So Help Me God

by Larry D. Thompson

  ***

  On the following Saturday, Tod spent the day mentally kicking himself. He didn't fight his battles in the media, and he recognized that he was being beaten in the court of public opinion even before the trial began. All day, while cheering his sons on in soccer and basketball games, he tried to come up with ways to focus positive media attention on their side of the case or at least on some of their witnesses. Then luck fell into Dr. Moyo's lap.

  Zeke was working his seven p.m. to seven a.m. shift on Saturday night when a five-year- old Hispanic girl in critical condition was wheeled into the emergency room, trailed by her mother and two police officers. They lived only a few blocks from the hospital in an area known for drug dealing. The girl had been shot in the abdomen in a drive by shooting. The bullet was intended for her older brother. Normally, Dr. Moyo would have called Life Flight to transport her to the medical center, but there was no time. Nor was there time to call a general surgeon. Dr. Moyo had no choice but to take her to the operating room immediately. As an obstetrician and gynecologist, his specialty was not gunshots. Fortunately, he was a surgeon and this was a young female. He was confident that he could handle whatever had to be done. The bullet had passed through the body and had severed an artery as it did so. He ordered blood, telling the lab to forget the thirty-minute procedure to type and cross-match. He had no time. He opened her abdomen and exposed the bleeder about the time that the anesthesiologist advised that the blood was available. With a hemoglobin of 7.2, he ordered the blood to be administered, and prayed for no complications. With deft strokes, he stitched the artery, sewed the entry and exit holes, cleaned and flushed out the interior of the abdomen and closed.

  As he came out of the operating room, a nurse told him that there was a television team outside the hospital, requesting an interview. Although it was something that he would never have considered before watching the president the evening before, he washed his hands, and intentionally leaving on the blood-soaked scrubs with the mask around his neck, he walked out into the television lights.

  "As you know, we are live at the scene at the hospital where a life and death struggle has been underway to save a five-year-old girl. Approaching us is the surgeon who just completed the operation. May I have your name, sir?"

  "I am Dr. Mzito Moyo."

  "Doctor, please tell us the status of the girl."

  "The girl will live. She had a severe wound and lost a massive amount of blood for a child so small. With my operation, she should be fine."

  As the camera focused back on the reporter, it was clear that he was listening to something emitting from his earpiece. "Dr. Moyo, my station advises that you may be the same Dr. Moyo who will be involved in the abortion trial in just a few weeks. If I can ask, why are you working in an emergency room?"

  "First, let me clarify," responded Dr. Moyo, "I am the same Dr. Moyo. However, it is not an abortion trial. Instead, it is a trial to clear my good name. As to why I am working in the emergency room, I am pleased to be here saving lives. However, your audience should know that I expect to be accepted on the faculty of Baylor College of Medicine in the very near future and I will be teaching obstetrics and gynecology very soon."

  Signaling with a wave of his hand that the interview was over, Zeke turned and walked back into the hospital.

  As the story was followed the next day, an announcement added that Dr. Moyo was one of two candidates out of an original list of forty-five who were being considered for the position at Baylor.

  ***

  It was the next week when Judge O'Reilly decided to release T. J. As much as she hated to admit it, she was feeling the heat. Not only was the president summoning him to the White House, but her staff was having to field daily calls from media throughout the country, inquiring as to how much longer The Chosen would be in jail. Once again she summoned the lawyers. She also advised the jail staff to get T. J. out of his prison garb and over to her court the next morning at nine o'clock.

  T. J. left the jail accompanied by three deputies. As they stepped onto the street, he was dressed in his white linen suit, off-white shirt, and white tie. The sunglasses protected his eyes from the bright morning sun. Although pale, he appeared otherwise none the worse for his stay in jail. The media and cameras immediately surrounded him and the deputies. Microphones were thrust in front of T. J. who only smiled and said "no comment" to each question.

  As T. J. arrived at the courthouse, Johnny Bob and Claudia met him at the entrance. The cameras rolled as Johnny Bob shook T. J.'s hand and Claudia gave him a big hug. Then, Johnny Bob waved the media and microphones out of their way as they entered the building. Judge O'Reilly, Tod, Jan and Wayne were already in the courtroom when they arrived.

  As they approached the counsel table, the judge spoke, "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Please be seated. Reverend Luther, I am sure you know why you are here. You were jailed originally because you violated my direct orders and refused to answer questions pertaining to matters relevant to this case. I have been advised that you are prepared to answer any and all questions, subject, of course, to objections from your lawyers. Is that correct?"

  "Yes, ma'am. That is correct," replied T. J., rising from his chair. "Further, Your Honor, I wish to offer my most sincere apologies to you and this court. I now recognize that I was completely wrong and expect to abide by all of your rulings."

  "Very well then. You are free to go. Let me remind you, however, that you are under the same rules regarding talking about this case as are the other parties and attorneys. And I have one additional request for you personally. I clearly do not intend to interfere with your religious freedom, and for that reason this is a request only, not an order of this court. My request is that you refrain from preaching on television until this trial is concluded. I know that you have a national audience, and even though you do not mention this trial, just your presence on television in Houston could have an impact on our prospective jurors."

