The whir and click of cameras reminded Millie that what she was about to say would be memorialized for all time, and become fodder for endless analysis by pundits, students, and the politically curious. Yes, her moment had truly come. And far from feeling hesitant, she felt a boldness rush in.
“I have made a human decision,” she said. “It is one that I am entitled to make under the greatest document for human freedom ever penned. The Constitution gives every one of us the right to worship as we so choose. This past summer I decided that I would worship the God of the Bible. I have come to believe in the truth and the principles of Christianity. I will not take back that decision for any reason.”
She paused, and looked again at the little girl on top of the man’s shoulders. She was smiling.
“It has become clear, however, that my personal decision has resulted in something I never wished to see happen. I won’t pretend that the lies spread about me don’t hurt. They do. But in the end what is said about the Supreme Court itself matters more. The Court is the guardian of freedom and dignity for all citizens, and must remain above distraction.”
Millie paused for a deep breath.
“That is why I am stepping down, effective immediately, as a justice of the United States Supreme Court. And as I leave this institution, which I love, I have only these final words to say. Each time we begin a session of the Court, the marshal calls all to draw nigh and give their attention. And then he says these words, that I now adopt with all my heart: ‘God save the United States and this honorable Court.’ ”
2
For the first time in as many years as he could remember, Sam Levering did not crave a drink.
Watching what he once would have termed his ultimate political triumph, he only barely noticed his lack of craving.
Millicent Mannings Hollander was gone. Resigned. The strings had been pulled, by himself and others. Everything was just as it was supposed to be.
He watched it all happen on the TV in the hotel room. He barely remembered checking in, and the hangover was still gripping his temples. Normally he would have hunted a little hair of the dog. And the Oramor Hotel had a great bar.
But the bar was not the reason he was here. He wanted to be where no one could contact him.
The voices were louder in his head. He was passing over the edge, certainly. Drink used to be the way out. That hadn’t worked last night. The voices remained.
Tad. Is that you?
One voice sounded distantly familiar. When he was eight his parents had taken him to a tent meeting in Tulsa. Revival fire, they called it. Sam was excited to go, it was the talk of the town in those days.
What he heard scared him to death. An old fire-and-brimstone preacher spoke, he couldn’t remember the man’s name, but he had a voice like an avenging angel and held his Bible like a club, high over his head, when he wanted to make a point.
Sam was scared of the man and what he said. But there was one moment when the man spoke softly, when he offered up the invitation. That odd rustic ritual was something Sam knew about from his parents and church. It always seemed a little awkward, walking up there in front of people to be “saved.”
But the very contrast of the voices this evangelist used – the harshness of fire and the cool balm of invitation – was striking.
Funny, Sam mused now in the opulent hotel room. He hadn’t thought about that softer voice in maybe fifty years. But that was the voice he seemed to be hearing in the clamor of his own head.
He brought himself back to the TV, to the talking heads on the news channel discussing the Hollander situation. Where would the Court go? Was she guilty of the charges leveled against her? Will we ever really know?
Idiots. Complete, clueless idiots. They knew absolutely nothing.
Soon, they would know everything, because telling all, Sam decided, was the only way to make the voices stop.
3
Ambrosi Gallo stepped out of the Carnegie Deli on Seventh Avenue and wiped a spot of mustard from his cheek.
It was his last act as a free man.
He knew they were feds the moment he saw them. And when he did, it was too late to make a move.
They had a gun in his back before he could say John Gotti.
Play it cool, Ambrosi thought as they cuffed his hands behind him. Call the lawyer as soon as possible. Say nothing. And…
Anne. Oh yeah, Anne had given him up. He should have known. He should have stuck with Italian women.
She’d get hers, though. Even if he was put away. Anne would get hers, all right. He’d see to it.
4
“What made you do it?” Bill Bonassi asked.
“I’ll probably ask myself that for years,” Millie said. They were in Bonassi’s library, the room that had become an island of comfort in a sea of chaos. This was where they had discussed strategy and tactics. Everything had gone according to plan, until the press conference.
“When one justice becomes the center of debate,” Millie said, “it diminishes the Court as a whole. I hope I did the right thing.”
Bonassi did not seem upset with her, as she thought he might be. In fact, he looked rather rested.
“It would have been a good scrap,” he said. “I feel ten years younger because of you.”
“That makes it even. I feel ten years older.”
After a short silence, Bonassi said, “Ever heard of a man named Telemachus?”
“I don’t think so.”
“He was a Christian hermit who had come to Rome, toward the end of the Empire, when it was falling into decadence. He felt called to do something about the scandal of the gladiators. To celebrate a military victory, they were fighting to the death in the Coliseum for the amusement of the citizens.”
Bonassi paused, his face becoming radiant with the telling. “So Telemachus went to the Coliseum, walked right into the arena where two gladiators were fighting. He put his hand on one of them and told him to stop shedding innocent blood. The crowd roared at him. They shouted in outrage. Telemachus put up his hand for silence.
“Then he said, ‘Do not repay God’s mercy, in turning away the swords of your enemies, by murdering each other.’ The crowd shouted him down, shouted for more blood. The gladiators pushed Telemachus into the dust and resumed their fighting.
“Telemachus got up and placed himself between the combatants. The gladiators seemed to react as one. They killed Telemachus with their swords. And suddenly, realizing that a holy man had been killed, the crowd fell silent. There was no more combat that day. Nor ever again in Rome. His death brought an end to mortal combat.”
Bonassi fell silent himself, for a long moment. “Maybe you’re a Telemachus. Maybe because of what you did the country will look at what politics has done to the Court.”
If only she could believe that. Perhaps, in time, she would.
The door opened. Dorothy, out of breath, said, “You need to come.”
“What is it?” Bill said, rising.
“The news. They said Sam Levering shot himself.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
1
New York Times
Friday, November 21
In a stunning recorded interview with the D.C. police, the late Senator Sam Levering gave full details of abuses of power and conspiracies of corruption. According to sources, Levering names names and does not spare himself.
Sources say many of the admissions relate to the impeachment of Chief Justice Millicent Mannings Hollander, who resigned from the Court two weeks ago. Levering and his chief aide, Anne Deveraux, orchestrated a pattern of lies designed to drive Hollander from her position. Others were involved as well, including the recently named president of the National Parental Planning Group, Helen Forbes Kensington.