His Honor pondered this weighty request for a second. Was it fair and reasonable? Well, it was her idea to enter all this media rubbish into evidence. "Miss Parrish, for the record, do you believe these articles to be true and accurate?"

For a moment she froze. In a thoughtful, halting voice, she eventually replied, "I won't attest for every word or every statement in every article. In general, though, yes, the articles convey… well, a fairly accurate portrayal of Konevitch's deplorable activities and actions." A perfect response. She was proud of her answer, so carefully measured, so finely hedged. She was glad MP gave her the opening. He had lobbed her the perfect softball to repair the damage she had already inflicted upon herself.

MP said, very carefully also, "Your Honor, could you please ask the prosecutor if it's true Russia's attorney general is dispatching a prosecutorial team here to share evidence of Mr. Konevitch's activities with her legal department?"

Parrish's mouth suddenly went dry. She had been informed of this news only two days before. A precautionary move, she was told, in the event this judge got stupid and produced an outrageous decision. It was confided to her in the strictest confidence. How did Jones learn about it? Who leaked it? How damaging was this? How much did he know? A hundred unanswered questions pinged around her brain.

"Miss Parrish?"

She had no choice but to answer truthfully. "Yes."

"Please ask her why the need for such a team?" MP asked, uncertain how Alex learned this little tidbit, but pushing the point for all it was worth.

"It wasn't my decision. I don't know," she replied, trying to get off the hook.

"Not your decision?" His Honor asked incredulously.

She replied lamely, "It was a departmental decision."

MP went for the kill. "Your Honor, please ask her the basis of this decision."

His Honor was already kneading his temples. "Good idea. Why, Miss Parrish?"

"I have no idea."

Once again, MP generously came to her aid. "If it pleases the court, I'd like to help my colleague clear up this mystery."

"It might not please her. It would damn well please me, though," the judge replied, shoving aside his decorum. He was sorely tempted to cite her for contempt. He had caught her lying several times. Her credibility was in shambles. Now he questioned her sanity.

Speaking with all the confidence he could muster, MP claimed, "It's obvious her own service has doubts about the outlandish claims made in the Russian press about my client. As for her faith in Russia's attorney general, it's obvious her superiors feel otherwise. They asked the Russians to come over here to prove their case."

"Is this true?" Judge Everston asked her with a look that nearly peeled the skin from her face.

She toyed with a thousand responses she could give him. Yes, it was true. And also deliberately taken out of context. No, she better not say that, she promptly decided; Jones would demand to know the right context. The right context was the FBI director and attorney general wanted this Russian couple expelled, no matter what.

She hated this case. It was rammed down her throat at the last minute, accompanied by dozens of vile threats if she flopped. But her job was to represent the interests of the United States government as best she could.

"I have no idea," she snapped spitefully, wondering what her superiors would say when they read the transcript.

"I am placing this case in abeyance," the judge snapped. He looked long and hard at Kim Parrish. If stares had weight, she'd be crushed under a hundred tons of barely controlled fury. "This might be the shoddiest case I've ever had the displeasure to observe. I am not happy, Miss Parrish. You've asked me to pull the trigger for immediate deportation when the gun's not even loaded."

She summoned the last tiny bit of her courage. "The government requests that Mr. Konevitch remain in custody until we ascertain the full validity of Russia's claim."

The judge reeled back and pretended to be shocked. "Miss Parrish, do you recall the warning I issued two weeks ago?"

"I do, Your Honor."

"And now you're asking me to approve indefinite imprisonment while you sort out whether Mr. Konevitch is guilty of crimes back in Russia?"

"I didn't say indefinite. We'll move this as fast as we can and notify the court the moment we're prepared."

"And when might that be?"

"A few months at worst. Possibly weeks." She didn't have a clue.

"Mr. Jones?"

Predictably, MP looked like a jackhammer was pulverizing his big toe. "It is grossly unfair for my client to remain in custody because the government arrested him on such spurious grounds. It's outrageous and-"

Parrish cut him off. "The alternative is that we release a possible criminal to escape his crimes, and possibly sin again. He has the resources, and he has fled before. As the huge volume of news accounts attest, Mr. Konevitch is an infamous fugitive in Russia. A celebrity thief. His case is being monitored closely by Russia's highest leaders and by his own people. Russia has made clear that the handling of this case will merit a strong reciprocal response. Thousands of American citizens are in Russia. They're at risk. We recognize and apologize for any inconvenience this causes Mr. Konevitch. But we emphasize the needs of the state over his personal comfort."

The slew of news stories in the boxes two feet from the judge's long nose suddenly weighed ten legal tons. The judge stared at the boxes that attested very clearly to Konevitch's infamy in Russia. For once, she had a good point.

His Honor removed his glasses and leaned forward. "With considerable reluctance, I'll approve this request, until this thing gets sorted out."

"Thank you, Your Honor."

"Oh, don't thank me, Miss Parrish. But do listen closely. I want Mr. Konevitch transferred to a federal facility. Get him out of that nasty holding cell."

"I understand."

"Find him a nice, comfortable place. I want him not overly taxed by our obvious inefficiency. Is this clear?"

"You have my word."

He bent far forward. "One of those country clubs with tennis courts, big-screen TVs hooked to satellites, and all the good food he can stand. A nice, white-collar environment without walls or barbed wire, where the worst lowlife in there is a tax cheat."

"I understand."

"The next time I see Mr. Konevitch I want him fat and tanned. He better be bored with gardening, and listening to all those fatcat Wall Street lizards brag about their schemes."

"You have my word."

"I protest," MP said.

"Of course you do," His Honor said quickly, as he lunged out of his seat and fled from his own court.

The thrashing was horrible. Nothing less than deeply humiliating. It was the first time Kim Parrish had met the attorney general and FBI director. Oh, let it be the last, she prayed as they verbally tore into her. She gritted her teeth and mentally cursed both of them. Neither was in her chain of command, but they were enormously powerful people, and it stung.

Her own director chose to stand off to the side, eyeing the line of fire and avoiding it at all costs.

She had turned fifty years old only two weeks before. Same age as the attorney general. Twelve years older than Tromble. Yet they lashed into her like a little schoolgirl who had failed to finish her homework.

"It's not all lost," Parrish protested weakly, almost vainly, avoiding their damning eyes. "He's still in custody. We'll have our day in court again."

"His ass should already be on a plane back to Russia," Tromble yelled, slapping a hand on a table. "You blew it. A knockdown case, and you just blew it."

"It wasn't my decision to bring in the Russian prosecutors. I had them on the ropes until Jones used that ace."