Don Brown - Black Sea Affair

One of them opened the door. A younger man, wearing a dark suit, spoke in perfect English. "I am Special Agent Vasily Borvich. I am a translator working for the Russian government. Come with me and these men, please."

A soldier pushed a button and the elevator doors swung open. All six soldiers stepped in, surrounding Pete with their guns. The translator stepped in and closed the doors, then pushed the button. The elevator started rising.

"Where's my crew?"

"It is not for you to ask questions."

The elevator stopped. The doors swung open into a large corridor with fluorescent lights and antiseptic-smelling tile floors.

"Step out of the elevator and follow me."

They stepped across the hallway from the elevator, their boots clicking and echoing down the corridors. They walked through two ornate double doors.

The doors swung into a large, chandelier-filled courtroom. The courtroom was packed with people who turned and stared at Pete.

"Walk forward."

Pete stepped down the center aisle, through a wooden gate.

"Sit here." The translator pointed at a table to his left.

At the table to his right, a grim-faced Army officer stared him down with angry eyes.

Something was said in Russian. Three high-ranking military officers, one each from the Russian Army, Navy, and Air Force, stepped through the door behind the big benches in front of Pete. All three looked to be in their fifties. With a solemn face, the Army officer in the middle nodded at a clerk.

A clerk began reading in English.

"This Russian Military Tribunal, convened to hear the charges of war crimes against this officer for attacking a civilian Russian ship with a civilian crew, is now in session. Please be seated."

The Army officer in the middle, a general, grunted something, and the translator spoke.

"Are you Commander Peter Miranda of the United States Navy?"

Pete stood. The Geneva Convention required him to provide his name, rank, and serial number.

"I am."

"Commander Miranda, you are charged with the following crimes, for which if you are convicted, could result in your being executed by firing squad or being sentenced to life in prison."

There was a pause, as the English translation was followed by more Russian.

"You are being charged with twenty-five counts of crimes against humanity, to wit, in that you commanded the United States submarine USS Honolulu on an illegal and secret military mission into the Black Sea, wherein you subsequently ordered your vessel to attack a civilian freighter, to wit, the Russian freighter Alexander Popovich, and that your actions have caused the untimely deaths of at least twenty-five known innocent civilians on board that ship."

More Russian. A murmuring rose from the courtroom. Pete looked around and caught the eyes of a young brunette woman sitting in the front row just behind him to his right. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, and then he recognized her as Masha Katovich, the young lady he had rescued.

"You are also being charged with conspiracy to destroy and destruction of property of the Russian Republic, to wit, in that after having surrendered the said USS Honolulu to the Navy of the Russian Republic, thus transferring ownership of said vessel to the Russian Republic, you did conspire to, and did in fact instruct certain subordinates to destroy said property by the use of explosive devices, which led to the sinking of such vessel in the Black Sea in waters west of the Crimean Peninsula."

More translation.

More astonishment from the crowd.

Pete looked around again. Masha Katovich was gone. He felt strange disappointment at her absence.

He'd sensed a sympathetic look on her face. Or so he thought. Then again, he had nearly killed her precious orphans. Perhaps his imagination had shifted into overdrive. She was probably the prosecution's star witness.

"You are also charged with violation of international law pertaining to transit of the high seas in that you broke various provisions of the Montreux Convention and the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Seas, to wit, in that you illegally and without justification brought your submarine in a submerged state through that international strait known as the Bosphorus, in violation of all semblances of international law prohibiting such submerged transit.

"To these charges, how do you plead?"

"I will plead to nothing until I know that my crew is safe and that they will be released."

"Silence!" the general shouted. "It is not for you to be concerned of the fate of war criminals."

"And I will not participate in this kangaroo court until I know my men are safe!"

"That is enough!" The admiral, just to the left of the general, snarled. "Your crew's fate will be tied to yours. If you are convicted, they will be convicted. If you are executed, they will be executed. And if you are acquitted, then they will be set free."

"That is not acceptable."

"Silence!" A banging gavel rapped from the one in the middle. "Perhaps the innocent children and crewmen of the freighter you sunk would say that a submarine against an unarmed freighter is not acceptable!"

"That freighter was being used by terrorists!"

"Ha!" The air marshal sitting to the right spoke up. "Typical American response justifying the unchecked use of military power against civilians. Everything is tied to terrorists!"

The general in the center spoke again. "How do you plead to these charges?"

"I do not understand these charges. Do I now have a right to counsel?"

"Aah. The brave commander, who is so brave as to attack an unarmed freighter, now wishes to hide behind an attorney?"

Mocking laughter arose at the translation.

"Very well! This is a military tribunal, Commander. And under our rules, you may have one Russian military attorney and one military attorney of your choosing from your country, should your host country agree to provide one. You will not be allowed a civilian attorney. Is this your wish, Commander?"

"Yes, sir. I wish to exercise my right to counsel."

"Very well!" the army general announced. "You will be removed to your cell, where you will communicate your desire for counsel to your translator. This court will reconvene in forty-eight hours."

Three more gavel bangs rang out. The generals and the admiral exited the courtroom.

Armed guards clamped cuffs on Pete's hands. They hustled him back behind the bench area, through a small door, into a narrow corridor. A moment later, they slammed the iron doors behind him in the cold cell.

The ornate Russian Orthodox Church was nestled in a grove of trees across from the large, rectangular brick compound that surrounded the United States Embassy. She remembered visiting this place last summer, shortly after Carol and Eugene Allison had left Ukraine.

Then she had taken a stroll through the summer heat to find a peaceful courtyard just outside the chapel, and to try something that the Allisons had taught her to do. Pray.

Today's short walk from Red Square through the blustery wind to the church was for the same purpose. The leaves were gone now, and the church seemed colder and greyer.

She had tried telling her Russian interrogators about the cargo transfer. But they responded as if she were the criminal.

"Do you realize that Kapitan Batsakov was a hero of the Soviet navy?" asked the scruffy one, with a burning cigarette dangling from his mouth. "And you seek to impugn his name?" He blew a cloud of stifling smoke. "The entire world is watching this, and impugning the reputation of a Soviet naval hero gives propaganda to the Americans."

The second interrogator, the fat, balding one, had been more accusatory. "I hope you are not attempting to blackmail the kapitan's estate or the Russian government for money, Miss Katovich. Do you know that blackmail is a felony under Russian law?"