Mightier Than the Sword (46 page)

Trelford was quite happy for them to go on discussing the legal niceties as to whether the letter was admissible or not, well aware that he had made his point without having to produce any evidence.

Giles studied the sphinx-like expression on Trelford’s face and couldn’t be sure if Emma’s counsel even wanted the letter to be read out in court, but following what had started out as a triumphant morning for Lady Virginia, he had once again sown a seed of doubt in the jury’s minds. Everyone in the court’s eyes were on him.

Mr. Trelford tucked the envelope back into an inside pocket of his jacket. He smiled up at the judge, and said, “No more questions, my lady.”

44

W
HEN THE CELL DOOR
swung open on Tuesday morning, two guards marched in to find Harry and Babakov sitting on the floor in opposite corners of the cell, not speaking.

They grabbed Babakov and, as they dragged him out of the cell, Harry bowed his head as if he wanted nothing to do with the man. A moment later two more guards appeared, walking at a more leisurely pace. Although they took Harry firmly by the arms, they didn’t jostle, push, or drag him out of the cell, which made him wonder if it was just possible that Babakov’s plan had worked. However, the guards didn’t let go of Harry as they led him up the stairs, along the corridor, and into the courtroom, as if they feared he might try to make a run for it. But where would he run, and just how far did they imagine he would get?

Harry had insisted that Babakov sleep on the one thin mattress in their cramped cell, but the Russian had refused, explaining that he couldn’t afford to get used to such luxury when he would be returning to a stone floor in Siberia on Tuesday night. Sleeping on the straw that was liberally scattered over the floor was quite enough luxury for one weekend. The truth was, neither of them had slept for any length of time, which brought back memories for Harry of his days behind enemy lines. By the time the guards came to collect them on the Tuesday morning, they were both mentally and physically exhausted, having used every available hour for the challenge they had set themselves.

When the two guards accompanied Harry into the court, he was surprised to find the chief prosecutor and the jury already in their places. He hardly had time to catch his breath before the door at the back of the room opened and the three judges entered and returned to their seats on the raised dais.

Once again, the tribunal chairman didn’t even glance in Harry’s direction, but immediately turned to the jury. She opened a file in front of her and began what Harry assumed was her summing up. She only spoke for a few minutes, rarely raising her head from the text. Harry could only wonder who had written it, and when.

“Comrades, you have heard all the evidence, and have had more than enough time to consider your verdict. Can there be any doubt that the prisoner is guilty of the crimes he has been charged with, and that he deserves to be sentenced to a long term of imprisonment? The jury will be interested to learn that this will not be the prisoner’s first experience of jail. He has already served a sentence for murder in the United States, but do not let that influence you, because it is you, and you alone, who must decide if he is guilty.”

Harry had to admire the fact that the other two judges were able to keep a straight face while she continued to read out the prepared statement.

“Comrades, first let me ask you if you need to retire to consider your verdict?”

A man seated at the right-hand end of the front row, as befits a bit-part player, stood up and, sticking to his script, said, “No, comrade chairman.”

“Have you reached a verdict?”

“Yes, we have, comrade chairman.”

“And is that verdict unanimous?”

“Yes, it is, comrade chairman.”

“And what is your verdict?”

Each of the twelve members of the jury picked up a piece of paper from their chair, and held it high in the air, revealing the word
GUILTY
.

Harry wanted to point out that there was only one piece of paper on each chair but, as Anatoly had advised, he looked suitably chastened when the comrade chairman turned to face him for the first time.

“The jury,” she declared, “has unanimously found you guilty of a premeditated crime against the state, and I, therefore, have no hesitation in sentencing you to twelve years’ imprisonment in a labor camp, where you can once again share a cell with your criminal friend Babakov.” She closed her file and paused for some considerable time before adding, “However, as Colonel Marinkin recommended, I will offer you one last chance to sign a confession admitting your crime and the terrible mistake you have made. Should you do so, your sentence will be suspended, and you will be extradited and never allowed to visit the Soviet Union or any of its satellites again. Should you ever attempt to do so, your sentence will automatically be reinstated.” After a short pause she said, “Are you willing to sign a confession?”

