Scorpion Winter

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Sud

Kyiv, Ukraine

The sud, or tribunal, was held in a whitewashed room somewhere in the bowels of the Lukyanivska prison. They had taken him in shackles, escorted by half a dozen guards, down an elevator. Emerging from it, Scorpion had a sense of being deep underground, of moisture and pipes in the empty concrete corridors. He was in too bad shape to think of escape. Walking was painful, his groin aching badly, in addition to the shackles that made him hobble. They had put his clothes back on him, suit, shoes, shirt, no belt or tie. He must’ve lost a lot of weight in just the few days he had been the prison, he realized, because his clothes hung loosely on him and he had to hold his pants up with his hand.

They sat him in a chair in the middle of the room facing a narrow table. There were two rows of benches behind him. The mussory guards who had brought him down took up places by the door and along the wall, truncheons in their hands. He had hoped he might see Iryna, but there was no sign of her. They waited in silence, just him and the mussory. They don’t want this getting out, he thought. That’s why they had to do it right away; even in the middle of a war.

The door opened and three men, all with short hair and wearing the dark suits favored by Ukrainian nomenclatura officials, came in and took their seats behind the table. The middle suddya, or judge, was a thin, hatchet-faced man with short iron-gray hair. He wore a black tie with the yellow Ukrainian cross, suggesting he belonged to the Chorni Povyazky, and glanced down at the sheaf of papers he had brought in with him. A moment later a woman in a suit, carrying a laptop computer, came in and sat at a side desk, apparently to take notes. A technician entered the room and hooked up a video camcorder pointed at Scorpion. As the technician set up the camera, Kulyakov, also wearing a black suit and Chorni Povyazky tie, came in and sat in a chair on the side.

“Nam skazali, vy ne govoryat na Ukrainskom.” the hatchet-faced suddya said. We have been informed that you do not speak Ukrainian. “So this sud will be conducted in Russian. He glanced at the woman taking notes on the laptop. “For the record, this is a sud authorized by the Sluzhba Bezpeky Ukrayiny,” or SBU, “and the office of the Ukraine President Lavro Davydenko for the purpose of determining the guilt of the prisoner known as Michael Kilbane, also known as Petro Reinert, also the foreign agent Scorpion, in the murder of Yuriy Dmytrovych Cherkesov. The penalty for this crime is death. Let it be noted that this sud has authority to impose this sentence.”

He leaned forward and stared at Scorpion as if through a gun sight.

“You understand, prisoner, here is no prosecution, no defense. We ask questions. You answer. We decide. I am told that you will not reveal your real name or nationality. This is correct?”

“What difference does it make what my real name is?” Scorpion asked.

“A man who will not tell you the truth about his name will not say the truth about many things.”

“You could take it that a man who will not lie about his name will not lie about other things,” Scorpion said.

“But you are known by false names and also the code name Scorpion, da?”

“ Da. ”

“Are you an agent of the CIA or some other Western country? MI-6? DGSE? Mossad?” He pronounced “agent” the Russian way, with a hard g.

“ Nyet. I am an independent. I work for different people.”

“Like a business?”

“It is a business.”

“A good business? You make a lot of money?”

“Sometimes.”

“You work for anyone? So long as they pay?”

“Not anyone.”

“There are people you won’t work for no matter how much they pay?”

“ Eta verna. ” That’s right.

“A spy with morals!” The hatchet-faced suddya smirked, glancing at his fellow judges, who smirked with him. “But you took this assignment?”

“I took an assignment, da.”

“Tak,” the hatchet-faced suddya said, rubbing his hands together like a businessman who wants to make a deal. “Who hired you to assassinate presidential candidate Yuriy Cherkesov?”

“Nikto ne.” No one. “I was hired to prevent his assassination.”

The judges looked at each other.

“Tak vy govorte,” the hatchet-faced suddya said. So you say. “You have admitted killing Cherkesov. We have seen the video.”

“Did you also see the electrodes attached to my genitaliy?”

“That is not relevant. You confessed. That is sufficient here. Who hired you?”

Scorpion shook his head. “I protect my clients. That’s the basis of my business.”

The hatchet-faced suddya’s short laugh cracked sharp as a gunshot. “You really think after this you will still have a business?” He glared at Scorpion. “You will be dead, you mudak spy!”

