She drew a few deep breaths, then tried gamely to repair the damage. "The prosecution is willing to concede that Russian legal authorities might occasionally employ a little excess vigor in the pursuit of justice."

Alex mentioned to MP, very loudly, "She means they rip fingernails out of innocent people and force them to sign untrue statements."

"I can interpret her words without your help," the judge said with a mildly aggravated expression. "Now sit down, Mr. Jones."

MP sat.

The judge removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes for a moment. Eventually he said to the prosecutor, "Can you produce any FBI agents who witnessed these interrogations?"

"No."

He turned to MP. "Can you produce witnesses or evidence that these statements are tainted or were forced?"

"I haven't been given the opportunity. They were sprung on us only five minutes ago. My client vehemently denies them. We would request the time to track down the signatories to interview them directly."

His Honor swiveled his neck back to the prosecutor. "I hope you have other evidence or substantiation."

This time her young lackey hauled two enormous cardboard boxes up to the bench. They overflowed with paper. Parrish allowed the judge a moment to peek over the lids and witness the massive volume of material. It would take at least a month to read it all.

"Your Honor, these are newspaper and magazine clippings collected and translated by our Foreign Service concerning Mr. Konevitch's considerable criminal activities in Russia."

Alex began scribbling more furious notes for MP. Parrish prattled on, describing the depth, complexity, and utter depravity of Alex's schemes and crimes. She referred to her notes frequently. She quoted freely from several of the more damning articles. About the abhorrent nature of Konevitch's crimes. Choice tidbits about the people this Russian mountebank harmed through his crookedness. The bankrupted investors who trusted him and were ruined. The thousands of employees laid off after he fled. The shock to the entire Russian business world and its incipient stock market. She requested that the accounts be entered into the record. MP scrawled a few questions. Alex dashed off hurried replies.

The moment she finished, MP observed, "I believe the prosecutor is aware of our contention that Mr. Konevitch was framed for these crimes."

"It's a common alibi from guilty criminals," Parrish replied dismissively.

"You doubt his word?" MP asked, slightly incredulous.

"Of course I do. Mr. Konevitch is listed number one on Russia's most wanted list. The Russian attorney general has issued a warrant for his arrest. The news stories in those boxes confirm everything he did, that he's now claiming he didn't do. I believe he is outnumbered."

MP turned to the judge. "I don't believe I've ever heard of a case where newspaper articles were introduced as evidence."

The judge was interested in where MP was going with this. "Nor I. On the other hand, I'm inclined to accept her claim that the articles add a certain level of verification to the government claims."

MP smiled at His Honor and said, "Could I have a little latitude to explore this issue?"

"A very little, Mr. Jones."

He turned and faced Parrish. "Did you read the New York Times article published two weeks ago regarding this trial?"

"I may have."

"Would you like me to read it to you? I have a copy."

"No. I read it."

"All of it?"

"I just said I did. Every stupid word."

MP picked up the article from the table and waved it around for the judge to see. "Here's my favorite part," he said, smiling broadly. He read loudly and proudly, "Quote, 'This case is a travesty of injustice, a railroad, and the prosecutor is the chief engineer driving a train of lies and deceit,' remarked an anonymous source. 'If Konevitch is returned to Russia, he'll be murdered. His blood will be on the prosecutor's hands as surely as if she killed him herself.' End quote." MP smiled nicely at the court reporter. "Sally, please enter that into the record. Especially that literary part about driving the train of lies and deceit. I really like that line."

Parrish launched out of her chair. "I protest, Your Honor," she yelled, red-faced. "That obvious smear has no business being entered into the record."

His Honor briefly considered an intervention. There was no question about it; she was right, it definitely was a bald-faced smear. On the other hand, she was asking to have press clippings entered into evidence. Whether she liked it or not, she had given the defense attorney the opening to explore the issue: if he chose to crash through it in a Mack truck she had no complaint.

And frankly, such testy exchanges were rare for an immigration hearing. He pushed his chair back, folded his hands behind his head, and watched the interplay with huge enjoyment.

"Why not?" MP snapped back at her. "Didn't you agree with it?"

"I did not."

"Oh, come on, Miss Parrish. It was a great article. Well-reasoned, finely balanced."

"It was a shameful, slanted, slanderous piece of garbage, Mr. Jones. And you know it. It was too obvious the reporter was an old college friend of yours. She made no effort to get the government's side. Her behavior verges on professional misconduct."

For the briefest moment, MP paused. How did she know about their old college relationship? There was only one way she could, and MP pondered that ugly thought before he recovered his senses and pushed on.

"Then sue her," he snapped, struggling to keep his cool. How long had his phones been tapped? Who was listening in? How much had he divulged?

"I might sue you instead. You and I both know you provided that despicable quote."

"Fine. Sue me, then. I dare you." He waved the article like a matador with a red cape.

"I would love to. If it wasn't impossible to prove, I would take everything you own."

"Spare me the empty threats. Any lawyer worth their salt would end up owning the New York Times and shoving me into the poorhouse."

"Don't you dare patronize me. She'll hide behind the First Amendment. And you'll lie for all it's worth."

On a dime, MP was suddenly all warmth and compassion. He balled up the article and threw it on the floor. "You know what? I agree with you, Miss Parrish. What can be worse than being smeared and maligned by lies in the press? To have your reputation unfairly dragged through the mud? If a lawyer like you has no realistic recourse, what chance does a simple citizen have? He can sue, but what chance does he have? He can say it's all lies, but who'll believe him? Anonymous sources leak all the lying filth they want. The juicier the lie, the more quickly it spreads, picked up by one paper after another until it becomes an avalanche of lies. The more outrageous the lie, the more ink it captures, the more it's guaranteed to hit the front page, then another front page, then a magazine cover, and then… Well, it's all just so sad."

The constant use of "he" left no doubt he wasn't talking about her. Alex suddenly thrust a note into MP's hand. It read, "Ask if her bosses requested a team of Russian prosecutors to come here and prove the case." He read it, had no idea what Alex was talking about, or where this was coming from, but Alex had nailed it on the head about the FBI and Orangutan Media. He nodded.

Parrish decided she hated MP Jones. She had known exactly what he was doing from the beginning. It had just been impossible to ignore or deflect his assault in a casual manner. He had shoved her into a corner and forced her to battle her way out.

But at least he was finished, she thought with grim satisfaction. In fact, MP was just getting warmed up.

He said to the judge, "Your Honor, since Miss Parrish has asked to enter these news articles into evidence, I would like you to ask her, on the record, if she believes every word to be true and accurate. Is she confident these stories represent the truth?"