  Fortunately, Judge O'Reilly could not see the eyes behind the sunglasses as they narrowed and glared at her like two lasers trying to pierce a metal barrier. But she could see the facial expression harden and his lips narrow as T. J. spoke. "Judge O'Reilly, I am willing to follow your orders regarding this trial. When it comes to preaching the Word, my orders come from a much higher authority. I will give careful and prayerful consideration to your request. However, I must advise that since it is only a request, I cannot agree to be bound by it. If that means that I must go back to jail, then I am ready to go."

  T J. and the remainder of the lawyers and spectators had no problem seeing Judge O'Reilly's eyes behind her glasses. They also narrowed. She expected her requests to be treated like orders. She had underestimated T. J., and now she was boxed in. Reporters were in the courtroom. To change it to an order would put her back in the position of being accused of religious persecution. She had no choice but to let T. J. go. "Very well, Reverend Luther. Let me encourage you to have a long, hard talk with your higher authority. If you choose not to honor my request, I will not hold you in contempt. I guarantee you, though, it will not sit well with me. Do I make myself clear?"

  Knowing that he had won a round with the judge, T. J. relaxed and replied, "Yes, Your Honor. You have."

  CHAPTER 55

  Johnny Bob and Claudia showed T. J. around his loft. Like the others it had fourteen-foot ceilings, hardwood floors and brick walls, long hidden behind layers of plaster before renovation. His phones were connected to theirs and he had a computer that also accessed all of the case files. Like theirs, the furniture was rented, but it came from a service that provided accommodations for visiting executives and was of a quality that even Aunt Jessie would appreciate.

  As they sat in the living area, T. J. smiled, "Sure beats solitary, and it's even a little nicer than the deputy lounge."

  "Okay, T. J., Claudia and I have about two months worth of work to do in three weeks. We're going to need a couple of days of your time. It can wait for at l
east a week. What are your plans?"

  "My plans should fit right into your schedule. I have a limo picking me up any time now to take me out to Hobby Airport where The City's Lear jet will be waiting."

  "Just a minute, T. J. You mean to tell me you have a Lear jet?" Johnny Bob interrupted with astonishment.

  "Only a small one. It seats six comfortably and eight in a pinch. It's good to have something like that available when one gets a call from the president. In any case, I'm flying to Fort Worth for a meeting with The City's Board. They want an update on the trial, and I need to review what's been going on there while I've been away. Then, I fly to Washington to meet with President Foster on Monday. After visiting with a few of the pro-life congressmen, I ought to be back here about the middle of the following week. Say about a week from now."

  "That'll work. Claudia and I and the rest of the team will be here getting ready for the big show. One last warning, when a judge makes a request, treat it like an order."

  T. J. frowned. "I understood Judge O'Reilly's request this morning, Johnny Bob. As I told her, the decision is not mine."

  T. J. left the loft. Johnny Bob and Claudia watched out the window as the limo driver opened the door to his car and T. J. climbed into the back seat. As they drove away, Claudia asked, "So, what do you think our favorite client is going to do?"

  "Damned if I know, Claudia. Wish I had a phone that would connect to that higher authority. Too bad there seems to be only one line in service, and it's already reserved."

  CHAPTER 56

  T.J.'s meeting with the president went well. Hell, as far as he was concerned, any meeting with the president at the White House could only go well, no matter what the outcome. He bought a new double-breasted white suit, a hundred-dollar linen shirt, a two hundred-dollar tie, some specially made patent leather white shoes and wore a lapel pin that was the image of a twelve-week-old fetus. Only his sunglasses were not new.

  T. J. was chauffeured from his Washington hotel in the longest white limousine he could find. Four District policemen escorted him, two in front and two in back. The policemen were his idea and paid by him, not the White House. As they approached, he was stopped only momentarily to establish that he was the lone occupant of the vehicle before the gates swung open and T. J. was driven to the front of the White House. The Marines stood at attention. Cameras flashed and videos rolled as he exited the limo and waved to the reporters. President Foster greeted T. J. at the entrance. The president asked him to face the media as they shook hands. Certainly, the president didn't want to lose the opportunity for a few pro-life votes for the Democratic Party. Being shown shaking hands with The Chosen on the six o'clock news could only help. Besides, he had gone through the same scenario with the president of NOW only five minutes before.

  President Foster, The Chosen and the leader of the National Organization of Women emerged from the Oval Office two hours later. In reality, they had accomplished nothing. There was no middle ground. While there were some anti-abortion advocates who would agree that an abortion to save the life of the mother was acceptable, T. J. did not represent that faction. On the other side, the current leader of NOW would not permit any government intrusion into a woman's right to choose.

  The president held a short news conference, flanked on either side by the two adversaries, and smiled as he said how pleased he was with the dialogue. While they had a ways to go, they had made substantial progress for an initial meeting. When asked when the next meeting could be expected, he avoided the issue by pointing out that he was going to be out of the country for the next several weeks and his staff would have to coordinate schedules. Actually, he expected no further meetings. Even with his charisma and powers of persuasion, he knew when to throw in the towel. Let the other two branches of government wrestle with this issue. He would be out of the White House in only a matter of months, anyway.

