Sedition (A Political Conspiracy Book 1) (11 page)

It was a large complex that, to one side, sat on the edge of John Marshall Park. The park, named after the former Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, was part of a major redevelopment of Pennsylvania Avenue in the early 1970s.

In front of the building on Constitution was a beautiful marble statue of Major General George C. Meade, the same Meade for whom the Southern Maryland Army base was named. That base, Fort Meade, was home to the NSA.

The power of the statue, however, paled in comparison to the force wielded within the halls of the courthouse. Article III of the US Constitution provided for the establishment of the Supreme Court and all inferior federal courts. It gave them the power to interpret and apply the law.

Unlike federal criminal cases, in which defendants usually went to trial within seventy days of arrest, civil cases could take months or even years to resolve. There was no such promise of a speedy trial in civil disagreements.

Blackmon’s case against Speaker Jackson was to be handled with lightning speed. It was a constitutional question that could not be shelved on some future docket. Unfortunately for the judge who received the case, he’d “won” the random drawing used to assign equal caseloads among the district’s twelve active judges.

Even before the sun peeked over the dome of the Capitol to the east, the judge was at work. He knew his opinion would draw immediate and loud reaction worldwide. While he would not rule until after both Blackmon’s and Jackson’s attorneys made their arguments later in the morning, he needed to be ready with questions for both sides.

It was complicated. Should the Speaker of the House be second in the line of presidential succession ahead of the cabinet officers? On the surface, the answer was yes.

But as the judge looked at previous versions of the Succession Act, and as he read the argument that James Madison made to Pendleton, he understood the argument against the constitutionality of the current Act.

He read with interest the case that Blackmon’s team of constitutional lawyers made for the “irreparable harm” that would come to his client and to the nation should Speaker of the House Jackson be allowed to take the oath of office.

“The question might be asked as to why the plaintiff has not taken the oath of office for the vice presidency,”
the attorneys reasoned in the brief. It was a moot point on two fronts. The line of succession according to Article III, Section 1 of United States Code automatically applied when there was a simultaneous presidential and vice presidential vacancy. Taking the oath subsequent to the president’s death would not place the plaintiff atop the line of succession.

However, the Twenty-Fifth Amendment to the United States Constitution required no such oath. It read
“Whenever there is a vacancy in the office of the Vice President, the President shall nominate a Vice President who shall take office upon confirmation by a majority vote of both Houses of Congress.”

The judge reasoned that, according to Blackmon’s interpretation of the Constitutional amendment, the vice president automatically assumed power once both houses confirmed the nomination. It was, the judge noted, an unorthodox, but potentially effective argument.

It answered the question why Blackmon had not tried to outmaneuver Jackson with a quickie oath. By his own attorneys’ assessments, the oath either didn’t matter or wasn’t necessary. The key was to stop Jackson from becoming president, not speeding up Blackmon’s ascension. The judge thought it was a brilliant strategy.

The response that Jackson’s legal team had filed was straightforward and clean, but uninspired. It relied primarily on the current Act signed in 1947 and on existing US Code. It did not make a constitutional argument, given that no mention of the Speaker of the House was made in the document as it related to succession.

The only two places, constitutionally, that discussed succession were the Twenty-Fifth Amendment and Article II, Section 1. Those both directly named the vice president as successor. Article II, Section 1 did discuss “officers”, but Jackson’s lawyers thought it better to avoid that question until arguing the definition before the judge. It was an outwardly simple case that was in fact incredibly complex.

The judge knew that regardless of how he ruled later in the day, the case was headed a few blocks north and east to the Supreme Court. There was no way around it.

Chapter 17

Professor Thistlewood sensed he was being watched.

When he turned left out of the bar’s front doors, he was certain that the bum sitting a block away had snapped a picture of him. There was no flash, but as Thistlewood glanced over his shoulder and to his right, he caught a glimpse of something shiny hidden underneath the man’s coat.

