Ultimate Issue (31 page)

Facing them, the witness stand, the law officer’s desk, the tables for the prosecutor and defence.

Verago entered the empty room and slowly walked up to the long raised table. He stood and stared at the unoccupied chairs.

He was in his army uniform, and for once he looked smart, the trousers pressed, shoes polished. Everything about him was crisp, except his face. He looked tired, for he had been up most of the night. He had freshly shaved and showered, but that hadn’t removed the shadows under his eyes.

He paced down the aisle of the courtroom, almost as if he was measuring it. Then he turned and faced the seven chairs. The unwaverhlg eye of the Cyclops emblem stared back at him from the wing coat of arms on the wall over the long table.

Verago walked over to the lone chair that represented the witness stand, to the right of the table, and sat on it.

Always so conscious of the smell of a place, Verago sniffed the all-pervading odor of polish. The wooden floor of the courtroom shone. So did the tables and the chairs. The door of the courtroom opened and a staff sergeant came in, carrying a tray with four carafes of water and some glasses. He stopped when he saw Verago on the witness chair.

“Oh, excuse me, sir,” he said. “You go ahead, Sergeant.”

The sergeant put the carafes down on the two lawyers’ tables, with the glasses.

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“You’re early, sir,” he remarked. “Court isn’t due to convene until nine A.M.”

“I know,” said Verago.

“Going to be a nice day, sir,” the sergeant observed conversationally. The sun was coming in through the windows, strong and bright.

“You think so?” He screwed up his eyes. Damn it, he wished he had had more sleep. “Sergeant, you think you could rustle up a cup of coffee? Hot? Black?”

“Sure thing,” said the sergeant, and disappeared through the swing doors.

Behind the wooden barrier, there were sixteen chairs, in two rows of four on each side of the aisle. The public section. For justice to be seen to be done. Verago wondered just who would occupy them today.

The sergeant came back with a mug of steaming coffee.

“Thanks,” Verago said gratefully, and took a muchneeded drink.

The sergeant was curious. He was a clerk in the wing’s legal office. He didn’t often see army lawyers.

“Is this your first air force trial?” he inquired.

“Could be my last too,” said Verago, with a tight little smile. He took another sip of coffee. “You get many courts here?”

“It’s a pretty gung-ho outfit,” the sergeant said enigmatically.

“How about adultery? Had one of those?”

“No, sir,” said the sergeant, and for some reason he seemed to think it funny. “How about the army?”

Involuntarily, Verago yawned. He was paying for his sleepless night.

“I guess I’d better get on with things,” the sergeant said diplomatically. His tone indicated, man, you’d better get some shuteye before it starts. Maybe there was even a touch of contempt. Some lawyer. Can’t even stay awake before the case. Glad you’re not defending me, buddy.

“Carry on, Sergeant,” said Verago, and closed his eyes.

But he was not asleep when Lieutenant Colonel Apollo came in quietly, carrying an attache case.

“Good morning, Tony,” Apollo said cheerfully. “Can’t wait for it to begin?”

“Just looking around sir.”

This time Apollo did not suggest he drop the rank

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formalities. He put his attache case down on the prosecution table, by the wall.

“How long are you going to keep us, counselor?” he asked jovially. “When will you let us get out of here?”

Verago slowly got off the witness chair. He came over.

“I’ve been up half the night, Colonel,” he said. “With my client.”

“Oh, yes?”

“He asked to see me at four o’clock this morning.”

“That’s really rough,” Apollo said sympathetically. “Couldn’t it wait?”

“No, it couldn’t,” replied Verago, and he was very much awake. “And that’s why I want to see you, ColoneL I want you to stop this case.”

Apollo nodded, as if Verago had made a most reasonable request.

But what he said was: “You know that’s impossible.”

“And you know why I am asking,” said Verago. “Cap” fain Tower has told me everything.”

Apollo opened his case and took out some law books, a pad, and a couple of exercise books. He spread them out on the table.

“Tony all I know is that we have a man accused of a violation and he’s going to be tried for it. Anything else is irrelevant.”

“The hell it is,” said Verago.

Apollo looked at his watch. “Guess well find out who’s right at nine. Come and have breakfast?”

But Verago had already gone.