  There was a presidential debate that evening, the third in a series. The race was too close to call. One national poll gave Peter Vandenberg, the Republican candidate, a margin of four points. Another poll gave Herbert Wells, the Democratic candidate and the current senator from South Dakota, a margin of five. Both polls concluded that with the margin for error, it was a dead heat. It would have been like putting two strands of hair under a microscope to find any real difference between the candidates. One of the few issues that separated the two candidates was abortion, and many believed it could turn out to be the issue that decided the presidential election. Like most Democrats, it was easy for Senator Wells. His constituency-women, liberals, blacks and homosexuals-were strongly on the pro-choice side. The one exception was the Hispanic vote. Predominantly Catholic, if asked, most would say they were pro-life. In prior elections, other than Cuban-Americans in Florida, they would have ignored the abortion issue and voted a straight Democratic ticket.

  Now there were changes in the wind. Vandenberg was the governor of a state that bordered on Mexico, and he had successfully reached out to the Hispanic population in his state. His stance was carefully crafted so that he stood with one foot balanced precariously on the fence, reluctantly agreeing to an abortion if necessary to preserve the life or well being of the mother. His generally anti-abortion stance had the potential to attract enough Hispanic voters to carry the election.

  The candidates agreed on the debate format. Questions from three reporters. Taking turns, each candidate would have two minutes to respond to the question with the first responder having a one-minute rebuttal. They were forty minutes into the debate when the CNN reporter raised the question. "I think that the country needs to know each of your positions on the abortion question. Would you introduce a bill to outlaw partial-birth abortions as a matter of federal law, and would you go so far as to extend it to a complete banning of abortions of any kind? As a corollary to the question, with an aging Supreme Court, would you insist on nominating justices who hold a specific view about abortions?"

  Governor Vandenberg went first. "I consider partial-birth abortions an outrage and would support any statute that does away with them. The problem is whether such a statute can withstand a constitutional challenge. As to Supreme Court Justices, I am a conservative, and as such, I do not believe in any litmus test for a Supreme Court nominee. I will seek judicial conservatives with philosophies that are like mine. At the same time, I would never nominate them based on their position on one issue; nor would I even permit such a question to be asked. I'm sure the country will agree that position is consistent with conservative principles."

  Governor Vandenberg stayed on the fence, balanced carefully on his right foot. Fortunately, the top rail of the fence was wide, with ample room for balancing on one foot with the other one hanging in the air on the pro-life side.

  Next, came Senator Wells. "Unlike my Republican opponent, I have never straddled the fence on this issue. Abortion is a question to be resolved between a woman and her physician. Under the fourteenth and other amendments, if the government were to intervene in that decision, it would violate our Constitution. As to the so called 'partial-birth' decision, if a woman has a right to choose, we cannot start down that slippery slope, trying to draw lines between fifteen weeks and twenty weeks; between twenty-nine weeks and thirty weeks. It is the woman's body and, again, I say it is a decision to be made by the woman and her physician. Regarding judicial candidates, I would not ask any candidate to pre-judge a matter that is not before him. However, I can assure America that I will nominate candidates who will think as I do. Last, please note that the pro-choice forces have invited me to join them on the first day of the Brady trial in Houston and I have gladly accepted."

  CHAPTER 57

  On a moonless night, a white four door sedan turned off the highway that wound through the small town near the Louisiana border in deep East Texas. Carefully observing the posted speed limit, the driver went several blocks before turning on a street lined with big Victorian houses and giant oaks. Seeing one with a porch light on, the driver glanced at a
piece of paper to confirm it was the right address before he pulled into a gravel drive behind an old pickup truck.

  The driver turned off the engine and turned to face the woman in the passenger seat. She was noticeably upset and he raised his voice in anger as he motioned her out of the car. Finally, he opened the driver's door, walked around the car, threw open the passenger door and dragged the crying woman out. As he pointed to the lighted porch, she slumped her shoulders, wiped her eyes with her shirt sleeves and walked up the stairs. Timidly, she knocked on the door and it opened as the driver got back in the car and shut his door.

  As soon as the woman was in the house, the driver reached over to the glove box and extracted a flask nearly full of bourbon. Screwing off the lid, he put it to his lips and tilted his head as he let at least a third of the whiskey trickle down his throat. Returning the flask to its place, he spent the next thirty minutes punching up radio stations that broadcast from cities as far away as Chicago.

  Finally, the front door opened and the woman exited, slowly walked down the steps and climbed into the front seat. Before she could even get her seat belt on, the driver was backing out of the driveway, but not before the driver noticed an old man with a white beard who followed the woman out onto the porch. He was wiping his hands with a towel and as the car started down the street, he too went down the stairs, squinting to see the license plate on the white sedan. Then he went back into his house and promptly wrote the license on the margin of a piece of paper on his desk.