While Justice Sleeps(22)
“I didn’t say that, sir. You asked about my loyalty. I work for you, so I will do my best to support you and the decisions you make, as long as they are constitutional and legal.”
“And if what I assert as legal is not squarely within the four walls of the Constitution? What then?”
“Then we look for a way to make it fit, if we can,” she replied. “If not, though, I won’t break the law for you or anyone, Justice Wynn. I respect and admire you, but the law comes first. Always.”
“Carry knives, notwithstanding.” Justice Wynn grunted and lifted the folder again. He replaced it and picked up a blue folder with a yellow tab and uncapped the pen. “You do not, however, pay careful attention to all your paperwork. Personnel sent up a form that requires your signature.”
Chagrined, Avery approached the desk and accepted the proffered pen. She opened the folder and saw the signature block. She reached for the next page, asking, “What did I forget to sign?”
“I’m not your administrative assistant, Ms. Keene. Sign the papers, and please return to the tasks for which I am certain you are overcompensated.”
The curmudgeon’s back, she thought, as she ignored the other pages. She scrawled her name across the dark line and added the date in a hurried rush. Share time and Justice Wynn’s version of the Inquisition obviously ended, she returned the pen and quickly left the office.
* * *
—
As she stared down at the papers now, a chill shivered through her. The guardianship papers were signed by Justice Wynn the following Monday and witnessed by a Noah Fox. None of them had her signature. Had she really signed personnel papers that day? Avery lifted the phone and dialed the person who might know.
“Clerk’s Office, Lisa Borders speaking.”
“Hi, this is Avery Keene.”
The voice softened. “Yes, Ms. Keene. How can I help you?”
Avery heard the unasked query about Justice Wynn but ignored the request. Lisa would get her information like everyone else—from the news. “In January, Justice Wynn had me sign some personnel papers. I was wondering if I could get a copy from you.”
“Personnel documents? Hold on a second for me.” The line went silent, and Avery scanned her emails. A couple of minutes elapsed before Lisa returned to the phone. “I’m sorry, Ms. Keene, but you haven’t signed any new documents since you were hired, except for your updated W-4. Did you need to see that?”
Surprise clashed with foreboding, but Avery managed to respond, “No, thank you. I must have been mistaken.”
“Well, let me know if you need anything else.”
The line disconnected, and Avery returned the phone to its cradle. If she hadn’t signed a personnel document, what had she signed?
EIGHT
“How the hell did we miss this?!” The smash of the ceramic cup against a priceless urn from a now-deposed head of state punctuated the question. As the pieces scattered on the plush carpet, the Oval Office returned to silence. “You were supposed to be watching the Court, Will! Homeland Security, my ass. Why give you a cushy job over there with military-grade clearance if you’re going to disappoint me?”
President Brandon Stokes glared across the room, fuming. The daily sweeps and high-tech antisurveillance technology provided by his liaison from the Science and Technology Directorate guaranteed he wouldn’t be overheard. Post-Watergate and the LBJ tapes, no president ran the risk of eavesdropping. The Oval Office was one of the most secure rooms on the planet.
Will Vance watched his old friend in silence, knowing the hot temper would soon cool. A crystal ashtray was swept off the desk and a volley of pens sailed through the air, and then the president dropped into his chair and folded his hands beneath his chin. “Pick those up for me, will you? We have a photo op in here in an hour. Brownies or Webelos or street urchins. Who the hell remembers?”
The urn had broken in clean pieces, which Vance dutifully recovered. As he dropped them into the wastebasket, he explained, “The chief justice kept the letter to herself. Swears she didn’t know what was inside. I find it hard to believe that he gave her no hint of what the contents were.”
“Justice Wynn is a crafty bastard,” President Stokes acknowledged. “That performance at the graduation was a warning. But if he’d known exactly what happened, that son of a bitch would have shouted it from the steps of the Court. No, this anointing of the girl is all about self-preservation. Mortality is a strong motivator, and there’s nothing like a young woman to keep the depression at bay.”
“I don’t believe this was an office romance. He had something worth sending coded messages for.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Surveillance picked up a call from Wynn’s house. The message said, ‘Look to the East and to the river’ for starters.”
The president’s eyes narrowed. “He couldn’t know.”
“We cannot dismiss the possibility. A vague clue about a river in the Middle East isn’t much to go on.” Vance scooped up the scattered pens and dropped them into the holder on the desk. “As for how we missed this, our surveillance was only a few weeks old. My team tracked his inquiry to the High Court judge in India, but we couldn’t find any other communications. Just the reference to the Tigris Project, which even the Indians believe is just urban legend.” Laying the ashtray on the corner of the wide mahogany surface, he asked, “Do you know anyone named Lask Bauer?”