When he got into the taxi, he was sure that the black sedan three cars back was following him to wherever he was headed. Thistlewood told the cab driver to take him to his office on campus rather than to his apartment. He’d be safer there, he thought. Plus, he had less than four hours until his 7 a.m. lecture.

Once in his office, he sat at his desk, looking pensively out the window, trying to identify the sixth Daturan.

There were seventeen possibilities, including Speaker of the House Felicia Jackson and Secretary of Veterans Affairs John Blackmon. He had no clue as to who their coconspirator might be.

He was relieved to know, however, that their efforts would be rewarded. For quite some time he had been unsure how any action by their small, motley band could be effective on a large scale.

If they had an insider on their team, the game was changed. His heart beat with excitement. Or maybe it was nerves. Either way, Thistlewood felt alive.

He took a deep breath and exhaled, looking to the north end of the quad. Below, he could see the crisscrossing asphalt paths that split the grass along the stretch of green space. His eyes moved from left to right and back, looking for anything unusual. It was empty, except for the occasional custodian. The sun was just coming up, and it was still hard to make out shapes.

Then he saw it. Next to a large oak, something was moving.

His eyes focused and he could tell the shape behind the tree, on a bench, was human. It was someone in dark clothing, trying to hide behind the trunk of the massive tree. The figure moved out from its position two or three times, and the professor thought he caught the reflection of light flickering toward the top of the figure.

Binoculars!

Thistlewood’s heart skipped a beat, and he could feel the blood pumping in his neck. He sank down in his chair and leaned back out of sight of the window.

His breath was quickening and getting shallow as he slid onto the floor. On all fours he crawled over to the door on the right side of the office. From a kneeling position, he reached up with his right arm to flip the light switch. He snagged the top of the switch with his middle finger and pulled down, cutting the light.

Thistlewood let out another deep breath and sat on the floor with his back against the door. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead and on the back of his neck. He rubbed his temples with his hands.

Thistlewood leaned forward onto his knees and crawled over to the window. When he reached the sill, he gripped it lightly with his fingers and pulled himself up. He rose just high enough to see the spot where the figure was hiding. He pulled the tree and bench into focus. Nothing. Thistlewood rubbed his eyes with his left hand and looked again. Still nothing. And then he heard rapping behind him. Someone was at his door. It nearly stopped his heart.

Who was it? Was the figure confronting him? Was he about to be arrested?

Another bang on the door. Three hard knocks.

“Who is it?” Thistlewood was still on the ground next to his window. He felt the sweat roll from his temple to the side of his jaw and rubbed it dry with a shrug of his shoulder.

“It’s George.”

George Edwards? What was he doing here?

“Uh”—Thistlewood struggled to his feet—“okay. Hang on, George. I’m coming.”

The professor stepped to the other side of the room and flipped up the light switch before turning the lock and opening the door. The fluorescents were still flickering when Edwards stepped into the office.

“Are you… sweating?” Edwards looked at Thistlewood with a puzzled expression.

“A little,” Thistlewood admitted. He wiped his forehead with his fingers and extended his arm to guide Edwards to the chair across from his desk. He didn’t want to explain his appearance. “Why are you here so early? The sun’s just coming up.”

“I have something I need to discuss with you.” Edwards crossed his legs and placed both hands flat on the arms of the chair.

“Okay, go ahead,” Thistlewood said, walking around the desk to his chair and taking a seat. “What is it?”

“I think we’re being followed.”

“Why?” Thistlewood shifted in his seat, leaning in toward Edwards.

“I don’t know if you saw it”—Edwards was looking out the window as he talked—“but as we left Cato Street this morning, I think we were being watched.”

“I know,” Thistlewood said, surprising George. “The bum.”

Edwards looked relieved. “You saw that too?” He smiled uncomfortably at the professor. “I thought maybe I was going crazy, you know? Like I’m suddenly getting paranoid.”

