Capitol Threat

57

“Comfortable, Angel?”

“How could I be comfortable with all these television cameras around? My stomach is churning enough to make butter.”

“It shouldn’t take too long.” Judge Haskins had a front-row seat in the gallery above the Senate chamber. In only a few minutes, the confirmation debate would begin. In compliance with the President’s request, he and his wife were attending, reminding the senators that they had a ready alternative. “There’s no point in a protracted debate. He doesn’t have the support. Keyes will probably push for an immediate vote.”

“I only hope you’re right,” Margaret said. “I don’t like being in the public spotlight.”

“It won’t be for long. How many spouses of Supreme Court judges can you identify?”

“Umm, none.”

“Exactly.” He took his wife’s hand and squeezed it. “Once the confirmation process is over, no one will be interested in you anymore.”

“Well, I think you could’ve phrased that a bit more gallantly.” She grinned. “But I understand what you’re saying.”

He scooted closer to her. “I know you’re uncomfortable with all this. I apologize for dragging you through it.”

“Don’t be daft. What were you going to say? ‘No, Mr. President, I don’t want to be on the Supreme Court. It might upset my wife’s tummy.’ ”

“You’ve put up with quite a lot from me, over the years. Don’t think I don’t know that. I don’t deserve—”

She placed a finger over his lips. “Shhh.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re my hero. My knight in shining armor. You saved my life.”

He shrugged. “That fire was no big deal.”

“I was talking about the day you married me.”

They settled back into their chairs, hands clasped tightly together.

Ben sat at his assigned desk in the Senate, staring at the mass of people surrounding him, wondering how he had ever gotten into this mess, wishing he were at home watching this on C-SPAN. Or not.

The Senate floor was packed. Every desk was filled. All one hundred senators were in attendance, and each seemed to have at least three clerks or assorted other flunkies at their bidding. The gallery was packed with spectators and interested parties. Ben, like everyone else, had noticed that Judge Haskins and his wife were sitting in the first row, front and center. Richard Trevor, the head of the Christian Congregation, was sitting directly behind him, a sure sign that his organization intended to throw its support to Haskins as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Even the lame-duck Vice President was present, making one of his rare appearances in his constitutional role of President of the Senate, just in case he should be needed to cast a tie-breaking vote. Unlikely—all the polls indicated that Roush’s nomination would fail by at least ten votes. The Republicans clearly had the forty-one votes necessary to sustain a filibuster. Ben had to count on Keyes’s promise that the threat would not be exercised, or Roush’s nomination would never come to a vote at all.

Christina was huddled in the back of the room, sitting with Bertram Sexton and Kevin Beauregard and Gina Carraway and her clipboard. Right up to the last minute, she had been analyzing data and trying to root out any potential weakness in the opposition, possible undecideds. She hadn’t found any.

Jones and Loving were also in attendance. If Ben was going to pull this off, it would be because of them.

Thaddeus Roush stepped through the back doors of the gallery. A sudden silence blanketed the room, followed almost immediately by an intense volley of whispers. Roush ignored it. It was ironic, really: this debate was all about him, but he had to sit up in the gallery.

Roush walked to the front row, looked both ways—then took a seat beside Judge Haskins, directly in front of Richard Trevor.

Ben shook his head. He didn’t care what Roush had done in his confused youth. He had guts. This country needed him on the Supreme Court.

Ben watched as Christina folded a note and passed it to a Senate page. More polling data, no doubt. Probably some new survey Gina had transmitted via Instant Messenger.

He took the note from the page and unfolded it.

I LOVE YOU, it said. GO GET ’EM, TIGER.

He had to smile.

The Vice President gaveled the Senate into session. Game on.