thing. Much skinnier. I'd guess I'd lost at least thirty pounds, and I wasn't heavy to begin with. I looked like a dazed bird that had forgotten to head south for the winter and paid dearly for it. For a second thing, like all Camp 18 prisoners, my head was shaved to the skin. For a third thing, being continuously outdoors in subzero temperatures isn't recommended by dermatologists. I had cold sores on my lips and my skin had cracked open in places, and the vitamin deficiency hindered the healing process. Finally, the steady beatings meant I was always sporting a black eye, or swollen lips, or a fresh bruise here and there.
"Jesus, Sean!" Clapper yelled. "What the hell have these bastards done to you?"
Johnson peered across the table at Yurichenko. "Viktor, this is unacceptable."
Yurichenko finally turned and looked at me also. "Russian prisons are harsh places, Harold. I don't make them this way."
Johnson nodded back, then he turned and looked at me again. "Sean, your boss and I are here to try to negotiate your release. This is a very delicate matter. You're being charged with three counts of murder and espionage. Those are serious crimes."
I stood perfectly still. The espionage charge was obviously the most problematic. I had helped get Alexi out of Russia--guilty as charged. The three counts of murder baffled me until I realized this had to do with me killing the three hit men who tried to take me out. Very clever.
"That's right, Sean," Clapper quickly added. "The other gentleman here is the equivalent of a Russian superior court judge. He can take your case to the president to arrange a pardon, or he can decide there's not enough evidence to have a trial."
Well, wasn't that interesting? I'd been in prison over five months, and now they were considering a trial. I stood mute, sensing I really had no role in this proceeding, that a great deal of discussion had already occurred, and I sure as hell didn't want to harm the chances of success. I wouldn't be standing here if they didn't have something cooked up.
Yurichenko was giving me his grandfatherly smile, the one intended to warm the cockles of your heart. I felt a chill. I dreamed of getting my hands around his neck and choking the bastard to death.
Johnson ignored me and turned back to face Viktor, evidently continuing the conversation I interrupted when I came in. "The point is, Viktor, our President would consider it a very big favor if you would drop this. He asked me to emphasize how very beneficial this would be for both sides."
Yurichenko was shaking his head, but mildly, like he wasn't quite sure how that logic worked. "But, Harold, you have nothing to trade. Please forgive me for being selfish, but I must see some quid pro quo. We are both pros in this game. We both know how it works. I cannot give you something for nothing."
"And do you have something in mind?"
"A simple trade-in-kind would be ample. I want Alexi back. Return him, and you can have Drummond."
Johnson suddenly stared down at the tabletop, as though what he was about to say was very difficult. "We can't do that. It's not even negotiable. Besides, there's a bit of a problem here."
"And what would that be?"
"Before he came over here, Drummond made some tapes. They're embarrassing for both of us, but they're much more embarrassing and problematic for you. If those tapes get out, our relations would be grievously wounded. All these areas where we're cooperating--the missile reduction pact, NATO participation for Russia--it would all go up in smoke."
Viktor leaned back in his chair, obviously surprised. "Tapes? What is on these tapes?"
"The whole thing," Johnson grimly admitted, appearing greatly pained.
Yurichenko looked over at me. His eyes roved from my shoes to the bald tip of my skull. I was a most unlikely-looking suspect to have found a way to outsmart him. He seemed to be thinking furiously about how to handle this.
He asked Johnson, "And you really think these tapes would be a problem?"
Which actually was a clever way of saying, "Hey, I'm not really buying this. And you better not be bluffing or Drummond over there will think he just spent five months vacationing on the Riviera compared to what I'll do to him."
"Oh for Godsakes, Viktor. They detail attempted murders by you inside our country, as well as the murder of an American officer in Moscow. On one of them, Martin admits