The Tenth Justice (40 page)

Ben got out of the train and stood facing the Pentagon City Mall. Following the instructions he had been given by the receptionist, Ben walked toward the offices of the United States Marshals Service. Housed in a twelve-story contemporary office building, the U.S. Marshals Service was headquarters to ninety-five presidentially appointed marshals, including the director of the Marshals Service. Responsible for protecting the federal judiciary, they ensured the safety of federal judges as well as federal witnesses. Although Carl Lungen and Dennis Fisk protected the Supreme Court justices while they were in the District of Columbia, the main office assigned individual marshals to protect those justices who ventured outside the District.

Ben took a deep breath and pulled on the glass doors of the office building. Walking inside, he was stopped by a security guard. “Can I help you?” the guard asked.

“I have an appointment. Ben Addison.”

“With who?” the guard asked suspiciously.

“Director Alex DeRosa.”

Checking his clipboard, the guard turned to his desk and picked up the phone. “I have a Ben Addison here to see DeRosa,” the guard said. “Okay, I’m sending him up.” Looking at Ben, the guard said, “It’s the twelfth floor. You can’t miss it.”

Minutes later, Ben exited the elevator on the twelfth floor.

A receptionist was seated in front of the glass entryway that led back to a series of offices. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“I have an appointment with Director DeRosa. I’m Ben Addison.”

“Yes, he said to leave Justice Hollis’s message with me.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I have strict instructions to deliver the message personally.”

“You can deliver it to me, sir. Director DeRosa is very busy today.”

“Let me explain something to you,” Ben said, his agitation turning to annoyance. “Justice Mason Hollis is also very busy. He has three personal assistants and two legal clerks. Not to mention the three hundred Supreme Court employees who are also under his direct authority. Any of those people could have typed up the message and sent it over here. But Justice Hollis decided I should deliver it verbally. Now, if a Supreme Court justice has a message that is so important he’s not even going to put it on paper, do you really think it’s okay for me to simply leave it with you?”

Ben stared at the receptionist until she picked up her phone. “I have a Mr. Ben Addison to see you, sir. Justice Hollis asked that the message be delivered in person.” The receptionist paused. “Yes, he is quite serious about it.” Listening for another minute, the receptionist hung up the receiver and pushed a small button that unlocked the glass doors to the offices. “You may go in, Mr. Addison. He’s in the far right corner.”

Following the hallway, Ben tried to act as calm as possible. As he reached for the handle to DeRosa’s door, the door flew open. “This better be damned good,” DeRosa said, blocking the entrance to his office. Short and squat, Alex DeRosa was known for both his ruthless intellect and his lack of patience. With his sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, hairy forearms, DeRosa pointed to the single chair that was in front of his desk. “Sit.”

Military awards decorated DeRosa’s office: framed medals, ribbons, commendations, and diplomas from the Naval Academy and Columbia Law School. On the right wall of the office were photographs of DeRosa with two past presidents.

“So tell me this top-secret message,” DeRosa barked, sitting down behind his desk.

“This is a matter of great importance, but it’s not from Justice Hollis—” Ben began.

“Then what the—?” DeRosa asked, rising from his seat. “Get your ass out of here! I’m going to call Hollis personally and make sure that you—”

Ben stood as DeRosa rounded his desk. “No one knows this, but a clerk’s been leaking information from inside the Court!” he blurted. “Charles Maxwell knew about the CMI merger before it came down!”

DeRosa stopped in his tracks and narrowed his eyes. “Sit.” Ben sat. “Now start from the beginning. Who’s the clerk?”

Ben paused. “I am.”

“I’m still listening,” DeRosa said.

“A few weeks into the fall term, a guy named Rick Fagen, who said he was one of Hollis’s former clerks, called the office to help ease us into the position. Lots of old clerks do the same thing. It’s hard getting started there and—”

“I know how it works,” DeRosa interrupted.

