The Plot (37 page)

"Your Honor, will the court be in a position to hear from the suspect Cassandra Hart this afternoon?” he asked.

The judge looked at the bailiff, who looked to the technicians. One of them stopped packing up his tools long enough to explain what they'd already told Max. The judge, frowning deeply at the news, answered for the record that no, Miss Hart would not be able to be heard.

"Then, if your Honor please,” Bernie said, emphasizing each word. “As a friend of the court, I am hereby requesting that an order be issued instructing the Federal Bureau of Investigation, which is holding Miss Hart in custody, to produce her before this court in person without further delay. There is a serious Constitutional question involved here, inasmuch as Miss Hart is
entitled
to the due process of law
and
an attorney to represent her. Regardless of the reason Miss Hart is being required to appear via television, it is clear that she is being denied her rights and is, for all practical purposes, being held hostage by technology."

"Your point is well taken, Counselor,” Judge Johansen responded. “However, recent court rulings have mandated that the safety of society at large takes precedence over an individual's Constitutional rights. Therefore, considering the gravity of the charges against Miss Hart, I have no choice but to deny your request. If you wish to file a formal brief disputing my ruling with the Appeals Court, please feel free to do so. Meanwhile,” she nodded toward the new batch of prisoners assembled in the jury box, “there are many others waiting to enter their plea. Bailiff, please call the next case."

Ed was waiting in the parking lot outside of Max's apartment building when he returned home. Honking his horn, he climbed out of the car and hurried to where Max waited by the front door.

"Hey, Ed,” Max said, leading the way into the building. “What's up?"

Ed followed him up the stairs. “I've got something to talk to you about,” he answered, “but let's wait until we're inside your place."

Moments later, Max was taking a cold beer from the refrigerator for himself. Ed had declined to have one. He was still on duty.

"So,” Max said, sitting across the room from him on the recliner. “I guess you heard what happened to me."

Ed had started to reach for the subpoena in his briefcase, but paused, curious. “What do you mean?"

"About my bein’ kicked off the force.” Max took a long swallow of the beer. He didn't seem to be enjoying it.

"Naw. You're kiddin'...” Ed began, but, from the look on his friend's face, he knew that this was not a joke. “On what grounds? Shooting of Jonathon Sinclair was not only justified, it was necessary."

"Yeah, but those crazy bastards have it all twisted around,” Max said and went on to explain in a nutshell what they'd told him. When he finished, he took another long drink of the beer. “You know what's really a bitch about this whole thing? Well, I'll tell ya.” His voice was husky. “Now that I've been busted from the force, I can't help Cassie. All of my contacts, except you,
amigo
, have suddenly dried up. I have no resources left to find out where they're keepin’ her or to prove that Bates is behind not only the murders, but the plot against the United States. And she doesn't even know I can't help her. How d'ya like them tortillas?"

Ed was silent a long moment, thinking about what his friend said and watching him finish the beer. He let him get another cold one from the ‘fridge before telling him that there might yet be a way to help Cassandra Hart-and the people of the United States.

"You're mighty quiet,” Max said, popping the top off the beer can as he sat down again.

"Well, I may just have some
good
news for you."

"Man, I could sure use some. What is it?” His words were beginning to slur a bit.

"I've found someone to help us to
publicly
expose the conspiracy."

Max sat up straighter, more alert. “Who?"

Ed told him about his meeting with the Senator, and Max seemed pleased until he got to the part about needing all the documentation.

"Dammit, Ed,” Max almost shouted. “You know I can't let anyone have those. Cassie, her father, his friggin’ book all hinge on keeping the evidence safe."

"Max, I
know
the Senator. He's pure-D straight. Remember the hearings on the President's land-grab deal? He was the one who insisted that Congress pass a law returning control to the state. And what about the Administration's attempt to federalize
all
law enforcement? Without him, the Administration would have succeeded. Man, you gotta trust me on this. There's much more at stake here than Cassandra Hart or her father's book. By the time that book makes it to the shelves, it'll be too little, too late."

