Not happy. He hated loose ends. Literally.
He’d had no time to examine the contents of the girl’s backpack when it opened and spilled out on the street. He emptied it out on the bed next to her and sifted through the contents. He found a bunch of school items, including those he had previously spilled and retrieved when he’d seized her. And a zippered canvas bag. He unzipped the bag and peered inside.
CHAPTER 7
Tuesday, May 6, 8:15 am
“WE’VE ACTUALLY HAD two prior constitutional conventions, Anne. The first in 1781, when the thirteen states adopted and ratified our first Constitution, the Articles of Confederation. The second in 1787, when the Articles of Confederation were repealed and replaced by our second Constitution. The one we still have today. The NoPoli convention last July 4th was actually the country’s third constitutional convention.”
“And the details of the convention?”
“A great deal of planning and work went into structuring our convention, but its conduct was fairly straightforward— and democratic. You reported it. Delegates participated from all fifty states—50,000 in number, plus another 20,000 alternates. Selected by the respective NoPoli chapters in every state, they assembled in the New Orleans Superdome and enacted the amendment by a two-thirds super-majority vote of each state delegation.”
Elliott made a living as a wordsmith, but Nishimura observed that Kessler was the stronger speaker. “Gentlemen, this would probably be a good time to take a moment to show our viewers exactly what this amendment looks like. Chris, would you please walk us through its provisions displayed on the giant electronic screen on the wall behind us?”
* * *
Thomas laughed out loud. Mystery solved. Not some kind of GPS.
The unzipped bag contained a partially used vial of insulin, a couple of syringes, and some other paraphernalia. What he’d just yanked out of the girl’s stomach was an insulin pump. He’d read about those somewhere. Geez, she’s a diabetic. Maybe she can reinsert the pump, he thought. If not, she’ll have to use those backup syringes. That’s obviously what they’re for. He wondered how long this insulin supply would last.
He returned everything to the backpack, including the pump he’d removed from the girl’s body—and perhaps irretrievably damaged. He dropped the backpack on the floor near the table with his note. He was on a tight schedule. No more time to admire his handiwork.
He locked the basement door, double-checked that it was secure, and ascended the stairs. He expected to find Haddad in the front room where he’d told him to wait and keep a lookout.
But Haddad was gone.
* * *
On cue, Elliott stood and approached the large screen monitor mounted on the wall behind them. The television cameras followed him. “For such a profound document, it’s amazing just how short and simple the 28th Amendment is. It’s divided into three distinct parts.”
He scrolled through and described each of the three parts, highlighting them with his finger as he proceeded, exactly the same as he would have done on his own handheld touchscreen computer tablet. “There are three introductory preambles, followed by five substantive paragraphs, and then, finally, three more procedural paragraphs. The three lettered preambles, Paragraphs A, B, and C, recite who is enacting the 28th Amendment, and why.”
Scrolling down a little further, Elliott highlighted the five numbered paragraphs, Paragraphs 1 through 5. “These set forth the substance of the document. How our Constitution will be changed to reduce many of the perks to which our representatives have become so accustomed. That they take for granted. That will be taken away from them if the 28th Amendment is upheld by the Court.”
Elliott scrolled down once more, this time highlighting the last three numbered paragraphs of the document, Paragraphs 6, 7, and 8. “These are the procedural ground rules designed to assure that the five substantive paragraphs of the instrument will not be circumvented or ignored. The last of these three procedural paragraphs provides that the failure of any of member of Congress to abide by any of the substantive provisions constitutes a criminal felony.”
Nishimura pretended to be rapt as Elliott droned on, glancing at her notes on what she still wanted to cover before the actual Court sessions would soon begin. “Chris, please scroll back up to Paragraph 5 for a moment. While the first four substantive paragraphs focus on our office holders, this one focuses on our country’s welfare recipients.
“In order to remain eligible to vote, they must continuously seek gainful employment. Many people around the country have found this anti-welfare provision particularly divisive. Doesn’t this hit our downtrodden below the belt, Steve?”
