism full rein. Or were there still unknown people in places sufficiently powerful to influence these judgments and decisions? He thought the question possibly provided an answer to an earlier uncertainty. Having made their arrangements and compromises, the other members of the government with whom they’d dealt before had now retreated into the background, never to be accused of political or legal manoeuvring. It made feasible his intended manoeuvring, too, so there was no benefit in his arguing in favour of prosecuting the Chechen. Instead he said: ‘What about Metkin and Kabalin?’