Haskins held up his hands. “Look, I want to make one thing perfectly clear. I bear no animosity whatsoever toward Judge Roush. He is a fine man, a fine jurist, and he would undoubtedly be a fine member of the Supreme Court. I have no desire to take that away from him.”
“But if the Senate does reject him?” the AP stringer asked.
“As it will,” the CBS representative added.
Haskins tilted his head to one side. “In that unfortunate instance, I would of course consider accepting any nomination, were I so honored as to be selected.”
“And the President has in fact already selected you, hasn’t he? It’s a done deal.”
“Again, I don’t want to presume to know the minds of others. Especially not the leader of the free world.”
A new reporter pushed to the front, a short, wiry man whose age was demonstrated not so much by his balding head as the fact that he was actually using a pad and paper. “Judge Haskins, this is a matter of great national importance. You’ve met with the President for three consecutive days. We know he’s had his people running background checks on you. We know his staff has pored over every opinion you’ve written in your time on the Tenth Circuit. And today, you’ve been closeted with him for more than two hours, which is the functional equivalent of spending a week with anyone else on earth. The people have a right to know—are you going to be the next nominee for the Supreme Court?”
Haskins sighed, as if overwhelmed by the force of the questioning. “It is my understanding that…in the event that Judge Roush’s nomination should fail…the President has indicated that I have his support.”
A dozen cell phones flipped open. The press corps’ fingers raced to be the first to phone the story home.
“In fact,” Haskins continued, “the President has asked me to be present in the gallery of the Senate when the vote on the Roush nomination is taken so that, if the nomination is rejected, he can immediately present his replacement.”
The reporters chatted all at once into their cells, making it pointless for Haskins to continue. He turned toward the limo that had pulled up behind him while he was speaking.
“Congratulations,” the limo driver said, as he opened the rear door.
“Let’s not be premature. Even if Judge Roush is rejected, there’s no guarantee they won’t reject me, too.”
“Reject the man who saved a baby from a burning building? I don’t think so.” He stood erect and saluted. “I think I have the very great privilege of chauffeuring the next member of the Supreme Court of the United States.”
“Well,” Haskins said, smiling shyly, with a tiny twinkle in his eye, “I just hope you’re right.”
56
“You’re sure about this?” Ben barked into the phone.
“Positive, Skipper.”
“And you can prove it?”
Loving hedged. “Well, I’m workin’ on that. But this creep had no reason to lie.”
“Loving, you were threatening to kill him!”
“Aw, all I did was squeeze his scrotum a little. That pansy-ass leaked like a sieve.”
Ben took a deep breath. “You’d better be right.”
“I am. Anythin’ else I can do?”
“No. When you’re finished with the police, get to the hospital.”
“Ah, I don’t need—”
“I want you checked out, tough guy. There could still be internal bleeding. I don’t want my personal information highway to kick off. After the docs clear you, get back to the office as soon as possible.” Ben wiped his brow, unsure whether to be elated or horrified. “I’ve got a lot of thinking to do. And a lot of work to complete before morning.”
Ben wasn’t surprised that he couldn’t get an appointment to see Senator Keyes, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him, either. He called Senator Hammond and got him to make an appointment—even Keyes couldn’t turn down the Senate Minority Leader on the eve of the confirmation debate. Once Ben knew Keyes was in his office, he marched past the poor receptionist, who appeared to be even older than Senator Keyes and accustomed to senators behaving with proper decorum—not crashing through the gates during someone else’s appointment. When Keyes looked up from his desk and saw Ben, he appeared more bemused than annoyed, although a little of both. He told the receptionist to retake her position, before some new barbarian crashed the gates, and offered Ben a chair.
Thirty minutes later, Ben was still begging.
“C’mon, Senator. Work with me.”
“And why would I want to do that?” Keyes said, his Texas drawl in full force. “Working against you has been so pleasurable.”
“Was it that pleasurable when you got out-voted in committee?” Ben knew it was imprudent to cross swords with the leader of the Judiciary Committee, but desperate men took desperate actions. “We smoked your butt.”
“You got lucky.”
“We smoked your butt.”
“And you wouldn’t have even gotten lucky if it hadn’t been for those turncoats Matera and Potter. Woman must be going through menopause or something. She’s got one foot in the grave so she decided to cultivate a conscience. You can’t take credit for that.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
Keyes peered at him through bushy eyebrows. “Perhaps I have underestimated you, Senator Kincaid.”
“No ‘perhaps’ about it.”
“But what you’re asking now is out of the question. Help you? Good God, boy—I’m getting telegrams from home telling me I should organize a filibuster. Even though the man has no chance of rustling up the necessary votes for confirmation. They just want to be sure.”
“A filibuster would mean the Senate doesn’t get to exercise its constitutional right to approve and confirm.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“There hasn’t been a filibuster against a Supreme Court nominee since Abe Fortas went up for Chief Justice back in the sixties.”
“Doesn’t mean it can’t happen now.”
“Surely you don’t want that. How can we go on pretending you’re honoring the Constitution if you won’t even let it come up for a vote?”