“That’s why I’m sitting here in a cold sweat, George.” Thistlewood ran his hand along the back of his neck, feeling the cool dampness of his skin underneath his hair. “I thought I saw somebody out in the quad.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was here in my office with the light on, looking out the window there.” Thistlewood pointed to his left. “I saw a figure sitting on a bench behind that oak tree in the dark.”

The sun had risen enough that the tree was now clearly visible. The grass on the quad appeared dewy. There were small groups of students starting to cross the paths on their way to early classes.

“I think he had binoculars.”

“So what’d you do?” Edwards looked back at Thistlewood, who was now gazing blankly out the window.

“I turned out the light and tried to get a better look at the guy.” It was evident from his voice that the professor was still on edge.

“Did you see him?”

“No.” Thistlewood snapped out of his trance and turned back to Edwards. “He was gone. And then you knocked.”

“So how do we handle this? Should we start avoiding each other? I mean, we have my opening tonight. Should we skip it?”

“I don’t think so,” Thistlewood said, shaking his head. “If we are being followed, we don’t want them to know we suspect it, right? So we should go about doing what we do. But we do need to be more careful about where we talk about things.”

“So you’ll be at the exhibit tonight?”

Thistlewood thought that Edwards sounded like a son looking for dad’s approval. “Of course.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“And afterward?”

“Afterward I pay a visit to my friend’s family business,” Thistlewood said. “When will you get there?”

“That depends,” replied Edwards. “If the casket is ready and available, then it’ll be pretty quick. If it’s not ready, then we may have some problems to work out.”

“Let’s hope it’s ready.”

“Let’s hope,” agreed Edwards.

“I think I should send Sir Spencer a heads-up about being watched, don’t you agree?”

“I don’t know,” Edwards cautioned. “We don’t know who is watching us. What if we’re wrong?”

“
I
think we’re right,” Thistlewood insisted emphatically. “We both suspected the guy outside the bar, I believe I was followed in a car too, and then there’s the man outside with the binoculars. We need to inform the rest of the group. We should be prepared to avoid any surveillance. There’s nothing wrong with a little paranoia.”

“Yeah.” Edwards shrugged. “You’re right. I can text Sir Spencer a coded message to let him know and he—”

“No,” Thistlewood cut him off. “I’ll do it. You worry about the opening tonight and what you need to do afterward. The whole deal hinges on what you do.”

“Okay, you win.”

“I’ve got a class at seven. I’ll see you tonight, okay?” Thistlewood stood from his chair and pulled a thick binder from the desk, tucking it under his arm.

“Sounds good.” Edwards stood as well. “By the way, I love the piece on the wall there.” He pointed to the work directly behind the desk as he walked with Thistlewood out of the office.

“Yeah?” Thistlewood laughed. “I know the artist. I could probably get you a deal.” He patted Edwards on the back, and the two went in opposite directions down the hallway.

Neither of them turned around as they went their separate ways, but Thistlewood was troubled as he walked to class. Something was not right with his friend George Edwards.

Edwards didn’t seem particularly bothered by the idea that someone might be following them. It was as though he’d confessed his suspicions to gauge the professor’s response.

Thistlewood’s suspicions were further tweaked by Edwards’s desire not to share the development with their cohorts. There was no reasonable explanation for that as far as Thistlewood was concerned.

He considered how envy might be clouding his judgment. He knew that Edwards’s burgeoning relationship with the knight was a sore point, and he was self-aware enough to recognize it.

The professor couldn’t control his own puerile coping mechanisms, much like he couldn’t control his pubescent libido. Thistlewood knew he was an emotional man. The same thing that made him a passionate lover of politics and women, of art and wine, also made him unable to dispassionately separate himself from reality and fiction. He walked into his classroom, thinking that he was being unfair to so quickly judge his friend.

In front of him was a classroom full of students ready to learn more about the separation of powers. He needed to refocus. It wouldn’t be easy.

Chapter 18

“Good morning to you, Joe,” said Speaker of the House Felicia Jackson. She was on her fourth live interview. In the previous three, she stayed on message. She was retaking control of the debate.