The Helford Trials (Helford #3)

Chapter Ten

There was a Changeling in the courtroom.

That turned out to be Lys's source, her big surprise-she was somehow able to unearth a Changeling who had rejected the brainwashing, one of the ones that Helford hadn't been able to control and had broken free multiple times, refusing to comply. Lys had told us there would be a witness, someone who could blow the doors of Operation Changeling wide open, but somehow we hadn't thought it would be one of them.

The unexpectedness showed in the tension of the room. No one was looking at their neighbors if they didn't already know them. It was different to suspect every face you passed on the street than it was to know one of Helford's biggest weapons of fear and intimidation was sitting feet away, giving this practically panoptic-like feeling of constantly being watched.

Lys and my father were sitting together at the front of the courtroom. My father was sitting with his notepad open on the arm of his chair, nodding at whatever Lys was telling him, perched on the edge of her seat on the opposite side of the barrier marking the peanut gallery from the main players. Lys was wearing a black dress, and her face was contorted into worry pulling at the corners of her mouth, wrinkling her forehead. A similar expression was on Valerie's face-a shared mask of the two people in the room that knew what a Changeling was capable of.

The London Old Bailey, a Crown Court centre, was a similar sight to the hearing rooms in America, just with barristers and wigs and one judge instead of a hearing panel. It looked from my perspective that Britain was treating this as a criminal trial simply because they didn't know what the hell else to do. I couldn't blame them. Spies and assassins and sleeper cells was a little above the pay grade of any international court.

For this, Helford and Woodburn had pulled back in the big guns, calling for their expert attorneys. Calvin Milton sat at the table besides Lys, his hand clutching his pen and his mouth turned down into a deep scowl. The Underground representative, Marlisse Parsons, didn't look much better. She sat stiffly at Lys's side, nodding along to whatever she was feeding my father. She looked controlled, professional, at once as completely out of her depth. She might know what was about to happen, but the way she looked around the courtroom a little helplessly suggested she didn't know quite what to do with it.

The judge, an older man with a stern face wearing a white powder wig, banged his gavel, calling for attention. Lys whispered one last thing to my father before twisting in her seat to face the front, running a hand through her hair.

The judge made sure that everyone's attention was on him before beginning, "Now, as I've come to understand, Ms. Asbury would like to start us off."

Lys stood. "Yes, Your Honor. I would like to address the court directly by saying that this is not to judge what is guilty or not, but instead to take testimony on this act partaken by Helford Academy and the company upstairs, a segment of the CIA in collaboration with divisions of Interpol. This is not a court case, and this is not a tribunal-this is a judgment."

"Noted, Miss Asbury," the judge replied, but there was a hint of irritation to his voice, clearly not used to being told what to do with his courtroom. "I assume you have a plan of attack for this . . . judgment."

If Lys noticed the bitterness in the man's voice, as she definitely did, she didn't so much as blink. "Yes, sir, I do. I would like to begin this hearing, as well as end it, primarily with our witness as to the inner goings-on of the operation. I have brought an operative into the courtroom that can lay all of the dirty laundry out to dry, so to speak, if Your Honor would allow to hear from him."

Lys was made to be a politician, with that cold tone. She had received his disrespect, and she had volleyed back with a silent but chilly threat, reminding him who was really in control, whether he liked it or not. His face tightened from his spot behind the bench, my father shifting nervously in his seat, but Lys didn't flinch, like she wouldn't even blink if it were a bullet headed straight for between her eyes.