Skyhook (48 page)

“Very well, ladies and gentlemen, I am prepared to rule,” Judge Walton said suddenly, halting the monologue in Gracie’s head.

“I find the plaintiff’s arguments insufficient to sustain the maintenance of the various temporary restraining orders. Those orders are dissolved, and the petition for injunctions in all three combined matters is denied. These cases are dismissed.”

The gavel came down as Gracie forced herself to her feet.

“Your Honor, we serve notice of intent to immediately appeal your rulings of dismissal.”

“So noted,” the judge said, gathering her papers and evaporating from the bench through the door to her chambers.

Once again April was at her side, but Gracie motioned her back and walked over to the lead government lawyer instead.

“You gentlemen realize this is merely the opening round?” Gracie said with a cautious smile.

The senior lawyer nodded. “We fully expect we’ll see you again at some point, Miss O’Brien.”

“All this is unnecessary, you know,” she added.

He looked at her in silence for a few seconds, aware the other four on his team had quieted and were listening discreetly. The man was in his late forties and clearly a veteran.

“Precisely what do you mean?” he asked.

“What I mean is that a terrible miscarriage of justice is at the heart of this. All we want is Captain Rosen’s license and reputation restored immediately. We’re not interested in damages, or exposing whatever in the world is going on up there in Alaska, unless this drags on. But I assure you it will drag on, and we’ll end up shining the light of discovery into every nook and cranny of the United States government and the United States military until we ferret it out, or until that license is restored.”

“Miss O’Brien, if that statement is intended to somehow pressure us to broker a settlement of an FAA enforcement action, you’re talk

ing to the wrong guys. You should be filing the appropriate action for review of the license revocation with the FAA. It means nothing to the government whether you sue or don’t sue. In fact, this has been an unnecessary waste of time, though it may have been exciting for you.”

“What?”

He laughed. “I know it’s always kind of invigorating, especially to folks who don’t understand the Beltway. I realize that for a young lawyer, running to Washington to argue in the federal courts and sue the United States of America in any form is heady stuff, but it’s seldom effective.”

Gracie felt herself flushing with anger as her hands migrated to her hips unconsciously. “You think that’s what this is all about?

Dilettante law?”

“Well… these were bordering on frivolous actions, you know.”

“In a word, sir, bullshit! Perhaps you didn’t read the factual preamble. Instead of some silly little girl lawyer running in here to play with the big boys for the fun of it, I’ve got a devastated senior airline captain back in Washington state as a client who cannot understand why his government has decided to try to professionally assassinate him without evidence, without cause, and without due process.”

The lead attorney glanced at his fellows and turned back to Gracie. “Look, I don’t know why you took that to be a sexist remark, but I certainly didn’t mean it that way.”

“The hell you didn’t. And even if I bought your veiled apology, you certainly meant to play the arrogant senior lawyer’ card, though it’s not having any beneficial effect on your job of protecting whatever conspiracy is in progress up there.”

“Up where?”

“Alaska. Keep your phone lines open, Counselor,” Gracie snapped.

“I’ll be back this afternoon with a new hearing notice, this time for an emergency appeal.”

One of the other men snickered and the lead attorney shot his junior member a cautionary glance before turning back to Gracie.

“Miss O’Brien, please don’t get your hopes up that any appellate judge is going to dignify this case with a quick appeal. That’s not the way it works here.”

Gracie scribbled a note and handed it to him.

“What’s this?” the government lawyer asked.

“My cell phone number. When you finally realize the coverup’s about to be exposed and want to end this in time, call me.” She turned and motioned to April, who’d been listening at a distance, and they headed for the door, pushing through to the foyer and onto the street as fast as possible. Gracie pointed to a Starbucks in the next block and April nodded, following her inside and paying for the two lattes Gracie ordered. They settled into a pair of rickety wire chairs in the corner.

“You look really angry,” April began.

“Read that as determined to kick their superior asses,” Gracie replied, immediately softening her voice with a raised hand. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“Hey, snap away. I knew I was a surrogate just then.”

