Acts of Mercy

Thirteen

Justice sat in his dark compartment and told himself he ought to go to bed, get some sleep, because it was after midnight now and he would have to be up at six. But he did not move, only continued to look out the window at the black shapes of mountains and cutbanks and tree-covered ridges: the Presidential Special was moving now through the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, somewhere northeast of Stockton. High running clouds obscured the moon and part of the sky, but stars winked here and there like tiny watching eyes.

There’s just nothing I can do, he thought. Mr. Harper shouldn’t have come to me, he shouldn’t have tried to put any of the burden on me. It’s not up to me, I’m just a Secret Service bodyguard, a civil servant with no authority and no influence. What can I do to help the President that I haven’t already done?

He kept on sitting there, watching the eyes in the sky that seemed to be watching him.