HARRY WATCHED from his wooden bench in the third row as Colonel Marinkin entered the makeshift courtroom. He stood to attention in front of the state prosecutor, saluted, and remained standing.

Marinkin was dressed in a smarter uniform than the one Harry remembered from the time he was arrested; the one for special occasions, no doubt. The six buttons on his tunic shone, the crease in his trousers was sharp, and his boots were so finely polished that had he looked down, he would have seen his reflection in them. His five rows of medals would have left no one in any doubt that he had stared the enemy in the eye.

“Colonel, could you tell the court when you first became aware of the defendant?”

“Yes, comrade prosecutor. He came to Moscow some five years ago as the British representative at an international book conference and gave the keynote speech on the opening day.”

“Did you hear that speech?”

“Yes I did, and it became clear to me that he believed the traitor Babakov had worked for many years inside the Kremlin and was a close associate of the late Comrade Stalin. In fact, so persuasive was his argument that by the time he sat down almost everyone else in that hall also believed it.”

“Did you attempt to make contact with the defendant while he was in Moscow?”

“No, because he was traveling back to England the following day, and I confess I assumed that, like so many campaigns the West gets worked up about, it would only be a matter of time before another one came along to occupy their impatient minds.”

“But this particular cause didn’t go away.”

“No, the defendant had clearly convinced himself that Babakov was telling the truth, and that if his book could be published the whole world would also believe him. Earlier this year, the defendant traveled to the United States on a luxury liner, owned by his wife’s family. On arrival in New York, he visited a well-known publisher, no doubt to discuss the publication of Babakov’s book, because the following day he boarded a train to Pittsburgh with the sole purpose of meeting the defector Yelena Babakov, the wife of the traitor. I have in this folder several photographs taken during this visit to Pittsburgh by one of our agents.”

Marinkin handed the folder to the judge’s clerk, who passed it to the tribunal chairman. The three judges studied the photographs for some time before the chairman asked, “How much time did the prisoner spend with Mrs. Babakov?”

“Just over four hours. He then returned to New York. The following morning he visited his publisher once again, and later that day boarded the ship owned by his wife’s family and traveled back to England.”

“Once he had returned, did you continue to maintain a high level of surveillance?”