* * *
Thomas looked outside and saw Haddad leaning against a tree, smoking a cigarette, in full view of any hikers who might happen by.
Thomas was livid. He went out the front door and locked it behind him, again double-checking that it was secure.
“Thought I told you to stay put. Indoors. Out of sight.”
No response.
“Did you not hear me?”
Haddad glowered. “Needed some fresh air. And a smoke. What’s the fucking big deal? No one around here anyways. Just like we planned it.”
Thomas shook his head. “Like I planned it. Let’s go.”
Haddad turned and stepped toward the van. With lightning speed, Thomas reached across Haddad’s left side with his own left arm and latched onto Haddad’s right shoulder. He pulled hard on the right shoulder as he simultaneously grabbed and jerked down on a fistful of Haddad’s long hair just above the right ear. The loud snap of the man’s neck told Thomas his accomplice was now his former accomplice—even before the released body slumped to the ground.
* * *
Kessler didn’t skip a beat. “Not so, Anne. The anti-welfare provisions of Paragraph 5 of the amendment work no prejudice on the truly downtrodden. It merely provides that if you want to preserve your right to vote, you cannot be a freeloader looking for a handout from those with whom you might seek to trade votes for entitlements or benefits. All those who genuinely make a reasonable effort to do what they can to be self-sufficient preserve their right to vote.”
Nishimura raised her hands in feigned surrender. She would not underestimate Kessler again. “It will certainly be fascinating to see what the Court has to say about the amendment, particularly the anti-welfare voting limitation and the criminal felony provision.
“Thank you, gentlemen. For those who want to read the actual 28th Amendment that you’ve been viewing on your television screens at home, we’ve posted it on a special NBN website at www.28th.info. Where you can also print or download the document to your own computer device.
“We’re going to take a quick break to update our viewers on what’s happening around the world. When we return, we’ll ask Steve if NoPoli really thinks their constitutional convention and the 28th Amendment are constitutionally valid without having included Congress in the process. Stay with us, we’re coming right back.”
CHAPTER 8
Tuesday, May 6, 8:20 am
THOMAS LOOKED DOWN at Haddad’s body lying motionless on the ground. “Cigarettes are hazardous to your health, fool. So was your long, ugly mop of hair. You woulda done better with a buzz cut.”
Thomas knew that discarding Haddad had only been a matter of time, but it frustrated him that the timing turned out not to be of his own choosing. Especially when some of the work in the days ahead would have been easier spread over two backs.
The last time Thomas had dropped his guard—just a little—it had almost cost him his life. It was during the Norman case, in Brooks’s court. When Brooks was still on the bench. Brooks was the impetus behind Lotello going after Thomas. Even though neither one of them then realized it was Thomas. If they do even today. There was a shootout. Thomas escaped, just barely. He was lucky. Lotello wasn’t. He caught a bullet.
Although Thomas managed to get away, it cost him everything he’d been working for. T
his was now Thomas’s last chance. He could not fail this time. No more mistakes. No more misjudgments. Haddad was unreliable. Insubordinate. A fool. Should have known better than to select him. Had to reassert myself. Had to get rid of him. No choice.
Thomas threw Haddad’s corpse in the back of the van, and drove off. He stopped along a quiet stretch of the Potomac, miles away from where he had dumped the bag with the remains of the girl’s phone and sunglasses. He stuffed each of Haddad’s pant and jacket pockets with rocks collected from the riverbed, dumped the body into the water, and watched it sink.
He chemically wiped down the inside of the van, and then burned the cleaning materials along with the latex gloves he’d been wearing all day. He sprinkled the ashes into the water and watched them float away. He would also soon dismantle and destroy the van. And everything else. In the meanwhile, he was confident no one could connect the van with him, the girl, or his ex-associate.
He hurried off to Court, again sticking to the speed limits. It was going to be close. He really wanted to monitor the girl’s grandfather—and the results of all his planning and efforts—in person. If necessary, he had another cell phone ready to go and would watch the proceedings by television from a nearby bar he had already selected. Just in case. Control was everything.
