League of American Traitors

by Matthew Landis

Jasper thought he felt that buzzing sensation starting again. He took three deep breaths through his nose.

  “As the petitioner, Mr. Mansfield, you will argue first. It is also your right to reserve time to rebut Mr. Jay when his time has expired. You may begin.”

  Jasper stood. He glanced at the brief. Notes filled the margins. He tried to swallow, but his throat was closing up. How long had he been standing there? Five seconds? A minute?

  “Mr. Mansfield,” Fletcher said. “I said you may begin.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Jasper inhaled deeply. “It’s really all about this diary we found.”

  “Which has already been authenticated by a Smithsonian curator,” the Chief Justice said in Jay’s general direction, “so you can save yourself time arguing against its authenticity.”

  Jay coughed.

  “In May of 1779,” Jasper said, “the Patriot general, Benedict Arnold, started secretly talking with this British spy named John André. After about a year-and-a half of negotiating, Arnold agreed to give up his new post at the military fort, West Point, and the British would give him cash and a new command in their army. But in September of 1780, André got captured, and the plot went public. Arnold ran to the British, got his military appointment, and ended up leading several attacks against the Patriots.”

  “I do hope you’re not going to walk us through the entire Revolution,” Fletcher said pointedly.

  “No, Your Honor.” Jasper found his place on the brief. “What I’m arguing is that Joseph Reed coerced Arnold to switch sides. He had an officer on Arnold’s staff named Ira Boswell whisper in Arnold’s ear that he should betray America.” Jasper said the word in his head. No third t. “I’m arguing entrapment.”

  Jasper fumbled around for the diary copies.

  “Exhibit C.”

  “A,” Sybil whispered.

  The papers stuck to each other and Jasper spilled the whole pile on the ground. His face went hot. Jay made some noise under his breath.

  “Well, which one is it, Mr. Mansfield?” Fletcher asked.

  “Uh. Exhibit A, Your Honor. The diary entry from June 13th, 1779, where Ira’s wife sees a guy come over to talk with her husband.” Jasper fumbled for the next diary entry. “On the 23rd—um … Exhibit C—we find out that it’s Reed, and the details of the entrapment.”

  “Which I’m sure Mr. Jay will argue is hearsay,” Fletcher said. “Why don’t you just clear that up for us now.”

  Thank God for Sybil. So far, she’d anticipated this thing down to the second.

  “Most of what Alice wrote was pretty boring,” Jasper said. “Weather. Gossip. Neighbors and when they visited. Other events during the war. A lot of those exact details appear in other journals from the same time period, like the one I included in Exhibit D from Elizabeth Drinker. She was a wealthy Quaker lady in Philadelphia who kept a famous diary.”

  “So her entries are otherwise reliable,” Fletcher said. “Glad that’s out of the way. Now, can we get to your use of Jacobson v. United States?”

  Jasper checked his watch. Eight minutes. He needed to pick up the pace if they wanted to have time to put down their landmine in rebuttal.

  “To prove that someone was entrapped by a government agent,” Jasper said, “you have to show two things: that he wasn’t the type of person to commit treason, and that he did it because of the person who suggested it.”

  “I went to law school, Mr. Mansfield. I know the case. And you haven’t convinced me.”

  Jasper didn’t need his notes for this one—he’d read too many biographies. “Arnold risked his life at a couple big battles during the war. He almost died for America, gave his leg for the Cause. And he fought for years without getting paid. A guy who does that isn’t predisposed to commit treason.”

  “Maybe not. But you have not—and I do not believe you can—prove that he ultimately committed treason because of what Ira Boswell may or may not have ‘whispered’ to him. As you said, Arnold had started talking with John André about switching sides in May—a full month before this meeting Reed had with Boswell.”

  “But Arnold cut off communications with André later that year—in October. And … the letters … Peggy …” Jasper could feel the stares on his back, sense the Libertines waiting to haul him off to their gallows. “His wife burned most of his letters and diaries, so we don’t actually know what motivated him to change sides, exactly.”

  Fletcher took off his glasses. “Are you trying to say that you’re not sure?”

  “No. I’m saying that no proof exists that Ira Boswell’s influence wasn’t the reason.”

