by Serena Vale
She nodded. It was a simple thing to understand: a favor for a favor. That was the Russian way, alright.
“You’ll be quartered inside the embassy,” James went on, “at least until the situation is resolved. Mr. Romanov has made all of the arrangements. You’re going to eat, breathe, and sleep this case until it’s put to bed.”
“Piece of cake,” she said.
James smirked. “Bring me some of the icing.”
Chapter 2
Regina turned off her voice recorder and slipped it into her pocket as the limo came to a halt. She gathered up her briefcase and waited patiently for the driver to release her from the limo. As she waited she regarded herself in the overhead mirror a final time. Her chocolate colored skin was still fresh and ready from her morning shower despite the trip. Her hair was tied in thick braids and her green eyes stared back at her, full of confidence and surety.
She smiled at her reflected twin. “Let’s go get ‘em.”
When the door opened she felt a slight rush of heat. D.C. was having a heatwave and she was thankful that she wouldn’t have to spend so much time outdoors during this whole matter. As fabulous as she thought she looked in a bathing suit the heat did tend to get to her.
The Russian Embassy stood before her. It was a cube-shaped building, made of granite if she were to judge. It stood seven stories tall with narrow and tinted windows on all sides that reminded her of murder holes on a castle. It looked as cold and unwelcoming as a prison to her eyes but she had learned never to judge anything from its appearance.
There were several adjacent buildings to the embassy proper and she figured them to be living quarters, maintenance building, parking structure, and security HQ respectively.
Charming place, she thought as she took it all in.
The driver removed her luggage bag from the rear of the limo and wordlessly walked with it beside her to the front gate of the embassy. The compound was ringed in an iron bar fence that enclosed green lawns surrounding a courtyard of stone where the Russian flag waved lightly in the hot breeze. And inside those gates she saw large and burly men armed with pistols and escorting attack dogs mere inches from the fence.
Really charming, she added mentally.
At the gate they were greeted by a single guard dressed in a security booth who stopped her with an outstretched hand. “Halt… papers please?” he said in what Regina was sure was fractured and therefor school-taught English.
She handed him an envelope holding all of her paperwork and clearance to work in the embassy and gave a detailed list of whom she was here to see and why. The man spared a moment to look over the papers before giving a rough and unfeeling nod. “You may proceed,” he said in that rough tone that she associated with all Russians. “Your bags must be inspected in embassy foyer.”
She smiled and the man’s native language replied, “Thank you for your help.”
She took her bag from the limo driver who wordlessly passed it to her and returned to his waiting vehicle.
Getting herself through the embassy’s lobby was an interesting event. Her bag and briefcase both were inspected in a manner that she thought would have put the TSA to shame. Both were checked for hidden compartments or device pockets wherein she may have tried to smuggle in something nefarious. Even her pocket recorder was x-rayed thoroughly before the security men within were convinced she carried nothing that could be a threat.
Her papers were checked, checked again, and re-checked by three different security stations until she was finally allowed to pass into the embassy’s waiting area. She had been expecting as much but that made the whole ordeal no less tedious. Russians were nothing if not thorough.
“Wait here,” said the attendant that showed her to the waiting area once they had discovered she could speak their language. “Mr. Romanov will be with you shortly.” And the attendant disappeared through the same door they’d entered through, closing it behind him and shutting her in.
The waiting area was simple and reminded her of the waiting room at a DMV. The room was small, thirty feet to a side, with only one window to look out through and a collection of plastic chairs and a single water dispenser to keep her company.
Must not get a lot of visitors, she decided as she settled into a chair beside her bags. She passed the time by mentally reviewing everything that she knew about what was going to happen and the legal options that she had as things now stood. Once she had a chance to conference with Mr. Romanov she would have more to work with. But until then, it was best just to be sharp on what she could predetermine.
Her thoughts were interrupted when the door opened and in came a man that she didn’t recognize. From the papers – as well as the legal brief – she knew that this man wasn’t Alexi Romanov. He seemed more intimidating than the man she’d seen in the pictures. It was a man with thick tendrils of red hair and a matching beard and a look on his face that seemed so hard it could have carved diamonds. He wore an expensive suit but the boots he wore told her that this man’s purpose was decidedly not business.
“I am Yuri Salnikov,” he said plainly, “Mr. Romanov will see you now, Ms. Wells,” he said in a voice that sounded almost gentle. He gathered up her larger bag and gestured for her to follow him and she did.
She was led to a bank of elevators and was taken to the topmost level. When the elevator arrived and her escort showed her out she felt a small pang of panic. Standing before her were a series of doors that, despite being marked in Russian, she could read easily enough and each was marked as either a Court Room or a judge’s private chambers. And outside those doors were men dressed as she knew only lawyers or other practitioners of the law would be.
“Uh, excuse me…” she said, trying to get Yuri’s attention, “but I was supposed to meet with Mr. Romanov before heading into court.”
