Mightier Than the Sword

Harry had insisted that Babakov sleep on the one thin mattress in their cramped cell, but the Russian had refused, explaining that he couldn’t afford to get used to such luxury when he would be returning to a stone floor in Siberia on Tuesday night. Sleeping on the straw that was liberally scattered over the floor was quite enough luxury for one weekend. The truth was, neither of them had slept for any length of time, which brought back memories for Harry of his days behind enemy lines. By the time the guards came to collect them on the Tuesday morning, they were both mentally and physically exhausted, having used every available hour for the challenge they had set themselves.

When the two guards accompanied Harry into the court, he was surprised to find the chief prosecutor and the jury already in their places. He hardly had time to catch his breath before the door at the back of the room opened and the three judges entered and returned to their seats on the raised dais.

Once again, the tribunal chairman didn’t even glance in Harry’s direction, but immediately turned to the jury. She opened a file in front of her and began what Harry assumed was her summing up. She only spoke for a few minutes, rarely raising her head from the text. Harry could only wonder who had written it, and when.

“Comrades, you have heard all the evidence, and have had more than enough time to consider your verdict. Can there be any doubt that the prisoner is guilty of the crimes he has been charged with, and that he deserves to be sentenced to a long term of imprisonment? The jury will be interested to learn that this will not be the prisoner’s first experience of jail. He has already served a sentence for murder in the United States, but do not let that influence you, because it is you, and you alone, who must decide if he is guilty.”

Harry had to admire the fact that the other two judges were able to keep a straight face while she continued to read out the prepared statement.

“Comrades, first let me ask you if you need to retire to consider your verdict?”

A man seated at the right-hand end of the front row, as befits a bit-part player, stood up and, sticking to his script, said, “No, comrade chairman.”

“Have you reached a verdict?”

“Yes, we have, comrade chairman.”

“And is that verdict unanimous?”

“Yes, it is, comrade chairman.”

“And what is your verdict?”

Each of the twelve members of the jury picked up a piece of paper from their chair, and held it high in the air, revealing the word GUILTY.

Harry wanted to point out that there was only one piece of paper on each chair but, as Anatoly had advised, he looked suitably chastened when the comrade chairman turned to face him for the first time.

“The jury,” she declared, “has unanimously found you guilty of a premeditated crime against the state, and I, therefore, have no hesitation in sentencing you to twelve years’ imprisonment in a labor camp, where you can once again share a cell with your criminal friend Babakov.” She closed her file and paused for some considerable time before adding, “However, as Colonel Marinkin recommended, I will offer you one last chance to sign a confession admitting your crime and the terrible mistake you have made. Should you do so, your sentence will be suspended, and you will be extradited and never allowed to visit the Soviet Union or any of its satellites again. Should you ever attempt to do so, your sentence will automatically be reinstated.” After a short pause she said, “Are you willing to sign a confession?”

Harry bowed his head and said, very quietly, “Yes, I am.”

For the first time, all three judges showed an emotion—surprise. The chairman couldn’t hide her relief, unintentionally revealing what her masters had clearly always wanted.

“Then you may approach the dais,” she said.

Harry stood up and walked over to the three judges. He was shown two copies of the confession, one in Russian and the other in English, both of which he read carefully.

“You will now read your confession to the court.”

Harry read the Russian version first, which brought a smile to the lips of the comrade chairman. He then picked up the English version and started to recite it. From the blank stares he received he wondered if anyone in that courtroom understood a word of English. He decided to take a risk, change the occasional word, and see how they reacted.

“I, Harry Clifton, a citizen of the United Kingdom, and President of PEN, have involuntarily and with coercion, signed this confusion. I have spent the past three years with Anatoly Babakov, who has made it clear to me that he did work in the Kremlin, and met Comrade Chairman Stalin on several occasions, including when he was awarded his degree. Babakov also admitted that the book he wrote about Comrade Stalin was fact, and not a figment of his imagination.