“Then I’ll be dead,” Scorpion said. “If you want, get the electrodes. I won’t tell you who hired me.”

“Your job was to save Cherkesov?” the hatchet-faced suddya said sarcastically, leaning toward Scorpion.

“It was understood that Cherkesov’s death might lead to great difficulties with Russia. My client wished to prevent this.”

“Not very good at your job, are you?” one of the other judges, a thin man with bloodless lips, put in.

“Not this time,” Scorpion said, thinking how close he had come to pulling it off. Just a few more hours and it would have been over. “I was led to believe that a baklan punk working for the Kozhanovskiy campaign named Sirhiy Pyatov was the assassin. I managed to stop him.”

At this, the judges began to whisper among themselves. The hatchet-faced suddya leafed through the papers in front of him, then looked up.

“This Pyatov was one of those killed at the stadium in Dnipropetrovsk?”

Scorpion nodded.

“Did you kill him?”

“Two militsiyu did. There was much shooting.”

“But you were ready to kill him?”

Scorpion nodded, and the judges looked meaningfully at one another.

“You killed militsiyu and politsiy at the stadium?”

“Two militsiyu. Also several of the Chorni Povyazky, not politsiy.”

“How many Chorni Povyazky?”

Scorpion thought for a moment. “Five,” he said.

The judges looked at each other.

“A total of seven men dead, murdered by you?” the hatchet-faced suddya said.

“Not murdered. Killed. They were shooting at Iryna and me.”

“Not even counting Cherkesov?”

“I didn’t kill Cherkesov. One of the Svoboda security men, Dimitri Shelayev, planted the bomb that killed Cherkesov and his people in the car.”

“So you say,” the hatchet-faced suddya said.

“This is absurdnyi!” Kulyakov said, standing up. He pointed at Scorpion. “This man has confessed to the crime. Trying to lay the blame on another, a patriot, in the hour of our country’s peril, is obscene!”

“How many times do you change your story, Pane Scorpion? Whenever it suits you?” the hatchet-faced suddya said.

“I can prove it,” Scorpion said.

The hatchet-faced suddya turned to Kulyakov. “Where is this Shelayev? Can we bring him to the sud?”

“I know Dimitri Shelayev,” Kulyakov said. “We were colleagues, friends. He went missing the night of the attack at the stadium.”

“So where is he?” the hatchet-faced suddya demanded.

“He was hiding in the Chernobylska Exclusion Zone,” Scorpion said.

“So you say,” the hatchet-faced suddya said once more, staring at Scorpion. “And where is he now?”

“Dead.” Scorpion looked down. “He killed himself.”

“Not true,” Kulyakov said. “We found Shelayev’s body. There was evidence of a struggle. He was murdered. This man,” pointing at Scorpion, “was the last man to see him alive.” He faced Scorpion. “More blood on your hands, ubeetsa.” Murderer.

“Tak,” the hatchet-faced suddya said, steepling his fingers and squinting at Scorpion. “You are a dangerous man to be around, aren’t you?” He turned to the other judges. “We’ll have to execute this mudak bastard fifty times over!” He turned back to Scorpion. “You keep saying you have proof.”

“Shelayev confessed. It’s on video,” Scorpion said.

“Where is this video?”

Time to show his cards. “Everywhere. It’s on the fucking yob Internet. On YouTube,” he said.

The judges didn’t react. Neither did anyone in the courtroom. Scorpion got a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach and the pain in his groin started up. Sure, Kulyakov and Gorobets had suppressed the TV video and gotten rid of everyone at the TV station, but how is it that they didn’t know about YouTube? What the hell was going on? Somebody had to have spotted it. It was impossible not to. Who the hell could have gotten to Google or forced them to suppress it? Could Gorobets have done that? He looked at Kulyakov. He was smiling. Someday I’ll kill you, Scorpion thought, but he couldn’t think anymore. The pain in his groin was getting worse. He clenched his fist.

“You see! He makes up stories and says he has proof, but all his witnesses are dead or nonexistent. Where is this video that no one has seen or heard of before?” Kulyakov said. “Cherkesov was sure to win the election. They hired this assassin to eliminate him.”

