"It's not Konevitch's money, sir."
"No?" A look of surprise. "Well, whose money is it?"
"It's money he robbed from poor people in Russia. They trusted him and are now bankrupt. We won't know where he stashed it all until we get him home and he confesses. Only then can those poor people be repaid."
Caldwell let that fester a moment-all those miserable victims back home starving and freezing while they waited for Alex to give them back their money-then said, "Are you familiar with a company named Orangutan Media?"
"I most certainly am."
"How are you familiar with this company?"
"It became the subject of police interest a few years ago."
"How did this come about?"
"The result of a tip from a source inside one of our crime syndicates. A Chechen mob, a nasty group involved in a number of criminal activities, from kidnapping to drugs to murder."
"Sounds like our Mafia."
"You should be so lucky. Compared to these people, your Mafia's a Boy Scout group. After the tip, a wiretap was installed and the police heard Konevitch arranging payments and transfers of cash. He was using Orangutan as a front to launder syndicate money."
"What was the nature of Orangutan Media?"
"Reputedly it was an advertising company. And it was established in Austria to evade our scrutiny. The syndicate money came into the company under the guise of client contracts. Orangutan turned around and gave the same money right back to the syndicate as subcontractors. It was all very neat."
"It sounds quite elaborate."
"Not really. It's a very common shell game. Child's play for a sophisticated financial mastermind like Konevitch."
"And you have Mr. Konevitch on tape discussing these arrangements with a syndicate?"
"Right there on your table," he said, pointing at the defense table. "The taped discussions are in Russian, of course, so I left them back in Russia. They would be incomprehensible to you, anyway. I therefore turned over paper transcripts to your people."
"Yes, you did." The aide took the cue and hauled a bunch of papers to the bench. "We introduce these translated transcripts," Caldwell said very slowly, with another flash of teeth. "As well, I submit statements collected by state prosecutors from a number of Orangutan Media employees confessing to the schemes inside the company."
He held his breath and waited in anticipation for Jones to jerk out of his chair. Without the tapes there was no way to verify that the written transcripts were accurate, or indeed whether any tapes even existed. There had to be an objection this time-a noisy protest infused with enraged anger would follow, he was sure.
In fact, Jones looked ready to jump out of his seat before Alex reached over and grabbed his arm. Alex briefly whispered something into his ear. MP relented, relaxed back into his seat, and went back to doodling on a yellow legal pad.
Caldwell silently congratulated himself. A brilliant move, and he couldn't believe he got away with it. Having the chief prosecutor in the witness chair obviously nullified the discrediting strategy Jones had pulled off in immigration court. Welcome to the big leagues, pal.
Caldwell triumphantly announced, "I'm through with this witness," and returned to his seat.
Judge Willis peered down from his perch at MP. Jones was still focused intensely on his yellow legal pad, which now was cluttered with aimless squiggles and shapes. "Mr. Jones, do you wish to cross-examine?"
MP looked up. "What?… Uh, no, thank you, Your Honor." "You're sure?"
"Yes, quite sure."
Willis rubbed his eyes for a moment. "You heard what the witness presented?"
"I did."
"And you're sure you don't want to ask him a few questions?"
"Very sure."
"Is this your first time in federal court, Mr. Jones?"
"Yes sir. Very first. It's much nicer than immigration court. Quite lovely."
"I'm glad it appeals to your tastes. Do you understand how our procedures work?"
"I believe I do, Your Honor."
"Once I release this witness, he cannot be recalled."
"Then please do it quickly. I don't know about you, but he was becoming tiresome, Your Honor."
This caused a twitter of laughter among the reporters.
His Honor did not appear to get the joke. "I advise you, Mr. Jones, to think harder about questioning the witnesses than trying to entertain us with humor."
"Can I be blunt, Your Honor?"
"You can try, Mr. Jones."
"I don't wish to waste your time."
"To the contrary, Mr. Jones, I'm here to listen to both sides. It's an adversarial system, by design. I encourage you to participate."
"Well, I don't want to encourage him to tell more lies."
"I see. The witness is released."
Caldwell rose to call his next witness, but the judge put up a hand. "Hold on a moment." His eyes turned to Alex. "Can you please rise?"
Alex stood.
Judge Willis leaned far forward on his elbows. "Are you aware your attorney has no experience in federal jurisdictions?"
"In fact, he emphasized the same thing last week."
"I'm sure you're in a great hurry to get out of prison, Mr. Konevitch. I'm just wondering if this hearing might be premature."
"On the contrary, my arrest and imprisonment were premature, Your Honor."
"Do you have adequate knowledge of our legal system?"
Alex directed a look at Tromble, who was seated, legs crossed. "I've been imprisoned the past fourteen months, without trial. You could say I am quite familiar with this legal procedure. Soviet law operated the same way."
Willis pinched his nose and forced himself not to scowl. "Are you content with your representation? The question is on the record, Mr. Konevitch. Because if you try to appeal my decision based upon incompetent representation, it will now be clear that you knowingly settled on Mr. Jones."
MP blinked a few times at what was obviously intended as a very public putdown. It was humiliating to be treated as a featherweight but that wasn't the most painful part. Worse, part of their strategy cooked up by him and the PKR boys relied on Alex having valid claim to poor representation. So far, MP had availed himself of every opportunity to portray utter incompetence. Let the prosecutor get away with as much as was legally advisable, do your best to sit and look stupid.
A great idea, in concept, that was suddenly falling apart.
After a moment, Alex stated very clearly, "I'm happy with my counsel," then collapsed into his chair.
And so it went for the remainder of the morning. An hour break for lunch before Caldwell resumed calling more witnesses who confirmed and reconfirmed and elaborated powerfully on the inescapable fact that Alex Konevitch was a crook, a flight risk, a criminal who had to be incarcerated or he would flee and never be heard from again. Three FBI agents were paraded to the stand, followed by two Foreign Service officers with recent experience in Russia, each of whom had observed firsthand the public furor caused when Konevitch disappeared with the money.
MP politely and firmly declined to cross-examine each one. The clock read 4:30 when the last prosecution witness was excused from the stand.
Judge Willis checked his watch, then said, "Sidebar with the opposing attorneys."
MP and Caldwell joined His Honor in a small, tight cluster beside the bench.
The judge glared at MP. "Did you not in fact submit this motion for habeas corpus?" he whispered.
"I certainly did, Your Honor," MP whispered back.
"Why, Mr. Jones?"
"Why? Because my client has been incarcerated in federal prison for fourteen months. He's been bounced through three different prisons, each progressively more hazardous and miserable than the last. He's been submitted to several bouts of solitary confinement, and deliberately assigned cellmates categorized as Level Five inmates. I'm sure you're aware that prisoners reach this distinctive category only after they prove they are a grave danger to other inmates and to the guards. In short, somebody in our federal government wants my client dead or willing to submit to instantaneous deportation."