Oh yeah, no doubt about it. There's the guy from the Hollywood thrillers-KGB down to his undershorts.

"But the documents?" MP asked. "Did they actually smell?"

"Well, you see, the key is to produce a perfect case. These four prosecutors your FBI is caring for, they are experts at this. That's exactly what they did."

MP led him through this for a while, the craftsmanship of how to string a noose with lies, forgeries, and planted evidence. Then he shifted on a dime and asked, "Incidentally, were you present when Miss Parrish was fired?"

"I was there, yes. Seated right beside her. But she wasn't fired."

"The prosecutor claimed she was."

"He's wrong, or he's lying. She quit."

"Why did she quit?"

"She reported to her boss that this case was phony. Cooked up. A sham."

MP paused to allow this to sink in, then asked, "What happened?"

"She is an honorable person, Mr. Jones. She did something I never had the courage to do."

"Which was what, Mr. Arbatov?"

"She tried to get the case dropped."

MP affected a look of huge surprise. "The attorney in charge wanted it dropped?"

"Yes."

"Well… why wasn't it dropped?"

"She was brought into a room with that man"-he pointed out Tromble, who was trying desperately to ignore him-"and her INS bosses. She begged them to drop the case. They refused quite rudely. She then asked to be reassigned, as is the prerogative, indeed, the responsibility of any attorney who believes a case is improper. They yelled at her. She resigned, then that man"-another damning finger aimed at Tromble-"screamed at her that she was fired."

MP thanked him and walked away. Petri sat quietly and looked at Alex. Alex looked back, nodding his head, a silent acknowledgment to an old countryman who had refound his conscience.

When offered the chance to cross-examine, Caldwell passed. He knew next to nothing about Petri Arbatov. What he did know was that the man was a legal minefield, and further questioning would only reinforce the damage.

Besides, the damage wasn't really that bad. Tromble looked like a mean horse's ass; like that was news to anybody. And maybe he lied a little on the stand. But that was Tromble's problem, not Caldwell's.

Frankly, the more he thought about it, Caldwell was quite pleased. There was room for only one ego on this side of the case-one shining exemplar of truth and justice-and this skinny, tired little Russian just blew Tromble right out of the saddle.

When time came for the summary, Caldwell would strongly note how the Russian "expert" had offered an opinion-not a fact, but a baseless opinion pulled out of thin air after concluding the case was, in his own words, too perfect. And he was heavily outnumbered. The word of a self-confessed framer of innocent men against that of the entire Russian government; a reformed, democratic government, he would stipulate quite loudly, not the corrupt old dictatorship this Petri Arbatov had sent people to the gallows for.

The little Russian was released and he nearly bounced out of his chair. He and Volevodz exchanged hateful looks as Petri passed up the aisle. MP announced that he had no more witnesses.

MP remained standing, though. He looked at the judge and asked, "Could we have a moment, Your Honor?"

"Take all the time you need," Willis replied, strongly intimating that time was not on his side.

Alex stood, too, then Matt, and for a moment they gathered in a tight triangle and conferred in tense whispers.

"What do you think?" Alex asked MP.

"We're in trouble. Big trouble," MP told him bluntly. "Kim was our star witness. But Caldwell blocked us from unloading her most damaging testimony."

"You don't think Petri repaired that?" Alex asked, searching their faces.

Matt, the pro with years of big-time criminal experience answered for both lawyers. "Caldwell will cream him in his closing. I certainly would. The opinion of a man who admitted framing people against the word of an entire government. The issue is credence, Alex."

MP nodded at this candid observation. "That's exactly what he'll do. If I try to counter it in my closing, it'll only sound defensive."

"Then let's go with it," Alex stated very firmly.

MP and Matt exchanged looks. Both had badly hoped to avoid Alex's proposal. Legally speaking, it was fraught with difficulties. After a moment, Matt mentioned to MP, "He hides it well, but I think the judge is sympathetic."

MP nodded. Not enthusiastically, but nonetheless it was a nod.

Alex said to both of them, "It's all or nothing. Bluff, and do your best."

"I hope you're the lucky type," Matt replied, clearly believing this was crazy.

"He wouldn't be here if he was lucky," MP replied dryly.

Alex and Matt fell into their seats. MP remained standing. Finally, he announced somewhat hesitantly, "I'd like to submit a little evidence."

Matt handed him a tape player, a compact Bose system with small but thunderously powerful speakers. Alex arranged the system on his table, carefully directing the speakers toward the prosecutor's table, while the bailiff strung an extension cord and plugged it in. Next Matt handed Alex a tray loaded with about twenty cassettes. Alex noodled through the tapes and finally settled on one that he carefully withdrew. MP took it and inserted it neatly into the recorder. Alex's finger hovered over the start button as MP said, "This is a phone call to Miss Tatyana Lukin, special assistant to the Kremlin chief of staff. She's a lawyer who also serves as legal advisor to Boris Yeltsin." Alex stabbed play.

First, the sound of a ringing telephone.

"What? Who is this?" A woman's voice in Russian, and the annoyed tone came across loud and clear.

"Please hold for the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation." A female voice, bored, in English.

"Hello, Tatyana. Heard the news about your boy Konevitch? Made a big splash in the news on this side of the water."

"How did you get my home number?"

"When I couldn't get you at the office, my boys in the embassy tracked it down."

"All right. Yes, I see that you've got him in jail. Why haven't you just shipped him here?"

"It's complicated. Not as easy as I thought. Listen, I need a big favor."

"John, you promised me Konevitch."

"Well, just listen. Some of these judges here are pigheaded. I need you to cook up a case for me."

"Why?"

"Because I can't just throw his ass on a plane. Look, Tatyana, I really don't care about the details. Understand? Come on, your guys are supposed to be real good at this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing is that, John?"

A long silence. "Look, give me whatever you like, just be damned sure it sounds convincing."

"Is this absolutely necessary?"

"Probably not. He goes back to court in a week. No way in hell he won't be deported. But the judge might act crazily. Call it a precaution, insurance."

Caldwell finally came to his senses and, doing something he should've done a minute before, yelled, "Objection, objection."

Alex reached over and cranked the volume up full blast until it drowned out Caldwell's voice. The voices on the tape howled out of the speakers and filled the courtroom.

"You can keep him in jail, can't you? A lot of powerful people here are opposed to letting you keep the FBI outpost in your embassy. I'm doing my best, but, John, it's a real uphill battle. Such a clear lack of mutual cooperation won't go over well."

An unintelligible mumble from Tromble before she cut him off. "President Yeltsin asked me about this case just yesterday. He keeps asking if he needs to discuss it with your president."

"Hey, we'll find a way. I don't care if I have to bribe the judge or kill his wife. I'll find a way."

Caldwell was now on his feet, screaming "Objection!" at the top of his voice.