The trial resumed with Elizabeth absent. She’d wanted to attend, but Jack had made her see that such a sudden recovery from her illness would arouse suspicion, making their defense less credible. However, the real reason was that he didn’t want her to witness the railroading of Hewitt that he knew would take place. Elizabeth agreed in the end and busied herself organizing the newspapers she’d rescued from her uncle’s mansion.
The session began with the usual avalanche of cheers to mark the arrival of Stalin and his cronies. Once they were seated, Jack returned Viktor Smirnov’s greeting when he approached to ask about Jack’s role as Wilbur Hewitt’s defense attorney.
“I didn’t know you were a lawyer as well as a mechanic,” the Soviet official said to him, less dressed up than usual to avoid clashing with his comrades.
“Me neither. I’m just doing it to help Elizabeth.”
“I see! You rascal. A tasty morsel . . . but mind you don’t choke on it.”
By the time Jack arrived, Sergei was already on the platform, organizing his notes. The OGPU head asked General Secretary Stalin for permission to proceed and began his harangue. Jack barely paid attention; he was still worried about the Daniels family’s whereabouts. However, his anxiety turned to despair when he realized that though the session had started, Wilbur Hewitt hadn’t yet taken his seat.
“Esteemed comrades,” exclaimed Sergei, “I hope today that I have shown the lack of evidence in the arguments of the defense. Mr. Beilis has tried to lay the blame with the Soviet people, with us, his customers and hosts, for the outrages committed by his own American bosses. He has accused us of a lack of foresight, of negligence and neglect, and a thousand other things, knowing—and I repeat, knowing—that most of the sabotage must have been perpetrated by highly specialized personnel, as he himself admits in this report he signed.” He showed the courtroom a document on which Jack Beilis’s signature was clearly visible. “It’s curious: he brands us as inept, guilty of negligence, and yet he has no qualms about holding us responsible for the actions of American experts trained and overseen by Wilbur Hewitt himself.
“Comrades, the time has come to prove every last crime committed by the accused, so that we are left in no doubt as to his complete and utter culpability. I will do so beginning with the gravest of these crimes: conspiring to profit from the public resources of the Soviet Union. Resources that its sons and daughters have paid for with blood and sweat.” A burst of applause obliged Sergei to break off. He took the chance to drink from a glass.
“Wilbur Hewitt”—he pointed at the industrialist’s empty chair without the slightest tremble in his finger—“devised a Machiavellian plan in which he involved some of his compatriots who are at this very moment under arrest. Wilbur Hewitt plotted, lied, and bribed to replace a batch of machinery from Dearborn, paid for on the assumption that it was new, for another of a similar appearance, but used, damaged, and dangerous, from the dismantled factory in Berlin where he had previously worked. The difference in the price, millions of Soviet rubles, ended up in his own pocket and those of the traitors who helped him.”
At that moment, Jack thought of the Daniels family again. He prayed that Sergei’s insanity hadn’t touched them as well. The OGPU officer took out a note and went on.
“To prove it, I am going to read the transcription of a telephone conversation that I myself had with Mr. George McMillan, who at that time was Wilbur Hewitt’s head supervisor and engineer, but whom I hired behind his back to investigate the irregular activities of his superior the moment they were first detected. The transcription is of a telephone call from the Hotel Metropol in Moscow on January 5, 1933, just over a year ago, received at my office at the OGPU’s kremlin headquarters.”
He read it out loud:
Good morning. Could you put me through to Sergei Loban’s office, please?
Who’s calling?
George McMillan. It’s urgent.
One moment, sir. I’ll check and put you through . . .
Sergei Loban speaking. How may I help you?
Mr. Loban. It’s George McMillan. I’ve found the proof you were looking for in relation to the misappropriation of funds.
Do you have it with you?
Yes. I have everything. Records of the transfers, the amounts, everything.
Very well. Where are you now?
At the Metropol.
Good. Stay where you are. I’ll send a vehicle to collect you immediately.
“As you can see, the conversation unequivocally incriminates Wilbur Hewitt, whom McMillan was investigating. I concede the floor to the defense, should he wish to make any further statements or attempt to rebut the People’s evidence.”
Jack stood up. He looked at the accused’s empty chair, and turned to Sergei. “Thank you very much, Mr. Loban. Yes. I would certainly like to raise a point that no doubt many of you will have noticed. Why is Mr. Hewitt not here?”
“The defendant is indisposed. It must be a family trait,” Sergei responded with irony.
“Do you not intend to question him?”
“It won’t be necessary for now. The accused has already made a full statement in writing.”
“Oh, I see!” Jack prayed that Hewitt hadn’t implicated him in the business with the false passports. “Excuse my ignorance, but what if the accused wished to retract his statement?”
“Mr. Beilis,” Stalin cut in, “if his previous statement were retracted, it would mean that in one of his two accounts he was lying, whereby any testimony of his would be invalidated.”
“And what if I wished to question him?”
“It would be taken into account. But continue with your questions for now; in view of the evidence, you might not consider it necessary.”
“Very well, Mr. General Secretary. In that case I will follow your advice.” He looked at his notes and turned back to the head of the OGPU. “Mr. Loban, I’ve listened carefully to your description of what you call proof, but from your reading of the telephone conversation that you claim to have had with Mr. McMillan, I cannot infer Wilbur Hewitt’s involvement. His name is not mentioned at any time. How can you therefore be so sure it was him?”
Sergei smiled, as if he had an ace waiting up his sleeve. “For two reasons. First, because the transfers that George McMillan refers to in his call were to Wilbur Hewitt’s personal account: fifty thousand dollars from the coffers of the Soviet Union.” He showed the room a copy of the accounting records. “And second, and more important, because a witness saw Wilbur Hewitt murder McMillan and throw the body from the Bolshoy Kamenny Bridge into the Moskva River on the same afternoon as the call.”
Jack let out a sigh of astonishment. “And may I ask who that witness is?” he sputtered.
“Of course. He’s sitting in this room right now. Officer Viktor Smirnov.”