While Justice Sleeps

by Stacey Abrams

  “Good afternoon. Early last week, a tragedy struck America. Supreme Court justice Howard Wynn was discovered unconscious, and he was rushed to Bethesda Naval Hospital. Despite the efforts of the nation’s top medical teams, Justice Wynn lapsed into a persistent coma, a side effect of the degenerative disorder known as Boursin’s syndrome. Prior to falling ill, Justice Wynn appointed his trusted law clerk, Ms. Avery Keene, to serve as his legal guardian. She has diligently met that obligation, and her sincere devotion to her duty brings us here today.”

  He paused, letting attention shift from him to the surprisingly stoic young woman standing in black a pace behind him. Her expression was oddly serene, a blend of acceptance and anticipation. After waiting another beat, he continued: “The Supreme Court has been paralyzed by Justice Wynn’s absence, and the gears of justice have ground to a halt. As you know, Article Three of the U.S. Constitution does not acknowledge the potential for a sitting justice to be brought low by an illness that does not also take his life. Nothing in the Framers’ experience contemplated the medical miracles we enjoy today.

  “Justice Wynn will remain on life support, and his life expectancy could stretch over decades. While we pray that medical science will use that time to cure this great man, the work of the Court must continue. And so, it is with a heavy heart that I accepted this afternoon Justice Wynn’s resignation from the Supreme Court, proffered by his legal guardian. This resignation is effective immediately.”

  “Mr. President!”

  The shouted title buffeted the trio at the lectern. Used to the barrage, President Stokes pointed into the crowd. “Ashley, you have a question?”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. Under what legal precedent can Ms. Keene resign for Justice Wynn?”

  “According to the White House counsel’s research, Ms. Keene’s action is supported by the generally broad powers of guardianship. She has the obligation to act in Justice Wynn’s best interest.”

  “Excuse me, sir, but how is this in his best interest? It appears to serve your interests more.”

  President Stokes froze for a moment, then gave a deprecating smile. “Justice Wynn and I certainly did not agree on many of his positions, but I respect the man’s commitment to the law. Ms. Keene does not believe he would want to stand in the way of the Court’s operations, especially so close to the end of a critical term. Several opinions remain to be issued, and without his participation, justice may be delayed. I think he’d feel—as Ms. Keene does—that to do so is contrary to his oath as an officer of the law.” Pivoting away from her, he indicated another reporter. “Ben?”

  “Mr. President, as you just pointed out, the Supreme Court only has four days remaining in term, then it and the Congress go on recess. Without Justice Wynn, the Court will sit at eight members, and we know that he was the swing vote on a number of issues. What exactly will this resignation accomplish?”

  “It will provide clarity for the Court and permit the immediate search for a worthy successor to Justice Wynn.”

  “You believe Congress will confirm a successor that quickly?”

  President Stokes inclined his head at the majority leader. “I think Congress will do what’s in the best interest of the nation. Look, the Supreme Court can extend its term if it chooses. The June term is tradition, but if they wish to go longer, they can. With the critical issue of an empty seat, I’m certain Congress will act swiftly in the interest of justice.” Let the reporters figure out that he could simply make the appointment while the legislature enjoyed the Fourth of July. His very own Oliver Wendell Holmes. He nodded to a friendly face. “Sophie?”

  “Mr. President, have you already developed a short list for the spot?”

  “I have not. Last question. Casey?”

  “Thank you, sir. Is Ms. Keene denying rumors of drug use and”—he checked his notebook—“allegations that she was detained by the FBI over the weekend to prevent her from exercising undue influence over Justice Wynn? And isn’t the White House concerned about the DC probate court’s decision to recognize her guardianship instead of his wife, Celeste Turner-Wynn, who is a friend of your family?”

  “Judge McAdoo found no cause to remove Ms. Keene as guardian, and that is the end of the matter, as far as the White House is concerned. This resignation will accomplish a fitting resolution for all involved. Those cases hanging in limbo will have their final answers, which is the job of the Court.”

