Page 90 of Hush
“Mr. Kryukov is here on a refugee visa, Your Honor. He is unable to travel outside of the United States. He’s not going anywhere, Your Honor.”
Ballard jumped in. “Mr. Kryukov flagrantly flouted our laws in planning this crime, Your Honor. There’s no reason to believe he wouldn’t flagrantly violate our laws again and attempt to leave the country illegally. Mr. Kryukov is connected to the Russianmafiya, the Bratva, all along the eastern seaboard. They help him move drugs, which he then turns around and deals on the streets. He will run right back to their arms if you let him out of jail.”
“That is a libelous accusation—”
“Furthermore,” Ballard said, his voice rising over Renner’s, “Mr. Kryukov knows more about this conspiracy—”
“I do not! I know nothing!” Renner gripped Kryukov’s arm, silencing him.
“—and the United States will not allow bail to be granted to a defendant who has been charged with a crime of this magnitude. Mr. Kryukov has information to provide, Your Honor, and huge incentive to attempt an escape. We are, in fact, seeking the death penalty here.”
The reporters in the courtroom buzzed, hushed whispers and pens scribbling furiously. Kryukov’s eyes closed as he pitched forward, almost collapsing. His lips moved, muttering something in whispered Russian.
Incentive, indeed, for Kryukov to cooperate. Tom understood Ballard’s move. He just didn’t have to showboat so brazenly.
“I will remind you, counselor, that it is the judge who decides whether to allow or not allow bail.” He raised one eyebrow at Ballard.
Ballard smirked, spreading his hands wide, a fake conciliatory gesture for the media’s benefit only. His eyes smoldered.
“However, I agree with the state’s argument. Bail is denied. This court will hold its first pre-trial hearing in two weeks. Defense, be ready with your discovery request for the government.”
Tom lifted his gavel, ready to adjourn the arraignment and escape. The video cameras in the back were crawling on his skin.
“Your Honor,” Renner said, interrupting everything. “If it pleases the court, may I request that you hold the next hearing in chambers?”
Ballard arched both eyebrows across the divide at his defense counterpart.
“Counselor…” Tom swallowed. “This case requires, and demands, both national and international oversight. I intend to run a transparent trial, for everyone’s benefit.”
“Your Honor, my discovery requests may involve national security matters and touch on classified information. My requests may prove embarrassing to both the United States and to Russia. Keeping such requests private is in everyone’s best interest, and for everyone’s benefit.”
Tom flicked his eyes toward Ballard. Ballard, for once, looked concerned. He hadn’t been given instructions from his masters on this.
“Counselor, file your discovery request under seal in one week. Mr. Ballard, you will respond within three days. I will review both your motions and make a determination at that time.” He lifted his gavel and let it fall. “Thank you.”
Mike walked him down the private hallway and into his chambers. He took the billowing black robe out of Tom’s hands and hung it on the hook for him, and then turned and cupped his cheeks. He kissed him, sweetly. “Great job.”
“I saw Kryukov there. At the Capitol on Saturday.” So far, no one knew they had been there, either apart or together. They’d slipped out before the FBI sealed the scene. “I saw him on the megaphone shouting at President Vasiliev.”
“Think he was watching, making sure the hit happened? Or there to gloat?”
Tom shook his head. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t think about it, either.”
Hard knocks broke the stillness of his chambers, a beating that rattled the door in its frame. Tom jumped away from Mike. “What the hell?”
It was Ballard. He blew in, ignoring Mike, and plopped himself at Tom’s conference table. “What the hell is Renner playing at?”
“Hello, Ballard. It’s not nice to see you. Why are you here?”
Ballard scowled at him and flipped open his padfolio. He glanced at Mike. “Get us some coffees, will you, Lucciano?”
Tom saw Mike’s shoulders stiffen, his spine straighten. Mike’s jaw clenched, and a vein throbbed out of his temple.
He pulled out his wallet. “Mike, if you please?” He tried to apologize with his gaze.
Mike held it together, but he refused Tom’s money. “Happy to helpyou, Judge Brewer.”
Ballard completely ignored them and flipped through his notes, waiting until the door clicked shut behind Mike. “We need to get on the same page. The White House has sent instructions.”
