The Court (17 page)

She nodded. “I did. I tried two kinds. The first one knocked me silly, and the second kind didn't help at all. Don't misunderstand me, Hugh, I'm in no danger of becoming an alcoholic. I have two or three drinks in the course of an entire day, no more. Even the doctor said that much wouldn't be bad for me, under the circumstances.”

“It's a terrible strain. But at least you have Dorothy and the baby here now. That should help keep your mind off things.”

She smiled, this time easily. “I'm too old for little children, Hugh. I love my grandchild, but I think I'll be able to bear seeing him go.”

He laughed. “I know. I have four. I love them, but I can't stand them.”

She again sipped her drink. “It's a bit early for visiting, Hugh. Is there something on your mind?”

“Martha, we've known each other a long time. I was the one who recommended Brian for the Supreme Court.” He stopped. He knew instinctively that he was coming on too strong, too quickly. “I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I hope you know that I am your friend, both Brian and yours.”

“That certainly goes without saying, Hugh.”

He sipped his drink. She had made it strong, but he was grateful for that. He wasn't worried about the effect of the liquor, he was used to drinking. “I'm afraid there's a crisis brewing.”

“There always is in Washington.”

He leaned back in his chair. “But this time I'm afraid it concerns Brian.”

She showed no surprise, only interest.

“Martha, do you recall all the fuss about Justice Douglas and his health problems? There were a number of people who wanted him removed from the Court.”

“They tried to impeach him twice,” she said quietly, “but not for reasons of health.”

“That's right. He had many enemies. He was a rather rough and tough S.O.B.” Dancer's features became serious, almost solemn. “Martha, there are several very important cases coming before the Court and there's a movement afoot to remove Brian; they want to create a vacancy so that a deciding vote can be added to the Court.”

“They can't remove him. That's unconstitutional.”

“There's talk of using the impeachment process.”

Her eyes widened. “That's nonsense! Brian's done nothing wrong, he's not guilty of any high crimes. He's only sick.”

Senator Dancer sipped his drink. She was close to tears, and tears would solve nothing. He weighed his next step, considering the consequences. Then he decided to meet the issue head on.

“The doctors say Brian is dead, Martha.”

There were no tears, instead her eyes narrowed in sudden anger. “Yes, that's what they say, Hugh; they tell me he is completely dependent upon the machines. But doctors are often wrong, you know that as well as I do. Besides that, Hugh, I see him every day. He looks fine.” Her voice broke just a bit. “He looks as if he's sleeping.”

He nodded. “As I said, a major fight is brewing. The Court is evenly divided on several key legal issues. If there's no ninth vote, then the lower courts' decisions will stand as law. There are many powerful people who don't want that to happen. It may turn into something quite nasty, and, of course, poor Brian's condition would be the center of it all. Martha, if it should come down to that kind of scrap, it won't be dignified. Some politicians can be quite heartless. You've been around Washington for a while, surely you can appreciate what could happen.”

She bit her lip and looked away. “It seems that everyone wants me to turn off those damned machines: my clergyman, the doctors, and to some extent, even my own children.” When she again returned her gaze to him he could see that her eyes were wet. “But that would be like murder to me, Hugh. And that's something I really don't think anyone truly understands.”

He remained silent for a moment. To protest now would only reinforce her determination. “I understand,” he said simply.

She sipped her drink then rolled the rim of her glass slowly along her lower lip. “I pray every day,” she said quietly. “I honestly ask for a miracle, I pray that one day Brian will open his eyes and everything will be just as it was.” She paused for a moment, her shoulders seemed to sag. “I know in my heart that it's foolish, but I can't help it. Brian and I have gone through so much together. Some of it pleasant, some of it terrible. We've made a life for ourselves. I can't bring myself to switch off all of that, as if I were turning out some damned light.” Her voice trembled as she spoke.

Dancer got up and walked to the windows. He looked out on a pleasant sweep of lawn. The condominium complex had been artfully landscapes. It looked like a park.

“Martha, I can fully appreciate the agony you must be going through. I come as a friend, and please remember I will stand by you no matter what you decide. However, as a friend, I must tell you the most unpleasant side to all this terrible business.”

He turned and looked at her. “Do you want it sugarcoated, or would you prefer the bitter truth?”

She finished her drink, her eyes fixed on the picture on the mantle. “I prefer truth, Hugh.”

“If you should decide to turn off the machines and Brian doesn't survive, I have been informed a full state funeral is planned. As you know so well, Brian loved the pomp and ceremony connected with government. He would be given a funeral in keeping with his high office.”

“That's hardly comforting.”

“I know. But if things continue as they are, a fullblown debate and fight will occur in Congress. You know how these things go, Martha; television, the press, all the media have a field day. It will be all over the cable news shows and the goddamn Internet. All the talking heads squawking. Every damn magazine and newspaper in the country will call it a crisis in government. If it comes down to impeachment, and it might come to that, based on all the medical evidence, Brian may be removed.”

A single tear trickled down one cheek. “That would be disgraceful.” The words were no more than a whisper.

“I agree.” He walked to her and gently patted her shoulder. “But I very much doubt that Brian Howell would like to go down in the history books as the first Supreme Court justice to have been removed from office by Congress. As it is, his term, short as it has been, has certainly been illustrious. He has really shaped the law of this country, Martha, and his decisions will be remembered for many years to come.”

She looked up at him. Both cheeks were now wet although she gave no other indication of emotion, only silent tears.

“Life is full of hard choices,” he said gently.

She stared up at the photograph. He returned to his chair and finished his drink.

“I think it would be in Brian's best interest if those machines were turned off,” he said quietly. “A man's name and reputation are often more important to him than his life.”

She said nothing.