Laconbury

Lieutenant Jensen was rushing along the corridor like a man who’s about to miss a train as Verago came through the swing doors.

Jensen skidded to a stop.

“There you are,” he puffed. “Jesus, you realize what the time is?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Christ almighty, hadn’t we better have a strategy session?”

“I don’t see why.”

Jensen was trying hard to control himself. He was clenching and unclenching his pudgy hands.

“You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you, Captain Verago?”

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“What makes you think that, Cyrus?”

“I hear you spent half the night with Tower. Couldn’t be bothered to get hold of me, could you? Want to do it all behind my back?”

“Lieutenant,” said Verago, “do we have to discuss all this right here?”

Two office doors in the corridor stood open. People could hear them. An officer was standing by the entrance to the washroom, listening, fascinated. Not often did two legal eagles have a standup row like this in public.

They found an empty office, and Jensen slammed the door.

“Now,” he said, facing Verago, who sat down on the edge of a table. “I know you don’t like me, and frankly, Captain, I can’t wait for you to get back to Germany. But meanwhile, let’s get this trial over, okay?”

“There won’t be any trial,” Verago said quietly.

“Why not?”

“You leave that to me.” He saw the flush on Jensen’s face. “Frankly, it’s best you don’t know. I don’t want you to be a party to anything you don’t believe in.”

`‘I “

“Forget it,” said Verago.

“I’m going to report this to Colonel Kincaid. I think the army may be interested too….”

. “You can report to the devil for all I care,” said Verago. He got off the desk. “Just sit with me in court, and keep quiet. That way you won’t get burned.”

But Jensen didn’t move.

“What precisely did Tower tell you?” he asked softly.

“Everything,” said Verago. “Excuse me.”

“You’re making a big mistake,” exclaimed Jensen. “You can’t beat the government. You know that. Don’t you care? Don’t you care about your career? Don’t you realize what’s at stake?”

“Sure,” said Verago. “That’s why.”

He pushed past Jensen, and in the corridor outside he saw Unterberg heading for the courtroom.

And he suddenly wondered if this time it would all blow up in his face.

For after what Tower had told him, he knew that they could not let him get away with it.

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Kalin in grad

Sounds had become the important things in Captain Kingston’s life now. The slamming of iron doors, the turning of keys, footsteps echoing on the stone floor outside, these were the big moments of the day.

He sat on the bunk, holding his shaved head in his hands, eyes closed, trying to work out yet again where he was. The sounds of his closed world did not reveal much.

The days after he had been picked off a life raft by a Russian torpedo boat in the Baltic remained a blank. Then the room with the overprinted windows in the hospital. How long was he there? Days, weeks? He did not remember.

On the day he was finally shifted from the hospital, the woman doctor gave him an injection. He did not recall much of the subsequent journey. They had exchanged his pajamas for a shapeless prison uniform but, curiously enough, had allowed him to keep his fur-lined flying boots.

Again he tried to figure out where this place might be. Deep inside Russia? Or was he still on the Baltic coast somewhere? In Poland? East Germany? He could find no clue. He didn’t even have a chance to see the sun or the stars, so there was no way to plot a geographical direction.

One thing he did know for sure. Officially he was dead. Since he no longer officially existed, he could not hope to be returned to the West. Major Fokin had made that point very clear. He often wondered how the Pentagon had worded the telegram they had sent to his wife after the RB-47H went down.

He had lost count of the sessions he had had with Pokin. Keeping up the pretence of amnesia, now that his memory had returned, was proving an almost intolerable ordeal. Fokin was a shrewd and clever interrogator, and Kingston didn’t know how much longer he could continue the charade. He knew Fokin didn’t believe his mind was a blank but, so far, he hadn’t been able to crack Kingston.

“You’re a good actor, Captain,” Fokin complimented him. “You should have had a career in Hollywood. Like Gary Cooper.”

The major laughed at his own joke. Kingston didn’t smile.

Fokin’s face clouded over. “At least Gary Cooper says ‘yep’ and ‘nope.’ You don’t say a word. You don’t realize

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how stupid you are being. We know everything anyway. We know about the missions from Laconbury. What you are after. We know everything….”