Keyes shrugged. “Did you think you were working in a candy factory, son?”
“No, I thought I was working in a democracy. Are you going to filibuster?”
He shrugged diffidently. “Haven’t decided yet.”
“Please don’t. Let this case be decided on its merits.”
“Kincaid, it isn’t a courtroom.”
“Yes, I believe you’ve mentioned that once or twice. What I’m saying is—instead of screwing around with all this political BS, why don’t we see if we can actually uncover the truth?”
“You’re so naïve.”
“C’mon, at the end of the day, don’t we both want the same thing? The truth?”
“Speak for yourself. All I want is to get the damn leader of the free world off my back.”
“You’re too smart and too—forgive me—too old to be nothing but a political pawn.”
“You’re right.” He smiled. “I’m going to be a political pawn and the next Vice President of the United States.”
“So anything goes? As long as you get what you want?”
“Well, perhaps not anything. But a great deal.”
Ben looked at him squarely. “I never thought I’d say this, but—you’re better than this.”
“Better than the vice presidency?”
“Better than letting an innocent man be hung out to dry.”
Keyes turned his head to one side and drummed his fingers. Ben knew from the hearing that this was not so much a sign of irritation as a sign that he was doing some deep thinking. “How can you be so sure about his innocence?”
“I’ve shown you what I’ve got.”
“It’s not enough.”
“I’ll make it work. You’ll see.”
“You’ll make it work, huh?”
“If you give me a chance. If you kill the fil
ibuster. And if you recognize me during the debate.”
Keyes’s eyes went skyward. “Recognize the junior senator from Oklahoma? A known supporter of Roush? His counsel at the hearing? My party would hang me out to dry.”
“I don’t believe anyone can hang you out to dry.”
“Well.” Keyes sniffed, shrugged his shoulders. “That is as it may be, but…”
“Will you do it?”
“And what would I get in return?”
Ben pursed his lips. He should have anticipated this response, this being Washington. But he wasn’t sure what to say. “What do you want?”
“How about you use your influence with Senator Hammond to get that pansy-ass Wilderness Bill killed?”
“I can’t do that. My fiancée has been working for months on that bill. It’s very important to her.”
“Like the vice presidency isn’t important to me?”
“The Arctic National Wildlife Refuge is our last untouched wilderness area. We can’t let it be devastated by drilling, no matter how badly Americans want to drive their cars.”
“Nothing you’re saying is persuading me to give up the vice presidency.”
“You don’t have to.” Ben leaned forward. “I think I can swing it so you can do the right thing and still be the President’s top choice.”
Keyes arched a bushy eyebrow. “Is that so? And that’s because you’re so tight with the Commander in Chief?”
“No. But I still think I can make it work. Please. Give me a chance.”
Keyes stared at him for a long time, not making a sound other than the drumming of his fingers. A minute passed, then another. After a while, the silence seemed deafening. Ben imagined he could hear the carpet rustling in the air-conditioned breeze.
“All right then. I’ll make sure there’s no filibuster.” He made a harrumphing sound. “Didn’t care much for the idea, anyway. Little too partisan, even for me.”
“And you’ll make sure I have a chance to speak during the deliberations?”
“You’ll have the same chance to be recognized as every other senator.”
“I need a promise.”
“And what if it all goes bad? Where will I be then? What happens if you put on your dog and pony show and it doesn’t work?”
“It will work,” Ben said, a soft but firm voice. “It has to work.”
“There are no guarantees in politics, son.”
Ben nodded. “This isn’t about politics. This is about justice.”
57
“Comfortable, Angel?”
“How could I be comfortable with all these television cameras around? My stomach is churning enough to make butter.”
“It shouldn’t take too long.” Judge Haskins had a front-row seat in the gallery above the Senate chamber. In only a few minutes, the confirmation debate would begin. In compliance with the President’s request, he and his wife were attending, reminding the senators that they had a ready alternative. “There’s no point in a protracted debate. He doesn’t have the support. Keyes will probably push for an immediate vote.”
“I only hope you’re right,” Margaret said. “I don’t like being in the public spotlight.”
“It won’t be for long. How many spouses of Supreme Court judges can you identify?”
“Umm, none.”
“Exactly.” He took his wife’s hand and squeezed it. “Once the confirmation process is over, no one will be interested in you anymore.”
“Well, I think you could’ve phrased that a bit more gallantly.” She grinned. “But I understand what you’re saying.”
He scooted closer to her. “I know you’re uncomfortable with all this. I apologize for dragging you through it.”
“Don’t be daft. What were you going to say? ‘No, Mr. President, I don’t want to be on the Supreme Court. It might upset my wife’s tummy.’ ”
“You’ve put up with quite a lot from me, over the years. Don’t think I don’t know that. I don’t deserve—”
She placed a finger over his lips. “Shhh.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re my hero. My knight in shining armor. You saved my life.”
He shrugged. “That fire was no big deal.”
“I was talking about the day you married me.”
