Agent Wilson laughed, slapped a thigh, and bellowed, "Hah, you old bastard, who's the smart one now?"

With his usual judicial efficiency, His Honor cut right to the chase. "Mr. Jones, we left off with your assessment that you needed two more weeks to prepare your defense. Are you ready?"

"I believe I am, Your Honor. But as there is no requirement for discovery in immigration code, I reserve the right to hear what the prosecution presents."

This reference was to the requirement in criminal trials for the prosecution and defense to share advance notice about evidence and witnesses they intend to present. There was no such obligation in immigration court. MP's retort was old hat. The judge nodded accordingly. He shifted his attention to the prosecutor. "Miss Parrish, make your case."

Without hesitation she said, "We'll open with the government claim that Mr. Konevitch lied to the immigration board about his place of employment."

She nodded at her young assistant. He apparently had another impressive purpose than being the meek target of blame for things gone wrong. He hefted up a number of documents and hauled them to the bench.

Miss Parrish said, "I'm providing annotated transcripts from the statement made by Mr. and Mrs. Konevitch to an immigration panel on April 15, to wit, they both were employed by a company supposedly established in Austria. The company so named is Orangutan Media."

Judge Everston licked his fingers and began noisily thumbing through the documents. "Go on."

"You'll also note three statements signed by Russia's attorney general, Anatoli Fyodorev. They detail several investigations by Russian federal investigators into the true activities of Orangutan Media. The-"

MP quickly interrupted. "Your Honor, we have not seen those statements."

"And you already established that, Mr. Jones."

"Yes, and surely it won't hurt to remind the court that my client came to America as a result of political persecution. The same government that provided those statements wishes him dead."

"Then you believe these statements to be false?"

"I haven't seen them."

"Well, they're in Russian. Can't read them myself. But let's assume, momentarily, that Miss Parrish is telling the truth. That's a reasonable assumption, is it not, Miss Parrish?"

"It is."

"Mr. Jones? Is Russia's attorney general lying?"

"Probably. I'll withhold judgment for now."

The prosecutor flipped a quick sideways smile at MP. She wasn't through, and he definitely wasn't going to like her next move. Too bad your hack reporter friend's not here to see you gag and choke, she wanted to tell him. Her errand boy hauled a few more papers up to the judge. "Your Honor, these are sworn statements from employees of Orangutan Media. They confirm the nature of the company's criminal activities. Please note the top statement."

"So noted. What is it?"

"A confession signed by Illya Mechoukov."

MP had never heard the name so he glanced over at his client. Alex's mouth hung open. He appeared to be in shock. He was massaging his forehead, openly pained.

MP bent over and scribbled a brief, questioning note to Alex.

"And who would he be?" the judge was asking.

"Mr. Mechoukov is the CEO of Orangutan Media. Again, it's in Russian, but he details not only the company's connections to money laundering for a notorious criminal syndicate but, more specifically, Mr. Konevitch's direct role in the nefarious activities."

Alex furiously scribbled a note back to MP. "Ask if the FBI was present," it said with a large exclamation point.

The judge was shuffling through several papers. "And the rest of these statements, who are they from?"

"More employees of said company. They all verify or expand upon the statement provided by Mechoukov."

"And how did you come upon these materials?" MP asked from the side.

She paused at this question, but only briefly. "They were given to me by the FBI."

"The FBI's a large organization. Who exactly, in the FBI?"

"I don't believe this is relevant, Your Honor."

"Should I give you my robes, Miss Parrish? Mr. Jones's question is quite relevant. This might only be immigration court, but the rules pertaining to chain of evidence remain in force. So long as you're making up my mind for me, you might as well look the part."

"Does your paycheck come with it?" She smiled briefly-a stupid mistake, one she immediately regretted.

His Honor did not smile back. "Miss Parrish, who in the FBI?"

"Agent Wilson."

"The same fellow who was present in this court two weeks ago?"

"I believe so."

"You believe so?"

"It is… was… whatever."

MP quickly interjected. "Did the FBI directly interview these people?"

"I… I believe so."

His Honor scratched his chin and asked, "Then where inside this arsenal of material are the statements by these agents?"

"If they were only observers, that wouldn't be necessary," she shot back.

"I asked if they took these statements, Your Honor," MP snapped.

"I heard what he asked," Parrish answered.

"I would like an unqualified response. Yes or no? They took the statements or they did not. They were present for the interrogations or were not," MP demanded, peering sideways at the judge. "Your Honor, if the FBI was present in any capacity, I request the names of the agents involved. Further, I'd like them to be deposed to confirm the authenticity of those statements."

In a room two floors above, Agent Wilson was loudly cursing. He drove a fist into a desk and instantly regretted it. It felt like he broke at least two knuckles. He hated lawyers. Such smartasses.

"It's not relevant," Parrish insisted, clearly rattled, and trying to squirm out of this line of inquiry. "The statements were taken by Russian law enforcement authorities. We should extend them the same trust and legal latitudes we afford our own police."

It was her first real mistake, and it was a whopper.

MP launched out of his chair; he was hell-bent to make her pay dearly for it. Directing a finger at her, he said, "Miss Parrish, are you telling this court that Russia's police are as credible as our own?"

She had said it, and it was too late to back away. "Yes."

"Have you ever heard of gulags, kangaroo courts, Solzhenitsyn, purges, Potemkin villages, Stalin, the Cold War, show trials-"

"Thank you, Mr. Jones," the judge burst in. "You made your point."

MP relaxed. "Thank you, Your Honor. I was starting to bore myself." He brushed a hand through his hair and shook his head.

It was a sly dig, skillfully delivered. Even His Honor cracked a hint of a smile.

A large scowl was on Parrish's face. She knew full well she had said something pathetically stupid. And she knew, equally well, that she had no choice but to breaststroke in quicksand. "I have no idea what Mr. Jones is saying. Nor does it sound at all relevant."

"Well, she might be the only person in the world confused about this," MP said with a nasty smile. "So let me clear it up. I'm saying the Russian police frequently use tactics that are abhorrent. They torture witnesses, employ blackmail and coercion, are notoriously dishonest, and sometimes even forge documents. If Mrs. Parrish is so naive as to not be aware of this, I will gladly call in dozens of expert witnesses from the CIA and State Department to educate her. Or I can locate thousands of U.S. citizens who were granted political asylum-by her own department, I might add-after Russian police brutally tortured them and their families."

His Honor asked very nicely, "Miss Parrish, will that be necessary or will you simply concede this point?"

Parrish spent a moment grinding her fingernails into her palms. Was this a jury trial the damage would be enormous, possibly insurmountable. Fortunately it was an immigration case in an immigration court with an immigration judge. The rules were different.