The Court (15 page)

“Oh?”

“What the hell, that's fair. Nobody gets any special advantage that way. If your man dies.…” Grant paused when he saw Alexander's reaction. “Hey, I'm sorry, Ben, but that is a possibility.”

Alexander nodded. “Sure. I understand. Go on.”

“Well, if death does result, then a replacement will be quickly appointed. That would make the difference, there would be no even splits then. Another possibility the Chief has discussed lately is having a guardian appointed for your man. The guardian could then resign for him. That would create the vacancy.”

“That would be pretty hairy legally.”

Grant grinned. “You bet. If Justice Howell suddenly recovered, there would be all hell to pay. It could even put all the decisions rendered in his absence into question. However, I don't think it's being seriously considered, it's just one of the possible avenues being explored.”

“They say there was shouting at the conference.”

Grant puffed on his pipe and nodded. “It started between the Chief and the dragon lady. She demanded a vote on moving the cases. The Chief refused. That's when they got into a screaming match. Eventually everybody got into it.” Great clouds of smoke issued from the pipe. “But it's only a matter of time now before she gets her way. She's been lobbying the other justices. The Chief thinks she'd sleep with them if she thought it would help.”

“Maybe just the threat would do the trick.”

Grant laughed. “I'll tell the Chief what you said. He'll love it. By tomorrow it'll be all over Washington.”

“I'll pass on getting credit.”

Grant grinned. “Smart. Listen, what I came down to tell you was this. The Chief knows you're a team player, Ben, and he appreciates it. He wanted you to know that whatever happens with Howell, you won't be assigned to the dragon lady. He says that while he can't guarantee it now, he would like to have you on his staff.”

“I'd like that, too. Apparently he doesn't anticipate Justice Howell coming back. What's happening, Floyd? I've heard rumors that his condition has become worse, but I don't want to bother his wife to find out.”

Grant pulled at the pipe. “I'm not at liberty to say, but it doesn't look good. Whatever's going to happen will probably happen in a few days. Anyway, that's what the Chief says.”

“How does he know?”

Grant stood up and knocked the ashes of the pipe into an ashtray. “You know him, he has wires everywhere. I'm not sure what he knows, but I think things will be resolved very shortly. Apparently the dragon lady has heard the same thing and is trying to force action on the cases before a replacement is selected.”

Grant walked to the door. “The Chief wanted you to know you have nothing to worry about.” He paused. “And all this is confidential, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, one way or another, all hell is going to break loose here soon. So keep your head down and stay loose.”

Floyd Grant departed. The pungent aroma of his pipe smoke lingered.

Ben Alexander wondered how anyone could know, with any sort of certainty, exactly what was going to happen to Justice Howell; unless they planned to kill him. He laughed at the thought and resolved to stop reading so many political thrillers.

*   *   *

As he walked back to his motel Jerry Green formulated the basic plan and the tactics he would use to pry behind Dean Pentecost's public mask and obtain a glimpse of the real man. The faculty would be ripe ground. Universities were always hotbeds of gossip and politics. He knew from experience that some would back the Dean, while others would have their long knives out, glistening and sharpened. He could almost predict what they would say. What he wanted most would be observations and opinions from those members of the faculty who were impartial. He would have to do some careful probing to find them; they wouldn't be wearing signs. And he would have to keep a low profile at the same time. There was no need letting the dean know, at this point, that a man from the White House was poking about.

Students' views would also be important, although they would only know the dean from afar. Still, sometimes a student's fresh perception could be the most valid of all. The eyes of youth often had a much clearer view of things.

Green planned to talk to the dean's neighbors, perhaps even store clerks who served the dean on a regular basis. His barber might be an excellent source, they usually were. And if the dean belonged to any clubs, views expressed by the members might be useful. But it would take a very discerning eye to decide what was gossip and what was fact. But he felt he had such an eye.

The long walk in the brisk autumn air had made him pleasantly tired. He seldom walked anymore. He always planned to use his club for exercise, but his good intentions were usually cancelled by pressures of the law practice. So he was never able to follow any regular routine, but he did manage an occasional swim and a rare session on the treadmill.

His legs felt slightly stiff as he entered his room. He hung up his overcoat and suitcoat. The red message light at the side of his telephone was lit. He loosened his tie and collar, dialed 0 and lay back on the bed.

“Yes,” an impersonal female voice inquired.

“This is Mr. Green in 117, do you have a message for me?”

“Just a minute.”

He was put on hold and listened to recorded dance music.

The music clicked off. “Yes, Mr. Green. You were called by a Mr. Amos Deering. He asked that you return his call after seven this evening at this number. Do you have a pen?”

Green sat up reluctantly and found a scrap of paper. “Go ahead.”

“It's a Maryland number,” she said, giving the area code and the telephone numerals. “He said after seven,” she reminded him.

“Thank you.”

He hung up and glanced at his watch. It was just a few minutes after six. He could take a short nap or get some dinner. The walking had made him sleepy but it had also awakened his appetite. He balanced his need to eat against the need for rest. He yawned and lay back.

He was awakened by the insistent ringing of the telephone. The room was dark. He was momentarily disoriented. He snapped on the nightstand light and picked up the telephone.

“Hey, where have you been? I've been sitting here since seven o'clock.” Green recognized Amos Deering's voice. He checked his watch through sleep-blurred eyes. It was after nine o'clock.

“I'm sorry, Amos. I got your message, but I fell asleep. What's up?”

“Sleep? Jesus, you're working for the government now. Have you forgotten? We never sleep. You know, just like the Mounties or who the fuck ever invented that bullshit.” His words were slightly slurred. He sounded as if he had been drinking. “Com'on, Jerry, give me what you got so far, baby. Things are heating up.”

