Rule of Law

by Randy Singer

  She made coffee using the in-room coffeepot at the Marriott hotel. Before Wyatt left, he had given them his firm credit card to pay for three separate rooms. On her budget alone, Paige would have shared with Kristen. She reviewed some cases and avoided looking at her phone. The morning’s headlines would only make her more nervous.

  She got ready quickly, going light on the makeup, pulling her hair back, and putting on some low heels and a gray suit that doubled as courtroom armor. She checked herself out in the mirror and pronounced it good, or at least good enough, given the red eyes. Paige wasn’t hungry but she had agreed to meet Kristen and Wellington for breakfast. Maybe some time spent with the others would calm her nerves.

  Before she headed out the door, she reached into the zipper compartment of her luggage and pulled out a small box. She carefully removed the diamond ring and strung it on the small gold necklace she was wearing. It hung just below her collarbone, and she tucked it inside her blouse.

  Today, she felt worthy of wearing it. And like Patrick, she prayed for courage.

  When she arrived downstairs, Wellington and Kristen were already there. Wellington’s face was more pale than normal, as if he’d been visited by the ghosts of the justices the prior night.

  “Have you seen this?” he asked, handing his phone to Paige. The headline from the New York Tribune was like a gut punch: “Anderson Family Lawyers Are Targets of Grand Jury.”

  The story was written, of course, by Harry Coburn. It talked about how Kristen’s lawyers had destroyed or bleached their computers in the middle of an FBI investigation into whether they had illegally obtained classified information. According to confidential sources, the lawyers had used top-secret information, unlawfully obtained, to advance the Anderson case, and the lawyers stood to make one-third of any recovery. The person who provided the classified information was unknown. But Wyatt, Paige, and Wellington had been called before a Norfolk grand jury on Tuesday, and it was presumed that indictments would soon be handed down. Even so, U.S. Attorney Mitchell Taylor had refused to comment. The article ended by saying that the sentencing guidelines for the misuse of classified information would range from five to six years with the possibility of an additional year for each obstruction count.

  Paige instantly lost what little appetite she had. “Great” was all she could muster as she handed the phone back to Wellington.

  A perky waitress showed up and asked Paige if she wanted coffee. She hadn’t intended to drink another cup because she didn’t want to be too jittery. But now she turned her cup right-side up. “Please.”

  As they discussed this latest blow, it was Kristen who asked the pertinent question: “What would Wyatt do if he were here?” They all agreed that he would storm into court that morning as bombastic as ever. The government was so desperate to hide its illegal conduct that it was now trying to shut down the case with a grand jury indictment. Not only that, but it proved that the Anderson legal team had not leaked the Marcano deposition to reporter Harry Coburn—he was obviously no friend of theirs. It was logical to assume that whoever was feeding Coburn information had both given him Marcano’s deposition and told him about the grand jury.

  It all sounded good in theory, but Paige knew the reporters could twist the story any way they wanted. And the plain truth of the matter was that Wyatt wasn’t here; she would be the one getting swarmed on the courthouse steps that morning. She would be the one facing the Supreme Court justices with this damning information floating around in the atmosphere, serving as the subtext to every question. Paige knew that by the time “May it please the Court” had crossed her lips, every person in that courtroom, including every single justice, would know that the lawyer about to argue for Kristen Anderson was being investigated for obstruction of justice.

  But what could she do? It was too late to switch lawyers now. And Kristen had no desire to do so.

  “This is the reason I wanted you to argue today,” Kristen said to Paige. “No offense, Wellington, but those justices might have believed that Wyatt was playing games and obstructing justice. They will never think that about Paige.”

  Paige appreciated the vote of confidence. But she wasn’t so sure.

