William Bernhardt - Capitol Threat

“Whether he likes it or not?”

“I will not accept—will not tolerate—a gay Supreme Court justice. Especially not this one.”

“Do—do you know Judge Roush?”

“I was at the press conference when that poor Christian soul was murdered. So were you, Melody, remember?”

“But you sound as if you really know him.”

“Oh yes. I know him. All too well. Him and all of his kind.” His eyes narrowed. “I will not allow this nomination to be confirmed. And if I have to crush Roush in the process—” He shrugged, then started back toward his office. “The will of God be done.”

14

“Could we get a picture of you with the baby?”

Judge Haskins looked down at the ground modestly and shuffled his feet. “Well…if it’s all right with her mother.”

“Is it all right?” Lynda Paul, the statuesque redhead standing beside the judge, beamed. “I can’t think of anyone with whom Nikki would be safer than her own guardian angel.” The crowd of reporters smiled appreciatively. She passed the baby into Judge Haskins’s arms and the flash bulbs went off like small rapid-fire explosions. “Next week, Nikki is going to be baptized. I’ve asked Judge Haskins to stand in as her godfather.” Her comment was greeted by a warm and enthusiastic response, even before she added, “If the man weren’t hitched, I’d ask him to marry me.”

Everyone laughed, and once again the minicams went into action. Margaret Haskins, her face still showing signs of the bruising she suffered in the fire, stepped beside them. “I might have a few words to say about that, young lady.”

Lynda wrapped an arm around Margaret and hugged her tight. “Why is it the good ones are always already taken?”

Judge Haskins looked seriously flushed. “This is too much fuss over too little. I only did what any other—”

“That’s obviously not true,” Lynda interjected, not even allowing him to finish. “There were over a hundred people trapped in that ballroom. But you were the only one who had the perspicacity to organize a team to get a door open. You saved your wife and my little Nikki.” She addressed the reporters. “I’d passed out. Someone got me outside, but they didn’t know about the baby, and I was far too out of it to tell them.” She looked at Haskins solemnly. “We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, sir.”

“Oh, stuff and nonsense.”

“It’s true. You’re a hero. A bona fide American hero.”

The enthusiastic response from the press suggested that they concurred. They were gathered outside the Denver Children’s Hospital. The occasion was Nikki’s release and first day home after the explosion. Nikki’s mother had asked that the man who saved her baby’s life be present. He’d agreed; since the accident, he and his wife had become quite close to Lynda and her infant.

“Any plans for the future, Judge?”

He shrugged. “I’m just hoping all you people will go home and let me proceed with my work on the Tenth Circuit.”

“What do you think about the President’s nomination for the Supreme Court?”

Haskins’s neck stiffened. He turned slowly, his face emotionless. “I…don’t think it would be appropriate for me to comment.”

“A lot of pundits predicted that you would be the most likely nominee, given the enormous positive publicity following your heroic actions during the Hilton fire.”

“That—hardly proves anyone’s qualifications for the highest court in the land.”

“Maybe not,” another reporter rejoined, “but it suggests that you’d get confirmed in a heartbeat.” Pause. “Unlike the current nominee.”

Haskins shook his head, appearing extremely uncomfortable with the new topic. “I doubt if I’m even on the President’s radar. I’m just a humble federal appeals court justice—”

“So was John Roberts. Before he became the Chief Justice.”

Haskins started to speak again, but Lynda beat him to it. “Speaking for myself, I think he’d make a heck of a good Supreme Court justice. The Court could use someone with his courage. His inherent decency.” She looked at the judge lovingly. “And after you were appointed, you could hire me to be your clerk.”

Another round of laughter followed. Margaret tugged at her husband’s sleeve, as if to indicate that the conference was over. The reporters, however, were not willing to give up so easily.

“Judge Haskins, is it true you’ve been contacted by representatives of the Christian Congregation?”

“Oh, my phone rings off the hook every time you people do another story about me. Really, you need to move on to someone else.”

“The Christian Congregation is one of the largest and most influential lobbies in Washington. Some say they put President Blake in office. Surely if they back you, the President would have to consider nominating you.”

“I have no idea what the President might be thinking. I’ve never even met the man. And I really don’t think it’s appropriate for us to speculate—”

“At least tell us this, Judge, since everyone seems to agree that Thaddeus Roush’s nomination is doomed. If the President wanted to nominate you to the Supreme Court, would you accept?”

Margaret was still tugging at his sleeve, and his reluctance to answer was evident, but he finally managed. “A nomination to the U.S. Supreme Court is the highest honor any judge can receive. Obviously, I would have to give any such compliment serious consideration. But I want to emphasize that I do not seek—”

It was too late. The reporters had their story at the end of the second sentence. The rest was drowned out by footsteps and the background chatter of live remotes.

“Good heavens,” Haskins muttered under his breath as he and his wife headed for their car. “What have I done?”

His wife looked up at him, her eyes beaming with affection. “I’m no lawyer,” she said quietly. “But I think that very soon, you might be getting a call from the White House.”

15

“Alittle more, Senator Keyes?”

Keyes held up his hand as if to refuse, then wavered. “Well, just a smidgen, Johnny. Helps me think.”

He smiled as his top aide poured the smoky liquid into his snifter. Keyes was pretty sure that whiskey did not in fact help anyone think, but it did help him get through the night.

Senator Josiah Keyes, chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee, leaned back, propped his feet on the edge of his long mahogany desk, and addressed his guests: Senator Matera of Wyoming, vice-chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee, and Senator Potter, the fresh-faced kid from Oregon who was the newest member of the committee. For entirely different reasons, Keyes knew these were the two committee members he could count on most for unqualified support.

“This whiskey sipping is all right,” Matera said, a thin smile on her face, “but shouldn’t at least one of us be smoking?”

Keyes chuckled. Potter appeared puzzled.

“Ten years ago,” Keyes said, “I’d have filled the bill with a big Havana stogie. But not anymore.” He patted his ample stomach and swigged some more booze. “Gotta be careful about my health.”

“I don’t understand,” Potter said, working up enough nerve to admit his ignorance. “Why would we want to smoke?”

Keyes tried to prevent himself from appearing too patronizing. “So this would be a smoke-filled room.” He winked at Matera. “Didn’t you learn anything in civics class, son? That’s where all the real deals are made in Washington.”

“Ah.” Potter scratched his chin. “So, are we about to make a deal?”

“Would that we were in a position to make a deal. Probably be more accurate to say…we’re laying plans. Preparing for the future. Like any good generals might do.”