Veil

31

Friday morning clouds gave way to rain, and the nation’s capitol braced for Judge Fiona Patrick’s confirmation hearing. The citizens of Washington, conditioned to swallow daily doses of political high drama, prepared to dine on the choicest of political meat.

Political appointees on the skewer were nothing new to veterans of Washington warfare, but what made this day, this happening different, was the killer, the Bear. He’d slipped through one of the most intense, widespread dragnets in American history, and like a modern day Jack the Ripper had managed to immerse much of the city in terror, turning them into children, children afraid of a diabolical, mass murdering bogyman.

The area around the Russell Senate Office Building, Constitution Avenue, First Street, Delaware Avenue, and C Street N.E., locked down as tight as a military base, made members of the Senate and their administrators feel constricted. There were roadblocks and an obvious increase in police patrols. More than a quarter of the staffers and passersby, including a small group of imitation reporters were undercover police, Secret Service, and FBI. To the rest of the world it looked like everyday political theater instead of a desperate attempt to keep a Supreme Court nominee alive.

Inside the Russell Office Building, a distinguished mix filed through the Roman-style rotunda, past a milky white marble statue of former Senator Richard B. Russell, Jr. Several lucky lottery winners, excited to claim their coveted seats, pointed and gawked like wide-eyed neophytes, at every small detail of the impressive structure.

The Russell Caucus Room, grand, well ordered and richly detailed, boasted a history of important hearings, including those devoted to the Sinking of the Titanic, Organized Crime, the Vietnam War, Watergate, the Iran Contra Affair, and the Supreme Court Nomination of Clarence Thomas.

The architectural influence and mastery of Ecole des Beaux-Arts of Paris was stunningly evident in the seventy-four by fifty-four foot room; treated with paired Corinthian pilasters standing on a continuous pedestal, supporting a richly detail entablature, including, dentils, modillions, and egg-and-dark moldings. The breathtaking ceiling was decorated with a variety of gilded classical motifs-rosettes, guilloche, and Greek key. Six windows stood like exquisite picture frames on the courtyard wall, and four, three tiered chandeliers, original to the room, seemed to float above the fray like crystal clouds, featuring globes etched with national emblems, including, the U.S. Seal, American Indian, and Liberty Cap.

The broadcast crew and sound technicians put the finishing touches on camera equipment and microphones for a broadcast forecasted to be seen by more than sixty million viewers, a hundred fifty million worldwide. Some would watch to see if Fiona would be confirmed, but most, out of a morbid curiosity, wanted to see if she would live.

The members of the hearing committee took their seats. Fiona and her team filed in behind the tables set up below the tribunal. The room fell silent. A grip dropped a microphone and the speakers exploded against the quiet, causing some to clutch their chests and others to clench their bladders. At the pound of a gavel, silence returned. Fiona folded her hands on the dark oak table and smiled. The committee didn’t smile back.