Kingston knew it was a trap. Fokin was goading him to react. To say “then you don’t need me to tell you anything,” to betray that he was alert.

Patiently, Fokin kept asking the same questions.

“Tell me about the APR-Fourteen intercept receiver. Is there a new model? Have they fitted the modified APREight B panoramic adapter yet? Are they going to change the ALA-Five pulse analyser?”

He concentrated on the ferret equipment Kingston op” crated, and he knew it very well.

“I hear that the high fidelity of the tape recorders you use to capture our radar signals leaves something to be desired,” Fokin would say conversationally. “Frankly, our boys are having the same trouble.”

But Kingston just stared at him dumbly.

One of the reasons Fokin had a high reputation as an intelligence interrogator was his indefatigable perseverance. But Kingston was beginning to wear it down.

“Have you heard of Vokuta, my friend?” he asked Kingston one day. “It’s located just above the Arctic circle. It is a coal mine. A prison coal mine. Not a nice place. Very cold.” He paused. “I would hate you to spend the rest of your days there.”

Kingston’s worst [ear was that he would go crazy. Since he talked to nobody, he mouthed words to himself in the dark. He was good at mathematics and physics, and he tried to solve problems in his mind. They had provided him with a pad and pencil, probably in the hope that his doodles would give them an insight into his mind, so he kept the pages blank.

Then Fokin brought him a book. A slim volume in English. It was Alice in Wonderland.

“Perhaps it will revive childhood memories,” remarked Fokin.

But he was only interested in other memories. The next day he asked again about U-2 flights from Laconbury.

“I can understand why you are keeping silent,” he said. “You have some very important information in here.” He tapped his own forehead. “Your people were very anxious that none of you should fall into our hands. They even sent a submarine to try and find you. Sorry it missed you.”

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Fokin sighed. “The sad thing is that your buddies did peAsh.Iimagine ferret crews have very close bonds. Almost like a family. Sorry they didn’t survive. But at least you’re lucky.”

For a moment their eyes met. Fokin leaned forward. He knew he’d touched a raw nerve and hoped that that would make Kingston open up. But he just turned his face away and stared at the wall.

“Never mind, Captain,” said Fokin. “You will talk, believe me.”

And soon after, at two o’clock in the morning, Kingston began another journey.

LaconburJr

The three captains, two majors, and the lieutenant colonel sat alternatively to the right and left of the president, according to their rank and seniority.

It was the president, a full colonel, whom Verago studied closely. Colonel Henry Voigt was a formidable-looking man, erect as a ramrod, unsmiling, sharp, grey eyes unblinking. He wore two sets of wings, the silver ones of an air force command pilot on his left breast and a pair of RAF wings on the right side.

His medal ribbons were as formidable as the man. They included the colors of the European Theater in World War II, the Pacific war, and Korea. On each were rows of battle stars. He had won the Distinguished Flying Cross, the Silver Star, many Air Medals, and a cluster of Purple Hearts. The French had decorated him, and the British had given him their DFC.

The other six officers looked hand-picked too, all flyers, all veterans of the service, all men who had served their country around the globe.

The law officer sat down at his desk and nodded briefly to the seven officers of the court. Then, like a priest about to quote from the Bible, he opened the maroon law manual in front of him and straightened the notepad and the neat row of specially sharpened pencils he had laid out. He glanced round the courtroom, focusing briefly on Tower. He avoided looking at Verago.

Tower sat at the defense table, next to Verago, staring straight ahead.

“How do you feel?” whispered Verago to him.

Tower shrugged.

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“Let me do all the talking,” said Verago. “Remember what I told you. Leave it to me.”

Tower nodded. He was pale.

Jensen leaned back in his chair, on Verago’s right, edging a little sideways, like a man in a restaurant who’s been made to join a table he doesn’t really want to sit at.

“You take notes,” Verago instructed him. “Every damn word.”

“That’s what the reporter is for, Tony.” Jensen scowled. “I’m not “

“I want my own record, and you take it,” hissed Verago. The ugly look he gave Jensen curtailed further argument.

Verago felt the seven officers of the court watching his every move. Surrounded by blue air force uniforms, his army olive picked him out as a stranger in their midst. He tried to tell himself that he was imagining the waves of hostility that kept sweeping toward him.