Page 143 of Hush
Mike blushed, and he looked down. “I’ll keep you safe.”
“I know you will.”
Movement in the windows, off the balcony in the room next to Tom’s. One of the marshals’ rooms. Mike dropped Tom’s hand, just before his cell phone buzzed. Mike swiped the screen on.
“It’s Villegas. He told us to turn on the TV.”
“Us?”
“Yeah.” Mike frowned.
They headed inside together, and Mike grabbed the remote. He turned the TV on to CNN.
“Breaking news now, and we have to warn you, these images may be disturbing.” The anchor’s voice droned, that half-sedate, half-adrenaline-laced tone of newscasters everywhere. “Russian state TV has released footage of the American CIA station chief admitting his involvement in the attempted assassination of President Vasiliev, and the DC Sniper terrorist attack.”
The video cut to a white room, and a man Tom recognized from the Russian documents and the news release of the kidnapping of the CIA officers. He swayed, just slightly. One eye was puffy, the skin around his eye socket too light. As if he was wearing makeup, or concealer, and it wasn’t blended right. “I financed Vadim Kryukov,” he grunted. His words were stilted, and his jaw barely moved. “The CIA—and myself—are responsible.”
The video spun, and then the image cut back to the anchor and the swirling red background of the breaking news alert. “Shocking statements from the former CIA station chief in Moscow, kidnapped and held under arrest in Russia. Questions have been raised about the veracity of his statements, and whether or not his admission was made under duress or whether he has been tortured.” Two inset boxes appeared, and the anchor introduced his special guests, an expert on Russian interrogations from some indecipherable think tank, and a legal analyst for the network. “Tell me. Do you trust this video?”
The Russian expert, a rumpled, middle-aged man who looked like a college professor, spoke first. “It’s hard to say. I can see signs that point to possible use of force, or what we would call ‘enhanced interrogations’. It seems like his jaw might be wired shut. Or, is he just struggling with a very public admission of guilt, an admission that will change the balance of international power in the world? If this is true, the United States is unquestionably guilty of a major international crime.”
“Do you think it is true?”
“Has the CIA assassinated, or facilitated the assassination of, leaders of foreign nations that the United States has opposed? Yes. Could it have happened again? It’s very possible. Very, very possible.”
“One thing is certain. If thiswasa CIA plan, their cover story has completely fallen apart.”
“Yes. It would have been something akin to a false flag operation, where they put in place a terrorist act that was to be blamed on a third party. Vadim Kryukov and Bulat Desheriyev, in this case, look like the unwitting patsies of the CIA. But, something happened. Someone got sloppy. The Russians found out the details. And now…” He trailed off.
“Fascinating developments, and especially in light of the dramatic testimony heard today in the DC Sniper trial. Judge Brewer seemed to struggle to keep the trial on track, with the U.S. Attorney and the attorney for the defense almost coming to blows at times. Judge Brewer, over the past month, has been accused of buying into the Russian narrative of events and has faced significant public pressure.” A picture of Tom flashed on screen, his photo taken the day he joined the court. “If today’s developments prove to be true, does that spell vindication for Judge Brewer?”
“In a way.” The legal analyst, a young woman in a crisp white suit, soured. “Judge Brewer’s actions have been deeply suspect, and sources within the U.S. Attorney’s Office tell me they are readying writs of complaint for the higher courts and are looking into addressing Judge Brewer’s conduct in this trial—”
“What conduct? What conduct are they discussing?”
“His clear bias toward the defense’s wild conspiracy theories—”
“Butarethey conspiracy theories, if this video proves to be true?”
A pause, and the legal analyst gave a half shrug, half flick of her hair. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Indeed we will. We’ll keep a close eye on this story as it continues to unfold.”
Tom turned to Mike, who wrapped him up in both arms and pulled him close, holding him tight as Tom buried his face in the center of Mike’s chest.
Chapter 36
July 29th
Ballard ended the prosecution’s case simply, closing out on another round of Barnes’s testimony hammering home the physical evidence. One fingerprint on a cocaine baggie. One text from Kryukov’s cell phone to Desheriyev’s with the confirmation code of six-two-one. And Desheriyev’s testimony. Surrounding that were Kryukov’s statements against the Russian president, his former arrest and maltreatment, his history of activism, his overt hatred for the regime. His apparent motive.
It was a mountain of evidence for Renner and Kryukov to climb, all the little pieces adding up to a damning picture. Small though those pieces of hard evidence were, in the totality of everything, Kryukov appeared to be a cold-blooded mass murderer, calmly dispatching an assassin to take out a man he hated and anyone who got in the way of his bullets.
Lingering doubts about the role of the U.S. government, the CIA, and even Dylan Ballard plagued Tom’s thoughts. He’d tossed and turned throughout the night and had needed two large coffees to get through the morning.
Now, the defense was set to begin presenting their case. But unless they had something new, some bombshell piece of evidence they were holding back, the court had already heard the defense’s entire case. Renner had done all he could to chop the legs out from beneath the prosecution in his cross-examination, raising every question, every doubt, that he could pull from the evidence… or the lack thereof.
How would he begin? Tom waited as the courtroom settled down and for the gallery to finish their whispers. The jurors were hanging in there, but on only day three, they looked exhausted, worn thin. Ballard, as always, was a tightly-wound lightning rod, ready to surge at the slightest strike.
