"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.
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."
