Page 9 of Eleven Numbers

Then the desk guy came down with the key. He unlocked the gate and opened it. He gestured impatiently, as if the delay had been Tyler’s fault. Tyler hobbled out of the cell. The desk guy took him by the elbow and led him away. Not upstairs. Through a dogleg basement corridor to an underground room with an iron table and two plastic chairs.

In one of the chairs was a blue-eyed man about thirty, with fair hair in a floppy style, wearing khakis and a blazer and a button-down shirt. Shiny shoes, striped tie. He looked like an advertisement in a magazine. For Brooks Brothers, maybe. The desk guy propelled Tyler into the room and closed the door behind him. Tyler heard his footsteps fade away outside.

The man in the blazer stood up and asked, “Nathan Tyler?”

Tyler nodded. The man stuck out his hand. He said, “My name is Michael Cartwright. I’m a legal attaché at the embassy. I’m here to help.”

Tyler shook Cartwright’s hand and sat down in the vacant chair. Cartwright said, “Are they treating you well?”

“Not really,” Tyler said. “The food is shit and the accommodations are lousy.”

“Ah,” Cartwright said. “Well. First let me check I have the facts straight. You were driving in from the airport and you collided with a police car.”

“I had the green light,” Tyler said. “He collided with me.”

“Lights and siren?”

“Yes,” Tyler said.

“Ah,” Cartwright said again. “Well. That’s the problem, you see. It’s what Russian law calls a crime of strict liability. You had an absolute legal obligation to yield to a law enforcement vehicle going about its legitimate business. Doesn’t matter who had the green light.”

“A crime? It was a traffic accident.”

“Legal systems are different the world over. We play by local rules. We expect the same of visitors to our country. Technically you broke the law. And the police driver broke his arm. That aggravates the offense. Legally it’s an assault now, against a police officer. You’re also charged with destroying state property. The police car, obviously, but also a traffic light. They say that after the impact, you deliberately drove across two lanes and knocked it down.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Tyler said. “The guy had just smashed into me. I was out of it. At that point I wasn’t doing anything deliberately.”

“You’re also charged with premeditation. Traffic cameras show you were varying your speed on the approach, as if you were trying to time the impact just right.”

“That’s crazy,” Tyler said. “I was trying to time the green lights. I didn’t know there was going tobean impact. It was a built-up area. I couldn’t see into the cross street. There were sirens everywhere. What was I supposed to do? This is such bullshit. I get T-boned by a guy who ran a red light and suddenly I’m the criminal?”

“We play the cards we’re dealt,” Cartwright said. “I agree, normally we expect common sense and discretion from the prosecutor. But tensions are high right now. This is like Christmas morning for them. A real-life American has committed an actual crime in Moscow. The evidence is indisputable. They don’t even have to make anything up. You shouldn’t have come. There was a State Department advisory.”

“I thought the math conference would be safe.”

“But you didn’t quite get there, did you?”

Tyler didn’t answer.

“This is a game within a game,” Cartwright said. “They don’t really care about the police car. This is about diplomatic leverage. They want you in the bank, ready for a prisoner swap. Or to extract some other concession.”

“So what happens next?”

“We think your trial will be this afternoon. The court will provide a lawyer. Our advice is to plead guilty and offer a sincere apology.”

“And then what?”

“You’ll be sentenced and sent to prison. Then you’ll sit tight and wait for us to work the channels.”

“What’s the alternative?”

“There isn’t one.”

“Seriously?”

“Technically it was a crime. This is Russia. I have to be honest. The way things are right now, you have zero chance of walking away from this.”

“Prison where?”

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