When he arrived, he was made to wait for half an hour while the nurse slowly finished her paperwork. He crouched with his knees close to his chest to alleviate the pain. When the nurse was finally done, she barked in an accusatory tone, «O'kay. Why are you here?»
Sergei was practically shaking, and through clenched teeth he said slowly, «I’m in unbearable pain. I’ve asked over and over, but no doctor has examined me since I arrived last month».
The nurse was visibly annoyed. «What do you mean you haven’t been examined? You were examined at your previous detention center!»
«Yes, and they prescribed treatment and surgery. But nothing has happened here».
«When did you come to us? Only one month ago! What do you want? To be treated every month? You should have had treatment when you were free».
«I wasn’t sick when I was free. I developed these illnesses in detention».
«Don’t tell me fairy tales». She then dismissed him, without providing any treatment. Her final words were, «If you need medical attention, write another letter to the doctor».
The guards took him back to his cell. Eventually the pain subsided and he was able to drift into a fitful sleep.
It was now clear that the authorities were deliberately withholding medical attention from Sergei. They were using illnesses he had contracted in detention as a cudgel against him. They knew that gallstones were one of the most painful conditions anyone could suffer from. In the West, you might last two hours before you crawl to the emergency room, where the doctors will immediately give you a dose of morphine before treating you. Sergei, though, had to deal with untreated gallstones for four months without any painkillers. What he had to endure was unimaginable.
Sergei and his lawyer wrote more than twenty requests to every branch of the penal, law enforcement, and judicial systems of Russia, desperately begging for medical attention. Most of these petitions were ignored, but the replies he received were shocking.
Major Oleg Silchenko wrote, «I deny in full the request for a medical examination».
A Tverskoi District court judge, Aleksey Krivoruchko, replied, «Your request to review complaints about withholding of medical care and cruel treatment is denied».
Andrei Pechegin from the Prosecutor’s Office replied, «There’s no reason for the prosecutor to intervene».
Judge Yelena Stashina, one of the judges who ordered Sergei’s continued detention, said, «I rule that your request to review the medical records and conditions of detention is irrelevant».
While Sergei was being systematically tortured, he began to receive regular visits from a man who refused to identify himself or his organization. Whenever this man came, the guards would drag Sergei from his cell to a stuffy, windowless room. The meetings were short because the man had only one message: «Do what we want, or things will continue to get worse for you».
Every time Sergei would stare across the table at this man and refuse to do what he wanted.
Nobody knows how much hardship one can endure until one is forced to endure it. I don’t know how I would have handled this situation, and Sergei probably didn’t know either until he faced it. Yet at every turn, no matter how bad it got, he refused to perjure himself. Sergei was religious, and he would not violate God’s ninth commandment: «Thou shalt not bear false witness». Under no circumstances would he plead guilty to a crime he did not commit, nor would he falsely implicate me. This, it seems, would have been more poisonous and painful to Sergei than any physical torture.
Here was an innocent man, deprived of any contact with his loved ones, cheated by the law, rebuffed by the bureaucracy, tortured inside the prison’s walls, sick and becoming sicker. Even in these most dire circumstances, when he had the best possible reasons to give his tormentors what they wanted, he wouldn’t. In spite of the loss of his freedom, his health, his sanity, and possibly even his life, he would not compromise his ideals or his faith.
He would not give in.
30. November 16, 2009
As Sergei endured this living nightmare, I was living in a daze. Saturday mornings were the worst. I would wake early and roll over to look at Elena in our comfortable king-size bed. Beyond the edge of our bed was a window, and beyond that London. I was free and comfortable and loved. I could still touch and feel what love meant, while Sergei could only remember. It made me feel sick. My desire to reconcile my family’s communist background with my own capitalist ambitions had brought me to Russia, but, naively, I never imagined that this pursuit would result in a human tragedy.
On these days, I would get up, shuffle to the bathroom, turn on the shower, and get in. The hot water was meant to be cleansing, only it wasn’t. The dirt fell free, but the guilt coated me like tar. Sergei got to shower once a week at most, sometimes having to wait as long as three weeks. The water falling over his body was cold, and the soap, if there was any, was rough. His prison cells were rank and his health was failing. More than once I fought back fits of nausea. Even today I can’t step into my bathroom without thinking of Sergei.
But I did shower, and I did get up on Saturdays, and I did love my family, and after getting more dire news about Sergei’s condition, I fought even harder for him. His situation was becoming grave.
In October 2009 I returned to Washington and New York to continue advocating for him. Nobody was particularly interested, but I kept trying. Somehow I needed to find a way to make what was happening to Sergei important for the whole world. For the life of me, though, I couldn’t see how.
Then, as I was boarding an overnight British Airways flight back to London, my phone rang. It was Elena.
I answered, and before she could even speak, I said, «Sweetie, I’m just getting on the plane. Can this wait?»
«No, it can’t. The Interior Ministry just issued a formal indictment!»
I stepped aside to allow the other passengers by. «Against Sergei?»
«Yes». She paused. «And you. They’re going after both of you».
This scenario had always been lurking, but to hear the words was still shocking. «They’re actually going through with it?»
«Yes. They’re going to have a big show trial».
I took a moment before asking, «Do we have any idea what happens after that?»
«Eduard thinks Sergei will get six years and you’ll get the same in absentia. He said Russia will then issue an Interpol Red Notice for you and try to extradite you from the UK».
An Interpol Red Notice is an international arrest warrant. If one was issued in my name, I could be detained at any border crossing the moment I presented my passport. The Russians would then apply for my extradition, which would most likely be granted. I would then be sent to Russia to face the same type of ordeal as Sergei.
«Bill, we need to put out a press release to contradict their lies right away».
«O'kay». The idea that I was going to be put on trial had a physical effect on me, and I was jittery as I rejoined the throng of people making their way onto the plane. «I’ll write something in the air and we’ll go over it as soon as I land».
«Have a safe flight, sweetheart. I love you».
«I love you too».
I found my seat and stared in front of me, lost in thought. I knew what was coming: a bunch of unpleasant headlines that would say things like «Browder and Magnitsky on Trial for Tax Evasion», or «Russia to Issue Interpol Red Notice for Browder». Any rebuttal we offered would be found in the last paragraph of these articles, which almost always goes unread. That, in essence, was the beauty of how corrupt Russian police worked — they abused their official status to steal money and terrorize their victims. They hid behind a wall of legitimacy granted by their status as law enforcement agents. The press would always report official statements as if they were the truth because in most countries law enforcement agencies don’t openly lie. This was a big problem for us. Somehow, I had to find a way to get the real story out.