  “Including the challenge to your presidential authority by Nigel Cooper?”

  President Stokes gave a thin smile. “The Court will undoubtedly rule on the role of the president in discerning national security. This isn’t a schoolyard fight. It is a matter of protecting this nation. But yes, I believe the Court will recognize that a ruling would be most prudent.”

  “Ms. Keene, will you respond to allegations about your relationship with Justice Wynn?”

  Before the president could stop her, Avery stepped forward and touched his arm. Nonplussed, he glared at her.

  “If I may?” she asked sotto voce.

  Prepared to make her first and last statement to the press, she waited while President Stokes reluctantly yielded the lectern. She cleared her throat once, then a second time. “Justice Howard Wynn has been my mentor and my employer. Nothing more. Any rumors to the contrary besmirch the reputation of a man who has spent his life in service of this nation. For printing those lies, you should be ashamed—except that Justice Wynn would support the right of a free press to print any opprobrium, especially about him, as long as it used a good adjective or nice turn of phrase.”

  An appreciative laugh came from a reporter in the front row, and others joined for a few seconds. Then Avery continued: “He despised the willingness of the powerful to prey upon the weak. He found the use of authority in the pursuit of illegal acts to be contemptible. In an age of terrorism, he held fast to the notion of freedom, refusing to permit desperation to rob us of our humanity.”

  Her eyes hardened, as did her tone. “His core belief held that the pursuit of right should not end at the courthouse steps but must prevail when all other avenues have been blocked. He celebrated the nuance of law, its supple ability to cure impossible ailments. Even as we mourn his illness, we must cheer his dedication to service. What I do here today will provide a clear path to his most sacred principle—justice.”

  She turned away as questions pelted her. An irate and upstaged President Stokes flicked a pissed look to the press secretary, who came to the lectern. “A statement will be available in the pressroom. Thank you all for coming.”

  The press secretary ushered them inside, and soon Avery stood with Ling and the president alone. “You have the letter, President Stokes.”

  Behind her, Ling quietly asked, “It’s done?”

  President Stokes lifted the letter from his desk. “Legal counsel says he’s off the bench.”

  “Now what?”

  The question came from Ling, but Avery had the same thought. Her cell phone rested in her suit pocket, set to vibrate when the call came through. They should have heard the signal, should be closing in.

  “I have taken the liberty of asking for Homeland Security’s assistance with the matter of your mother, Avery,” President Stokes said. He depressed a button on his desk, and the anteroom door swung open to admit Major Vance. “I believe you know my liaison to the White House.”

  “Ms. Keene.” Vance crossed to where Avery and Ling stood near the center of the room. “I understand your mother is in some distress.”

  What is he doing here? Her pulse began to gallop, and Avery summoned every ounce of theatrics she’d ever learned. Jared and Agent Lee were en route to the warehouse, poised to free her mother and capture Major Vance and his henchmen in the act. But the first domino stood in the Oval Office. “Major Vance,” she greeted him stiffly. “Domestic kidnappings are the province of the FBI. Why would Ho
meland Security be involved?”

  “Major Vance has special military training,” the president explained firmly. “More importantly, DHS has broad authority to act in certain matters, and with an alacrity the FBI lacks. He can get your mother for you. Of that, I’m certain.”

  The irony of the president’s reassurance shook Avery’s composure. “Major Vance has shown little interest in assisting me,” she argued. “I’d prefer to deal with someone else.”

  “Time is of the essence,” Major Vance told her coldly. “If you care to retrieve your mother, you’ll let me handle this.”

  “What about the FBI?” she stubbornly argued. “They have the top hostage negotiators. How will you find her faster than they can?”

  “Tell me what you know, and we’ll have her home to you by dinner.”

  * * *

  —

  Agent Lee drove with deadly speed along the waterfront. In the seat beside him, Agent Leighton radioed instructions to other units: “Establish a six-block perimeter and hold radio silence until my mark.”

