"Uris, Leon - QBVII" - читать интересную книгу автора (Uris Leon M)

T categorically deny I ever performed surgery on a healthy man or woman. I deny I was ever inhumane to my patients. I deny ever taking part in any experimental surgery of any sort.'
'It is a pure fabrication that Dr. Tesslar ever saw me perform surgery. He was never, at any time, in any theatre where I operated.'
'Too many of my patients are alive and have testified on my behalf to give validity to the charge that my operations were badly performed.'
'It is my sincere conviction that Dr. Tesslar made these charges to take the onus of guilt off himself. I believe he was sent to England as a part of a conspiracy to destroy all remaining traces of Polish nationalism. The fact that he has asked for asylum in England is merely a Communist trick, and is not to be trusted.'
As the time of decision drew close, Adam Kelno went into a deep depression. Even the visits from Angela failed to lift his spirits.
She handed him a set of photographs of their son, Stephan. Adam set them down on the table without looking. 'I can't,' he said.
'Adam, let me bring the child so you can see him.'
'No, not in a prison.'
'He's only an infant. He won't remember.'
'See him ... so I can carry the tortured remembrance of him through a mock trial in Warsaw. Is that what you are trying to tell me?'
'We are fighting just as hard as ever. Only ... I can't see you like this. We've always drawn strength from each other. How easy do you think this has been on me? I work all day, try to raise a child by myself, come to see you. Adam ... oh, Adam...'
'Don't touch me, Angela. It is becoming too painful.'
The special basket of food she brought to Brixton four times a week had been inspected and passed. Adam was disinterested.
'I have been here almost two years,' he mumbled, 'watched over like a condemned man in solitary confinement. They watch me at meal times, at the toilet. No buttons, belts, razors. Even my pencils are taken away at night. I have nothing to do but read and pray. They're right ... I have wanted to commit suicide. Only the thought of
living to see my son as a free man has kept me alive but now ... even that hope is gone.'
John Clayton-Hill, the Under-Secretary, sat down at the table across from the Secretary of State, Sir Percy Malt-wood, with that damnable deportation order between them.
Maltwood had called Thomas Bannister, King's Counsel, into the Kelno affair on behalf of the Home Office to see if his opinion differed from Highsmith's.
Thomas Bannister in his early forties was a barrister of stature equal to Highsmith's, A man of average build, prematurely greyed, and ruddy in complexion. All that seemed extraordinarily placid leaped into exquisite and brilliant action within the walls of a courtroom.
'What will your report say, Tom?' Maltwood asked.
'It will say that there is a reasonable doubt as to either Kelno's guilt or innocence and therefore the Polish government is obliged to produce more evidence. I don't think they have established a prima facie case because what it all boils down to is Tesslar's word against Kelno's.'
Bannister gracefully moved into a seat and looked through the now heavy records. 'Most of the affidavits supplied by the Polish government are based on pure hearsay. We have come to know, have we not, that Tesslar is either lying to save himself or Kelno is lying to save himself. Both of them obviously dislike each other. What happened in Jadwiga happened in total secrecy so we don't really know if we would be hanging a political victim or freeing a war criminal.'
'What do you think we ought to do, Tom?'
'Continue to hold him in Brixton until one side or the other comes up with concrete evidence.'
'Off the record,' Maltwood said, 'what is your opinion?'
Bannister looked from one to the other and smiled. 'Come on, Sir Percy, you know I won't answer that.'
'We are going strictly on your recommendation, Tom, not your hunches.'
'I think Kelno is guilty. I'm not sure of what, but he's guilty of something,' Tom Bannister said.
The Polish Embassy 47 Portland Place London, W 1 January 15, 1949
The Secretary of State Sir:
The Polish ambassador presents his compliments to His Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs and has the honour to inform him of the Polish government's attitude on the subject of Dr. Adam Kelno. The Polish government holds the view that:
It has established beyond doubt that Dr. Adam Kelno, now under custody in Great Britain in Brixton Prison, was a surgeon in Jadwiga Concentration Camp and is suspect of having perpetrated war crimes.
Dr. Kelno is listed as a suspect war criminal by the United Nations' War Crimes Commission and the governments of Czechoslovakia and the Netherlands as well as Poland.
The Polish government has supplied all required evidence to His Majesty's government sufficient for a prima facie case.
Further evidence should be preserved for the proper Polish courts.
The government of the United Kingdom must now comply with requests for the extradition of war criminals under existing treaty.
Furthermore, public opinion in Poland is outraged by this undue delay.
Therefore, for finalizing once and forever the fact that Dr. Adam Kelno should be deported to Poland, we shall produce a victim of Dr. Kelno's brutality and will, in accordance to British jurisprudence, bring forth a man who was castrated by Dr. Kelno in a brutal manner as a part of a medical experiment.
I am, sir, Most faithfully,
Zygmont Zybowski, Ambassador
SIX
Opposite glorious old Covent Garden stood that grim grey stone Palladian edifice, the Bow Street Magistrates' Court, most noted among London's fourteen police courts. A line of chauffeured limousines parked before the station testified to the importance of the occasion taking place behind the closed doors of a large, draughty, shabby conference room.
Robert Highsmith was there, hiding his tension behind a relaxed posture. The proper Richard Smiddy was there, nibbling at his lower lip. The magistrate, Mr. Griffin, was there. Nathan Goldmark, the dogged hunter, was there. John Clayton-Hill of the Home Office was there, and so were officers of Scotland Yard and a shorthand writer.
Someone else was there. Thomas Bannister, K.C. Doubting Thomas, one might say.
'Shall we proceed, gentlemen,' the magistrate said. Everyone nodded. 'Officer. Bring in Dr. Fletcher.'
Dr. Fletcher, a nondescript man, was ushered in and asked to take a seat opposite the magistrate at the end of the table. He gave his name and address to the shorthand writer. Magistrate Griffin proceeded.
'This hearing is rather informal so we shan't bind ourselves with too many rules unless counsel become argumentative. For the record, Mr. Goldmark and Mr. Clayton-Hill may ask questions. Now, Dr. Fletcher, are you a registered medical practitioner?'
'I am, sir.'
'Where do you practise?'
T am the senior medical officer at His Majesty's Prison at Wormwood Scrubs and I am senior medical adviser to the Home Office.'
'Have you examined a man named Eli Janos?'