Max paced the floor while his friend spoke, and Ed knew he'd hit him where he lived.

"What's more,” he continued, “once this becomes public knowledge, the whole case against Cassandra will be thrown out, exposed for what it is-a blatant attempt to silence the star witness. You'll probably even get your job back-with medals to boot."

Max sank onto the kitchen chair, running his hands through his thick hair. “I don't know, Ed. I promised. Cassie would—"

"Agree. Especially when she finds out the Senator issued a subpoena."

Max looked at him dumbly. “A subpoena?"

"Yes.” He took the papers from his briefcase. “I won't serve them unless you agree, Max. But, I'm tellin’ ya,
amigo
, the future of the people of the United States-the people of the
world
, for crissake-is in your hands. With those documents, we can expose the whole goddamn bunch of them
and
their plot. Once everyone
knows,
Cassie's father won't have died for nothing, and the guilty will be brought to justice.” He held the subpoena out toward Max.

"You're sure you can trust this Senator?"

"As sure as I trust you."

Max stood and paced back and forth across the room, his face a picture of pain and indecision. At last, he turned to Ed and reached for the subpoena with trembling hands. “Consider it served, ol’ pal. Consider it served."

Ed felt like he was placing a live hand grenade on the Senator's desk rather than a small box. He noticed that the Senator, whose eyes narrowed at the sight of it so close to him, seemed to regard the box with equal gravity. Max had expressed his misgivings again and again about allowing this vital information to be removed from his-and Cassandra's-control, and Ed hoped, as he watched the Senator cut the seal with his penknife, that this had been the right decision. So much and so many-though they didn't know it yet-depended upon it.

Silence echoed from every corner of the large office as the Senator moved the DVD aside and withdrew the large packet of news articles that chronicled the actions of the United Nations Commission on World Governance. Ed watched as the Senator, who was accustomed to skimming through large volumes of material to get to the meat, perused the headlines, stopping now and again to study an article in depth, the frown on his face deepening as he read. Setting the articles aside, he glanced across at Ed, then removed the journal and skimmed its contents. With a subtle shake of his head, he put everything back into the box and closed it.

"Is this everything?” His eyes bored into Ed's. “I have to know."

"Yes, sir. To the best of my knowledge, it is.” He felt perspiration gathering on his upper lip. “It's everything my friend showed me. And I believe that he wants your help bad enough to make sure you have all the information you need to stop this thing before it goes any farther."

The Senator's intercom buzzed. He shrugged apologetically and pressed the button to hear his secretary say the call he'd been waiting for was on the line. He stood and reached across the desk to shake Ed's hand. “Thank you, Ed. On its surface, this appears to substantiate what you told me earlier.” He paused and looked at his watch. As if on cue, Ed looked at his own. It was right at six-thirty. “I have a committee meeting in about an hour. I'll take a closer look at this as soon as I can. Meanwhile, rest assured that this information will be shared only with the most
privileged
few."

Cassie rolled over and looked at the clock on the night table. “11:01.” The last time she'd looked, it was 10:42. God, will I ever get to sleep? she wondered. If only she had something to read to get her mind off of herself for a little while. She could hear the television in the other room, louder now that it was growing late. Or, maybe, they had turned it up on purpose, just to keep her awake. She climbed from the bed and tiptoed to the door where she could hear better and recognized the voice of Tom McGuire, news anchor for Channel Six. Crouching, she pressed her ear against the door. There were no other voices, no other sounds. Either she was alone or her wardens had fallen asleep. The familiarity of McGuire's voice was somehow comforting, and she strained to hear him.

"
At her weekly press briefing this afternoon, the Attorney General confirmed earlier reports filed by News Channel Six reporter John Emanuel that Cassandra Hart, daughter of deceased Pulitzer Prize winning author Madison Hart, was arrested outside of her home last night in connection with an ongoing investigation of a conspiracy against the Federal Government. Hart faces charges of conspiracy to commit murder, obstruction of justice, interfering with a law enforcement officer in the performance of duty, as well as espionage, conspiracy to overthrow the government of the United States of America, and flight to avoid prosecution.