  Once she coded off, he resumed his diatribe: “Goddamn it, Jared. I’d expect this kind of stunt from Avery, but you’re a freaking military officer.”

  “Former.”

  Agent Lee whipped around a parked semi unloading freight. He throttled down the speed, but his hands clenched tighter on the wheel. “Baiting a man who is holding her mother hostage? She might be too green to understand the danger, but you’re not! Rita Keene dies, and it’s on all your heads!”

  They’d been in motion for nearly ten minutes, car stereo tuned in to C-SPAN’s satellite coverage of the White House. Agent Lee had been stunned to hear the president’s announcement and Avery’s statement.

  Jared scanned the buildings for the one beeping on his handheld GPS. “Avery has a plan. We’re doing this her way.”

  “Her way? A law clerk orchestrating a search and rescue? What the hell is wrong with you? And you!” he shouted at Noah, catching him in the rearview mirror. “If she’s already traded Justice Wynn’s job for her mother, why in the hell are you still helping her?” he demanded as the SUV approached the address Jared provided.

  “Believe me, she’s thought of that too,” Noah said, placating the FBI man. “She brought you in, Agent Lee, despite having every reason to do this alone.”

  “She’s got no right to operate outside the law.”

  “Which she hasn’t done.” Noah scooted forward, bracing his arms on the back of Agent Leighton’s seat. Haranguing his way into the SUV had taken all his persuasive skills. But with Avery and Ling at the White House, he wasn’t going to sit at home twiddling his thumbs. Avery’s plan had to work—and he’d be along for the ride. He slanted a look at Agent Lee through the rearview mirror. “Justice Wynn knew what she was capable of. Soon, so will the people who kidnapped Rita.”

  Jared gave a brief shake of his head, and Noah subsided. He raised the GPS. “The warehouse is up ahead. We should go in on foot from here. The building is in the second row.”

  Agent Lee started hunting for a place to stop, but he continued his rant. “You two will stay in the car.”

  “No way.” Jared reached behind his back to the piece he’d retrieved from his apartment before they’d gone into hiding. “I’ve got a special military permit, and I’m an excellent shot.”

  “This isn’t a discussion.” Agent Lee jammed the truck into a space and killed the engine. “I don’t take civilians on retrieval operations.”

  “You do if you can’t get the coordinates any other way.” Jared cut power to the unit. “Rita Keene is being held hostage, and her only bargaining chip has just been publicly traded away by her daughter.”

  Cursing, Agent Lee gave a sharp nod. “But the lawyer stays in the vehicle.”

  Noah raised his hands to show no resistance. “Fine with me. Just remember to Mirandize the son of a bitch.”

  The agents and Jared emerged from the SUV and met up with several more agents yards away. “Coordinates.”

  “Building 73179,” Jared answered in a terse whisper. Training, now encoded in his blood, shifted him into position as they moved in silence toward the building.

  The faded green metal-and-wood structure had been marked for demolition, a casualty of the city’s waterfront revitalization plan. Slats high on the walls provided minimal ventilation, and the doors had been welded with no care for covert entry. Agent Lee held up three fingers, sending a team around to the rear. Jared clung like a burr to Lee’s position, determined to go in with the entry team.

  A grimy window offered the lone source of light, and Jared tapped Agent Leighton’s shoulder. She nodded in understanding and shifted so he could boost her up to peer inside. She tapped his shoulder, and he lowered her to the ground. Two fingers came up, then shifted into a mockery of a gun.

  Rita and her kidnapper were inside, a gun at the ready. Jared felt the surge of adrenaline, but the weapon in his hand felt cool and steady. His job was to save Avery’s mom, while she did her best to save his father. He wouldn’t let her down.

  “On my mark,” Lee instructed in a harsh whisper. “Go!”

  The battering ram broke through the door, and FBI agents swarmed inside the shadowed cavern of space. Footsteps pounded concrete, and Phillips spun around, his hand already drawing his weapon. Agent Lee came in low, Jared on his left flank. Orders snapped out like bullets, bouncing off the walls.

