The Court (8 page)

“How nice for you.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is. The head clerk position will be open when I leave. The job could be yours, Ben, given the right circumstances.”

Floyd Grant was not exaggerating. Alexander knew that people who served as head clerk to the nation's Chief Justice could write their own ticket in the legal world. Alexander said nothing, but waited for Grant to continue.

“Ben, I'm sure you're aware, as I am, that clerks have served as unofficial justices of the court in the past. This isn't the first time that a sitting justice has had such problems.”

Alexander nodded. It wasn't well known, but several past justices had drawn the salary while bright young men had made the ultimate decisions. The situation wasn't unique.

“You know how the Chief works. He's like a congressman hunting votes. He trades off with this one, pairs with another, and promises future decisions to get his way. You know how he works.”

Alexander nodded. “Yes. What does he want from me?”

The pipe had gone out, but Grant continued to puff on it, his only display of nervousness. “You put things so bluntly, Ben. Really, it's not good form. Nothing is expected of you. But if the circumstances present themselves, you could be helpful. For instance, the Chief is very interested in the vote on the Electoral College case. Are you familiar with the issue?”

“It's simple enough.”

“Exactly. The constitutional amendment received the necessary state votes for ratification, but by the time the last state voted, two others had withdrawn their approval. The question is whether a state can reverse itself, having once voted, or whether the only vote counted is the original. If they can reverse, then the amendment doesn't have enough votes to pass, and the proponents know they can't get anymore. Those who want the Electoral College abolished say the reversals don't count. And those in favor of the Electoral College say the reversals by the state legislatures killed the proposed amendment. The Supreme Court must decide which side is correct. Basically, it boils down to a problem of simple constitutional construction.”

“But the decision could change fundamentally the way a president is elected.”

“Precisely. A simple issue but with a tremendous effect.”

Alexander waited. Grant chewed on the pipe for a moment, as if composing his thoughts. “The Court is divided, if the Chief's poll is accurate. Your man's vote will make the difference. The Chief is voting to keep the Electoral College. He's of the opinion that the withdrawl of the states defeated the proposed amendment. This case is of the greatest importance to him.”

“And to the White House,” Alexander added softly.

Floyd Grant looked away. “Yes. I understand it is.”

“So you're asking that I influence Howell, should he return, to vote to sustain the Electoral College?”

Grant looked at him, his eyes narrowed slightly. “If you choose to put it that way, yes.”

“Anything else?”

“Ben, I detect a note of disapproval in your tone. Remember, nothing illegal is being requested.”

“What about ethics?”

“Nothing unethical either. You've seen the horse trading that goes on here. My God, man, the Supreme Court is no better than an Arab bazaar when it comes to buying and selling. No money changes hands, of course, but the currency here is the field of interest. For instance, there's a reverse discrimination case coming on.”

“The one about the policemen.”

“Yes. The Chief obtained one of the votes to keep the Electoral College by bargaining his vote for reverse discrimination, so to speak.”

“You mean you would like me to persuade Justice Howell to vote for the affirmative action quota system?”

“Yes. It would help firm up the vote on the Electoral College case. After all, Ben, what great harm does it do? A few white cops lose their jobs. A few blacks are hired to take their place. It's no big deal.”

“But it sets up a racial quota system, a change that could eventually fragment our society.”

Grant took the pipe from his mouth and grinned. “Come on, Ben. If things get out of hand, the Court will just change them back. Meanwhile, it may prevent another riot or two.”

“And the quota decision will protect the Electoral College.”

Grant nodded.

“What else?”

“That newspaper case, the one about the state law providing damages for written negligence. It's a First Amendment issue.”

“So?”

“That's really a personal thing with the Chief. You know how he likes to stick it to the media whenever he can.”

“Is that decision essential?”

Grant shrugged and tapped out his pipe. “Essential? No, I think not. It would be nice though. It would give those newspaper bastards something to think about. If it can be done, fine. But if not, the Chief won't be greatly disappointed.”

“How about the rational suicide case?”

Grant smiled. “The Chief will vote to uphold the nun's conviction. But who cares? He doesn't. People are knocking themselves off right and left, and in rather messy ways. So it might serve a purpose if it were organized. It would be much neater. He feels this one could go either way. As I say, he really doesn't care.”

“So I only have to be concerned about the Electoral College and the discrimination case?”

“Yes.”

Ben Alexander thought about how Justice Howell might approach the problems. What was being requested really wasn't that far from Howell's basic thinking. If he didn't agree, Alexander knew he would find himself slaving for a petulant, harassing woman. And if he did go along … well, he had been taken to the top of the mountain and shown the wonders of the future.

“If Justice Howell returns, and should he seek my advice, I will be glad to urge the two positions,” Alexander said, his voice almost a whisper.

Grant beamed. “It's a complicated world, Ben. Maybe that isn't the way it should be, but we have to take things as we find them, right? I'll convey your position to the Chief. He'll be delighted.” Grant stood up and put the pipe in his jacket pocket. “I'll have to take one of your clerks for her ladyship. There's no other way. But if your boss comes back and things turn out predictably, you'll have my job next year.”

Alexander merely nodded. “Is this how these things are always done?”

Grant laughed. “Heavens no. Ordinarily, we do an elaborate dance before any agreement is reached. You're new, Ben, but you just demonstrated your ability to learn. You'll do just fine here.”

“We'll see what happens.”

“Ben, if you run into any problems, just let me know.”

“I will.”

Grant left and Ben Alexander once again leaned back in his chair. Everything in the court seemed to be a trade-off. This case for that, that legal principle in exchange for this legal precedent. But at least there would be gain in this transaction.

If he became chief clerk to the Chief Justice he wouldn't need to marry any damn conglomerate heiress.

