by Alan Sears
Chapter Three
ANDREA COVINGTON FOLLOWED her boss, doing her best to match his stride, an effort made more difficult by the three-inch heels she was wearing. What was it someone said about Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers? “All Ginger had to do was copy Fred—backwards and in heels.” Andrea held no doubt that John Knox Smith was the Fred Astaire of the Justice Department, and she was doing her best to be his Ginger Rogers. Some days were more challenging than others. She thought today would be a breeze, until she saw him staring at Larry Jordan and his Bible-thumping buddies. John had been able to hide his disgust from everyone but her. She knew him too well, maybe better than his wife knew him, maybe better than he knew himself. That knowledge led her to her next action: She followed him to his old office and closed the door. The office was nearly bare except for the furniture. Workers were to have his new office on the fifth floor ready within the next two hours.
“I can’t believe Jordan would have the unmitigated gall to come to my swearing in.” John stepped behind his desk and shoved his executive chair to the side. It slid on plastic wheels until it impacted the side wall. “Why? There’s no logic to it. He and the others came just to see if they can throw me off my game. They can’t. No one can.”
“It was stupid of them.” A pair of leather guest chairs sat in front of the desk, but Andrea remained on her feet. She wouldn’t sit unless John did.
“Jordan and his cronies have done nothing but hinder the progress we’ve been making. Every time someone tries to lay down a straight and smooth road to help our country climb out of the dark ages, people like Jordan and his Alliance pop up making our work ten times more difficult than it should be. You think the pounding they took on FACE II would have shown them how futile their efforts are.”
“FACE II?” Andrea already knew the answer, but she also understood how much her boss needed to vent. He was expected at a reception in ten minutes and needed to get this out of his system.
“Free Access to Clinic Entrances bill. It was first fought in the courts years ago. I was just in junior high school at the time, but I followed it closely. Then it was amended and whoa!”
“That one went to the Supreme Court, right?” She spoke softly, hoping John would do the same.
“Yeah. The Alliance argued against the bill on the grounds of freedom of speech. Freedom of speech…” He lowered his voice. “What the Alliance really wanted to do was make it difficult for women to exercise their legal right to reproductive care. A woman facing an abortion has plenty to think about, they don’t need to push their way through a line of fundamentalists waving signs and shouting, ‘Shame.’” He shook his head. “Fortunately, the Supreme Court saw through the sham. It had nothing to do with free speech, but free access, and the Court saw that even though they still struck down part of the law.”
He pulled his chair over and sat.
Andrea sat. “That decision made it possible to prosecute protestors trying to intimidate women who were exercising their rights.”
John pinched the bridge of his nose. “Some good came out of the trial. It laid the ground work for the new Respect for Diversity and Tolerance Act. Without that series of precedents, we had no hope of stopping religious extremism. It broke the back of much of the so-called right to life movement and now we build on it to break the religious kooks.”
Andrea nodded. It was old information but John liked nothing more than reveling in previous victories. “When the religious dissenters realize that not only are they going to be arrested for acts of hate and intolerance, but they’re going to wind up doing serious jail time, then they’ll stay away from such disruptions in the public square in droves.”
John gazed at Andrea. She liked it when his eyes lingered on her.
“I got that right, didn’t I?”
“Sounds like you memorized my whole CNN interview from two days ago?” He smiled.
Andrea could see him relax. She had handled his emotional storm just right. “Not all of it. Just the really impressive stuff.”
“Are you trying to flatter me?”
“Maybe.” Andrea’s darkly tanned face warmed and she hoped it didn’t show. “Just trying to be the best assistant in the DOJ.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you are. I’m surprised the AG hasn’t stolen you.”
“I’m happy where I am.”
“Good, because I’m keeping you.”
“Maybe Larry Jordan was here because he’s too stupid to stay away.”
John tensed again and raised a finger. “Careful, Andrea. Never underestimate the enemy. Larry Jordan is anything but stupid. The Alliance’s lawyers have led federal courts astray for years. The man has argued before the Supreme Court several times and won some key cases. No, he’s not stupid; misguided maybe, but not stupid. The Alliance is well known in D.C. So is Jordan. Jordan has been fighting what he calls ‘religious freedom’ issues for decades. He has friends. Lots and lots of them. Some of them were in the room this morning.”
“Like Dr. Jim Stockman?”
“Yes, and others. Secretary of the Interior Dan Spencer was there.”
“But he’s a progressive, isn’t he?” Andrea shifted in the chair but never took her eyes off John.
“I thought so. Well, he is on many issues. He’s been a strong defender of the environment, but I learned a little while ago that he and his friends are evangelical Christians. You could have knocked me over with a feather.”
“You’re kidding. How did he get confirmed?”
“I don’t kid about these things.”
Andrea was glad to see John lean back in the chair. He was relaxing again.
John looked at the ceiling. “I even saw a couple of members of Congress who fought against the RDTA, especially the enforcement aspects.”
Andrea scooted forward until she was perched on the edge of the chair. “I think you should forget about them. The VP was there; the AG; the Chief Justice, as well as several members from the president’s cabinet. Every major news outlet covered you. Of course you have opponents. All great men who fight for great causes do. But you also have many friends and allies.”