“Then why did I come to Gorobets in Dnipropetrovsk and warn him? You should know,” Scorpion said, pointing at Kulyakov. “You were there!”

Kulyakov looked coldly at Scorpion. “To get access to the stadium, to the tunnel where Cherkesov would be coming to his automobile. And to make an alibi for yourself and Iryna.” He turned to the judges. “Can you see? He is clever, this one.”

One of the other judges leaned over and said something to the hatchet-faced suddya.

“We see very well,” the suddya said. “What about the other criminal?” He looked down at his papers for a moment and back at Scorpion. “Iryna Mikhailivna Shevchenko. What part did she play in this?”

“She had nothing to do with this,” Scorpion said.

“Then what was she doing at the stadium with you, in the tunnel?” Kulyakov demanded.

The suddya held up his hand to quiet Kulyakov. He turned to Scorpion. “You admit she was at the stadium?” he said.

“Yes,” Scorpion replied.

“With you?”

“Yes.”

“Why was she there?”

“To make sure we stopped Pyatov. She didn’t trust me,” Scorpion said.

“Eta lozh! ” That’s a lie! Kulyakov shouted, leaping out of his chair and pointing at Scorpion. “They’re in it together! They’re thick as bedbugs, those two!”

“Molchat!” the hatchet-faced suddya said, holding his hand up for silence. “Is prisoner Iryna Shevchenko here?”

“She’s outside,” Kulyakov said.

“Have her brought in,” the suddya said.

Kulyakov signaled to one of the guards and a moment later Iryna was led into the room. She wore a gray prison shift, her hair in its pixie cut. She looked pale and very thin. They sat her in a chair a few feet from Scorpion’s. As they led her in, his eyes searched hers. She looked frightened, worried, he thought. He tried to smile at her, but he could see she was shocked at his appearance, his gauntness and bruises.

“You are Iryna Mikhailivna Shevchenko?” the hatchet-faced suddya asked. She nodded. He looked at his papers for a moment. “You were the campaign manager for Viktor Ivanovych Kozhanovskiy?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice so soft they had to strain to hear her.

“Speak up!” one of the other judges, a balding man with a goatee like Lenin’s, demanded.

“ Da, yes,” she said louder.

“You know this man?” the hatchet-faced suddya said, indicating Scorpion.

“Da.”

“You were with him at the stadium in Dnipropetrovsk when Yuriy Cherkesov was murdered?”

She looked questioningly at Scorpion.

“Look at me, not him!” the hatchet-faced suddya thundered. “You were with him?”

“Da.”

“To kill Cherkesov?”

“No, to stop Pyatov!” she cried. “We tried to stop it!”

“Even if it meant forcing Ukraina into war with Russia? Your political ambition was more important than the Motherland!”

“No! My father was Artem Shevchenko, founder of the Rukh, the Independence movement without which we wouldn’t even have a country! Ukraina would still be an oblast of Russia! How could I ever go against the Motherland?”

“Lies! You see how she twists things?!” Kulyakov said, leaping to his feet. “What business did the head of the Kozhanovskiy campaign have at a Cherkesov rally? She did it to make sure her lover,” pointing at Scorpion “went through with it! They are equally guilty!”

The hatchet-faced suddya looked at Iryna.

“You were lovers with this man, this Scorpion?”

Iryna looked desperately at Scorpion.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “They made me.” She looked at the hatchet-faced suddya. “They did things to me, those mudaky bastards! Gospadi, do I have to say it?”

“Molchat!” Silence! the hatchet-faced suddya demanded, slapping the table sharply with his palm.

“She seduced him,” Kulyakov said. “Part of his payment for killing Cherkesov. She was his sooka whore. Tell them,” he said, coming up to her and grabbing her face tightly with his hand. “Admit it!”

“Is it true? You were lovers?” the suddya asked, his eyes focused on hers.

She tried to look desperately over at Scorpion, her eyes glistening.

“Da,” she whispered. “It’s true.”

“Why do we waste time listening to these lies?” Kulyakov said. “They have admitted they were there together. This man,” he pointed at Scorpion, “has admitted killing seven people at the stadium, not even including Cherkesov and the others in the automobile. He was the last one seen with Shelayev, who was also found murdered. Both these criminals have confessed to their crimes! They have shown no evidence of innocence or remorse. What more is needed?”