“Anyway, thinking Rick was an old clerk, I was talking to him one day, and he asked me the outcome of the
CMI
case. I told him I couldn’t tell him, but he promised he’d keep it secret. He knew all about the ethics code we signed, and he had helped us for over a month with all our Court stuff.” Sensing DeRosa’s impatience, Ben continued, “So I casually told him the outcome of the
CMI
case. A few days later, Maxwell bet on a legal victory. When I tried to find Rick, he’d disappeared. His number was disconnected; his apartment was abandoned. When I tried to track him down, I found out that Rick Fagen was never a Supreme Court clerk. And for the past four months, he’s been trying to get another decision out of me.”

Still standing, DeRosa scratched his chin. “Have you given him anything else?”

“Last month, I purposely gave him the wrong outcome to the
Grinnell
case. But that was just to piss him off.”

DeRosa snickered.

“It got him off my back for a while. But I’m sure he’s going to approach me again.”

Silent as he thought about Ben’s predicament, DeRosa finally said, “So you violated the foremost rule of our highest Court, and now you want me to save your ass? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you taken into custody and charged with judicial interference?”

Ben looked straight at DeRosa. “I can help you get Rick.”

DeRosa walked to his chair and sat down. “Keep talking.”

Two hours later, Ben returned to the Court. “What happened? Did you do it? How’d it go?” Lisa asked before Ben was even through the door.

“I did it. I told them.”

As Ben sat in his chair, Lisa sat on the corner of his desk. “What’d they say? Tell me already!”

“Calm down, I will,” Ben said, his voice sedate.

“Don’t tell me to calm down. Tell me what happened.”

“I think it went okay. He wanted—”

“Who’s ‘he’? DeRosa?”

“Yes,” Ben said. “He’s the big man there. He wanted to hear every detail. And I mean everything. How I beat the lie detector, how Eric was contacted by Rick, how Rick reacted to
Grinnell
. It took me over an hour to tell it all. And after that, I told him our plan.”

“Did he like it? Was he impressed?”

“I don’t think he’s ever impressed. He’s one of those stone-cold, ex-military types. No matter what I told him, I couldn’t get a reaction.”

“He obviously wants you to help him catch Rick, though. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have let you walk out of there.”

“That’s what I’m hoping. But all he said was he wanted to think about it.”

“He’s definitely going to go for it,” Lisa said. “If he didn’t believe you, you would’ve left his office in handcuffs.”

“Y’know what I was wondering?” Ben asked. “What if Rick was watching me today? What if he saw me go into the marshals’ building?”

“I doubt it,” Lisa said. “That was the whole purpose in being proactive. Rick’s too busy setting things up to waste time watching you.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“So did DeRosa say when he’d be in touch?”

“He said he’d get back to me, and he told me not to go to anyone else with the story. He knew the media would freak if they got wind of it.”

“So that’s it. For the time being, you’re set.”

“For the time being,” Ben said.

“Don’t worry about it. You did the smartest thing you could do—you finally put your head in front of your heart. This is the first step in the best direction.”

Later in the week, Ben squeezed into a crowded subway car heading downtown. Ben always arrived at the Metro station at exactly six-forty-five in the morning and had started to recognize many of his equally early-rising co-commuters. Though they shared fifteen minutes of every day together, few, if any, of them actually spoke to each other. On most mornings, like this one, they spent their time lost in thoughts of the business day ahead. Ben, however, was thinking about the marshals. Why the hell haven’t they called? he wondered.

After the train unloaded a handful of commuters at Farragut North, Ben found an empty seat and sat down. He stared at his briefcase in his lap. Maybe they’re not going for it, he worried. When the train reached Metro Center, dozens of commuters crisscrossed through the car. The woman standing directly in front of Ben reached into her pocket and handed him a letter-sized envelope. “Did you drop this?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” Ben said, studying the blank white envelope.

The woman stared insistently at him. “I saw you drop it.” Switching to a warm, congenial tone, she repeated, “Are you sure it’s not yours?”

“Actually, it is,” Ben said, taking the envelope and putting it in his briefcase. “It must’ve slipped out of my coat. Thanks.” As the train once again started moving, Ben looked up. The woman was gone.