Harry bowed his head and said, very quietly, “Yes, I am.”

For the first time, all three judges showed an emotion—surprise. The chairman couldn’t hide her relief, unintentionally revealing what her masters had clearly always wanted.

“Then you may approach the dais,” she said.

Harry stood up and walked over to the three judges. He was shown two copies of the confession, one in Russian and the other in English, both of which he read carefully.

“You will now read your confession to the court.”

Harry read the Russian version first, which brought a smile to the lips of the comrade chairman. He then picked up the English version and started to recite it. From the blank stares he received he wondered if anyone in that courtroom understood a word of English. He decided to take a risk, change the occasional word, and see how they reacted.

“I, Harry Clifton, a citizen of the United Kingdom, and President of PEN, have
in
voluntarily and
with
coercion, signed this
confusion
. I have spent the past three
years
with Anatoly Babakov, who has made it clear to me that he
did
work in the Kremlin, and met Comrade Chairman Stalin on
several occasions, including
when he was awarded his degree. Babakov also admitted that the book he wrote about Comrade Stalin was
fact, and not
a figment of his imagination.

“I shall
continue to
demand Babakov’s release from prison, now that I am aware of the lengths
this court
went to, in order to deceive the public with this fraud. I am most grateful to the court for its
lethargy
on this occasion, and for allowing me to return to my own country.”

The chairman handed him a pen and he was just about to sign both copies when he decided to take a second risk.

*   *   *

“Members of the jury,” said Mrs. Justice Lane. “It now falls to me to sum up what has been a complex case. Some facts are not in dispute. Mrs. Clifton does not deny that when addressing a packed annual general meeting of her family company, she made the following reply to a question from Lady Virginia Fenwick, and later had it recorded in the minutes of the meeting:
If it was your intention to bring the company down, Lady Virginia, then … you have failed, and failed lamentably, because you were defeated by decent ordinary people who want this company to be a success
.

“The defendant, Mrs. Clifton, has testified that she believes her words were justified, while the plaintiff, Lady Virginia, claims they are libelous. Whether they are or not is what this trial is about, and the final decision is yours.

“Your biggest challenge, may I suggest, is to make a judgement about the two women involved in this case. You have seen them both in the witness box, and I suspect you will have formed your own opinion as to which you consider the more credible. Do not allow yourselves to be influenced by the fact that Mrs. Clifton is the chairman of a public company, and therefore should be given some leeway when answering a question from someone she considers hostile. What you must decide is whether she libeled Lady Virginia, or did not.

“Equally, you should not be overawed by the fact that Lady Virginia is the daughter of an earl. You must treat her no differently than you would your next-door neighbor.

“When you retire to the jury room to consider your verdict, take your time. I am in no hurry. And do not forget that the decision you are about to make will affect both of these women for the rest of their lives.

“But first, you must select a foreman, who will act as chairman. When you’ve reached your verdict, please tell the jury bailiff that you wish to come back into court so that I can inform all those directly and indirectly involved in this case to return to hear your decision. I shall now ask the jury bailiff to escort you to the jury room, so you can begin your deliberations.”

A tall, elegantly dressed man with a military bearing and wearing what looked like a schoolmaster’s gown stepped forward, and led the seven men and five women of the jury out of the courtroom. Moments later, the judge rose from her place, bowed to the court and returned to her chambers.

“What did you make of the summing up?” asked Emma.

“Measured and fair,” Mr. Trelford assured her. “You have nothing to complain about.”

“And how long do you think it will take them to reach a decision?” Giles asked.

“It’s impossible to predict. If they are all in agreement, which I think is highly unlikely, no more than a couple of hours. If they are divided, it could be a couple of days.”

