Page 92 of Hush

“What evidence do they claim they have?”

“Well…” Renner pulled out the criminal complaint and the arrest warrant, filed by the United States attorney himself and signed by Judge Tom Brewer. “They have a text from your cell phone to Desheriyev’s cell phone identifying President Vasiliev as the target of the shooting.”

“I did not send that text. I do not know this Desheriyev.”

“They also have Desheriyev picking out your voice as the voice that spoke to him over the phone. Desheriyev identified you, conclusively.”

“Impossible.”

“Does the number six-two-one mean anything to you?”

Kryukov froze. Renner knew a yes when he saw one. “And, they also have a bag of cocaine that Desheriyev says you provided to him. It has his fingerprints… and yours.” He peered at Kryukov, who was now looking hard at the wall to his left. “Are you a cocaine user, Mr. Kryukov? A dealer, even?”

Silence. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” Kryukov finally growled.

“Just answer that one question truthfully. It will help me.”

“I am a businessman. I sell a product. I have many customers. Happy customers.”

The famous Russian doublespeak and protestation. He hadn’t so much as said the words, but he’d confirmed it. “Did you sell your product to Desheriyev?”

“No!” Kryukov slammed his hand on the steel table. “I tell you already! I do not know this man! I have never seen him! Spoken to him! Never did I text him! Never!” His icy eyes burned with anger, now more gray than blue.

“The physical evidence is harder to overcome, but not impossible. I’ll be going through the warrants, making sure everything was obtained in a perfectly legal manner. If there’s any reason to get something thrown out, I will find it. We can go after Desheriyev’s testimony against you, too. The word of a mercenary for hire? Please. He has zero credibility. Altogether, is the evidence enough to point to conspiracy? Enough to convict a man to death? I can make a case to the jury that this is way, way too low a threshold. It’s a good argument, and will win over the bleeding hearts.”

“If you cannot get the evidence thrown away?”

Renner blew air out of his ballooning cheeks. “Well, there’s another defense we can run. You ever been to Texas?”

Kryukov glared at him. He said nothing.

“Texas is one of the states where this defense works real well. It’s a modification oflex talonis. You know what that is?”

Kryukov shook his head.

“An eye for an eye.” Renner grinned. “Justifiable homicide. In Texas, they say it like this: sometimes, a man just needs killin’.”

Kryukov’s eyes flashed. Not with anger, not this time. Something else. Something hungrier. He leaned in, no longer hunching, no longer afraid. His eyes narrowed, and even his hair seemed edgier, no longer meek and stringy, but framing a face cut from a glacier. “Vasilievneedskilling.”

“So, to run that as a defense, we’d expose all of Vasiliev’s dirty laundry. All of Russia’s dirty laundry. Vasiliev was one of Putin’s thugs, yes? Well, we paint the picture for the world. Russia, a totalitarian state. You, little David, fighting for your life and your rights against the Goliath that imprisoned you—”

“Torturedme.”

“—and tortured you because you are gay. You’re a refugee, so,bam. Even the U.S. government thought you were suffering, and they airlifted you out of Russia and brought you to the land of equality.” Renner smiled, like a shark might. “We paint that picture in Technicolor three-D. I bet you more than a few jurors will wish Desheriyev had been a little better with his aim and Vasiliev was a smear inside a wooden box, instead of a pain in the ass on CNN.”

“How will you do this? How will you expose Vasiliev? I have worked against Putin and Vasiliev my whole life. Now you say you can do this, no problem. How?” Kryukov leaned forward again, punctuating his questions with raps to the steel tabletop.

“I file a discovery motion that asks for everything. You see, in America, we don’t do show trials, and we don’t do monkey shitshows either. This judge? Brewer? He gives defendants a judicial hand job. He loves overindulging defense attorneys, making sure everything is fair, fair, fair. We can play that like an electric guitar. We’re entitled to everything that is material to our defense. So I want it all. The government’s position on Vasiliev. Human rights abuse the government knows about. Public denouncements from Amnesty International and every other bleeding-heart organization.” Renner hesitated. “Thereisa big risk with this defense. I need to be straight with you.”

Kryukov frowned.

“I’m essentially putting your motive under the microscope. Ballard, the U.S. Attorney, could turn around and say that we made his case for him. We’re pulling jurors from the DC federal district. That’s DC, all of DC. Gangbangers in the northeast, rich conservatives in the northwest and Georgetown, and green party equality-loving progressives by the river. This case is internationally notorious, so there’s no hope of getting a change of venue. Some of the jurors will have their minds made up before the trial, and it’s a Sisyphean effort to change their minds.” He held his breath. “And, there are the three dead Secret Service agents. Ballard will try and stir hearts with patriotic fervor, and he’ll win a lot of points playing the heartbroken, grieving families and stricken nation card. Their funerals are coming up, and that will be a masturbatory experience for Ballard and his prosecution team.”

Kryukov growled, and he grabbed his head, as much as he could with his wrists shackled. “This is not good! Why do you play these games with me? Do you want to help me or not?”

“Mr. Kryukov, I will do everything I can—”

“Then find the man who did this!” Kryukov exploded. “Find the man who set me up! Who really hired Desheriyev!”