Lost American

by Brian Freemantle

  ‘I suppose I should be.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose so, yes. But I don’t know, not really.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ said Brinkman, changing the earlier automatic apology.

  ‘I wish I could sleep for a hundred years.’

  ‘With me?’ he said, trying to lift her depression. It wasn’t the end of the world, not yet. A mistake and an embarrassment, but not the end of the world.

  ‘That’s something else I don’t know.’ said Ann. ‘I think the answer might be yes.’

  Blair tried to anticipate everything, determined against any oversight. He went to see the parents of all the other boys who had been involved with Paul and found them as resentful and confused and bewildered as he had felt. Had felt. Blair left each meeting growing more and more convinced that he’d crossed more bridges with Paul than any of the others had with their kids. David Hoover, who was divorced like Blair was and had returned like Blair had done was convinced that the marriage break-up was the only cause and wouldn’t consider any other discussion. As well as all the other parents Blair saw again the two counsellors, knowing that Erickson was submitting a report to the court – and guessing maybe Kemp would as well – and wanting them to know all about his talks with the boy. Both seemed impressed and Blair was glad, not because of their praise but because they were supposed to be experts – more expert than him at least – and if they approved then maybe it was some sort of indication that he’d got it right.

  He talked things through with Ruth at every stage and the day before the court hearing went over it all again, insisting that she try to find something he’d forgotten, while there was still time to put it right. She couldn’t.

  ‘I know I’ve said it before, but thanks for coming back, Eddie. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’

  ‘I mean what I said, about staying as close as possible to the boys,’ said Blair. ‘I fouled up. Badly.’

  ‘We found out in time,’ said Ruth.

  ‘Let’s hope it’s in time.’

  ‘You were the one who used to reassure me, remember?’

  She deserved the honesty, thought Blair: that was the new, inviolate resolution. ‘Something’s come up,’ he said.

  ‘Come up?’

  Blair told her about the meeting with Hubble, not everything about the encounter because he was experienced enough to recognise the sensitivity about disclosing too much of what had happened as a result of his Moscow assessments but enough for her to understand why he was being asked to extend.

  ‘But there’s one thing,’ he said. ‘One paramount, overriding thing. If I accept then it’s only going to be when I’m completely satisfied it’ll enable the new situation with Paul and John.’

  ‘Are you going to accept?’ she said.

  ‘I haven’t decided,’ ducked Blair. Invoking the convenient excuse he said, ‘I’m not even going to think about it until after the court case.’ He paused and said, ‘What do you think I should do, Ruth?’

  ‘I can only talk as far as the boys are concerned,’ she said. ‘And about them I think you should do whatever makes it possible for you to keep your promise. I sincerely believe that if we stand any chance of getting Paul back in line and preventing John going the same way then the most important thing is not letting them think – suspect even – that you’re not going to come through, like you’ve said. But that’s where my responsibility ends now, Eddie. Ann’s the person with whom you’ve got to talk the rest through. And then you’re the person who’s got to make the final decision.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Blair miserably. ‘I know.’

  The instruction that he should personally address the Politburo came from Panov and Sokol realised at once how the KGB chairman was manoeuvring himself cleverly away from any position of direct responsibility. Sokol’s immediate reaction was apprehension but he quickly rationalised the attitude. He hadn’t caused the food shortages in the first place; they – and their policies – had. All he’d had to do was to try to clear up and contain the mess. So it would be quite wrong to appear apologetic, which was clearly Panov’s response. Sokol prepared carefully, personally visiting every affected area to see the situation for himself – well knowing that the Politburo would get separate, independent reports anyway – and satisfying himself that in every region but the Ukraine itself the famine was controlled if not solved. He prepared his address with equal care, writing and rewriting and actually rehearsing it, in the privacy of his own apartment. His demeanour in front of the Soviet rulers was respectful but forceful, the inference always there that he was attempting to correct the mistakes of others. His treatment of the various leadership attempts at revolt had effectively splintered any organised situation in any province and providing the transportation was maintained at its present level – and the foreign imports continued to arrive – he believed any further difficulties could be avoided. It was an impressive evaluation and Sokol knew it, as he spoke. And the Politburo accepted it as such. At the end Chebrakin thanked him for the depth of detail and said, ‘You are to be congratulated, Comrade Sokol.’

  Sokol was happy at the thought that the KGB chairman would have his informants and hear what had been said. Sokol knew he had gained more than he had lost by the confrontation.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The surroundings of the Family Court were not the sort that Blair expected and he regretted it. He guessed the design was based upon long experience and that it worked but he would have preferred more formality and the presiding judge to have been a man, not a woman, because he thought it would have had a stronger effect upon the boys. Frightened them. Because Blair felt they needed frightening, Paul and the others who stood bowed-headed before the bench, their hair cut and their pants pressed and their shoes shining, muttering that they understood what was happening. If they understood it now – which they undoubtedly did – then they understood it when they’d ripped off stores and mugged an old guy and planned to rob a pharmacy. Despite the new accord with Paul and the hopeful new relationship and all the promises and hopes Blair was still realistic enough to accept that his kid knowingly set out to become a criminal and a drug dealer. They’d employed counsel to represent them because it was the system, but Blair knew there wasn’t anything the lawyer could really do. Paul should be taught a lesson – frightened – against ever doing anything like it again, irrespective of new relationships or new anythings that had been privately reached between them.

