Not true, thought Charlie. But they’d never understand; nor had they tried to. Their way it fitted into the box files they tied with pink ribbon and then sealed, with wax. It was easier, in a world of boxes and patterns.

‘… you conspired with the Soviet Union and exposed to Russian detention not only colleagues in the field but your superiors… the Director himself…’

There was a movement in the well of the still court as Cuthbertson shifted in his seat, embarrassed at the reminder. Best service I ever performed for the country, thought Charlie. Difficult to convince anyone of that, though.

The judge coughed, thickly. ‘… upon your behalf learned counsel has entered arguments of mitigation. Much has been made of a very recent incident, when, still undiscovered by British authorities and therefore beyond capture, you nevertheless served as a decoy and led to the destruction of a major spy ring, acting not only against this country, but the West as a whole. Much has also been made of your original action being not that of a traitor but of a rebellious, vindictive man intent only on retribution upon those in authority whom it appeared ready to betray you in their own right…’

At least the old bugger was mentioning it: he had to, Charlie supposed, to appear fair. Not that there was any likelihood of his entering an appeal. Not part of the promised deal.

‘… they are arguments and pleas that I dismiss entirely. The matter of your being a decoy has been put to every witness who has appeared before me and every witness has denied the suggestion…’

Because they’re lying sods, even under oath, thought Charlie. None of them would have lasted a day in the streets, the streets – and the gutters – where he’d existed for twenty years.

‘… there can be no mitigation, no excuse, for what you did. You are a traitor, to be treated as such. Upon you, Charles Edward Muffin, I am imposing the maximum sentence permitted me under the law, that of fourteen years imprisonment…’