“Ben, can we speak with you for a moment?”
Ben jumped. Turning around, he saw a man in a gray wool suit coming toward him.
“Do you have a moment?” the man asked.
“Uh, is there a problem?” Ben stuttered.
“If you would just follow me.” Ben followed the man back to the front entrance. As they walked through the Great Hall, Ben loosened his tie. When they reached the front of the building, they took the elevator to the basement. Known to Court staff as Disneyland, the basement of the Supreme Court contained a snack bar, cafeteria, movie theater, gift shop, and exhibits on the history of the Court.
As Ben passed the giant statue of John Marshall, he tightened his jaw and tried his best to remain calm. On the west side of the building were the only basement offices: those of the marshals, who were in charge of all security for the Court. Entering through the main door, Ben walked through the maze of tiny cubicles and was escorted to the far left-hand corner of the room. Stopping in the doorway of a large office, Ben waited behind his guide. A heavy man in a blue pin-striped suit sat behind a faux antique desk.
“Come on in,” he said. His round face was highlighted by a fat, pockmarked nose and a beard peppered with gray. The smell of the office revealed his taste for cigars. Decorating the front of his desk was an extensive collection of batteries. “Do me a favor, close the door,” the man said, motioning to Ben’s escort. He tilted back in his leather chair as the door slammed shut. “So you’re Ben Addison,” he said. “Please. Sit.”
“Is there some sort of problem?” Ben asked nervously as he sat in one of the two seats in front of the desk. He kept his breathing slow and steady, trying to look unfazed.
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” the man said as Ben’s escort sat in the other chair. “In case you don’t know me, I’m Carl Lungen, chief marshal here at the Court. I oversee all of our security here. This is Dennis Fisk, our deputy marshal,” Lungen said, indicating Ben’s gray-suited escort. “The reason we brought you here today is because we have some questions that we hope you can answer about a story that appeared in today’s Washington Herald. If you’re not aware of the story, let me say that it suggests the possibility that the recent CMI decision was leaked to Mr. Charles Maxwell. Are you with me so far?”
“I saw the story,” Ben said, annoyed by Lungen’s condescending tone.
“Good,” Lungen said, grabbing a 1980 Energizer. “You see, Ben, this story suggests that the security of this Court has been compromised. As you can imagine, this reflects poorly on our office. Luckily, we have a very close friend at the Herald, and after a phone call to this friend, I was informed that the author of the story was a new reporter to the paper. I was also informed that this reporter happens to live with one of our clerks. That clerk is you. So, you can imagine my desire to meet you face-to-face.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Ben said, “but I had nothing to do with the story.”
“So you’re telling me that you don’t know of anyone leaking information from this Court?”
“No one.”
“Then why did your friend write that story?”
“I don’t know. To be honest, that’s exactly where I was headed when you pulled me down here. The first I heard of the story was at seven o’clock this morning. When I went to confront my roommate about it, he was gone.”
“Ben, I’m going to ask you again. Do you know of anyone leaking information from this Court?”
“No, I don’t. I swear, I don’t know of anyone.”
Lungen placed the battery back in line with the others. He stared at Ben. After a pause, Ben said, “My only guess is that he was trying to make a good impression on his editors. I mean, he knows that we know the opinions in advance. From there he can write whatever he wants. You know the Herald, they print anything.” As his voice picked up strength, he continued, “And if Eric had a single shred of proof, do you really think they’d run it on page five? The story is complete conjecture. You read it; all it does is present the possibility of an inside source to explain Maxwell’s lucky guess. It could’ve appeared on the op-ed page.”
“Ben, do you know what would happen if we found out you were lying?” Lungen asked, placing his hands flat on his desk. “Naturally, you’d be removed from your position. If that happened, my guess is that the press would pick it up immediately. Whether you were responsible or not, I’d wager that you’d be implicated as the source that leaked to Maxwell. After that, I’d say your career would be over, and your only work would be as an adviser to the TV movie that tells the world your story.”
“Why don’t you just cooperate with us?” Fisk asked in a calm, soothing voice. Fisk was rugged-looking, with chiseled features offset by a bad complexion and a poorly fitted suit. Fisk’s strong Chicago accent flattened his A’s and rounded his O’s. “If you let us, you know we can help you with this.”
“Listen, I don’t need the good-cop-bad-cop routine,” Ben said, a rush of adrenaline keeping his voice from cracking. “If I leaked the story to Eric, I’d be a complete moron. I mean, no offense to you guys, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out Eric and I are roommates. Does it make any sense for me to ask my roommate to write a story that will not only jeopardize my career, but will also call attention to myself?” Letting the logic of the argument sink in, he added, “The story is bullshit. Eric probably wanted attention and-”
“We didn’t say you asked Eric to write the story,” Fisk interrupted. “We just think you’re the one that gave him the information.”
“I didn’t say word one to him. Believe me, I’ve been extremely careful about what I’ve said around everyone, Eric especially.”
“But you did tell Eric that Blake is retiring, didn’t you?”
Ben bit the inside of his cheek. Lungen continued, “Don’t bullshit us, Ben. My friend at the Herald said there’s a story running tomorrow about Blake stepping down. The Herald wouldn’t run it without a solid source, and Eric fingered you.”
Crossing his arms to look confident, Ben knew he was losing control. “I admit I told him about Blake. I told him we’d be releasing the information later this week. But I didn’t tell him about-”
“You admit that you purposely leaked information from this Court about Blake, and yet you expect us to believe you about Maxwell?” Lungen asked.
“You know there’s a difference,” Ben said. “The Blake thing was common knowledge. It was hardly confidential information. What you’re talking about with Maxwell is on a totally different level.”
“That’s exactly our point,” Lungen said. “Now, would you like to start over?”
Determined not to show his frustration, Ben said, “Look, I swear, I don’t know anything about Maxwell. If I did, do you really think I’d be sitting here, talking to you? If I leaked the decision to Maxwell, I’d be on a beach in Greece right now, counting my ten-million-dollar fee.”
“Ben, let me tell you what we think. We agree you probably didn’t leak anything to Eric. That’d be stupid, and frankly, we expect better from you. You probably didn’t personally leak any information to Maxwell, either. As you said, if you did, you wouldn’t need to work anymore. Our fear, however, is that you may’ve heard something from your co-clerk, or from a clerk in another office, about someone else leaking information. You casually mention this to Eric, or maybe he overhears it, and suddenly we have a major scandal on our hands. At this point, though, the only person we do have is you.”