  They were only a few blocks from the Supreme Court, so the three of them decided to walk. Paige and Wellington each carried fat briefcases full of black notebooks, and Paige’s briefcase also held the one thin manila folder that contained the outline of her argument and several pages of references to the record. She knew that she would never get a chance to deliver a scripted argument; there would be too many questions coming at her too fast. But being from the obsessive side of the tracks, she had decided to type one out anyway.

  Their case was scheduled to be heard first and would be followed by an antitrust case and two criminal procedure cases. On the way to court they speculated about the size of the lines outside the building and how much interest their case might engender. “It’s not an abortion case,” Paige said. “I don’t think it’s going to generate that kind of chaos.”

  “It was the top story for every newspaper in the lobby,” Wellington said, unhelpfully. Paige didn’t need any more pressure right now. “Except for the New York Tribune, of course,” he added, as if Paige could somehow forget.

  “This case will determine the balance of power between the courts and the president in foreign affairs,” Wellington continued. “Is there any check on the president’s power? I mean, if we win this case, Hamilton could be impeached.”

  “Can we change the subject?” Paige asked.

  A few minutes later, they turned the corner and crossed the street with the light. Wellington was right. Maybe it wasn’t an abortion case, but you couldn’t tell that by the crowd.

  Paige now had an unobstructed view of just how much interest the case had stirred up. On the sidewalk in front of the Supreme Court building with its grandiose steps, massive plaza, and giant marble pillars emphasizing the grandeur of the law, there were two long lines spreading out in opposite directions. The line on the left at the bottom of the steps was for lawyers admitted to the bar; it snaked along the sidewalk for more than a hundred yards. But it was dwarfed by the line on the opposite side, which was for the few hundred ordinary folks who might be lucky enough to grab a seat for the entire argument and for the several hundred more who would rotate through for three minutes each. That line stretched around the entire block, and it looked to Paige like the people at the front had been camping out all night.

  In addition, there were cameras and satellite trucks, protesters with signs, and hordes of reporters that all made Paige’s throat feel a little tighter and her heart beat a little faster.

  She and Wellington had scoped the place out the day before, and they knew the door they were supposed to enter was at the top of the plaza on the right-hand side of the building. There was no way to get there without plowing through the mob.

  The three of them stayed on the opposite side of the street until they were even with the entrance. They waited for a break in traffic and got ready to jaywalk into the madness that would consume them in just a few minutes.

  “Let’s go,” Paige said.

  “Hooyah,” Kristen responded.

  Paige kept her chin up as she crossed the street and the media converged on her. Cameras whirred and questions flew. Most of them dealt with the grand jury investigation. She saw a few signs from protesters bouncing around behind the reporters—Why did you make the soldiers die?

  Paige, Wellington, and Kristen kept moving up the steps, ignoring the reporters. Paige veered across the plaza to the right, staring straight ahead, her jaw set. Wellington was half a step behind, but Kristen was right there by her side and at one point started yelling at the reporters to get out of the way.

  It was an adrenaline-laced moment, one that most lawyers dreamed about, but Paige would have preferred to be almost anywhere else. She fought her way to the top of the second set of steps and then stopped, realizing that she wasn’t sure exactly wh
ere the door she was supposed to enter was located. It had all seemed different the day before.

  Kristen grabbed her elbow. “It’s right over there,” she said.

  Paige couldn’t help but smile. They started moving again, and the reporters grudgingly gave way. “You don’t think I look like a rookie, do you?” she murmured to Kristen.

  “Maybe a little,” Kristen admitted. “But at least you’re a pretty one.”

  79

  SAUDI ARABIA

  It seemed to Wyatt like he had been riding for an eternity in the backseat, hands cuffed, the hood covering his eyes, seeing nothing. He could tell that it had been dark for several hours. The others rode in silence. The roads had become rough, and the vehicle bounced around at a slower speed.

  They had stopped only for prayers and twice to go to the bathroom—both times on the side of a deserted road.

  He dozed in and out of sleep as the night wore on. He heard only a few cars passing in the night. The desert air became cool, and his guards rolled up the windows. The car smelled like stale sweat.