“You know what’s tough, April? I knew I could expect a superior attitude from anyone who showed up for the government. I knew it, and yet I still let it get to me.”

April sipped her latte and said nothing, waiting out the progress of Gracie’s thoughts as she gestured to the nearby courthouse.

“I really did expect we’d get thrown out today, you know.”

“So, now what do we do?”

Gracie leaned over to open her briefcase and pull out a sheaf of legal papers in a folder that she laid before April.

“Be careful not to get any stains on these.”

“What are they?”

“The appeal papers from the order of dismissal. I decided I’d better get them prepared last night.”

“You mean you worked all night, right?”

“Yes. Had to. I didn’t figure out the reality that we were going to

get dismissed until maybe two a.m. Now I just have to find a sympathe ic appeals judge on the Court of Appeals for D.C.

Someone who’ll hear this case immediately.”

“Is that easy?”

“No. I’ll have to beg and plead and hope, and I may not even get past the clerks.”

“Are federal appeals court judges men?”

“Not all of them. But most are.”

“How about if you wore a thong bikini and giggled a lot?”

“Yeah, right. That would enhance my image as a serious lawyer.”

“Okay, I’ll wear the thong and go with you.”

“What? As a bribe?”

“It could work.”

Gracie chuckled. “That’s one hell of an image, Rosencrantz. Agree to hear our appeal, your honor, or April will put on some clothes.”

“It’s good to hear you laugh,” April said. “That hasn’t happened much in the last two days.”

Gracie didn’t answer, checking her watch instead. “I’ve got to call the captain, then hit the bricks. There’s only one court to go to, and I need to get over there.”

“What can I do to help?”

Gracie smiled and shook her head. “Just pray a little. This is a solo act. The silly little West Coast baby lawyer against the real world full of serious, experienced men ready to pat me on the head and tell me I’m in a dream world if I think I can succeed. But you know what?”

“What?”

“I can. Sometimes the good guys do win.”

April gave her a quick hug and remained at the little table as Gracie shot out the front door and disappeared around the corner in search of a taxi. April pulled out her cell phone and dialed her family’s number in Sequim, puzzled to hear the voice mail message. She dialed the two cell phone numbers, but there was no answer on either one.

She sat in thought for a few seconds, then checked her PDA for a neighbor’s phone number and dialed it.

“I don’t know, dear,” the woman replied. “I think I saw them leaving a few hours ago, but I’m not sure.”

April folded the cell phone, feeling off balance. There were a hundred innocent explanations for Arlie and Rachel to be out of contact, including the one they had embarrassed her with too many times regarding the sanctity of their bedroom and the theory that unmuted telephones were effective contraceptives.

But for the first time in years, the thought brought no smile to her face. The strong feeling that something was very wrong persisted.

She got to her feet and headed for the door, almost missing the buzz of the phone’s vibrator and fumbling to open the device.

“Hello?”

“April? Jenny White, your parents’ neighbor?”

“Yes, Mrs. White.”

“I decided to come over here and have a look. April, I didn’t go in, but looking through the windows, the house is empty, your father’s car is gone, and … oh dear.”

“What?”

“You know how neat your mom keeps things? April, it almost looks like someone has ransacked the house. I think I’d better call the sheriff.”

eneral MacAdams? Laura Busby here at FAA.”

“Madam Administrator. How are you?”

“Reasonably responsive to external stimuli, as I like to say.”

“That’s the best comeback I’ve heard to that question.”

“We try to amuse. I’m calling about your mission to see me yesterday.”

“Yes?”

“Well, it seems your Captain Rosen has sent a lawyer to town to file suit against the FAA, and although the first round was thrown out of court this morning here in the District, he’s appealing that. So, bottom line, I really can do nothing about this situation while there’s litigation pending.”

Mac shifted the phone to his other hand. “Forgive me for countering you, Administrator Busby, but if I understand it correctly, litigation wouldn’t bar you from reversing an emergency revocation unless a court specifically enjoined you from reversing course, right?”