“Plans change, Ms. Wells,” said Yuri, “Come. Mr. Romanov is waiting.”
Perplexed and utterly bewildered she followed Yuri into one of the court rooms and found that it was empty, save for a single person sitting at one of the two tables at the front was a man who sat alone. Presumably it was her client.
Yuri showed her to the fore for the room and indicated her chair at the defense table where she finally saw the man whom she had been sent to represent.
Her breath was almost stolen from her lungs as Alexi Romanov looked over and stood to meet her. For a brief moment it was as if her mind had taken leave of her keener senses and had delved into some wild and primal part of her mind.
He was tall, just an inch or so over six feet and towering above her by at least seven inches. His hair was short and neatly combed, and was a shade of brown that matched his eyes that seemed to pierce right through her. His chin and jaw were strong as if he had been chiseled from solid granite. To support that claim his shoulders were wide and she could imagine the muscle that was required to hold his body up like that.
If she had thought that Yuri was intimidating then it Alexi Romanov made him look like a puppet on a string meant for children’s shows. But if Alexi’s fingers could make people dance she would happily move to his tune.
“Ah, Ms. Wells,” Alexi said. She saw that she was correct about his size and she suddenly felt somewhat diminished to stand before him like this, like David confronted by the Biblical Goliath.
Goliath was never this handsome, she caught herself thinking.
He extended a hand outward towards her, “A pleasure.”
She noted how well his English sounded, like perhaps he had been schooled in an institute of higher learning. She shook his hand and it felt like there was indeed the strength of a god in his grip. His hand felt like it could have been made of tungsten steel and crushed her hand like an egg, yet it was surprisingly gentle. “Mr. Romanov,” she said with a polite nod and keeping her handshake as firm as she could.
“Please, call me Alexi,” he corrected. “I prefer to be a little more familiar with those who work for me. Will this be a problem?”
&nb
sp; She shook her head, “No, not at all,” she said with a confidence that she did not feel. “But Mr. Romanov… Alexi… may I ask what’s happening here? I was told that we would have some time to prepare…?”
Alexi freed her hand and settled back down into his chair and she followed suit. “The judge has arrived and is being pressured by aristocracy in Moscow. Court will commence at once.”
True panic began to seep inside of her, but she managed to hold it in check as she spoke. “But, I haven’t had time to prepare. We haven’t conferenced, I’m not familiar with the details of the case… and I understand this was supposed to be a simple meeting.”
Alexi smiled at her and though his expression seemed somewhat gentle, it looked like he had the kind of grin that could reduce mountains to gravel. There was something ominous in so appealing an expression, like a shark that had learned to smile at a fish it intended to eat. “Well, circumstances have changed somewhat. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it seems that you shall be my attorney in this matter. There is no more time for me to be… what is your expression… picky?”
She felt a chill run through her. Despite the circumstances it didn’t change the fact that she hadn’t had any time to prepare, apart from what she already knew about the case in the public eye and the brief that Carver had given her.
She took a calming breath. “Very well, Alexi,” she said with a smile. “I trust that the opposition will disclose all of their evidence against you before this hearing begins? That might give me breathing room.”
Alexi shook his head. “They will not.”
She paused and another surge of panic welled up inside of her that she was just barely able to control. “They won’t?”
He gently shook his head. “Russian courts do not function as you are accustomed to here in America. There are many parties in play that are; shall we say, skilled at twisting the system?”
She let her mouth hang agape for a moment before replying, “But that’s not proper court method! Even in international court…”
“Parties involved believe that if I have time to prepare an adequate defense I will inevitably fill the judge’s ears with lies and secure a means to escape what they define as “justice”. However, if proceedings occur as they wish, I may yet prove my innocence.” He gave her a sideways grin. “Opposition tends to look favorably on those who think swiftly on their feet. And if what is said in court can be easily verified then so much the better.”
“Alexi…” she began, looking for some way to help him see reason. “What I have… what I know about this case… it’s not enough.”
“I did not expect it would be. We will have time to strategize this evening. Today is merely a formal meeting for declaration of intent. This is an old custom in Mother Russia.”
She was about to protest again when a voice from behind her spoke up. This one, she noted right off, sounded about as calm and soothing as napalm… or a volcano on the verge of erupting.
“Alexi…” the voice said familiarly, “how good to see you again.”
Regina’s eyes turned to the voice that had spoken and she saw an elderly man standing before her. He was short, perhaps even more so than herself, but with a head of silver hair and a matching beard that reminded her loosely of Carver. This man seemed almost soft… withered… but underneath she could sense that there was malice that would make liquid nitrogen seem warm. And from the dark suit he wore she was able to easily mark him as a lawyer.
“Abram,” Alexi said, again getting to his feet, “so good to see you again. It has been what… nearly three years?”
