«I have something here that I think will make you very happy», he said with a conspiratorial smile. The assistant — a young woman wearing a gray pantsuit and a bright red silk scarf tied around her neck — wrote notes in a spiral notebook. Scott twisted to grab an overstuffed manila folder off his desk — a folder, no doubt, that contained all of his briefing material on Sergei and me, just as Jonathan had predicted. Scott brought his knees together, placed the folder on his lap, and removed a sheet of paper from it.
I was intrigued. «What is it?»
«Mr. Browder, each year the State Department publishes a human rights report, and this year, there are two very strong paragraphs in the report about the Magnitsky case».
I’d heard that organizations such as Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International had whole teams working throughout the year on strategies for getting their cases into this document — and here was Kyle Scott handing it to me on a silver platter.
While this may have been a big deal in other cases, it wasn’t in ours. The Russian government couldn’t have cared less about a couple of paragraphs in a US government human rights report. The Russians were actively covering up a massive crime, and the only thing they cared about — the only thing that would get their attention — was real-life consequences.
Kyle Scott watched me expectantly for my reaction.
«Can I read what’s been written?»
He handed me the sheet of paper. The paragraphs were reasonably punchy, but they were just words.
I looked at Scott and said politely, «These are really great. Thank you very much. But there’s something else I wanted to ask you».
Scott shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and the assistant peeked up from her notes. «Sure, what is it?»
«Actually, Mr. Scott, I’ve been studying the US statutes and have come across something I think would work very well in the Magnitsky case: Proclamation Seventy-seven Fifty, the one that can be used to ban corrupt foreign officials from coming into America».
He sat up stiffly. «I’m aware of that order. But how is it applicable here?» he asked defensively.
«It’s applicable here because the people who killed Sergei are obviously corrupt, and therefore would be captured under the proclamation. The secretary of state should ban their entry into the US».
The assistant wrote feverishly, as if I’d spoken three times as many words. This was not how they had expected the meeting to go. Jonathan Winer had been right.
This was not what they wanted to hear because ever since Barack Obama had become president in 2009, the main policy of the US government toward Russia had been one of appeasement. The administration had even created a new word for it: reset. This policy was intended to reset the broken relations between Russia and the United States, but in practical terms it meant that the United States wouldn’t mention certain unpleasant subjects concerning Russia so long as Russia played nice in trade relations and nuclear disarmament and various other areas. Sure, the US government could put a few paragraphs in a report to demonstrate «concern» over human rights abuses, but the main policy was for the United States to do absolutely nothing about them.
I was asking for something completely at odds with this policy, and Scott was suddenly in uncomfortable territory. «I’m sorry, Mr. Browder, but I still don’t see how Seventy-seven Fifty applies to the Magnitsky case», he said evasively.
I knew Scott was in a tough spot, but instead of backing down I pushed harder. «How can you say that? These officials stole two hundred and thirty million dollars from the Russian people and then killed the whistle-blower. They’ve laundered all of that money, and now parts of the Russian government are engaged in a massive cover-up. Seventy-seven Fifty is tailor-made for a case like this».
«But, Mr. Browder — I don’t — it would be impossible to prove that any of these people did any of the things that you claim», he said firmly.
I tried to keep calm but was finding it more and more difficult. «The two paragraphs you just showed me mention several of these officials by name», I said pointedly.
«I–I—"
My voice started to rise. «Mr. Scott, this is the most well documented human rights abuse case since the end of the Soviet Union. It’s been independently recognized that a number of Russian officials were involved in Sergei’s death. I’d be happy to take you through it».
This meeting had gone completely off track for Scott, and now he wanted it to end. He motioned to his assistant, who stopped writing, and stood. I stood too. «I’m sorry, Mr. Browder», he said, ushering me toward the door, «but I have to get to another meeting. I’d be glad to discuss this with you another time, but I simply can’t at the moment. Thank you again for coming in».
I shook his hand knowing full well that I wouldn’t be returning to his office anytime soon. His assistant awkwardly escorted me out of the building without saying a word.
I left the State Department frustrated and upset. I wandered east, toward my next meeting near the Capitol, and eventually found myself strolling along the National Mall under slate-gray skies. Two heartland-looking young men, all of twenty years old, in blue blazers with brass buttons and khaki slacks, walked toward me in the middle of a heated discussion. They still had pimples, yet here they were in Washington playing government. This wasn’t my world. Who was I to think that I had a chance of making things happen in Washington? It had been obvious how little I knew when I met Jonathan, and it was confirmed by this unpleasant meeting with Kyle Scott.
I had several more meetings that day, but went through them in a daze, and none produced any real results. All I could think about was flying back home to London.
Before leaving Washington, I had my last appointment, this one with Kyle Parker at the US Helsinki Commission. This was the same man who had failed to put Sergei’s case in President Obama’s briefing packet back when Sergei was still alive, so I wasn’t expecting a warm reception. I kept the meeting only because Jonathan Winer had made such a big deal about it when we went through my list of meetings.
I remembered Kyle Parker as a man in his early thirties who had weary eyes that appeared to have seen much more than his age suggested. He spoke perfect Russian and had a firm grasp of everything that was going on inside Russia. He could just as easily have worked for the CIA as for this obscure congressional human rights committee.
I made my way to the Ford House Office Building on D Street, one block away from the train tracks and the interstate. This ugly gray box of a building with zero architectural charm was far from the center of Capitol Hill in arguably the US government’s worst piece of real estate. As I made my way into the building, I couldn’t help but think that this was where they stuck all the orphan congressional institutions that weren’t part of mainstream power circles.
Kyle Parker met me at security and brought me to an underheated conference room with all sorts of Soviet memorabilia displayed on the bookshelves. He sat at the head of the table in an awkward silence. I took a breath to break it, but he cut me off.
«Bill, I just want to say how sorry I am that we didn’t do more to help Sergei last year. I can’t tell you how often I’ve thought about him since he died».
I wasn’t expecting that, and I took a moment before saying, «We tried, Kyle».
He then said something so un-Washington-like that I still can’t believe it to this day. «When you sent out the tribute to Sergei after he died, I rode the Red Line home reading it over and over. I was heartbroken. You’d just been here four months earlier pleading for help. I cried, right there on the train. I read it to my wife when I got home. She cried too. This murder — it’s one of the worst things that’s happened since I started my career».