“It’s our policy, General, and it’s a good one. When legal chal lenges are pending, I absolutely will not intervene. Too bad they did this. There might have been some wiggle room.” 1

“I’m sorry, too,” Mac replied, mouthing the appropriate niceties as they ended the call.

7:45 P.M.

Five blocks from the Willard Hotel in a small cafe catering to the Internet trade, Gracie plunked herself down at a computer terminal and pulled out a small steno pad and pen as she sipped a cup of coffee and nibbled a bagel. She dreaded having to tell April that all her attempts to speak directly to any of the appeals court judges had failed, even though the appeal itself had been filed. For some reason, the rebuff hadn’t fazed her. Or perhaps, she thought, she was already so numb that all blows, however serious, were deflected from her psyche.

She signed into the computer with the customer code purchased from the cashier and called up several phone directory sites, checking them one by one for the home addresses and phone numbers of the various judges. For security reasons, most federal judges carefully concealed their public accessibility behind initials or unlisted numbers, but there was still enough in their biographical sketches to piece together what she needed, and one by one she found the home numbers.

Gracie took a deep breath and dialed the first judge, getting only voice mail. She disconnected and tried the second listing with the same result.

The third number yielded a suspicious wife who finally called her husband to the phone.

“Judge Summers? I am an attorney from Washington state in desperate need of an emergency hearing before your court in an appeal I filed this afternoon with the clerk. Could I please meet with you this evening and explain why this needs to be heard almost immediately?”

“What was your name again?”

She repeated the vital information, including her Washington bar card number.

“Very well. No, Miss O’Brien, you may not come to my home after hours or at any other time without invitation. I intend to complain to your bar about this ex parte contact. How dare you call me at home rather than use normal procedure?”

“Your Honor, this is a case in equity, and—”

The line had gone dead simultaneously with the returning memory of Ben Janssen warning her not to embarrass the firm.

She crossed off his name and tried to memorize the next number long enough to punch it in the dial pad, but the worry over the reaction she’d just received kept blanking her memory.

Gracie placed the cell phone on the surface of the steno pad and dialed the numbers one by one.

Once more a voice mail recording greeted her, and once more she abandoned the call without leaving a message.

There was one number remaining, and she punched it in, listening to it ring eight times before a woman’s voice answered.

“Excuse me, please, but this is Gracie O’Brien, an attorney, and I need to get in touch with Judge Williamson.”

“The judge is out for the evening, ma’am. May I take a message?”

“Oh, boy. He wouldn’t be working in his chambers this evening would he?”

“No, ma’am. The judge is at the Mayflower Hotel speaking at a black-tie dinner.”

“The Mayflower.”

“Yes. You certain I can’t take a message for him?”

“No, thank you.” Gracie ended the call and sat in thought. The Mayflower was less than five blocks away. She scrambled to her feet and grabbed her briefcase, then sat back down and retrieved an Internet biography file on Judge Sander Williamson.

Longest sitting judge on the D.C. appellate court… age seventy six … a maverick considered too unpredictable to have ever been in the run

ningjor the Supreme Court… raconteur, single … and where’s his picture? She launched another search and found a Washington Post article with his picture, enlarged the image and studied it. Williamson’s face had a sharply angular look, his features Lincolnesque without the beard.

The phone rang with April on the other end.

“Grade, something’s very wrong at home!” She relayed the sequence of calls.

“You say the sheriff found the rear door open?”

“Yes. He’s not sure whether the house has been ransacked, or if Mom and Dad just threw things around and left hurriedly. But I’m calling everywhere.”

“Keep me posted, but let me go for now. I’ll explain later.” Gra cie grabbed her briefcase again and headed out the door, covering the short distance to the Mayflower in less than five minutes.

From the hotel’s grand lobby she moved eastward down the large hallway, aware of the restaurant on her right and the grand ballroom. Through an open door she could see the head table and a room full of men in tuxedos accompanied by women in stunning evening gowns, all of them listening intently to a speaker who was in mid cry, a man she instantly recognized as Williamson.