While Justice Sleeps(114)
“Out of the question. This isn’t a negotiation, miss. When you’ve delivered on your end of the deal, we’ll put your mother back where we found her.”
“Where was that?” She sliced a look to Jared, who warned her that he needed ten more seconds. “Where did you find her?”
“A dive bar in the gutter, Ms. Keene. She’s your mom. You find her.” Phillips checked over his shoulder; Rita had curled into a ball. Sweat matted the skimpy T-shirt, the frazzled hair. “Keep your appointment, or she won’t see the light of day again.” The call disconnected.
Avery spun toward Jared as the red dot began to flash in triumph.
Typing on the screen, he wrote, “We’ve found her. She’s in a warehouse on the Southwest Waterfront.”
“Thank God,” she whispered; then the jammer went dim. “I don’t know what to do,” she pitched.
“Do what the man says.” Ling began to gather up their bags. “You should head over to the White House. I’ll go with you.”
“I’m not coming,” Jared said briskly. “I understand why you have to do this, but I can’t watch you give away my father’s legacy.”
“Noah?”
“Protecting Justice Wynn’s final wishes is my job. I can’t help you do this, Avery.”
Perfect performances. Avery opened the door, where Agent Leighton stood at attention. “Agent, I’ll need to go to the White House. Now.”
Ling and Avery followed Agent Leighton, with Noah and Jared close behind. Downstairs, in the service alley, they all climbed into the SUV. Safely away from microphones, Avery used the burner phone and punched in Agent Lee’s cell phone number.
“This is Special Agent Lee.”
“It’s Avery. I’m on my way to the White House.”
“What the devil for?”
“To tender Justice Wynn’s resignation to President Stokes. There’s a press conference in thirty minutes.”
“What game are you playing, Avery?”
“I’m saving my mother’s life. Here’s how you can help.”
FORTY-SEVEN
Faithfully tended flowers bloomed in an organized profusion of crimson and purple around the soft ripples of the fountain, spurred by jets of spray arcing in symphony. Majestic trees, planted by gardeners long since passed, towered over the stretch of manicured green. The quickly assembled press corps jockeyed for angles and scanned the wisps of clouds overhead for unexpected but not unusual late June showers.
Brandon Stokes loved the South Lawn. He loved jogging across the grass to climb into Marine One, his private helicopter. He loved to host fawning children at Easter, watching their parents try to disguise their awe at hunting for candy eggs at the president’s house. He loved striding up to the pewter lectern, clasping the sides, and commanding the attention of a nation.
No way in hell a fucking law clerk was going to cost him all of that. The thought seared through him as he gallantly led Avery and her friend down to the lectern. Flashbulbs popped like firecrackers, their progeny in digital no match for the trusted Speed Graphic camera.
His press secretary arrayed the young women to his right, his good side; his congressional foes stiffly flanked him on the left. President Stokes stepped up to the twin blue microphones stretching above the Great Seal. His notes had been laid out for him, but he’d rehearsed his delivery and had the language down cold. A hush greeted him.
“Good afternoon. Early last week, a tragedy struck America. Supreme Court justice Howard Wynn was discovered unconscious, and he was rushed to Bethesda Naval Hospital. Despite the efforts of the nation’s top medical teams, Justice Wynn lapsed into a persistent coma, a side effect of the degenerative disorder known as Boursin’s syndrome. Prior to falling ill, Justice Wynn appointed his trusted law clerk, Ms. Avery Keene, to serve as his legal guardian. She has diligently met that obligation, and her sincere devotion to her duty brings us here today.”
He paused, letting attention shift from him to the surprisingly stoic young woman standing in black a pace behind him. Her expression was oddly serene, a blend of acceptance and anticipation. After waiting another beat, he continued: “The Supreme Court has been paralyzed by Justice Wynn’s absence, and the gears of justice have ground to a halt. As you know, Article Three of the U.S. Constitution does not acknowledge the potential for a sitting justice to be brought low by an illness that does not also take his life. Nothing in the Framers’ experience contemplated the medical miracles we enjoy today.
“Justice Wynn will remain on life support, and his life expectancy could stretch over decades. While we pray that medical science will use that time to cure this great man, the work of the Court must continue. And so, it is with a heavy heart that I accepted this afternoon Justice Wynn’s resignation from the Supreme Court, proffered by his legal guardian. This resignation is effective immediately.”
“Mr. President!”
The shouted title buffeted the trio at the lectern. Used to the barrage, President Stokes pointed into the crowd. “Ashley, you have a question?”
“Thank you, Mr. President. Under what legal precedent can Ms. Keene resign for Justice Wynn?”
“According to the White House counsel’s research, Ms. Keene’s action is supported by the generally broad powers of guardianship. She has the obligation to act in Justice Wynn’s best interest.”