Next, a few warm-up questions to put the witness at greater ease. How Petri came in contact with this case, his interview with Kim Parrish, and so forth.
MP said, "So you were hired to translate the documents given to the INS, via the FBI?"
"It is how I make my living these days. I translate for American firms doing business in Russia."
"Are you still a practicing attorney?"
"No. I quit the profession sixteen years ago."
"Why?"
"The work I did for the KGB, I suppose. It left a certain taste."
"What kind of work would that be?"
Petri looked around the court for a moment and let the suspense build. "My job, Mr. Jones, was to frame people," he answered slowly, drawing out the words.
Petri spoke quietly, and the reporters bent forward as they spent a few minutes delving into that legal specialty. Fascinating stuff. People were on the edge of their seats, and never budged. How to frame a perfectly innocent man, ten easy steps to a sure-fire trip to a gulag, or worse.
Then, from MP, "And what did you conclude after you reviewed the material about Konevitch from Russia?"
"Objection," Caldwell barked.
"Grounds?" Willis asked, leaning his chin on his fist.
"Uh… attorney-client privilege again."
His Honor peeked down at Petri. "Remind me, please. Are you still a practicing attorney, sir?"
"Not for many, many years. These days I'm a simple translator."
MP confidently asked, "Did you sign a contract that precluded you from sharing what you learned?"
"No. I merely stated my price and Miss Parrish hired me."
The judge said, "Then overruled. Please answer the first question."
Petri looked at Alex seated at the table. "After looking at everything, I concluded that Mr. Konevitch was being framed."
"Why?"
"There is a certain stench to such things, Mr. Jones."
"An odor? An actual smell? Explain that."
Petri directed a finger at Colonel Volevodz seated at the rear, now in his capacity as an official observer. "Take that man, Mr. Jones. He might tell you he works at the Ministry of Security, but he was definitely career KGB before this. He might claim he's merely enforcing the law, but his hands are covered with blood. It's a stink no shower will erase."
Every neck in the court craned to examine Volevodz. A more charming man might have smiled or chuckled disarmingly-at a minimum shaken his head in pretended disbelief. Volevodz tried to bore holes through Petri with his skinny, mean little eyes.
Oh yeah, no doubt about it. There's the guy from the Hollywood thrillers-KGB down to his undershorts.
"But the documents?" MP asked. "Did they actually smell?"
"Well, you see, the key is to produce a perfect case. These four prosecutors your FBI is caring for, they are experts at this. That's exactly what they did."
MP led him through this for a while, the craftsmanship of how to string a noose with lies, forgeries, and planted evidence. Then he shifted on a dime and asked, "Incidentally, were you present when Miss Parrish was fired?"
"I was there, yes. Seated right beside her. But she wasn't fired."
"The prosecutor claimed she was."
"He's wrong, or he's lying. She quit."
"Why did she quit?"
"She reported to her boss that this case was phony. Cooked up. A sham."
MP paused to allow this to sink in, then asked, "What happened?"
"She is an honorable person, Mr. Jones. She did something I never had the courage to do."
"Which was what, Mr. Arbatov?"
"She tried to get the case dropped."
MP affected a look of huge surprise. "The attorney in charge wanted it dropped?"
"Yes."
"Well… why wasn't it dropped?"
"She was brought into a room with that man"-he pointed out Tromble, who was trying desperately to ignore him-"and her INS bosses. She begged them to drop the case. They refused quite rudely. She then asked to be reassigned, as is the prerogative, indeed, the responsibility of any attorney who believes a case is improper. They yelled at her. She resigned, then that man"-another damning finger aimed at Tromble-"screamed at her that she was fired."
MP thanked him and walked away. Petri sat quietly and looked at Alex. Alex looked back, nodding his head, a silent acknowledgment to an old countryman who had refound his conscience.
When offered the chance to cross-examine, Caldwell passed. He knew next to nothing about Petri Arbatov. What he did know was that the man was a legal minefield, and further questioning would only reinforce the damage.
Besides, the damage wasn't really that bad. Tromble looked like a mean horse's ass; like that was news to anybody. And maybe he lied a little on the stand. But that was Tromble's problem, not Caldwell's.
Frankly, the more he thought about it, Caldwell was quite pleased. There was room for only one ego on this side of the case-one shining exemplar of truth and justice-and this skinny, tired little Russian just blew Tromble right out of the saddle.
When time came for the summary, Caldwell would strongly note how the Russian "expert" had offered an opinion-not a fact, but a baseless opinion pulled out of thin air after concluding the case was, in his own words, too perfect. And he was heavily outnumbered. The word of a self-confessed framer of innocent men against that of the entire Russian government; a reformed, democratic government, he would stipulate quite loudly, not the corrupt old dictatorship this Petri Arbatov had sent people to the gallows for.
The little Russian was released and he nearly bounced out of his chair. He and Volevodz exchanged hateful looks as Petri passed up the aisle. MP announced that he had no more witnesses.
MP remained standing, though. He looked at the judge and asked, "Could we have a moment, Your Honor?"
"Take all the time you need," Willis replied, strongly intimating that time was not on his side.
Alex stood, too, then Matt, and for a moment they gathered in a tight triangle and conferred in tense whispers.
"What do you think?" Alex asked MP.
"We're in trouble. Big trouble," MP told him bluntly. "Kim was our star witness. But Caldwell blocked us from unloading her most damaging testimony."
"You don't think Petri repaired that?" Alex asked, searching their faces.
Matt, the pro with years of big-time criminal experience answered for both lawyers. "Caldwell will cream him in his closing. I certainly would. The opinion of a man who admitted framing people against the word of an entire government. The issue is credence, Alex."
MP nodded at this candid observation. "That's exactly what he'll do. If I try to counter it in my closing, it'll only sound defensive."
"Then let's go with it," Alex stated very firmly.
MP and Matt exchanged looks. Both had badly hoped to avoid Alex's proposal. Legally speaking, it was fraught with difficulties. After a moment, Matt mentioned to MP, "He hides it well, but I think the judge is sympathetic."
MP nodded. Not enthusiastically, but nonetheless it was a nod.
Alex said to both of them, "It's all or nothing. Bluff, and do your best."
"I hope you're the lucky type," Matt replied, clearly believing this was crazy.
"He wouldn't be here if he was lucky," MP replied dryly.
Alex and Matt fell into their seats. MP remained standing. Finally, he announced somewhat hesitantly, "I'd like to submit a little evidence."
Matt handed him a tape player, a compact Bose system with small but thunderously powerful speakers. Alex arranged the system on his table, carefully directing the speakers toward the prosecutor's table, while the bailiff strung an extension cord and plugged it in. Next Matt handed Alex a tray loaded with about twenty cassettes. Alex noodled through the tapes and finally settled on one that he carefully withdrew. MP took it and inserted it neatly into the recorder. Alex's finger hovered over the start button as MP said, "This is a phone call to Miss Tatyana Lukin, special assistant to the Kremlin chief of staff. She's a lawyer who also serves as legal advisor to Boris Yeltsin." Alex stabbed play.