Leapholes (2006) (13 page)

The pounding of his heart was real. The fear that cut to his core was real.

"Hezekiah, stop this right now!"

"I can't stop it!" said Hezekiah.

The lucky survivors ducked out of the way as the crew carried Ryan above a row of passengers. They were just a few steps away from the side of the lifeboat.

"Hezekiah!" he shouted, kicking desperately as each word left his lips: "DON'T . . . LET . . . THIS . . . HAPPEN!"

"Find the leaphole, Ryan. Just find the leaphole!"

Ryan tried to understand what Hezekiah was saying, but he had no idea what he meant. Find the leaphole? What leaphole? Hezekiah had the leapholes in his jar back in his office.

The crewmen raised Ryan up over their heads. Ryan gave one last effort to wrest himself free, but it was pointless. On the count of three, the sailors hurled Ryan over the side.

Ryan was suddenly airborne, caught in the cold north wind. For a moment, he felt as if he were a bird soaring above the ocean. But the sensation of flying soon gave way to the terrifying feeling of falling.

"Hezekiah!" he called out.

The old lawyer grabbed a ring-shaped life preserver from the back of the boat. It was identical to the one Ryan had spotted on board ship. It was white with black letters that spelled out the ship's name, The William Brown.

A sailor tried to snatch the life preserver away from him. "That's for the winners, not the losers."

"Nonsense," said Hezekiah. He broke free and heaved the life preserver overboard. It soared through the air like a Frisbee and splashed into the crest of a powerful wave. It came to rest on the surface--exactly where Ryan was about to land.

All of this happened in a matter of seconds, but for Ryan it seemed that the world had switched to slow motion. The life preserver sailing through the air. The white ring coming to rest below him. And Hezekiah's words ringing in his ears: Find the leaphole, Ryan!

Suddenly, the life preserver didn't look like a life preserver anymore. Instead of bobbing in the water, it began to turn clockwise. The turning became faster. Soon, it was a swirl--a swirl so large and so swift that the water around it began to turn as well. In the blink of an eye, the swirl was a tight whirlpool.

Ryan tried to change his course and avoid the whirlpool. But it was as if some force had grabbed him in mid air and was pulling him into a hole. He landed feet first. A powerful suction immediately took hold of his entire body, pulling down, down, down, into deep cold water.

Ryan didn't feel cold. Or wet. He knew he was underwater, or at least he knew that he was supposed to be underwater. Around him there was only darkness, but there was a light above. It was like staring up at the night sky through a telescope.

The next thing he saw was a pair of canvas basketball shoes plunging through the hole. It startled him at first. Then he recalled his first few moments in Hezekiah's office, when he had been surprised to see the old man dressed in a business suit and wearing basketball shoes. The same shoes were coming toward Ryan now. Hezekiah came right along with them.

Ryan couldn't speak. Everything around him was a blur. The feeling was exactly like the sensation he'd felt when he and Hezekiah had traveled from his office to the race track, to Wrigley Field, and to that bus in Alabama. Hezekiah was with him. They were speeding through a strange tube of some sort.

They were headed straight down another leaphole.

Chapter
15

When Ryan and Hezekiah finally landed on their feet, they were standing in a long hallway with soaring, cathedral-style ceilings. Tall columns o
f f
luted granite supported sweeping stone arches. The floors were polished marble, and the gloss was so high that Ryan could almost see his own reflection.

Ryan removed his VLE helmet. His clothes were soaking wet. "Where are we?" he asked.

Hezekiah took him by the arm. "Come with me. There's not a minute to spare."

They walked quickly down the impressive corridor to a set of double brass doors. The sign on the door read,

SOCIETY
MEMBERS ONLY.

"What society?" said Ryan.

"Never mind that," said Hezekiah. "You're not a member. Quiet now. I could get in big trouble for bringing you here." Hezekiah pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the doors. The heavy door opened slowly. Hezekiah pushed Ryan inside. He took him straight to a locker with an old oak door that bore the name HEZEKIAH. The old man opened it and removed a black robe. It reminded Ryan of a graduation gown.

"Put this on," he told Ryan.

"Why?"

"Just do as I say. We're going to be late!"

"Late for what?"

"There's no time to explain. Just put on the robe."

Ryan removed his wet clothing and pulled the robe over his head. It was a heavy garment made of very fine cloth. Hezekiah helped him with the clasps in back. Then the old lawyer pulled another black robe out of the closet for himself.

"How do I look?" said Ryan.

"No sillier than I, I'm sure."

They shared a quick smile, and then Hezekiah turned serious. "We must go now. Follow me. And hurry."

Hezekiah led the way. They exited through the same set of double brass doors. At the long hallway, however, they headed in a different direction. Ryan almost had to run to keep up with Hezekiah. Finally, they stopped at another set of brass doors at the other end of the hallway. These doors were even bigger and more impressive than the other set.

"What is this place?" asked Ryan.

"The Court of Justice."

"Why are we here?"

"For you, of course."

"Me?"

"Yes. Your trial is about to begin."

Ryan gasped. "My trial! But--"

Before he could finish, Hezekiah pulled him aside, shushing him. "You're ready, Ryan. Trust me. Trust me more than your father and mother did."

Ryan scrunched his face, confused. "What are you talkin
g a
bout?"

"I've been waiting for the right moment to tell you this, but I don't think the right time will ever come. So here goes. I wasn't exactly appointed out of the blue to be your lawyer."

"What was it--magic?" he said, smirking.

"I have good sources at the Court of International Justice. When I heard you were in trouble with the law, I immediately volunteered to represent you."

"Why?"

"I was your father's lawyer."

Ryan's mouth opened, but the words were slow to come. "No you weren't. I saw his lawyer in the courthouse."