"Close acquaintances state that Hart has been deeply distraught since her father's untimely demise. According to one, who spoke on condition of anonymity, Hart has been angry at the Federal Government for what she believes is the mishandling of the investigation into her father's death and has even threatened on numerous occasions to ‘expose the government's complicity’ in the death of Madison Hart.

"In a related development, local Detective Maximilian Henshaw, a known associate of Cassandra Hart, has been fired from the Washington D.C. police force for failure to follow Department policy in the shooting death a few days ago of Jonathon Sinclair, also an associate of Cassandra Hart. Police sources state that, although no criminal intent has yet been associated with Henshaw's killing of Sinclair, a ‘cloud of suspicion’ surrounds the incident and charges could yet be filed against the detective if further information is developed.

"Stay tuned for more news, weather, and sports following the commercial break."

This can't be happening, Cassie thought. Not here. Not in
America
. She leaned her forehead against the cool door and wept-for her father, for Max, for herself, and most of all, for everyone who still believed that the press was free.

The soft knocking on the bedroom door sounded like a drum beat in the deep stillness, and Hamilton Bates awoke with a start.

"Sir? It's fifteen minutes before midnight,” the elderly butler said, opening the door just enough to peer inside. “Would you care for some coffee?"

"Yes. Thank you. I'll be down directly. Have Busby bring the car around.” He turned on the Tiffany lamp by the bed and stood up, acutely aware of the stiffness in his aging joints as he walked across to the closet where the dark blue suit, white shirt, and silver-and-navy striped necktie he'd chosen for tonight awaited him. Excellent, he thought, double checking his selection before dressing. Perfect for the cameras. Dignified. Somber. But not severe.

The smell of coffee filled the living room when Bates entered and turned on the television to C-Span's live broadcast of the President's speech to the media at Independence Hall, where the Declaration of Independence and Constitution of the United States had been signed. He smiled.
What a perfect setting for a speech on restraint and responsibility in the media
-
and announcing the implementation of the President's Media Oversight Board.

The camera panned the crowd, and he recognized members of virtually every network and news organization in America offering the President a standing ovation. Obviously, the speech had gone quite well. He sat down on the couch and poured himself a cup of coffee. Leaning back, he took a sip and felt as content as a well-fed cat when he heard the explosion and watched the image on the screen shudder and go black.

"Wake up, bitch!” Thompkins said, storming into the room and turning on the bright overhead light.

Cassie looked up from where she'd dozed off in the chair by the window. “What—” Her question was interrupted by the pain of Thompkins grabbing her by the hair and pulling her to her feet.

"You and your cronies have done it now. Goddamn you
all
! Come on out here, you ... traitor. You may as well see your handiwork,” she snarled and, letting go of Cassie's hair, shoved her into the living area with such force that she fell to the floor just a few feet from the television.

"What in God's name is going on?” Cassie cried, looking over her shoulder at the rampaging woman.

"See for yourself, perp,” Thompkins ordered, grabbing Cassie's hair again and forcing her to look at the television screen.

Cassie gasped. The Vice President was being administered the Oath of Office in the center of the split screen, with live pictures of a blazing Statue of Liberty and Capitol Building on one side, and ambulances, paramedics, and firefighters scrambling in the streets on the other as a voice explained events.

"At exactly midnight, Eastern Daylight Time, a large bomb exploded at Independence Hall in Philadelphia, where the President had just finished giving a speech to representatives of the media. The President and all present were killed. Simultaneous blasts occurred at the Statue of Liberty and the Capitol ... Uh, just a moment. We are receiving reports of other bombs going off ... Yes ... yes ... Oh, my God. Ladies and gentlemen, we have just learned that bombs have exploded at the St. Louis Archway, known as The Gateway to the West, and bombs have damaged Mount Rushmore and ... oh, no! Another explosion, this one aboard the charter jet carrying the Conservative presidential and vice presidential nominees, has been reported. Initial reports state that the plane had just taken off from Los Angeles International Airport and that there are no survivors.