While Justice Sleeps(126)
“The law is made by the Congress, acting for the people. Ms. Keene failed to highlight any statute or operation of law that accords her the right to come to this body for remedy. She acted in concert with her assessment of Justice Wynn’s best interest, and she now seeks to repent that act. This is not the proper forum. A house of worship is.”
The Chief leaned in a degree. “Is that a point of law, Mr. Ralston?”
The solicitor general cleared his throat. “Hyperbole, Madam Chief Justice. What I am saying is that this is not a federal matter. It is not a question for this Court or for any other. The right of a guardian to act on behalf of a ward is settled law. The prerogative of the president to accept resignations is also settled law, opined upon by the subject of this proceeding, Justice Howard Wynn. This unusual circumstance does not pose a nexus where the Court should intervene.” The red light flickered, precisely on time.
The Chief spoke: “Thank you, Mr. Ralston. Ms. Keene, you have five minutes remaining.”
“Thank you, Madam Chief Justice.” She paused, vibrantly aware of the passage of time, and the rules she was about to break. The empty seat studied her in turn, demanding that she act. For him.
“With his incapacity imminent, Justice Wynn searched for a cure that would preserve the life of his estranged son, who had inherited Boursin’s syndrome from his father. Then Justice Wynn took great pains to express his wishes to me. He entrusted his conferring of his power of attorney to Chief Justice Roseborough. He hid away his living will beneath the childhood bed of that estranged son, an estrangement he broke to ensure that I would find his testament. He updated his final will and testament with codicils anticipating what might occur should he not be available to explain what he had learned.
“In the process of preparing for his own demise, Justice Wynn discovered a secret. A dire, epic secret: that our government had committed atrocities in the name of national security. He found allies who had proof of our nation’s complicity in grisly experiments an ocean away. When he realized that his life was in jeopardy, he attempted to pass me a message, through his nurse, Mrs. Jamie Lewis. Within hours of delivering this message, Nurse Lewis was shot to death in her home.”
Avery paused.
“After I received guardianship, I was physically attacked, beaten, and shot at, first at Justice Wynn’s home and then near his cabin in Georgia. An employee of the Department of Homeland Security, Dr. Betty Papaleo of the Science and Technology Directorate, who uncovered proof of covert financial transactions between DHS and the laboratory they hired, attempted to meet with me, and yet she went missing, along with her husband. As did the lead scientist on what became known as the Tigris Project. Marcus Phillips, the man who kidnapped my mother, died trying to destroy evidence of this secret.
“The common link between these acts is information I could not submit in probate court. Information that ties Major Will Vance, who sits in this courtroom now, to U.S. government funds used to support illegal research into biogenetic weapons that will target and kill Muslims, including a video recording of his witness to these experiments.”
Avery paused again, making eye contact with each of the eight justices. It was now or never. “Major Vance received his orders directly from the president of the United States.”
The ripple of gasps crashed around her, but Avery refused to stop. The white light switched abruptly to red, and the microphone lost power. So she pitched her voice louder to reach every section of the room: “I have memos and financial records proving the United States conspired to conduct research not allowed by American law. I also have sworn affidavits attesting to the authenticity of these documents from Dr. Indira Srinivasan and Mr. Nigel Cooper. Lastly, I have documentary evidence of the experiments performed.”
The acoustics carried her accusations to the rafters of the vaulted ceiling. The clerk and a dozen reporters would record every word, even the ones later stricken. Above demands from the solicitor general and furious threats from Justice Estrada, she persevered. “This president should not be allowed to threaten any citizen into action to hide his crimes. If he can pervert his power to threaten Justice Wynn, what is to stop him from doing the same to you?”
For the first time since leaving the district court, Chief Roseborough reached for the ceremonial gavel at her elbow. “Order!”
Avery’s red light blinked furiously, and members of the Secret Service began moving toward the lectern. At the Chief’s signal, a U.S. marshal blocked their passage. The thud of the gavel finally penetrated the din.
The Chief gave Avery a long, narrow look, one captured for posterity by a sketch artist employed by the Post. Later, a close observer would note the distant glimmer of pride. “Ms. Keene, you are out of order. Your time has elapsed. Please be seated.” She turned to the clerk. “The case is submitted. President Stokes, Mr. Ralston, Ms. Keene, I will see you in my chambers. Dr. Srinivasan and Mr. Cooper, you come along as well. Marshal, I no longer see Major Vance in the Court. Please locate him immediately.”
* * *
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“This hearing is a farce,” President Stokes exploded as soon as the door shut behind them. He’d been summoned to the principal’s office—a president of the United States. This would not stand. But even as he sputtered, enraged, he understood the gravity of Ms. Keene’s play. Whether the accusations were believed or not, his dreams of reelection had been shattered. Lasker-Bauer, indeed. The canny devil Wynn had tricked him. Wynn was one of the bishops that would die.