  Wyatt was half-asleep and half-awake when the vehicle slowed, pulled off the road, and stopped. Larry untied the niqab and yanked it off Wyatt’s head.

  Curly got out of the front seat and opened the back door. Larry motioned with his gun for Wyatt to step outside. Slowly, Wyatt obliged.

  The old lawyer had been waiting for a break like this. In the last several hours, he’d had plenty of time to think, and he had come to a few conclusions. If these men were al Qaeda or ISIS, they probably planned to behead Wyatt and post a video of it on the Internet. It would be better if he died trying to escape. But if these men were operating under orders from Saleet Zafar to keep Wyatt safe, they wouldn’t rough him up too much if Wyatt made a run for it. Either way, he had everything to gain by trying to get away and not much to lose. At least he would know if they were going to kill him.

  He glanced over his shoulder as Larry opened his door and started to get out the other side. He seemed to be the only one of the three with a gun. Wyatt’s only chance would be to take him out first and grab the gun, but that would be nearly impossible to do with his hands cuffed.

  They pushed Wyatt toward the back of the car and opened the trunk. Larry shoved a few of the AK-47s off to the side, pulled out all of the ammunition and a few of the canvas bags, and motioned for Wyatt to climb in.

  Wyatt scowled at him and told him where to go. Curly had pulled out Wyatt’s passport and motioned to the road ahead of them, apparently saying that they were approaching another border check. Regardless, Wyatt wasn’t about to voluntarily climb in that trunk.

  He furrowed his brow as if he didn’t understand, and Curly started explaining again. Wyatt took a step toward him and looked at the passport in the dim light coming from the trunk. Then, without warning, he whirled and lunged at Larry, landing a vicious head butt just above Larry’s eye. He swung back around with a kick to take out Curly, the way it was done in the movies, but Curly grabbed his foot and pushed him off-balance. He fell halfway into the trunk and saw Larry coming at him, blood streaking down his face. The injured man grabbed Wyatt by the front of his robe and pulled him straight up.

  Wyatt was helpless, his hands cuffed in front of him. Larry cursed and spit and then punched Wyatt in the gut, doubling him over as the wind went out of him. It felt like every rib had been shattered. The two men then shoved Wyatt into the trunk as he gasped for air, sharp pain shooting through his side with every breath.

  Larry reached down and pulled a needle and syringe out of one of the backpacks he had put on the ground. He came at Wyatt, and Wyatt started kicking and bucking, his eyes wide with horror. But Moe had joined the others, and there were arms and elbows pinning Wyatt down while one of the men pulled up Wyatt’s robe and jammed a needle into his thigh.

  They slammed the trunk shut and Wyatt moaned in pain as the darkness engulfed him. He wiggled around and pushed the AK-47s aside, trying to get more room. The vehicle took off and the road jostled Wyatt, pain piercing his side with every bump, while the trunk seemed to shrink in on him. For a few minutes, he thought he would pass out from the pain. But soon enough, the drug did its work, and he drifted off into a deep, hard sleep.

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  Once inside the Supreme Court building, Paige, Wellington, and Kristen wandered the halls, looking at the marble statues, reading plaques about the Court’s rich history, and killing time until they had to report to the lawyers’ lounge. Maybe it should have intimidated her to be walking the same halls that Thurgood Marshall had walked before his argument in Brown v. Board of Education, or Leon Jaworski had walked in his battle to subpoena Richard Nixon’s tapes. This was the stage where history was made, and in a few minutes Paige would be staring down nine justices who would decide a case that would probably appear in every constitutional law book studied by students for an entire generation.

  But for some reason, she felt equal to the task. Yes, she was worried sick about what the justices might say or think about the grand jury proceedings. Yet she was still confident in her argument. She had used her time to prepare well, and she believed in the rightness of her cause. And a few times, as she studied the pictures and read the plaques memorializing the great decisions that had been made here, she closed her eyes and saw the waves washing up on the beach, smoothing over the words she had written in the sand. There were larger forces at play here. Her job was to do her part and do it well.