  The parents sat behind where the children and the counsel were, all pressed and barbered and polished too, tightly enclosed in angry embarrassment at what they were hearing about their offspring. The evidence was not lengthy and the lawyers’ questions were nothing more than a formality, men trying to appear to earn their fees. The pharmacist and an assistant spoke of the suspicious behaviour of a group of young boys – Paul emerging at once as the leader – and of an apparent attempt by one section to distract by a feigned bid to steal in the main part of the shop while two others – Paul one of them again – tried to get into the restricted area, where the dangerous and controlled drugs were. The pharmacist had already called the police and gave evidence of one of the boys – thank God not Paul this time but David Hoover – pulling a knife which he dropped in his nervousness. The patrolman spoke of being despatched to a robbery by a person or persons unknown, of entering prepared to shoot and of the children’s immediate surrender when they realised who he was. Counsel tried to make something of the surrender but Blair wasn’t impressed and he didn’t think the court was. It was from the patrolman that the evidence came of the previous, undetected shoplifting, which the kids admitted in statements at the station house. Every child, in separate interviews, confessed the purpose was to buy drugs, their taking of which was confirmed by later medical examination. The two drug counsellors, Kemp and Erickson, were the two witnesses upon whom the lawyers concentrated most, seeking something in mitigation or excuse but Blair didn’t think
much of that, either. He was impressed, however, by the main body of their evidence – not the questioning – and felt privately embarrassed at his impression of them at their first interview. Both talked of the boys individually, attesting unasked their previous good character and apparently genuine remorse now.

  ‘So what have you got to say for yourselves?’ The demand from the woman was sharp, unexpected, and Blair started like the kids in front. Her name was Bateson, he remembered, from the formalities at the commencement of the hearing. She was grey-haired and rosy-cheeked and motherly and Blair definitely regretted it hadn’t been a man.

  ‘And I don’t want any “sorrys” or “don’t knows” or “nothings”,’ she went on. ‘I want to know why you did what you did. And why I shouldn’t send you all away for a long custodial period to protect shopkeepers and old people on the streets.’

  Maybe he’d been wrong, thought Blair. Again. Maybe it was as effective as having a male judge after all. She appeared very aware of her authority and there was a humiliation – why not, they deserved it – at being hectored by a woman.

  One of the boys, Cohn, Blair thought, tried to mumble something but she cut the boy short, demanding that he speak up. When he did it was to say he was sorry and she said, ‘Of course you are. You’re sorry that you got caught and you’re in court here today. But you wouldn’t be sorry if you hadn’t been caught, would you? All you’d be worrying about was getting more drugs, to sell and to use … She hesitated, jabbing a finger out. ‘You!’ she said. ‘You talk to me.’

  Paul, Blair saw.

  Paul was standing shame-faced, like them all. He shifted under the demand, his shoulders humping and Blair thought, Come on! Come on for God’s sake boy!

  ‘Well!’ she persisted.

  ‘Made a mistake,’ started Paul, trying. ‘A stupid mistake. I know that now. And I am sorry and not for being here today … not just for being here today. I’m sorry for what I stole and I’m sorry I tried to rob the pharmacy.’

  ‘What about the marijuana and the cocaine?’ said the judge relentlessly. ‘How sorry are you about that?’

  ‘Very,’ said Paul.

  ‘Why?’

  She was very good, conceded Blair.

  ‘Because it’s wrong. Dangerous,’ he said.

  ‘You knew that when you were doing it.’

  ‘Everyone was doing it,’ said Paul. ‘I knew it was wrong but it didn’t seem to hurt anybody, not really hurt them. I thought the stories about it being dangerous were exaggerated.’

  ‘Do you still think that?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Paul.

  Blair wished the boy hadn’t fallen back upon the cliché at the end but the rest hadn’t been bad.

  Judge Bateson kept on at the other boys, forcing reaction from them all and Blair decided that even though it didn’t have the appearance of the adult court they weren’t getting off as lightly as he imagined they might. And they hadn’t been sentenced yet. As he thought it, she reached it.

  ‘You’ve been taking drugs,’ she said. ‘You’ve been stealing and mugging to buy those drugs and you planned a robbery to set yourselves up as dealers. Is that right …?’

  When there was no response she repeated the question to each child, forcing each to admit it.

  The woman said, ‘Which requires a custodial sentence …’ and stopped again, for an unspoken reaction from them this time.

  Blair felt Ruth stiffen at his side. She reached out for his arm and he covered her hand. A positive attitude wouldn’t form in his mind. He’d wanted Paul frightened into not doing it – any of it – again and he wanted some sort of day-to-day control that he couldn’t personally provide but he hadn’t actually considered imprisonment, although it had been discussed during his second meeting with the counsellors. Would it be imprisonment at Paul’s age? Reformatory then. He didn’t know if they were officially called that – he had a recollection of something cosmetic like corrective farms – but that’s what they were, reformatories. Would a period in a reformatory mean a permanent record, when he tried to get a job? And what about his schooling, before that? There couldn’t be the natural progression to high school if he were in a reformatory. The questions crowded in and he couldn’t answer them. The awareness angered him. The counsellors could have told him if he’d had the commonsense to ask the questions.

