Page 118 of Hush
Ballard began the prosecution’s case with a bang.
His first witness was one of the surviving Secret Service agents, a man who had helped carry President Vasiliev off the Capitol steps, and had stepped over his friend and colleague, Patrick Ross, after a bullet slammed into Ross’s neck.
Theoretically, a jury—and a judge—walked into a case blind, not knowing the details, theories, summations, or ideations of the case. Impossible though that was with this trial, they all still had to follow the playbook. First, define the crime, establish who, what, when, where, and how. Four counts of murder. One count of attempted murder, the attempted assassination of the Russian president.
Ballard had to define the crime, but he didn’t have to do it so dramatically. So vividly, with such a gut-punch to the heart.
This testimony, and his case, was designed to hurt. To play mournful wails on the jurors’ hearts until they bled rage and patriotic fervor. Until they demanded to execute Vadim Kryukov and relished their grim duty.
Ballard walked Agent Vernon Payne through the shooting, describing moment by moment what had transpired. Payne spoke quietly, but his voice reverberated through the courtroom, and his words, precise and chosen for efficiency, painted the horror of the day in muted memories.
Tom tried to shake off his own memories drawn forth by the testimony. Payne spoke in facts, in bleak pronouncements, but Tom’s firsthand recollection was awash in primary colors. The vividness of the sky, the perfect, endless blue. Crisp sunlight, warm on his skin, as warm as Mike’s hand. The pure whiteness of the Capitol, the endless steps rising to the seat of American congressional power. Thrumming in the air, the chanting, the pride and rage and hope merging into one roar that rose over the Capitol, his people screaming for justice as the Russian president descended toward them.
Shots fired. Blood spilled, rivers of it on the Capitol steps.
Payne’s voice shook as he described the series of shots, the agents who fell. “Steve Harvey was shot first. The shot entered the right side of his temple. He died instantly. The bullet was recovered lodged eight inches deep in the Capitol steps.” Payne visibly collected himself, breathing in deeply. “Chad Robertson was shot in the chest directly beneath his heart. He choked to death on his own blood. We had surrounded the Russian president, and we were moving him to his vehicle.” Payne blinked fast. His jaw trembled. “Patrick was running in front of me. The last shot sounded. I saw Patrick stumble. Heard him grunt, and then start to choke. He fell at my feet. Blood was… everywhere. The steps, my shoes, my pants. I couldn’t stop.” Payne looked down, and tears slipped from his eyes, cascading down his cheeks. “I had to step over him, keep carrying the Russian president to his motorcade. I think I accidentally kicked him.” Payne sniffed, long and loud. “Every day I hear the sounds of him dying. How he choked. Ilefthim there—”
And that was it for Payne. He said not another word, just curled over his lap and let the tears silently fall.
Renner and Kryukov stared straight ahead, motionless.
Jurors looked shattered, and several tried to wipe their own tears away.
Ballard turned and faced Tom. He held his gaze. “Pass the witness,” he finally said.
It was Renner’s turn to cross-examine Agent Payne. Renner stood, buttoning his suit jacket. “Your Honor, this has been incredibly difficult testimony. I respectfully suggest we take a short break for everyone to gather themselves.”
Well played. The jury looked at Renner with gratitude, already gathering their things to flee to the juror room. “Fifteen-minute recess.” Tom tapped his gavel on the bench, but everyone had stood as soon as the words slipped past his lips. Reporters rushed to the hall, already on their cell phones, and the jurors scrambled over each other to get out of the courtroom.
Tom turned to Agent Payne. “Is there anything I can do for—”
Payne jumped up and stalked off the witness stand, his back to Tom. Ballard met him on the courtroom floor, wrapping him up in a one-armed shoulder grab. Ballard shot Tom a vinegar glare over Payne’s shoulder.
“Let’s talk about protection for the Russian president. You were assigned to the foreign dignitary protective detail, correct?”
Renner was crisp and sharp, ready to begin again after the recess. Payne had red eyes and a tightly-wound face, but he sat back down in the witness seat and faced the courtroom. He avoided looking at Tom, looking beyond him whenever he turned Tom’s way.
“Yes.”
“As part of your duties on this detail, did the Secret Service formulate a watch list of individuals who might have reason to harm or harass the Russian president?”
“Yes.”
“Was Vadim Kryukov on that list?”
Payne hesitated. “He was not on the list drafted by the Secret Service, but was added to the watch list by the Russian security agents who joined our detail to plan for the trip.”
“Added by the Russians. Interesting.” Renner turned, as if struck by insight. He was a careful actor. “What reasons did they give for adding Mr. Kryukov to the watch list?”
“They said he was a felon in Russia. A known agent who worked against the state.”
“And did you ask any questions about that statement?”
“No”
“Ask for any details about the nature of his criminal past?”
“No.”