“If the doctors are wrong and Brian can handle things on his own, then turning off the machines will make no difference. In fact, it would even provide some hope. I'm afraid there really isn't much hope in the present situation, Martha.”

She did not reply at once but continued to stare at the photo on the mantle. Then she turned and looked at Dancer. “And if the doctors are right?”

“Then it's foolish to keep on with the machines, isn't it?”

“You make it sound … so simple.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

“When you get right down to it, Martha, it is simple.”

She studied her empty glass as if she had just seen it. “Did you come here to get an answer from me?”

“Do you mean, did somebody send me?”

“As you say, I'm beginning to understand how Washington functions.”

He shook his head. “No, no one sent me. I'm a friend. I'm here on my own, Martha.”

She looked up. “I'm sorry, Hugh, that was unkind. It's just that I've been under such a terrible strain.”

“I know.”

She again looked up at the photograph. “I want whatever is best for him,” she said. They sat quietly in silence, an uncomfortable silence, then she continued in a firmer voice. “I'll have to allow myself some time to get ready.”

“It's something that should be done quickly, Martha. It will just prolong the agony if you put it off.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes seemed almost dead. “Buddy, my son, will have to be notified,” she spoke just above a whisper. “He'll have to fly in from New York.” She took a deep breath. “I'll call him today. If he can come tonight, then we can all go down to the hospital and see Brian tomorrow. Then I'll give the instructions…” She started to cry.

Senator Dancer went to her and knelt down. He held her in his arms. She trembled but made no sounds, then gently she pushed him away.

“Thank you, Hugh. You are a good friend.”

“Would you like me to be there tomorrow?”

“No. I think just Dorothy, Buddy, and myself.”

He stood up and patted her shoulder. “It's for the best. And if the doctors should be right, Martha, it will be an honorable end for an honorable man.”

She nodded as she covered her eyes with the wet tissue.

*   *   *

Senator Dancer waited until he got home before making the telephone call.

“It will probably be tomorrow,” he said simply. “She wants her son there. By the way, I promised a state funeral, the full works. I think that's what swung the deal. I was sure you wouldn't mind, at least, not under these circumstances.”

“No, that can be easily arranged.”

“With this advanced warning, your people can start cranking up whatever has to be done,” Dancer said.

“Yes. I certainly appreciate your splendid efforts, Senator. A very painful episode for you, I'm sure.”

“It was.”

“I won't forget this, Senator.”

Dancer chuckled. “Trust me to make quite sure of that.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. President.”

CHAPTER SIX

“It was good of you to see me on such short notice.” Jerry Green took the extended hand.

“Please sit down, Mr. Green. It isn't every day that we are honored by visits from White House officials.”

Green studied the man without appearing to do so, just a quick appraising glance. Martin Naham wasn't new to the duties of a university president, although he was brand new at Michigan State. President Martin Naham had served in that capacity at three small colleges before taking the Michigan State position.

Young, only forty-two, Naham was small of stature, but he had a trim, athletic build. He looked like the sort of man who was fond of competition; the kind who was without mercy on the racketball court. There was something about his eyes; a certain controlled fierceness.

Naham sat down behind his desk. “I certainly hope you aren't the bearer of bad news.”

Green smiled. “No, not in the least.”

The university president leaned back in his leather chair. Every hair was in place. His shirt was perfect, his tie perfect, there were no wrinkles in his suit. There was nothing about him to suggest a pipe-smoking intellectual; no baggy sweaters or mismatched socks. The man across the desk was a hard-eyed executive who would be more at home in a conglomerate boardroom than at a faculty tea.

“All institutions of higher learning are experiencing hard times.” Naham's voice was low and resonant, with the smooth delivery of a radio announcer. “Higher costs, more competition. It seems that often when an official drops by, we lose another grant. I hope your visit doesn't foretell any misfortune like that?”

“Not at all. However, in a way, I may be here to take away something valuable.”

“Oh?” The hard eyes flashed as if challenged.

“I trust you checked on me?”

Naham didn't smile, just nodded. “Yes. You are a special counsel to the President. You told my secretary who you were when you made the appointment, but I'm sure you understand that we would check on anyone who said he was here representing the White House.”

“That's only wise.”

Naham half smiled. “We had a man in here last month who claimed to be a professor of history from Calcutta. He wanted to discuss a proposed student exchange. He turned out to be a short order cook from Detroit. The man had no intent to commit a crime or defraud anyone, he just liked the delusion of being a professor. The police questioned him. They say when he isn't grilling hamburgers he spends his time putting on his professor act.”

“Convincing?”

“Incredible. Somehow he managed to acquire all the magic inside words, all the academic shop talk. He fooled me completely. It was only after we contacted the college in Calcutta that we discovered he was an imposter. It's lucky he wasn't applying for a job. On first blush, I'm sure he would be accepted by any academic selection committee, at least until they checked his credentials.”

“I'll come right to the point,” Green said. “I'm here to look into the background of Dean Roy Pentecost. He's in line for a possible federal appointment.”

“The Supreme Court?”

“That's a possibility, obviously.”

“We would hate to lose Roy. He's helped build the law school here.”

“So I understand.”

“That school has brought tremendous prestige to this campus. I'm sure, as a lawyer, you know the number of illustrious people he has attracted to his faculty.”

“Yale and Harvard, I understand, are almost vacant.”

Naham laughed. “Not quite, but close. In any event, our school of law is a national school and has become their equal, at least in my opinion.”

“How long have you known the dean?”

“Not long, and unfortunately, not well. As you may know, I'm the new boy here. I started in August. Of course, I have talked to Dean Pentecost; as I have with all the deans of the respective colleges that make up this university. But I really am not familiar with him in any personal sense.”