The other man, whom Regina noted was called Abram, stood before her and she rose to her feet to stand between him and her client. The old man crossed his hands and smiled almost pitifully at Alexi. “You have been too long in this country, I think. You do not even speak your native language.” He looked to her and Regina felt another chill in her body. She could almost smell the danger that this man posed outside of the legal system. “And this is who? Your woman?”
She stiffened her back. “Regina Wells of Graham & Associates. I’ll be representing Mr. Romanov in these matters. And if you wish to discuss anything with my client, your appointments must go through me first.”
That she could speak Russian didn’t seem to impress the older man. His look of pity endured as though she hadn’t spoken at all. He gently shook his head and looked over her shoulder to Alexi. “I pity you. When you go home, there are some very angry people who wish to… discuss certain matters with you.”
“Home is a long way from here, Abram. And I understand that Ms. Wells is one of the best at what she does.”
Abram looked to her with a baleful eye and lightly scoffed. “An American woman practicing Russian law… you’re more of a fool than I thought, Alexi.” And with that, Abram turned and seated himself behind the plaintiff table.
Regina turned with Alexi and together they sat back down.
“I was unaware that you spoke my language, Ms. Wells,” Alexi said.
“Call me Regina,” she said comfortably. “And yes, I speak Russian… and French… and a little Italian.”
“A woman of many talents,” he said approvingly. “I hope this means your talents extend into the law as well?”
She gave a gentle puff of the lips. “Well, my supervisor told me that this would be a first. I’m beginning to see what he meant. But before we begin answer me something… who is that?” she asked, gesturing to Abram.
“That is Abram Fyodorov. He will be your opposition in this case.”
She shook her head. She’d been doing this job too long to not know when someone was lying or even worse, when they were telling a half-truth. “That’s not what I mean. I mean, who is he really?”
Alexi shifted in his seat, “He is my former father-in-law.”
Chapter 3
Regina felt a chill when the judge entered the courtroom from a side door. Like any man who sat behind the bench he wore a dark flowing robe that distinguished him as the man to be reckoned with in these proceedings. He wasn’t an old man as she had envisioned, but perhaps just the right side of fifty. His hair was long enough to touch his shoulders with a thin beard that masked his chin and both were of a jet black color. He wore a few wrinkles and his face had the kind of sternness that she would have associated with bullying school principals.
She, Alexi, and Abram all stood as the judge entered into the chambers and silently sat in his chair behind the elevated bench that faced them. She watched as the judge opened up a notebook and scribbled a few marks inside of it before turning his eyes to them, which she saw were cold and as silently dangerous as icebergs.
“Be seated,” he commanded.
She sat with Alexi and Abram too reclaimed his chair.
“I am Judge Utkin,” the court’s master said simply. “I will be presiding over these affairs until they reach their conclusion. As this matter involves the financing of several parties with ties to military contractors and possible criminal allegations I would prefer to keep this matter as informal as possible. Do the plaintiff and defendant agree to these terms?”
Abram stood. “The plaintiff will agree to this, your honor.”
She stood, “The defense will agree to this as well, your honor.”
The judge turned an eye to her and she felt the weight of his stare, like he really could have crushed her with a single look. She’d seen that kind of glare before in other judges and in other lawyers but she stiffened her back and didn’t let the brunt of his scowl show. If he was surprised that she could speak Russian he didn’t show it. “Very well, court will then officially begin.” He banged his gavel. “At this time, both parties may make their opening statements.”
Regina sat as Abram spoke his piece. She turned on her pocket recorder and took in everything that he said while simultaneously pulling a small notepad from out of her briefcase and scribbling notes on it as he went, looking for ammo that she could use to blow holes in his ca
se.
Abram Fyodorov’s case was simple enough to structure. He was the representative of the people back in Russia that Alexi had supposedly offended with his business practices. The foundation of his case was the people that Alexi had pissed off wanted him back home to face full justice, which she was able to translate as: murdered out from under the eye of the rest of the world. He of course threatened Siberian prison as the “soft” punishment for Alexi but she recognized it for what it was: smoke screen. No, she was certain that the threat of prison was only for the eyes of the public. If Alexi was taken back home then the real dangers would begin.
The basis Abram was using for Alexi’s extradition were equally simple. Alexi’s company had dispensed money that belonged to other parties and had been sunk into projects for which that capital had not been designated for. People turned angry and blamed Alexi for it, but because he was on U.S. soil he was protected from being extradited because the charges seemed groundless, even to a public defender. Despite that, there were people in Russia that wanted their financial injuries dressed.
I’ve worked with less, she thought as Abram reached his conclusion.
“The matter I present to you, your honor,” Abram said, “is that this man has swindled millions of rubles from rich patrons in Russia for projects that they were not intended for. As the representative for those with interests in seeing justice done, I move to have this man returned to Russian soil where he will make financial reparations for the damage done.”
With that, the older man took his seat.
Utkin looked to her, “The defense may now make it’s declaration of intent.”
