Hiding his fears beneath an expression of self-composure he had rehearsed innumerable times in front of the mirror, the defense lawyer stood up from his chair ready to deliver his client’s plea.

  His worn-out suit was in keeping with the dilapidated look of the courtroom which sported several holes in the ceiling and furniture damaged by time and in a general state of decay. The preliminary hearing was taking place in the military tribunal of London, which was by far the best preserved in the city.

  When he cleared his throat, a hoarse cough escaped from his mouth and echoed off the walls of the packed room that had fallen into a somber silence full of anticipation. The lawyer could not resist the urge to adjust the knot in his tie, hoping the gesture would somehow help fend off the weight of the embittered stares that those in attendance had locked on him. He couldn’t go back; he’d had his chance. Blinded by greed he had accepted the case, knowing that he would gain plenty of enemies by representing someone so despised by so many people.

  “My client pleads innocent, Your Honor,” he announced with a calmness in his voice he wouldn’t have believed possible moments before.

  As expected, his words gave way to a firestorm of outrage and protests not tempered in the least by the judge’s banging gavel. The people in attendance, spewing all kinds of vicious insults, had completely interrupted the legal process. The military police were forced to intervene. The judge, with a look of urgency on his face, signaled to them by wildly waving his hand since the power of his voice was not sufficient to make himself heard above the uproar that had ensued. A platoon of armed men moved in an orderly fashion through the courtroom. The weapons they were carrying were enough to have a dissuasive effect on those present.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” the lawyer lied to his client who was seated next to him. “Everything will turn out fine.”

  Captain Richard Northon, whom everyone called Rick, appeared not to have even heard the lawyer. Decked out in full military dress, with his hands cuffed behind his back, he continued to stare at the floor, his eyes lost somewhere between the table he shared with his lawyer and the judge’s bench. He was slightly taller than average and had a strong build. His short hair was combed neatly back.

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  The lawyer looked at him in surprise, not understanding how he could remain so indifferent about what was happening around him. After all, he was facing the death penalty. The critical nature of the situation had caused the lawyer to seriously consider negotiating for the captain’s exile in a desperate attempt to save his life, but he still hadn’t gotten up the nerve to talk with him about it. In his opinion, that was the only possible way of avoiding the death sentence—a rather frequent ruling since martial law and speedy trials had been established.

  Finally, the voices were quieted and silence returned to the courtroom. The judge banged his gavel again and his eyes swept over the courtroom with a look of fury. One woman’s quiet sobbing still persisted after the threats from the military police. She was seated in the last row and was leaning forward, her disheveled hair hiding her face. A man seated next to her, his sunken eyes full of pain, rubbed her shoulders in a vain attempt to console her.

  “The trial will take place next Wednesday at ten o’clock in the morning,” proclaimed the judge. “It will be a closed session,” he added, a note of irritation in his voice.

  Three army soldiers approached Rick and pulled him to his feet. One of them bent down and checked that the shackles on his feet were firmly attached but with enough space between them that he could walk. People were clearing out of the courtroom amidst a buzz of commentaries and exclamations.

  “Murderer!” shouted the man that had been consoling his wife in the last row as he approached Rick, pointing at him. “One of them was our son!”

  Someone forcefully held back the angry father, recognizing that if he wasn’t restrained the police would be forced to subdue him. Rick turned toward the man that had accused him of murder and held his gaze. Though he made no attempt to speak, there was an unmistakable reflection of sadness in his eyes.

  “If there is any justice in this world, you will burn in hell, you bastard,” the father spat out, flinging a Bible directly at Rick’s head.

  Though he saw it coming and possessed the reflexes necessary to dodge the book, Rick didn’t move. The Bible struck him in the head, and the cut that instantaneously appeared on his temple began to bleed. The police approached the distraught father and quickly removed him from the courtroom.

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