Green forced himself to come fully awake. “Amos, I haven't even been here one full day. About the only thing I've done is look over the law school. It's in the kind of building in which they used to bury kings. I really haven't had much of a chance to do anything else, Amos. If you wanted a miracle, you should have let me know sooner.”

He could hear the ice cubes clink at the other end of the line. “Hey, don't think you're the only one with problems. Shit, they made me shave off my beard. Think about that for a minute. What kind of a bootlicker would let himself be pushed around that way?”

“A rotten, ambitious man with absolutely no scruples or principles.”

Deering's chuckle echoed over the phone. “Say, you really do know me, don't you. But that's your game, isn't it? That's what the President of these United States says himself: Jerry Green can smell them out. He said that himself. But then what does he know?”

“What's going on, Amos?”

“Remember the old days—before our time—the old White House days?”

Jerry Green again lay back on the bed, but he was no longer sleepy. “What do you mean?”

“When everything was tapped? They probably couldn't take a pee without the sparkling sound being recorded on somebody's little tape machine.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

There was a pause. “Listen, Jerry, for both our sakes, use discretion from now on, okay? I'm not sure that those days have returned, but I now talk like I'm on candid camera, get me? Even when I make love to the old lady, I'm damned careful of what I say. No more words, just grunts.”

Green sat up. “You think your phone is tapped?”

“Jerry, I don't know what the hell to think. But discretion is the better part of valor. It pays to be careful, okay?”

Green wondered if it was just the liquor talking. But perhaps it wasn't. “Okay, I understand.”

“Good. You can read between the lines, okay? That matter you've been sent down there on is heating up. The vacancy is expected momentarily. The man is anxious for your report. A lot hangs on this, Jerry. I hate to put you on the spot, but things are moving fast. You talked about a miracle, maybe now is the time to pull one off.”

“I can hurry things, but it'll end up half-assed. Does the man want that?”

“Half-assed is better than nothing. The pressure is building, and I mean it is about to explode. When it blows the man will have to ramrod someone through in a hurry. He's counting on you, Jerry.”

Green slowly shook his head. “Even a half-assed job will take time, Amos. You can pass the word back that I'll bust my balls, but I'll still need some time.”

There was a pause. “Time is what it's all about. Look, sport, I don't want to say anything more over the phone. All I can tell you is that what looked like weeks has now come down to days.”

“How can anybody know that?”

“I can't talk about it. If you can just get something, anything, it will have to do.”

“I took this assignment to do a job, Amos. And I'll do it. I'll put the rush on it, but it will be done properly.”

He could hear ice cubes clink again.

“Okay, sport. I've passed the message. What you do is your business. Good luck.”

Green thought for a moment. He would have to change his entire plan of action.

“Amos, if your people want this done fast, I won't be able to pussyfoot around. I'll have to talk to some people head-on. Do you understand?”

There was another pause. “Frankly, no.”

“I'll have to approach some people directly. I'll have to tell them who I am and what I'm doing.”

“Do you think that's wise?”

Green fumbled around for a cigarette. “No, I don't think it's wise, but if this has to be done fast, and if it truly is a matter of days, then it has to be done out in the open. At least, with some people.”

“So what's your problem?”

“They will want identification and confirmation.”

The ice cubes clinked again at the other end. “Shit.”

“Look, I'll do everything I can to keep this quiet, but if they want confirmation I'll have to have them call you at the White House.”

“Whoa, Jerry, I can't do that. You know how these things can leak. You talk to somebody, then he talks to some newspaper pal of his. As the Press Secretary I have to keep out of these things. How the hell can I deny something if I'm the contact man?”

Green lit the cigarette. The smoke tasted terrible in his dry mouth.

“Pick someone else, one of the other White House lawyers, but someone who is in residence there with the man.” Green expelled the smoke from his nostrils. “But pick someone with brains. All he has to do is confirm that I'm a special counsel to the President and that I'm out here doing what I'm doing. If any problems come up, he can contact me.”

There was no immediate reply. Deering was thinking it over. “Maybe Chris Clovis would be good: young guy, smart. He knows all about this anyway. Would he be okay with you?”

Green tried to recall if he had met anyone named Clovis. He had been introduced to a number of White House people when he was sworn in. But those names and faces were blurred in his memory. “If he's all right with you, then we'll go with him. Fill him in, okay?”

“Jerry, isn't there any other way you could go about this? I mean, if it gets out that the White House is in town asking about the dean they'll know we expect … well … a vacancy. It wouldn't look good.”

“If you want fast action, Amos, that's just a risk you'll have to take.”

“Well you may be right. But be careful as hell, eh? This whole thing could blow up on us.”

“I'll do my best.”

“And don't waste time screwing any old childhood sweethearts, eh? You can do that when the job is all done. Remember what Edmund Burke said about government men and situations like this.”

“What's that?”

“I don't know. You're the smart lawyer, I thought you'd know. Anyway, it was something like ‘get your ass in gear.'”

“I'll get busy, Amos. Don't worry.”

“I'm not. It's just that some of the jerks I work for are having anxiety attacks. Oh yeah, and remember what I said, you know, about being cautious.”

“I understand, and I'll be careful.”

Green hung up the telephone. He was now conscious of hunger. And although he didn't often use alcohol, suddenly he felt the need for a good stiff drink.

*   *   *

It wasn't the usual stark, ill-equipped six-bed infirmary ward found in other institutions. The order was a nursing order. They were trained professionals and their medical facility reflected that fact. Their infirmary resembled a mini-edition of the most advanced hospital, complete with a two-bed critical care unit. Armed with the best and most modern medical machines, they were ready for everything except actual surgical operations. When one of the sisters needed surgery, she was transported to a city hospital. However, within hours of the operation, if feasible, she was returned to the mother house where gentle and expert care awaited, administered with the finest tools offered by medical science.