  ‘Do you know what a custodial sentence is? What it would mean?’ demanded the woman.

  Again they were forced to reply. They were scared, Blair knew. He felt the beginning of pity and then he thought of the old guy who’d been robbed of his welfare payments. OK, so maybe Paul hadn’t been involved, but Blair didn’t think that mattered. He bet the old guy had been pretty scared, as well.

  ‘It means going somewhere where you’re not free any more,’ lectured the judge. ‘Free to steal or to frighten other people or sell drugs. Somewhere where people – other kids and other, decent people – can be protected from you. Which I think is necessary.’

  Blair felt Ruth’s hand tighten. Further along the line of parents he heard the sound of another mother – he didn’t know who – starting to cry and in front of him the shoulders of Cohn were beginning to heave, too.

  ‘But I want to achieve more than that,’ said Judge Bateson. ‘I want to protect other people and I want to reform you and I want to ensure that you make proper, fitting restitution for what you’ve done, so that you’ll be reminded just what you’ve done and tried to do not just today but for a long time afterwards. I am going to sentence you all to a custodial sentence. A period of two years each. Upon David Hoover, who pulled a knife during the attempted pharmacy robbery, there will be a further term of six months. And upon you, Paul Blair, who emerged during the evidence I have heard to be the ringleader of that attempt, there will also be an additional period of six months …’

  Beside Blair, Ruth began to shake and he pressed against her hand, trying to comfort her but knowing there was no way he could.

  ‘But I am going to suspend it,’ announced the judge. ‘Which means that you can continue living with your families and going to your schools. Getting a chance that many would argue you don’t deserve, for the things you’ve done. But you’re not going to get that chance easily. You will enter a drug rehabilitation and reeducation programme, to which you will be directed by your counsellors. Another condition is that you will, during the period of your sentence, enter some voluntary assistance scheme, again directed by your counsellors, for old people or for disabled or for the less fortunate than yourselves. I will have both those conditions devised by your counsellors in such a way that there is absolutely no interference with your school work, so don’t think I’m giving you any excuse whatsoever for dropping out. I’ll require your counsellors to monitor your grades and if those grades drop for any reason that isn’t entirely satisfactory to either of them then I’ll have them back to discuss it with me …’

  Judge Bateson paused, sipping from the water glass in front of her on the bench. ‘And understand one thing,’ she resumed. ‘The most important thing. If, at any time during the period of your sentence, you fail to meet any of these conditions, or if you involve yourselves again with drugs or get into any sort of trouble whatsoever you’ll return to this court and whatever custodial sentence remains will be custodial. And added to whatever new sentence is imposed upon you.’

  A lot had been taken out of his hands, Blair realised. Perhaps deservedly so. It didn’t alter the resolve, though: his own intentions could be adjusted to coordinate with those of the court. It was a harsh and fitting sentence: and could be the making – and saving – of the kid. Providing Paul didn’t screw it up.

  The last thought was uppermost in his mind as they emerged from the court and Ruth, who hadn’t properly assimilated all that was said, asked him, ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘That he can’t make another mistake,’ said Blair. ‘Not one.’

  Hubble’s greeting at Langley was as effusive as before. Maybe even
more so, thought Blair; this time it was Hubble seeking concessions. Hubble politely entered into a discussion about the court hearing but Blair sensed the other man’s impatience to get to the point of the second meeting, his decision over Moscow.

  Hubble delayed the demand to the absolute point at which he could not be suspected of a lack of interest about Blair’s personal problems and then reminded, ‘You said you’d let me know.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Blair.

  ‘So what’s it to be?’

  Blair refused his superior’s anxiousness. He went carefully – actually irritatingly – through the court sentence and conditions and after that listed his own decisions involving Paul. He said he wanted further time in Washington, completely to set everything up with the counsellors and that then – if he agreed to stay on – he needed an absolute guarantee that he would be allowed out of the Russian capital to fit in wherever and as often as the counsellors – and Paul – considered it necessary. He also said that although he knew the American State Department had no control or pressure they could bring against the Soviet immigration authorities, he wanted a further absolute guarantee that whenever he needed the boys to visit him in Moscow, State would make sure there was no hitch in the arrangements. Coming finally to Ann, whom circumstances had thrust into the background but whom he didn’t consider deserved second place or second consideration, he said if he agreed he wouldn’t accept a completely unlimited period, spending the rest of his operational life in Moscow but required an undertaking that someone else would be appointed whom he could introduce and train up.

  ‘That’s a bunch of reservations,’ said Hubble at once.

  ‘They’re not reservations,’ argued Blair. ‘They’re reasonable concessions to which I consider I’m entitled, in exchange for what you’re asking me to do.’

  ‘If we agree, you’ll stay?’

  ‘If you agree to every one, in every respect, I’ll stay,’ said Blair.