“True, but there are many challenges ahead. There are many who think I’m too young for this post.”
Andrea shifted back in the chair as if trying to put distance between her and the concept. “Nonsense. Nonsense from beginning to end. Why should you wait until you’re older? Your talent is clear and has been clear from the beginning.” She took on the tone of a proud wife. “You made a name for yourself in college. What was the title of your valedictorian speech at Princeton?” She already knew.
“The Age of Intolerance.”
“That’s right. And didn’t the New York Times Magazine publish it? And didn’t it cause a stir in the judicial community?”
“Well, yes—”
“You were much younger then, but you still left your mark. I imagine people were talking about you back then. Then after Harvard Law, you clerked on the D.C. Circuit Court, then, just eighteen months later, clerked for Justice Stephen Brewster at the Supreme Court. Then, at just twenty-seven, you came to the DOJ through the new Honors Litigation Program…then became lead prosecutor for DOJ’s Hate Speech Task Force…”
“Andrea—”
“Then, just five years out of law school, President Blaine appointed you and the Senate unanimously confirmed you as assistant attorney general…”
“Ms. Covington—”
“Those in the know don’t question the appointment. Not only that, you earned this spot. It didn’t come by political favor. The Hate Speech Task Force which you led won thirty felony convictions. You argued and won the Liberty Free Church v. United States of America before the Supreme Court. How old were you then?”
“I was thirty, but—”
“You see, that’s my point. How many thirty-year-olds have done that? Not many, I can tell you that. It made you a household name for awhile. And what about the new laws provisions drafted by your t
eam? More than 80 percent were successful—”
“Andrea, stop talking.”
“And…I’m sorry. What?”
“Stop talking. I know these things. I was there. I know what you’re doing.”
“Doing?” Andrea placed a perfectly manicured hand to her chest as if shocked by the words. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re trying to calm me down.”
She hiked an eyebrow. “Is it working?”
“Sometimes, Andrea, I think you can play me like a fiddle. Yes, it’s working.”
“You give me too much credit.”
“I doubt I give you enough. What’s next?”
She looked at her gold Rolex watch. “You’ve got to get to the reception.”
LARRY JORDAN DIDN’T go back to the offices of the Alliance. Instead, he drove Dr. Jim Stockman to the Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, then returned to his home in Virginia, parked the car, and entered his two-story house. Before he entered the house, he straightened his back, took several deep breaths, and stuffed his depression deep into his gut. No need to upset Marla.
He entered, set his keys on the foyer table, removed his coat, and strolled into the kitchen.
“Is that you, Larry?” The voice came from upstairs.
“No, it’s your favorite door-to-door salesman.” He heard her laugh.
“Aren’t you supposed to knock first?”
“Haven’t you heard, there’s a new sheriff in town. Requiring me to knock is intolerant of you.”
Marla appeared in the kitchen. She was tall, had Catalonian features with long mahogany hair, brown eyes, and looked younger than her forty-eight years. “Maybe it’s just me, but that sounded a tad bitter.”
Larry sighed. “Sorry. Watching Smith’s swearing in and hearing his little speech has made me…”
“Cranky?”
“That’ll do. Maybe more furious than cranky.”
Marla smiled and the sun seemed to shine brighter. She stepped to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He pulled her close and inhaled her scent. “He got to you, didn’t he?”
“Not really. It’s just that his appointment, the passing of the RDTA, the…the whole thing has put the cause of liberty back. We win some, we lose more.” He pulled away, moved to the refrigerator, and removed a bottle of flavored water.
“Can I fix you anything?”
Larry shook his head. “No thanks. I’m going to go into my study and think awhile.”
“Maybe you should pray for awhile as well.”
He chuckled. “I’ve been praying all day.”
“Okay, but you’re taking me to dinner tonight.”
Larry blinked several times. “I am?”
“Yup. You’re depressed and need to spend time in my scintillating company.”
“I didn’t say I was depressed.” He took a swallow of the water.
“I know.”
He stared at her for a moment. “You know what? That I didn’t say I was depressed or that I am depressed.”
“Exactly.”
He chuckled. “I’m not going to try and unravel that.”
She blew a kiss at him.
His office was out-of-date by the day’s standard, but he didn’t care. He liked dark paneling, the old fireplace, and the rows of books that lined one wall. He sat in a leather desk chair that had once belonged to a judge he clerked for soon after leaving law school. The man had been his mentor. After he died, the widow gave the chair to Larry. He’d had it repaired several times over the decades but he would not let it go.
Once seated, he set his water on the table and admitted to himself that Marla was right: He was depressed. He seldom allowed such emotions into his life, but as he grew older, his emotions grew stronger. On his desk rested a leather-bound Bible and a thick printout of today’s court of appeals decisions. Sunlight tried to press through the shut mini-blinds over the window.
He took another sip and tried to put his thoughts in order but his mind raced as if his brain were floating in high octane caffeine.
John Knox Smith might have more power now than ever before, but God wasn’t dead, and no amount of wishing on Smith’s part would change that.
For the next few hours, Larry busied himself with reading, thinking, Bible reading, and—just as Marla suggested—praying.