CHAPTER THREE

Judge Joseph Michael O'Malley fidgeted impatiently in his chair as the attorney droned on in his annoying singsong voice. The man should have had the brains to know he had won and should have concluded quickly and gracefully with a few brief remarks. O'Malley and the other two appellate judges asked him no questions. Still, the lawyer plowed on, reciting in his irritating manner the dry, uninspired speech he had apparently memorized.

The oral arguments were only a formality in this case, the law was clear. Even the opposing counsel knew that his cause was lost as he patiently endured the barbed and hostile questions by the judges, questions that consumed most of his allotted time for argument.

O'Malley was anxious to break free from the dull routine of the court. He had much more important things to do. The three-judge panel had spent the morning listening to oral arguments in four cases. The cases were boring. There were no great legal questions presented. And, as if to match the content of their drab legal matters, all the attorneys that morning were bumbling clods. Win or lose, a snappy presentation was always welcomed by the court. But for some reason, exciting speakers were rare in the appellate court. Dullness seemed to have become a way of life.

O'Malley glanced at his watch. It was almost over.

He rushed through the judges' conference after the hearings. There were no serious disagreements among the three judges on the cases. O'Malley acknowledged the case assigned to him to write, then hurried to his chambers.

It was almost lunch time. It would be difficult contacting people during the lunch hour, but the attempt had to be made. O'Malley knew he had to be careful in his approach; Howell hadn't died, but it was a distinct possibility, and Joseph Michael O'Malley was a realist. The spade work had to be done now and as quickly as possible.

He unlocked his desk and extracted the yellow pad with all the names and telephone numbers. The pad was marked up, with notes showing the results of the call, or how many times a number had been tried. He dialed the next phone number. It was a Washington call.

“Good morning, Congressman Robinson's office.” The girl's voice was cheery, but businesslike.

“This is Judge Joseph O'Malley of the U.S. Second Circuit Court of Appeals. I'd like to speak to the congressman, please.”

“I'll see if he's in, Judge O'Malley.”

He was put on hold.

He glanced at his watch. He didn't like to wait. But when you wanted a favor, you had to put up with things ordinarily not tolerated.

The line crackled into life. “He's on another line, Judge. He should be through in a minute. Would you care to hold, or shall I have him call you back?”

“I'll hold, thank you.”

The line again went dead.

It was wise to make the contact now. There was no telling when Robinson would call back. As a ranking member of the important Ways and Means Committee of the House of Representatives he was powerful and busy, it might be days before O'Malley could expect a call back. It was wiser to wait, even though it would cost him precious time; time he could use making other calls.

“Just a moment for the congressman,” the girl's voice popped into his consciousness.

The phone clicked. “Good morning, Your Honor. This is a pleasure.” Sid Robinson had the well-practiced enthusiasm of all politicians. He sounded as if he had spent all morning just hoping that Joseph O'Malley would call.

“How are things in the capital, Sid? I haven't been in to see my friends there in quite some time.”

“Same old stuff, Joe. We go from one crisis to another. It'll never change.” He paused. “What can I do for you?”

O'Malley smiled to himself. He had used this approach so often, it was becoming automatic. “Shame about Brian Howell, isn't it?”

A pause. “Yes. Terrible thing to have happen, especially to a man as young as Howell.”

“Sid, I'll be frank. I hate political vultures as much as the next man, but sometimes political realities override normal sensibilities.”

“That's true.”

“Did you know that the President was thinking of nominating me, if the Senate hadn't confirmed Howell for that seat on the court?”

“I had heard that, yes.”

“Sid, I know this may sound a bit ghoulish, but I'm trying to line up as many friends as I can who can urge my nomination to the President, just in case the worst happens with Howell. Normally, I'd sit back and be civilized about the situation, but there are some key cases coming before the Supreme Court, and if anything happens to Howell, the President will have to move very fast to get a name before the committee in order to have that man or woman cleared and on the bench when those cases come up.”

“Like the Electoral College amendment.”

“Yes, that's one.”

There was another pause before the congressman spoke. “Look, Joe, if the worst happens, as you say, I'd be glad to recommend you. We've been friends a long time. You have an excellent record and you're a party man. I'd have no trouble saying a good word.”

“I appreciate that, Sid. And your word will carry great weight, I know that. I wonder if I might impose for an additional favor?”

“What's that?”

“Your state's national committeeman, the new man, I don't know him.”

“Harvey Taylor?”

“Yes. I knew Eddie Milton, his predecessor, but I never met Taylor. I wonder if you could give him a call and say a good word for me. I think the President might look to the party leaders for a consensus on the appointment, if there is one. I would feel a bit better if someone like you could vouch for me with Taylor. At least that way he would know something about me. You understand?”

The congressman had the annoying habit of never replying at once. He always took a few seconds to consider what he was going to say. He carefully selected his words. “I'd have no trouble with that, Joe. Harvey Taylor is young, but he impresses me as being bright. And you're quite right, if something happened to Howell, the President would indeed have to move fast. Sure, I'll give him a call. Unless he's committed to someone else, I feel sure he would be glad to abide by my counsel. But if there's any problem, I'll call you back.”

“It's a great favor, Sid. I won't forget it.”

Again the pause. “Just good government in action, Joe. Also, I do like to see my friends move up in the world. A man is judged by his friends, right?”

“Yes.”

“I'll call you back if I run into any trouble. Good luck, Joe.”

Judge O'Malley depressed the telephone button, then dialed again. There were many telephone calls to make. The days ahead meant long hours of effort, but he knew he had to keep working. Diligence was the key to success.

*   *   *

“Special Counsel to the President.” Haywood Cross seemed to roll the words around majestically as he spoke them. “Imposing title. Very impressive.”