CHAPTER 9
Tuesday, May 6, 8:30 am
KESSLER HEARD the words faintly resonating out of Nishimura’s earpiece. “And . . . we’re back live, Anne.”
Nishimura wasted no time. “Steve, doesn’t Congress have to be included in any attempt to amend the Constitution?”
This was precisely why Kessler had agreed to participate in the television coverage; to protect NoPoli’s flank. “Congress could hardly be expected to cooperate in any exercise designed to cut them off at the knees. But NoPoli’s lawyers researched this issue and concluded that Congress’s participation is not required.”
Kessler held his breath. He hoped Nishimura would leave it at that. He wasn’t about to prematurely debate the meaning of Article V with her in front of the world. And tip NoPoli’s hand to Congress’s lawyers. Brooks would handle this as they planned it—and at exactly the right moment.
But Nishimura was not finished. “Well, I’m no expert on the Constitution, Steve, but it sure seems to me that Congress is entitled to participate in such a process. How does NoPoli expect to avoid the language of Article V?”
Kessler’s mind drifted back to the events leading up to the convention. The first one to whom he’d brought his idea was NoPoli’s house counsel, Leah Klein. Together, they wrote a first draft of the amendment and then showed it to NoPoli board member and retired judge Cyrus Brooks.
Brooks had liked the idea. As a single purpose amendment— reining in political corruption—he thought it might have a chance. A slight one. But if it became a free for all referendum on constitutional reform, he knew it would be dead in the water.
The three of them revised the amendment’s language several times. They developed a framework for holding the first constitutional convention in more than 200 years, when the country was much smaller.
Brooks pushed and pushed on the delegates. They had to reflect a fair sample of the country. How many should they number? How should they be selected? On what would they vote? And in what sequence? What kind of vote should be required: a national popular vote, a state-by-state vote, majority vote, super-majority vote?
Kessler was not about to allow Nishimura to draw him into any of this. “Sorry, Anne. What you’re asking me is beyond my comfort zone. You’ll have to wait for counsel to explain all this stuff. To the Court.”
Nishimura didn’t press the point further. At least not for the moment. Kessler wondered how long it would be until she tried him again. Turning to Elliott, she changed the topic of conversation. “Speaking of counsel, Chris, can you tell our audience a little bit about the lawyers who will be arguing the case?”
* * *
Groggy, head pounding, eyelids so heavy, Cassie fought to break free of the cobwebs that were not yet ready to let go. No sense of time or place, muddled, she sought to gain some solid footing.
The day—if it were still the same day—had started like any other. Up at five every morning, the cost of wanting to be the best woman golfer in the world—not the best diabetic golfer, but the best golfer, period. And not one of the best, but the best. Her steady run of victories on the juniors’ circuit demonstrated this was no fantasy.
She tested her blood sugar that morning, programmed a supplemental bolus through her insulin pump to cover her slightly elevated glucose level, threaded her orthodontic braces, organized her curls just so, put on her favorite earrings, and finished getting dressed. She fed Whitney, the family pup, next.
When she said, “C’mon, Whit, let’s go potty outside,” he looked at her curiously and hesitated. Hair too frizzy. Face full of freckles. Too skinny, the tallest in her class, even taller than the boys. Now, because of the ginormous lisp caused by her new braces, even her dog didn’t know who she was anymore. In spite of her tough self-assessment, Whitney followed her out the door.
She remembered her dad driving her to morning practice. He answered emails and watched her hit until he left for work. Her parents still wouldn’t let her walk to and from school on her own, but they’d finally caved in and allowed her to walk the few blocks back and forth between practice and school.
Cassie continued to retrace the morning. She’d finished hitting, was on the way to school, listening to music on her latest playlist, thinking about how practice had gone. She had also texted Madison that she would meet her in the cafeteria in a few and was looking forward to their trip to the Supreme Court.