  “On the ground! On the ground! Now! Now!”

  Blue jackets emblazoned with yellow filled the warehouse. Surrounded, Phillips still refused to comply. Vance had anticipated almost every result, including discovery, and Phillips had his orders. Moving quickly, he leaped and slid over the console table, landing near Rita’s position. His arm vised around her neck and clamped against her airway. “Come any closer and I’ll kill her!”

  Rita’s blind cry filled the warehouse, and the cavern amplified the sound into a piercing wail. “Shut up,” he demanded as he shoved the barrel to her temple. Death was imminent, he realized, but he had one last task to accomplish. Focusing on the lead agent, he instructed tersely, “Fall back. All of you. Far corner.”

  Agent Lee gave the signal and began to shuffle against the concrete, and his agents followed suit, weapons trained on Phillips’s position. He recognized the firm, wide stance, the grip of the Walther. This man had seen combat in the field. Leveling his tone, he asked, “What’s your name, soldier?”

  “Phillips.”

  “What branch?”

  “Marine Corps.” The information was easily found, Phillips decided. No reason to lie. “Chief warrant officer.”

  “Well, Chief, I’m going to be honest with you. You’ve got no way out of here,” he told him bluntly. “Give us Mrs. Keene and tell us who hired you. Then I’ll talk to the U.S. attorney about leniency.”

  Adrenaline burst like bubbles in Phillips’s veins, but he’d been taught how to channel the rush. How to hold the mission in his sight lines, regardless of distractions. But he also knew how to feint. He barked across the room, “How tight is your perimeter?”

  “What do you mean?”

  The shriek of pain from Rita came as answer, as the gun dug into bruised flesh. “Your perimeter?”

  “Six blocks. We’ve surrounded the waterfront. Unless you plan to swim out to the Potomac and drift down to Virginia, there’s no way you escape. Cooperate, and we’ll work out a deal.”

  Phillips calmed his breathing and hunted his memory for any escape hatch, but there were none. He’d been sent in to guard, and to die if necessary. The finality of his situation barely disturbed him. He’d made it up to chief in the Corps, but his bent had never been toward leadership. He was a soldier, and Vance’s instructions had not included the possibility of capture.

  But the mission was clear. Protect the commander in chief.

  The
Walther in his hand shifted for a split second, but Agent Lee read the signs. In a single whip of motion, Phillips twisted toward the computer setup and pumped ammunition into the casing. Smoke billowed as he swung the weapon in a tight, deadly arc.

  In the time it took for Phillips’s arm to complete its motion, the report from his gun ripped through the building as Lee’s shot buried itself in Phillips’s chest, and a second round collapsed his lung.

  “Hold your fire!” Agent Lee bellowed to the rest of the team.

  Rita felt the grip on her arm loosen and dropped to the concrete like a stone.

  “He’s down! He’s down!” Agent Lee and his team surged forward to secure Phillips and Rita.

  Jared reached her first. Rheumy green eyes lifted to meet his. The resemblance, though pallid and haggard, was still visible. He knelt on the ground and extended his hand. “My name is Jared Wynn. Your daughter, Avery, sent us.”

  Rita squeezed the hands in a grip palsied with aftershocks and withdrawal. “She’s okay? Avery?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She’s fine.” Jared thought of his father, the machines pushing air into lungs that had forgotten how to breathe. “She sent me to look out for you. But I’m just returning a favor.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  “I could bring all of you up on charges.”

  Avery nodded, her arms wrapped around the wiry, vibrating form of her mother. Rita cowered against the lumpy green couch that stretched along Agent Lee’s office wall. She’d refused a trip to the hospital, clinging first to Jared and then to Avery.

  The thin blanket unearthed from an emergency kit carried a musty odor, but Avery was oblivious. Her mother was safe and unharmed, her bloodshot eyes the result of terror and detox rather than an overnight stupor.

  “This was my idea,” Avery told the livid agent, who hadn’t stopped ranting since they’d reached his office. “Jared and the others were only trying to help.”