“I agree,” the goateed suddya said. “The evidence is overwhelming.”

“And I,” the hatchet-faced suddya said.

The judges began to confer among themselves. They talked and nodded their heads.

Iryna turned toward Scorpion. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hold out,” she said.

“Did you tell them about my code name, Scorpion?” he whispered to her.

“Gospadi!” she cried, looking away. “Is that what you think of me?”

The three judges passed around a paper. Each of them signed it in turn.

They were going to execute both of them, Scorpion realized. For him it was foregone, but there might still be a chance for Iryna.

“We have concluded-” the hatchet-faced suddya began.

“Podazhdite!” Scorpion cried out. Wait! “You’ve got it backward. She didn’t seduce me! I seduced her! I killed Cherkesov! It was a Western plot. Iryna,” nodding at her, “tried to stop me. I forced her to come with me after the assassination. I did it! She is innocent!”

“ Tak, you admit you killed Cherkesov?” the hatchet-faced suddya said.

“I did it!” he said, looking at Iryna. “She had nothing to do with it.”

“Why? What was your reason?”

“I was paid.”

“But by whom? Who wanted Cherkesov dead?”

“An international conglomerate who thought Kozhanovskiy would be more sympathetic to their interests. Everyone here knows that Kozhanovskiy wanted to be closer to the West.”

“An American company?” the goateed suddya put in.

“An international company, but yes, of the West,” Scorpion said.

For a moment no one spoke.

“He’s lying. He’s trying to save her,” Kulyakov said, looking at Scorpion.

“That’s stupid,” Scorpion said. “If as you contend, she brought me into this, if I’m about to die because of her, why would I want to save her? I’d want to see her dead!”

The hatchet-faced suddya stared at Scorpion for a long moment. No one in the room said anything. He turned and whispered quickly with the other judges. The goateed judge was disagreeing about something. Suddenly, there was a stir.

Two Black Armbands came into the room, their hands on their gun belt holsters. Someone followed them in, followed by two more Black Armbands. The hatchet-faced suddya was about to object to the interruption when he saw who it was. Scorpion recognized him instantly. Heavyset in a dark suit, bald, horn-rimmed glasses.

Gorobets.

“Vybachte,” Gorobets said in that same soft voice. “Excuse the interruption.”

“The sud is honored, Minister,” the hatchet-faced suddya said.

Gorobets walked over to the bench and, leaning over, spoke with the three judges. Once, he turned to look back first at Scorpion, then at Iryna. He and the judges spoke for another few minutes, then Gorobets turned to leave. He glanced again at Iryna and fixed Scorpion with a long hard look. Then, without a word, Gorobets and his Black Armbands left the room.

“What happened?” Iryna whispered to Scorpion.

“Whatever they planned just changed. You’re a hot potato,” he whispered back.

The three judges talked among themselves, one and then another glancing over at Scorpion and Iryna. They seemed to have reached a decision. The hatchet-faced suddya marked something on the paper and signed it. He turned the paper so the other two judges could initial it, then turned back to Iryna.

“Iryna Mikhailivna Shevchenko. Based on the prisoner known as Scorpion’s confession and additional information that has come to the attention of this sud, we find there is insufficient evidence to hold you for the assassination of Yuriy Dmytrovych Cherkesov. You are free to go, but with the understanding that if additional evidence should be found, you may be charged in the future. You may go.”

Iryna came and stood next to Scorpion.

“This is not an open sud, Iryna Mikhailivna. Leave at once!” the hatchet-faced suddya demanded.

“What are you going to do with him?” she asked, indicating Scorpion.

“Take her out!” the suddya ordered.

Two guards came and grabbed her.

“ Nyet! He’s doing it for me, you fools! He is innocent!” Iryna cried out, looking at Scorpion as if to memorize his face as two guards dragged her out of the room.

The hatchet-faced suddya stared coldly at Scorpion.

“Mikhail Kilbane, also known as Peter Reinert, also known as the foreign agent Scorpion, the sud sentences you to death for the murder of Yuriy Dmytrovych Cherkesov. Sentence to be carried out within twenty-four hours. The sud is concluded,” he said, picking up his papers.

The three judges stood and filed out of the room.