  “Oh, good God.” Fletcher looked past Jasper to Sybil and Cyrus. “Did one of you give him this advice?”

  Jasper’s face was burning now. “Exhibit F, Your Honor. In July of 1780, Reed wrote his wife a letter asking her to secretly give some money from her fundraising for the soldiers to the Boswells.”

  “And how, exactly, does that help you prove entrapment?”

  “Because Reed was keeping his end of the bargain,” Jasper argued. “The deal was money, and so he paid up because Ira had persuaded Arnold to change sides.”

  “That,” Fletcher said, “is a stretch.”

  “It’s also true!” A little too much heat in that response. Jasper could hear Sheldon: Take it down a notch, diva.

  “Excuse me, young man?”

  Jasper floundered for Elsbeth’s signed statement. How had the table become a hurricane of papers in ten—no, crap, fourteen—minutes. “Your Honor: why would the Libertines—”

  “Who?”

  “The True Sons,” Jasper said. “Why would they keep trying to kill everybody who got close to Boswell—like, right after you left our meeting in Philly?” He finally found Elsbeth’s testimony, and almost shook it at Jay, gloating. “Because they knew he’d been into some shady stuff and wanted to keep it quiet. Elsbeth Reed says exactly that in her statement.”

  The Chief Justice went quiet. He looked behind Jasper at the crowd of Libertines, maybe worried they might shoot up his library, too. Eventually, he flipped through his brief to the statement. “She also claims to be an operative in a clandestine network called the Culper Ring run by a, uh … a Mr. Tallmadge.”

  Sharp inhales broke the silence, followed by ripples of whispered words. The landmine was planted.

  Now Jasper just needed Jay to step on it.

  “Tallmadge runs the security for their organization,” Jasper said, “but actually he’s been doing a lot more. Like trying to keep what Reed did quiet. So the cover-up points to the crime.”

  Fletcher mumbled something to himself. “What else?”

  “I’m gonna save the rest of my time, Your Honor.”

  “Young man.” Fletcher’s voice sounded worried. “You haven’t yet made your argument clear. Are you certain that you want to reserve the remainder of your time?”

  Jasper sat down.

  “All right, then. Mr. Jay, the floor is yours.”

  Jay took about thirty seconds to stand and button his gaudy pinstriped suit jacket. “Your Honor, for the time being, I would like to set aside the character assassination attempted by Mr. Mansfield, as well as his clumsily constructed conspiracy theories. Their purpose is clear: distraction from a weak argument. I would prefer to, instead, dismantle this ridiculous entrapment defense.”

  Jay flipped through one legal pad, then another, arranging them on the table like weapons. What was it that Tallmadge had said about him? He tears through details like chum.

  “Let us assume that Joseph Reed did ask Lieutenant Ira Boswell to encourage Arnold to shift his allegiance to the British. Does any proof exist that Lieutenant Boswell actually followed this directive? No. Reed’s payment to Ira proves absolutely nothing. In fact, it further illustrates the greatness of a couple already known to be philanthropic.”

  “Indulge me, Mr. Jay,” Fletcher said. “If Boswell did follow through with Mr. Reed’s directive—”

  “Hypothetically.”r />
  “Yes, hypothetically, what reason would you have to contest the entrapment defense?”

  “Your Honor, can we seriously believe that Benedict Arnold had no predisposition to commit treason? He married the daughter of a Loyalist. His letters are filled with anger over his treatment by the Continental Congress. And the court-martial for his use of military wagons for personal business began months before this supposed meeting between Reed and Boswell. If these are not predispositions, what are?”

  Jay smoothed out his suit. “There is no way around it: Arnold is likely to have committed treason without any inducement from Joseph Reed. The entrapment test fails.”

  Jasper didn’t like the way Fletcher’s shoulders sank, like he agreed. “And what about this alleged cover up—this Culper Ring run by Mr. Tallmadge.”

  Jay didn’t need to blunder around for his document. He had that paper in hand before Fletcher finished his sentence. “Mr. Tallmadge has also signed a sworn statement refuting Ms. Reed. Yes, she worked for him, but the firm engages in just that: providing protection details for high-ranking members of our organization. Any murder or attempted murder on her part to protect historical secrets—which have not even been proven to be real—were entirely of her own doing.”