They settled back into their chairs, hands clasped tightly together.
Ben sat at his assigned desk in the Senate, staring at the mass of people surrounding him, wondering how he had ever gotten into this mess, wishing he were at home watching this on C-SPAN. Or not.
The Senate floor was packed. Every desk was filled. All one hundred senators were in attendance, and each seemed to have at least three clerks or assorted other flunkies at their bidding. The gallery was packed with spectators and interested parties. Ben, like everyone else, had noticed that Judge Haskins and his wife were sitting in the first row, front and center. Richard Trevor, the head of the Christian Congregation, was sitting directly behind him, a sure sign that his organization intended to throw its support to Haskins as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Even the lame-duck Vice President was present, making one of his rare appearances in his constitutional role of President of the Senate, just in case he should be needed to cast a tie-breaking vote. Unlikely—all the polls indicated that Roush’s nomination would fail by at least ten votes. The Republicans clearly had the forty-one votes necessary to sustain a filibuster. Ben had to count on Keyes’s promise that the threat would not be exercised, or Roush’s nomination would never come to a vote at all.
Christina was huddled in the back of the room, sitting with Bertram Sexton and Kevin Beauregard and Gina Carraway and her clipboard. Right up to the last minute, she had been analyzing data and trying to root out any potential weakness in the opposition, possible undecideds. She hadn’t found any.
Jones and Loving were also in attendance. If Ben was going to pull this off, it would be because of them.
Thaddeus Roush stepped through the back doors of the gallery. A sudden silence blanketed the room, followed almost immediately by an intense volley of whispers. Roush ignored it. It was ironic, really: this debate was all about him, but he had to sit up in the gallery.
Roush walked to the front row, looked both ways—then took a seat beside Judge Haskins, directly in front of Richard Trevor.
Ben shook his head. He didn’t care what Roush had done in his confused youth. He had guts. This country needed him on the Supreme Court.
Ben watched as Christina folded a note and passed it to a Senate page. More polling data, no doubt. Probably some new survey Gina had transmitted via Instant Messenger.
He took the note from the page and unfolded it.
I LOVE YOU, it said. GO GET ’EM, TIGER.
He had to smile.
The Vice President gaveled the Senate into session. Game on.
58
Ben was hardly surprised when the Vice President and President Pro Tem recognized Senator Keyes, chairman of the Judiciary Committee, to orchestrate the debate, and Keyes promptly recognized a series of die-hard Republicans to speak first.
“…and what are we to tell our children, good Christian American children who have been taught to exercise restraint, to practice abstinence, that abortion is a crime against God and nature? Are we to tell them that the murder of an innocent fetus qualifies them for appointment to the highest court in the land? Is that the message we want to send to the children of America? Or perhaps, do we want to send a different message? A message that says that there is still such a thing as morality in government. That strength and character still matter to the people of the United States. That the Supreme Court is no place for those who would desecrate and offend the fundamental values of this great land.”
Ben saw the senator subtly adjust his speaking position. At first, he thought the man must be positioning himself for the C-SPAN camera, but then he realized that what he was really doing was turning his back to Judge Roush, seated above and behind him in the gallery. Appare
ntly the coward wanted to confront him without confronting him. He needn’t have bothered. Roush maintained a perfect stone face, neither smiling nor scowling, just letting it all roll off him.
“…but if not now, when do we draw the line?” the senator continued. “Do we want to live in a world where homosexuals control the law of the land? This man has been engaged in an ongoing relationship with another man, a relationship that is still illegal in many states and will always be an abnegation of God’s word. Now we learn that before he embarked on one sinful relationship, he had yet another, that he actually paid for a murder. A legalized murder, to be sure, but no less horrendous for it, no less shocking to the conscience, no less offensive to our collective consciousness.” His voice boomed. “What will happen to us as a nation if we allow this abomination to be enshrined in the Supreme Court?”
Ben pondered. A plague of locusts? Death of the first-born? Armageddon?
“Judicial activism! That’s what will happen!”
Ah. Well, that was my next guess.
“We cannot open the door to judges who seek not to interpret the law, but to make the law. Lawmaking is the sovereign right of this body, this Congress, and no judge has the right to force his own decadent beliefs on the laws we create. Look where these people have put us today. No prayer in school. Immigration run rampant. A Swedish minister arrested for condemning homosexuality. The world is in chaos! This is no time to allow—”
“Pardon me,” Senator Keyes said, gently interrupting. “I believe that your five minutes on the floor are over.”
That was the first time today Keyes had enforced his own time limit. Was it possible he was just as tired of this tirade as Ben was? One could only hope.
“Mister Chairman,” said Senator Bening from Colorado. “Could I be permitted to say a few words about a man from the great state of Colorado who does tremendous justice to the bench on which he sits, Judge Rupert Haskins?”
“Point of order,” Ben interrupted, before Keyes had a chance to respond. “Aren’t we supposed to be debating the nomination currently before the Senate?” His voice dropped a notch. “Rather than speculating about the possibility of any future ones?”
Capitol Threat Page 33