“Can I read the letter Major Fisher sent to you?” asked Sebastian innocently.

“No, you cannot, Mr. Clifton,” said Trelford, pushing the envelope further down into his inside pocket, “and nor can anyone else, unless and until Mrs. Justice Lane allows me to reveal its contents. I cannot, and will not, go against the express wishes of the judge. Good try, though,” he said, grinning at Seb.

*   *   *

“How long are we expected to hang about?” asked Virginia, who was sitting with her counsel on the other side of the courtroom.

“I’ve no idea,” said Sir Edward. “If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say a day, possibly two.”

“And why did Major Fisher address his last letter to Trelford and not to you?”

“That I haven’t been able to work out. But I confess I’m puzzled why Trelford didn’t press the judge more strongly to be allowed to read the letter to the jury, if it was at all likely to benefit his client.”

“Perhaps he was bluffing?”

“Or double-bluffing.”

“Am I safe to take a couple of hours off?” asked Virginia. “There’s something I need to do.”

“Why not? I can’t see the jury returning before this afternoon.”

45

H
ARRY HADN’T EXPECTED
a chauffeur-driven car to take him to the airport, and he was even more surprised when he saw who the chauffeur was.

“I just want to make sure you get on the plane,” said Colonel Marinkin.

“How very considerate of you, colonel,” said Harry, forgetting to remain in character.

“Don’t get clever with me, Mr. Clifton. The railway station is closer than the airport, and it’s not too late for you to join Babakov on a journey that won’t have a return ticket for another twelve years.”

“But I signed the confession,” said Harry, trying to sound conciliatory.

“Which I know you’ll be glad to hear has already been released to every leading newspaper in the West from the
New York Times
to the
Guardian
. It will have hit most of their front pages before you touch down at Heathrow, so even if you did try to deny it—”

“I can assure you, colonel, that, unlike St. Peter, there will be no need for me to deny anything. I saw Babakov for what he was. And in any case, an Englishman’s word is his bond.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” said the colonel, as he accelerated on to the motorway and put his foot hard down. Within seconds the indicator was touching a hundred miles an hour. Harry clung on to the dashboard as the colonel nipped in and out of the traffic, and for the first time since he’d set foot in Russia, Harry was genuinely frightened. As they passed the Hermitage, the colonel couldn’t resist asking, “Have you ever visited the Hermitage, Mr. Clifton?”

“No,” said Harry, “but I’ve always wanted to.”

“Pity, because now you never will,” said the colonel as he overtook a couple of lorries.

Harry only began to relax when the airport terminal came into sight, and the colonel slowed to sixty. He hoped his plane would take off before the first editions hit the streets, otherwise he might still be on that train to Siberia, and as he couldn’t hope to get through customs for at least a couple of hours, it might be a close-run thing.

Suddenly the car swung off the road, through a gate held open by two guards, and drove onto a runway. The colonel dodged in and out of the stationary aircraft, with much the same abandon with which he had treated the cars on the motorway. He screeched to a halt at the bottom of an aircraft’s steps, where two guards, who had clearly been waiting for him, sprang to attention and saluted even before he’d got out of the car. Marinkin leaped out, and Harry followed him.

“Don’t let me hold you up,” said the colonel. “Just be sure you never come back, because if you do, I’ll be at the bottom of the steps waiting for you.” They didn’t shake hands.

Harry walked up the staircase as quickly as he could, knowing he wouldn’t feel safe until the plane had taken off. When he reached the top step the senior steward came forward and said, “Welcome aboard, Mr. Clifton. Let me take you to your seat.” Clearly he was expected. The steward guided him to the back row of first class, and Harry was relieved to find the seat next to him was empty. No sooner had he sat down than the aircraft door was slammed shut and the seat belt sign switched on. He still wasn’t quite ready to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Is there anything I can get you once we’ve taken off, Mr. Clifton?” asked the steward.