"That was his new lawyer. Your parents hired me first, but they fired me after a couple of weeks."

"They fired you? Why?"

"Your mother thought I was too old. Your father thought I was too crazy, basketball shoes and all that. So they dismissed me."

"So, you were willing to defend my dad? I guess you aren't one of those lawyers who loses sleep over defending the guilty, huh?"

"You think your father was guilty, Ryan?"

"Well, DUH! I was in the courtroom when he pleaded guilty."

"That doesn't mean he was guilty. It's just like someone who enters a plea of 'not guilty.' That doesn't mean they're innocent."

"What does it mean?"

"Courtrooms are as much about proof as they are about truth, Ryan. When people stand up in court and say, 'I'm not guilty,' sometimes what they're really saying is that the prosecutor just doesn't have enough evidence to prove them guilty. Do you understand?"

"I think so. It's like the time I was in a crowded elevator with my friend Sweaty Colletti. Sweaty let out a real silent bu
t d
eadly one. Everyone was looking around, trying to figure out who was the silent stink bomber. When I told Sweaty I knew it was him, he didn't deny it. He just laughed and said Trove it.'"

"Crude," said Hezkiah, wincing, "but you appear to have grasped the concept. A plea of not guilty is like saying Trove it.'"

"But a man who pleads guilty, like my father, is a totally different situation. What could he possibly be saying other than 'I admit it: I did it.'"

"Usually he is saying, 'Yes, I did it.' But maybe once in a while there are other things involved."

"Like what?"

"I can't talk about that, Ryan. Even though your father fired me, I was still his lawyer for a period of time. Everything a lawyer and his client talk about is completely confidential. I can't discuss it with anyone. Not even you."

"But you're the one who started this. You can't just open this box and then slam it shut. Are you saying my father pleaded guilty to something he didn't do?"

The old man considered it, but he was clearly struggling. "I can tell you this much, Ryan. Had I remained his attorney, I would have advised him to plead not guilty."

"Is that because he was innocent? Or because you thought the prosecutor just didn't have enough evidence to prove that he was guilty?"

"Like I said, Ryan. That's all I can tell you."

They locked eyes, but it was clear to Ryan that Hezekiah would never say another word about it.

"Enough about your father," said Hezekiah. "Let's deal with your case now. Are you ready, my boy?"

"Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."

"Great. Let's go."

Chapter
16

Hezekiah opened the door and guided his client inside. Ryan was immediately in awe of the most amazing courtroom he'd ever seen. The ceilings were at least twenty-five-feet high, and they were coffered with elaborately carved woodwork. There was a row of floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the courtroom. Beyond several rows of public seating was the judge's bench. It was as big as a house, made of dark mahogany. The judge was presiding over the courtroom in his high-back leather chair. His black robe was similar to the ones Ryan and Hezekiah were wearing, except that he had some kind of embroidery around the collar, which seemed to identify him as a judge. He looked even older than Hezekiah, probably because of the wig. It was powder white, with row after row of tight curls that hung down to his shoulders. It reminded Ryan of the old horsehair wigs that men wore in Early-American history books.

The judge was scowling, which Ryan did not take as a good sign.

"You're late, Hezekiah," the judge said in a gravely old voice.

"My apologies, Your Honor. My client and I were . .." He seemed at a loss for the proper explanation.

"Stuck in traffic?" the judge suggested.

"Yes," said Hezekiah. "You might say that."

"Come forward, and make quick of it. As you can see, we are quite ready to proceed."

"Yes, Your Honor."

Hezekiah nudged Ryan forward. Side-by-side, they walked up the center aisle. They were headed toward what lawyers called "the well" of the courtroom, which was the open area directly in front of the judge's bench. Ryan remembered that from the time his father was arrested. His mother had told him that it was sometimes helpful to think of the courtroom as a stage where the lawyers and witnesses performed. The judge was like a director who made sure that everything went smoothly and fairly. The audience, of course, was the jury, which was positioned off to one side. The analogy wasn't perfect, however. In showbiz, they always said that "The show must go on." In the case of Ryan's father, there was never any "show." He had pleaded guilty to the crime and was sentenced to jail without a trial. From that day forward, he somehow expected Ryan to believe that he was innocent.

Makes no sense, thought Ryan. Not even after what Hezekiah had just told him in the hallway.

The bang of the judge's gavel startled Ryan. This was no time to think about his father. He had his own trial to worry about.

Ryan took a seat at the table beside his lawyer. They were on the right side of "the well," an area commonly reserved for the defendant and his lawyer. To their left was another mahogany table, and the prosecuting attorney was seated behind it. She was easily young enough to be Hezekiah's granddaughter. She showed little expression as Ryan and Hezekiah settled into their chairs. Ryan tried to avoid looking at her. It was traditional that the prosecutor sat near the jury, and this courtroom was no exception. Just on the other side of the prosecutor, to the far left of the well, was the jury box. Twelve people had been selected to sit in judgment of Ryan. Ryan counted seven women and five men. They watched impassively as Ryan and Hezekiah gave them a casual onceover.

The judge peered out over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles and said, "Good morning, everyone."

"Good morning," the lawyers replied. Ryan and the jurors were silent.

The judge said, "We are here today on the criminal case against one Ryan Coolidge. Mr. Coolidge, before we begin, allow me to read the charges against you, which are serious indeed. You are charged with four separate counts of manslaughter. It is alleged that six human beings were exposed to the deadly BODS virus. There was enough vaccine to save only five. Those six persons, yourself included, agreed to cast lots to determine which five would receive the vaccine. The lots were cast. Then you refused to abide by the agreement and insisted that it be shared among all six."