  At nine thirty, her team of three entered the lawyers’ lounge, where they joined the other lawyers whose cases were being heard. SEAL Team Nine was outnumbered by at least a dozen lawyers milling around for the defense, including Dylan Pierce and Kyle Gates. Philip Kilpatrick and John Marcano were there as well, huddled with their lawyers, talking softly, smiling, and occasionally stealing a glance at Paige, Kristen, and Wellington.

  Paige found a seat on the ornate furniture and pulled out the folder she would be taking to the podium in just under an hour. She glanced through her argument and the case cites as well as the excerpts from the record. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched a relaxed Dylan Pierce chatting with his team. Everything about his demeanor was designed to send the message that this wasn’t his first rodeo.

  After ten painful minutes, the clerk of the Court came in and gave all the lawyers a final briefing.

  “The Court does not allow computers, cell phones, cameras, or other electronic devices in the courtroom. You may leave them here. The chief justice likes to keep things moving quickly. Do not wait to be prompted to take your place at the lectern. When your case is finished, please clear your table quickly so the next set of lawyers can get started. The chief will recognize you by name, and once he has done so, begin by saying, ‘Mr. Chief Justice, and may it please the Court.’ Do not introduce yourself or your cocounsel. Refer to the justices as Justice Sikes or Justice Augustini or Your Honor. Do not use the title judge. If you are in doubt about the name of a justice, it is better to use Your Honor than to make a mistake in the justice’s name.

  “With five minutes left in your argument, a white light will come on at the lectern. Five minutes later, when the red light comes on, you are finished. If you are in the middle of an answer, ask the chief for leave to finish your answer and then sit down.

  “There are quill pens at each counsel table, and they are gifts for the lawyer making the argument—a souvenir from your time before the Court. Take them with you. They are handcrafted and usable as writing quills.”

  The man spoke like a tour guide rattling through a lecture he had given hundreds of times before. When he finished, he asked if there were any questions.

  It seemed to Paige that everyone in the room looked at her.

  “Then in five minutes I’ll walk you into the courtroom. Please take your seats right behind counsel table. As soon as your case is called, move up to counsel table and prepare to make your argument.”

  The butterflies were out in full force now, and it w
as hard for Paige to get them in formation. She knew that once the argument started, she would be fine. Once she was up there, she wouldn’t focus on the occasion, only the case. But that didn’t help her now.

  As they lined up to walk into the courtroom, the lawyers placed everything they were leaving behind on the side tables. And on top of a pile of documents left by Dylan Pierce, placed prominently on a table that Paige would walk by, was a copy of the New York Tribune with the front-page story about the grand jury prominently displayed. Kristen was standing next to Paige and saw it too.

  “You’re ready,” Kristen whispered to Paige.

  Paige reached up and touched the ring on her necklace. “I know.”

  80

  YEMEN

  Wyatt regained consciousness and blinked. The fuzzy world came into focus around him, taking its time, one pixel after another. He was lying on a striped couch, low to the floor, in a long, rectangular room with a Persian carpet in the middle. Similar sectional couches with the same striped design lined the other walls. There were three large stained-glass windows and a beautiful chandelier with bright lights that made Wyatt squint. His head throbbed, and he touched his forehead where he had been struck with the butt of a pistol. They had bandaged the wound and wrapped a linen cloth around his head.

  It dawned on him that his hands were no longer cuffed. Slowly he sat up and focused on the other man in the room, sitting on the couch on the opposite wall no more than fifteen feet away with a pile of books next to him. He wore a white robe and a white headdress. He had a broad forehead, a thin and wiry beard, serious eyes, and small oval glasses. He smiled, and there was a slight gap between his front teeth. Wyatt recognized him immediately.