Capitol Threat

51

Ben was huffing and puffing by the time he reached the top of the three-tiered marble steps outside the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals building. After convincing the weekend security staff to let him in, he found the elevators inoperative—budget cuts required shutting off some of the interior systems during the weekend. After mounting three more flights of stairs to get to the top floor, he was near exhaustion. By the time he located Judge Roush’s office, he was limping and clutching a stitch in his side.

Perhaps Christina was right. Maybe he did need to get more exercise.

He found Judge Roush in his chambers, a wonderfully ornate room reflecting the Federal architecture of the era in which it was built. Rococo crown molding linked all four painted wood walls to the ceiling. Roush’s desk looked as if it was at least two hundred years old; it had a sliding removable lap panel for writing upon and a secretary’s rack for sorting correspondence. Judge Roush looked as if he belonged in this Old World environment—far more than he ever did in the brighter, more modern Senate building or the Rose Garden of the White House.

“So,” Roush said, barely looking up, “you found me.”

“Yeah,” Ben said, leaning against a high-backed chair and wheezing. “And it took me all day. Next time leave a note.”

“I didn’t want to be found.”

“That much seems clear.” Still gasping a little, Ben slid into the chair. “So what gives?”

Roush leaned back in his desk chair. There was a tranquillity on his face that belied the fact that he was in hiding. “Wonderful office, don’t you think? I still remember the first day I came here. Thought I’d reached the pinnacle of my career, the summit. Beautiful office, nice home in the suburbs, good salary—what else was there? I’d made it to the federal court of appeals. The only position higher would be the Supreme Court—and that was so unlikely it didn’t even bear consideration. I mean, what were the odds? Not even worth thinking about.” He sighed. “I would’ve been better off if it had stayed that way.”

“Don’t say that,” Ben replied. “You were chosen for a reason. I sincerely believe that. And I don’t mean a political reason.”

Roush smiled, but Ben knew it was a smile that meant his words had been mentally brushed aside and ignored. “I’ve been happy here. Always. Love my work. Love my colleagues. Would’ve been perfectly content to spend the rest of my days working in this office.”

“You could,” Ben said, even though he didn’t want to. “It’s not as if you’ve resigned. Withdraw from the Supreme Court confirmation process and just stay.”

He shook his head slowly. “No. Much too late for that. Thomas Wolfe was right—you can’t go home again.” He stared at the green ink blotter on his desk. “Especially not after all the scandal. Wouldn’t be fair to the other judges. I’d be an object of suspicion and mistrust, a blight on the court.” He inhaled deeply. “No. Like it or not, this part of my life is over.”

“Then let’s work together to start a new life. On the Supreme Court.”

Roush pursed his lips. “I know you’ve been to see Ray. I assume he told you.”

Ben chose his words carefully. “He confirmed my suspicion that the woman who was murdered at your home was also the mother who conceived the child that was aborted.”

“Do the police know?”

“I haven’t heard anything. But it’s only a matter of time. Both the press and the Republicans are pouring millions into investigating this new aspect of your past. Frankly, I’m surprised they haven’t already made the connection. But for that matter, I’m surprised they haven’t been able to identify the victim.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Roush said, but he left it hanging, without explanation.

“I did warn you,” Ben said, trying to fill the silence. “I advised you to tell me everything. Better to give me the bad stuff up front and let me prepare for it than to allow me to be blindsided.”

“You feel as if you’ve been blindsided?”

“I feel as if I’ve been sucker-punched by a Mack truck.”

Roush nodded. “I really thought that maybe, just maybe, I could slip by. Especially since the Republicans were in such a hurry. I thought it was possible it wouldn’t come out.”

“I must say,” Ben replied, “that there’s something odd about the way it was never revealed during the committee hearings, but was revealed the instant you got out of committee. It’s as if someone was holding it back, waiting to use it only if it became necessary to derail your confirmation.” Ben waited for some explanation. He got none. “But you were naïve to think there was any chance it wouldn’t come out. And you’re talking to someone who more or less majored in Naïve.”

Roush smiled but said nothing.

“Tell me what happened, Tad. Please.”

He looked up abruptly. “You mean about the murder? I have no idea. You don’t think—”

“No. I mean about your past.”

“It’s all dead and gone. Over with. A long time ago.”

“Evidently not. There must be some reason she came to see you on the day of your press conference.” Another interminable silence. “Tad, please.”

“No. I…can’t. I’ll just withdraw, that’s all. And then it will be over and I can retreat into obscurity and—”

“Listen up, buster,” Ben said, his voice acquiring a new and unaccustomed strength. “Do you have any idea how many people have poured hours and hours of their time, not to mention thousands and thousands of their dollars, into your nomination?”

“I know you’ve worked very hard.”

“Forget about me. There are literally hundreds of us. Hundreds of people who put their necks on the chopping block for you. Do you know how many phone hours Christina has logged, working for you instead of that Wilderness Bill that means so much to her? Or the Poverty bill? What about Senator Hammond, the Democratic leader backing a Republican appointee—how often does that happen? You can’t just crawl away in a fit of self-imposed martyrdom.” Ben’s lips tightened. “You haven’t got the right. You owe them better.”

“Ben,” Roush said, spreading his hands wide, “there’s nothing more I can do.”

“Of course there is. You can tell me what happened. Everything, this time. Every single bit. Then we’ll see where we can go from there.”

Roush sighed, weariness etched in his brow and the creases circling his face. “All right,” he said, finally. “But you aren’t going to like it.”