Suddenly, it all came rushing back to her.
* * *
Nishimura waited to hear how Elliott would answer her question about the various lawyers.
He scanned the courtroom floor below them and pointed to the table on the left. The cameras followed suit. “Raul Esposito is Congress’s first chair. He’s brilliant. Has won more Supreme Court cases than anyone practicing today. Look at the state-of-the-art electronic equipment and all the associate lawyers hovering around him. Even the papers in front of him are lined up just so.”
“Not to mention,” Nishimura interjected, “the several leaders of both Houses of Congress sitting in the first row of the gallery right behind him.” Like royalty, she thought.
Elliott nodded, and moved on. “At the table to the right are NoPoli’s two lawyers, Cyrus Brooks and Leah Klein.”
Nishimura remembered Brooks. He was the judge who had presided over the murder trial a few years back involving D.C. businessman Cliff Norman. Nishimura had covered the case. Norman’s business had collapsed in 2008. He was charged with being the vigilante serial killer bumping off high-profile politicians he thought caused the crash. Leah Klein had defended Norman.
Klein subsequently married veteran Metropolitan D.C. Homicide Detective, Frank Lotello, who was sitting in the courtroom behind Klein. Lotello had worked the Norman case. He was shot and almost killed late in the trial. To this day no one knows who shot Lotello or why. Speculation has it that Brooks blamed himself for what happened to Lotello. Shortly after the case concluded, Brooks retired from the bench.
Nishimura asked: “What’s Brooks doing these days, Chris— besides representing NoPoli in this case?”
“A little teaching, writing, spending time on the lecture circuit,” Elliott said. “He’s in high demand. This is his first return to the courtroom since retiring. On the other side of the bench no less. We’ll have to see if he’s still got it.”
* * *
Just as Cassie had sent the text to Madison, that dirty old van had screeched up alongside her. Guy in a hoodie jumped out and ran toward her. She tried to make it back to the golf course. He was too fast. Knocked her to the ground. She had tried to fight. Saw the large syringe in his hand sailing toward her. Something sharp stabbed her in the neck. That was it. Until now.
/> She began shaking, crying. Her knees were scraped and throbbing. Her neck was sore. She was trembling from head to toe, but she wanted to be brave. He’s a real perv, a big bully. He should pick on someone his own size. See how he’d like it then.
Trying to be brave wasn’t working. And then it dawned on her what was happening.
* * *
Kessler frowned. We’ll have to see if he’s still got it, my ass. He had wanted to respond to Elliott’s crack, but chose to remain silent. Until he saw exactly where the present exchange between Nishimura and Elliott was headed.
Nishimura continued: “Klein also represented NoPoli in the lower courts in this case, right?”
“Yes,” Elliott said. “She obtained a verdict upholding the 28th Amendment. She and NoPoli recently persuaded Brooks to join in the appeal.”
“That’s curious,” Nishimura said. “From what I understood, Klein was doing perfectly well on her own.” Turning to Kessler, she asked, “What was the reason for bringing in Brooks, Steve?”
If Kessler were caught off guard by the question, he didn’t show it. “Brooks has been supportive of NoPoli from its inception. He helped draft the amendment and the ground rules for the NoPoli convention. Klein’s done a great job. We simply took advantage of the opportunity to add one of the best legal minds in the country to our team for this final round in the Supreme Court.”
Kessler watched Nishimura yield and turn her attention back on Esposito, Congress’s lead counsel. “Esposito looks rather formidable, Chris, a young Clint Eastwood smugly sitting there in his fancy alligator cowboy boots and all. Must be at least six and a half feet tall — Goliath personified.”
“For sure, Anne,” Elliott replied. “I’ve worked with Esposito on several matters. I was very impressed. Brooks ran his court with an iron fist, and very well. But that was then, when he was the boss, and this is now, when he’s not. He’s going to have his hands full. It will be interesting watching him on his return to the courtroom.”
Brooks-Lotello Collection Page 3