As the Metro pulled into Union Station, Ben calmly stepped out of the train and headed for the escalator. Although he was dying to open the envelope, he knew that whatever was inside was something he shouldn’t read in public. He slowly weaved through the hundreds of commuters flooding Union Station until he spotted a sign for the men’s bathroom. He looked over his shoulder before going in. No one was behind him. He checked under each of the five stalls. No one there. Walking into the corner stall, he locked the door and ripped open the envelope. Trying not to skip to the end, he read:

Finding Rick is our foremost concern. However, our agreement is wholly contingent on your promise to aid us in our search. Your protection is guaranteed only so long as you help us find
everyone
involved with Rick.

We have included a list of potential suspects. You must not tell anyone on the list about our agreement. We believe this is necessary to ensure the arrest of all parties involved.
If you ignore this restriction, our deal is off
.

When Rick asks you for a new decision, you must stall him until the Sunday before the decision comes down. Only then should you actually hand over the decision
.

If you decide to accept our agreement, you will be under our surveillance. As long as Rick acts as predicted, we see no reason for further concern.

From this point on, communication will be limited to when we contact you. If something goes wrong, call the 800 number at the end of this letter. It will notify our field agents that you need their immediate assistance.
This should be used only in the event of an emergency
.

Your complete assistance will ensure your future. I hope the next time we talk, it is under better circumstances.

Ben turned the page to see the list of potential suspects. Suddenly, the door to the bathroom flew open. Through the space between the door hinge and the stall, Ben saw a figure rushing toward him. The man banged on Ben’s stall, screaming, “Get the hell out of there! I know who you are!”

Panicking, Ben crumpled up the letter and stuffed it down the front of his pants.

“Get the hell out!” the man shouted. “I know you’re trying to find me out!”

Ben noticed a slight slur in the man’s voice. “Who are you?” Ben asked.

“You know damn well who I am!”

Ben stepped out of the stall with his briefcase. Before him was a shabbily dressed street person with a long, dirty beard.

The man banged on the next stall. “I know you’re in there!”

Ben approached the man. “Are you—”

“Give me a dollar!” The man pushed his palm under Ben’s nose.

Convinced that the man was neither a marshal nor a threat, Ben opened his briefcase and pulled out his regular turkey sandwich. “It’s not a dollar, but—”

“Thank you,” the man said, grabbing the sandwich. “You’re a good man.”

After rushing through Court security, Ben avoided the elevator and ran up the stairs to the second floor. When he arrived in his office, he threw his briefcase on the sofa, reached into his underwear, and pulled out the letter. He smoothed it flat and passed it to Lisa.

“I hope you don’t expect me to touch that,” Lisa said from her desk.

“Someone passed me this on the subway,” Ben explained, his voice racing with excitement. “The marshals went for it!”

Quickly reading through DeRosa’s missive, Lisa flipped the page and scanned the list of potential suspects. Included were Lungen and Fisk, Nancy, fellow legal clerks, and a variety of other Supreme Court employees. The first three names on the list were Nathan, Ober, and Eric. “Do you think this is real?” Lisa asked, looking up at her co-clerk.

“What do you mean, is it real? Of course it’s real.”

“The only reason I’m asking is because it’s so cryptic. I mean, it’s not addressed to you, it’s not signed by anyone. It makes no reference to the fact that you already met. For all we know, it could be from Rick.”

“It can’t be from Rick,” Ben insisted, snatching the letter back. “It’s from the marshals.”

“Hey, if you’re satisfied, I’m satisfied,” Lisa said.

“Well, I’m satisfied,” Ben said. “Completely satisfied.”

“What do you think of their list?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Ben said, rereading the list of suspects. “But I don’t think my roommates are the ones we should be worried about.”

“I don’t know about that,” Lisa said. “I mean, who else could’ve told Rick about our plan with the yearbooks?”

“Who knows? It might’ve been the people in the mailroom. They received the packages. Anyone could’ve gone through them before we picked them up.”

“Maybe,” Lisa said. “But you’re not telling your roommates about this, are you?”

“No way,” Ben said. “You read the letter. Without my full cooperation, we don’t have a deal. In the end, my roommates will be pissed for being left out, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“Exactly,” Lisa said. “That’s—”

Ben’s phone rang. “Hold on a second,” Ben said, picking up the receiver. “Justice Hollis’s chambers. Can I help you?”