  “Meaning, you’ll gladly force me to rule on conflicting testimony.”

  “Aside from Ms. Reed’s word, Your Honor, there is absolutely no evidence.”

  In his head, Jasper heard the click of the landmine arming itself.

  Jay had stepped right on it.

  “Are you finished, Mr. Jay?” Fletcher asked.

  “I am, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Mansfield, you have twelve minutes left for your rebuttal.”

  Jasper turned around to get the recorder from Cyrus, along with the tiny, portable speakers. The exchange was slow, deliberate. Jasper made sure to stare down Tallmadge, who was sitting right next to Virgil Washington.

  “Your Honor,” Jasper said, “Mr. Jay says there’s no evidence to support Mr. Tallmadge’s role in this cover up. But there is. I’d like to play an audio file submitted as Exhibit H.”

  Jay shot up out of his chair. “Your Honor—”

  “This is not a trial. You do not get to object.”

  “But Your Honor—”

  “Silence, Mr. Jay.”

  Jay shut up.

  “You cannot enter evidence at this stage into the brief, Mr. Mansfield,” Fletcher said. “Mr. Jay has not had a chance to hear or prepare statements against it. And neither can we validate the person on it is who you claim him or her to be.” Fletcher leaned forward and lowered his voice a little. “This will not help you, son.”

  Jasper figured when the Chief Justice of United Sates gave you legal advice, you took it. But this wasn’t just any evidence.

  “I still want to play it,” Jasper said.

  “I will not give you a second more than your allotted time. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Fletcher folded his arms over his barrel chest. “Let’s hear it.”

  Jasper hooked the recorder up to the speakers and cranked up the volume. It was a lot of ruffling at first—fabric rubbing against the microphone. Then, Tallmadge’s voice echoed across the library.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake … I’m alone, except for my driver. And he’s carrying, just like you.”

  The conversation from thirty minutes ago in the BMW continued on in all its glorious detail.

  Jasper kept his head down, staring at the tabletop because he wasn’t sure where else to look. Not at the Chief Justice—he couldn’t handle that yet. He’d find out soon enough if this move had had the intended impact. Jay hadn’t stirred. Had he been shocked into paralysis? Hopefully. More like obliterated. He was probably wondering how he’d walked right into this.

  After the un-Supreme Court like burn of “choke on it,” Jasper pressed the STOP button. The silence stretched. His watch said time was up. There was no noise, like the world had paused itself to figure out what to do next.

  Jasper turned around just as Virgil threw the punch. It was weirdly formal—a guy in a suit punching another guy in a suit with a bunch of people wearing nice clothes sitting on the sidelines watching. Tallmadge never saw Washington’s fist coming, or maybe he just couldn’t get out of the way in time. The blow caught him right on the jaw, and he crumpled, taking out four chairs and a couple Libertines on his descent—a walrus hitting the deck.

  Somebody screamed and Virgil’s bodyguards leapt into action, dragging Tallmadge from the courtroom. Libertines pointed and yelled and exchanged looks of shocked outrage. Fletcher banged his fist on the table and shouted, probably wishing he’d brought his gavel. He’d lost control of the room. His was no longer the main event.

  The circus had a better act.

  “I will have order!” Fletcher shouted.

  By the fifth time he hollered the words, they had their intended effect. Or maybe everything had just sunk in enough for the Libertines to quiet down. Virgil righted the chairs Tallmadge had knocked over and walked up to Jay. They spoke quietly for a minute. Jasper felt that same sensation of roasting and freezing.

  “Your Honor.” Jay cleared his throat. “If it pleases the court, I would like a brief recess to discuss terms with Mr. Mansfield.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Your Honor?”

  “You wanted this hearing, and now you’re going to listen to my ruling.”

  “We, too, are willing to discuss terms,” Cyrus said quickly, joining Jasper at the table.

  “I didn’t ask what you were willing to do, did I, Mr. Barnes?” Fletcher snapped. “Now, take your seats.”

  Jasper gripped the table. He’d been so sure it was over.

  “If you ask me, all of your ancestors would be ashamed of you. But no one’s asking me, are they?” Fletcher huffed and puffed as he stacked the briefs back in their folders. “I do not know if Lieutenant Ira Boswell spoke with Arnold about changing sides or whether such a discussion influenced the general to eventually commit treason. No one can. And I will certainly not conclude that George Washington was in any way involved.”

  Jasper actually felt himself fall forward. This couldn’t be happening. If he ran now, could he make it to the doors before they tackled him? Or would the Libertines just gun him down?

  “But this is not a trial on the posthumous guilt or innocence of Benedict Arnold,” Fletcher continued. “This hearing is about whether or not this evidence suggests Joseph Reed may have entrapped Arnold via Lieutenant Ira Boswell, and on that matter the answer is clear. Alice’s diary entry is reliable. I have no reason to believe she lied about what her husband told her. The letter Reed wrote to his wife regarding the payment to Boswell is highly irregular and, thus, highly suspicious. I have every reason to believe that it was, indeed, meant to fulfill the terms of the agreed bribe.”

  Fletcher stood, and the whole room stood with him. “Therefore, I will gladly fulfill my obligation as intermediary and broker whatever deal you, Mr. Barnes, would like to make.”

  Nora shouted and Sybil clapped, then grabbed her shoulder, clearly regretting it. Jasper wondered if he was flying—if gravity had actually stopped existing and he’d knock into the chandeliers. Cyrus’s granite face cracked into a wide smile that seemed so out of place, it kind of freaked Jasper out—like a statue coming to life. Cyrus shook Jasper’s hand, which turned into a brief hug. Behind them, the library had burst into murmuring.

  “The terms, then?” Fletcher asked.

  Cyrus withdrew documents from his briefcase and handed Fletcher and Jay each a copy. “On behalf of the League Directors, I request a permanent end of all hostilities, including but not limited to: a suspension of the dueling requirement and reprisals for individuals who refuse their challenges. In exchange, we will keep Reed’s entrapment a secret.”

  “What say you to that, Mr. Jay?”

  He and Virgil read the document, then did some more whispering. “Those terms
are acceptable, Your Honor,” Jay finally said.

  “Isn’t that grand.” Fletcher took out a pen and signed the document. Virgil and Cyrus approached the table and added their signatures. “Now, if you would all be so kind as to get the hell out of my library. There are actual constitutional duties that require my attention in the morning.”

  The Libertines left first. Not one of them gave Jasper so much as a nasty look—it was all blank stares. They were stunned.

  Outside, by the fountain, Virgil stood with a single bodyguard. He said something to the man, who came over and asked Larkin if Jasper would speak with him.

  “I am—” Virgil started. Up this close, Jasper could see the red eyes, the sadness mixed with a little bit of shock. On top of his dad dying so suddenly, this kid was having a seriously bad week. “We are forever indebted to you for exposing this … this treachery within our organization. On behalf of the True Sons of Liberty, I would like to thank you.” He swallowed, looking at the ground, clearly trying not to cry. “My father never celebrated the violence, like others. I wish he was here to see its end.”

  “I actually know exactly how you feel.” Jasper extended his hand. Virgil studied it for a second, then shook it. “There’s this phrase my dad liked. Nil desperandum. It was our family motto. It means—”

  “Never despair,” Virgil finished.

  Libertines knew their Latin, apparently. “It helped me, after he died. It didn’t make everything better, but it helped.”

  Virgil studied the Capitol Building across the street, then took in a deep breath. “Thank you. I hope we meet again someday, under better circumstances.”

  “I’m pretty sure any circumstances would qualify as better.”

  Virgil actually smiled. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  They shook hands again, and then Virgil walked to the street and got into a waiting car.

  EPILOGUE

  Jasper had already sweated through his shirt when Pastor Bob finished his little sermon. It was June—way hotter than his dad’s funeral had been. More crowded, too. There were at least a hundred people at the cemetery: League bigwigs and their families, a handful of students who’d come down after finals. Jasper even spotted Chillingsworth in the back next to Kingsley.