The Tenth Justice Page 39

  Faster and more athletic than either of his attackers, Ben ran back toward the residential part of his neighborhood. Hopping fences and racing through backyards, Ben crisscrossed between houses so his pursuers never had him in sight for longer than a few seconds. He turned down one driveway, made a left when he reached the backyard, hopped over a fence into the next-door neighbor’s garden, ran to the back of the garden, hopped over a fence that put him in a connecting backyard, and ran back out another driveway. Weaving through the neighborhood, Ben knew that the only house he had to avoid was his own. If his two attackers had split up, one of them would definitely be waiting there. As the cold air packed his lungs, he worked his way back toward the supermarket, staying off the main streets and navigating through the garbage-filled alleys. Hoping he had lost his pursuers, he ran toward Boosin’s Bar, the only place he knew that had a pay phone and, more important, a back door. He took one last look around and then entered the bar.

  Ben headed directly for the back of the bar. He shoved open the door to the men’s rest room, entered a stall, and locked it. He bent over and tried to catch his breath. As the warmth of the bathroom replaced the cold of the outdoors, Ben felt like he was burning up. He pulled off his jacket, then lifted the toilet seat and vomited the banana and bagel he had just eaten. When his stomach was empty, he convulsed with dry heaves, as his body reacted to the panic that flooded his mind. He flushed the toilet and sat down, shaking. I can’t believe this, he thought, his elbows resting on his knees. What the hell is happening? As he dabbed his forehead with toilet paper, Ben’s body temperature eventually returned to normal, and the color slowly returned to his face.

  Twenty minutes later, convinced that Rick and his colleague were long gone, Ben left the rest room. He searched his pockets for change and pulled out a few coins, which he inserted into the pay phone. As he dialed Lisa’s number, his eyes darted through the bar, which was filled with a few basketball fans who were eating breakfast before the first game of the day.

  “Hello,” Lisa answered.

  “You will not believe what just happened to me,” Ben said, his voice racing. “I just got attacked by Rick and some other guy. They jumped me and tried to kidnap me. I slammed them in the head with a shovel and ran for—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Lisa said. “One thing at a time. Start over.” After hearing his explanation of the past half hour, she said, “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it,” Ben said.

  “Did you get a good look at Rick’s partner?”

  “Not really. My mind was running at full speed. All I remember is that he was trying to tell me that he was from the Justice Department.”

  “Do you think he was?”

  “Of course not,” Ben said. “The Justice Department doesn’t attack people with chloroform. He just didn’t want them to call the cops.”

  “Who was he, then?”

  Ben’s eyes were focused on the front door of the bar. “Either Rick’s lackey or the guy Rick’s using to make money on American Steel.”

  “Why would Rick need a new person? American Steel’s a public company. Rick can buy all the stock he wants.”

  “But you need money to buy stock. And presumably, Rick was wiped out from Grinnell. He needs someone who already has a lot of American Steel stock or who’s willing to put up the funds. Otherwise, he’s—” Ben looked at his coat on the floor. “Damn,” he said. “I just realized I left my briefcase by the supermarket. I’m sure they grabbed it.”

  “You didn’t leave the decision in there, did you?”

  “Of course not. But the letter I was working on is in there. Which means they know that I’m turning myself in.”

  “They knew that the moment you didn’t show up at the museum yesterday,” Lisa said. “Meanwhile, have you called Nathan and Eric?”

  “Not yet. Why?”

  “Call them,” Lisa demanded. “If Rick’s running around your neighborhood, the first place he’s going to check is your house. Are they still home?”

  “Nathan’s at work, but Eric might be.” Ben hung up and searched his pockets for more change. He was a nickel short. Undeterred, he anxiously entered his calling card number into the pay phone. As his fingers danced across the buttons, he realized he’d misdialed the number. “Damn,” he said, hanging up. He picked up the receiver and frantically reentered his calling card number. “C’mon, c’mon,” he said as he waited for the tone. He heard it and entered his home number, praying Eric had finished his editing and left the house.

  “Hello,” Eric said.

  “Eric, it’s me. Get out of the house. Rick and that guy in the navy coat—”

  “Have you spoken to Lisa?” Eric interrupted.

  “Don’t worry about Lisa,” Ben said. “You have to—”

  “Shut up a second,” Eric insisted. “Rick called here looking for you. He said it was an emergency. And he wanted me to tell you that he was going over to Lisa’s.”

  Ben’s heart sank. “How long ago did he call?”

  “About a half hour ago. Do you need any—”

  Ben hung up the phone, reentered his calling card, and dialed Lisa’s number. “Shit, shit, shit,” he said as the phone rang five times without an answer.

  Finally, Lisa picked up. “Hello.”

  “Get out of your apartment,” Ben said. “Rick’s on his way over.”

  “Or maybe I’m already here,” Rick said. “How are you doing, Ben? Long time, no see.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Why so sad?” Rick asked. “It’s just me.”

  “If you hurt her, I swear I’ll—”

  “Spare me the threats,” Rick demanded, his voice growing suddenly serious. “I now have both Lisa and Nathan—”

  “Nathan?”

  “Shut up and listen for once,” Rick said. “I have both of them, and I’m sick and tired of playing games. Now tell me where you are.”

  Ben was silent.

  “This is no time to be stupid,” Rick said. “You already lost one friend this weekend. Do you want to go for two?” Getting no response, he added, “How about three?”

  “I’m at Boosin’s Bar,” Ben finally said. “It’s on New Hampshire.”

  “I know where it is,” Rick said. “I expect you to be standing outside in ten minutes. And if you happen to feel the urge to call the authorities, your parents, Eric, or anyone else, I will be extremely upset with you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Ben said, fighting his rage.

  “Good. Now, one last question,” Rick said. “What’s the outcome of American Steel?”

  Again, Ben was silent.

  “I asked a question,” Rick said.

  Still, silence.

  “This is just about money,” Rick warned. “Don’t turn it into anything that requires violence.”

  “American Steel wins,” Ben snapped. “Are you happy? Now you can go make your millions.”

  “I’m extremely happy—that’s exactly the same answer Lisa gave us,” Rick said. “We’ll see you outside in ten minutes.”

  Hearing Rick hang up, Ben exploded. He grabbed the receiver and slammed it against the pay phone. The few patrons who were in the bar looked up when they heard the crashing noise. Again, Ben banged the receiver against the metal base of the phone. And again. And again.

  Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind. “What the hell is wrong with you?” the bartender asked, pulling the receiver from Ben’s hand.

  “Get off me!” Ben screamed, struggling against the bartender.

  The bartender dragged him to the front door and pushed him outside. “If you’re going to be a psycho, go someplace else.”

  Waiting outside of Boosin’s, Ben teemed with anger. With his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, he despondently kicked at a small pile of snow next to the building. Within ten minutes, a red Jeep pulled up to the curb. The only person in it was Claremont. “Wait right there,” Claremont said as he got out of the Jeep and approache
d Ben. Now that Claremont was no longer wearing his brown fedora, Ben studied his attacker’s features. With a round face that was highlighted by a worn, floury complexion, Claremont looked much older than Ben had expected.

  “Take off your jacket,” Claremont said, pointing with thick, stubby fingers.

  When Ben obliged, Claremont patted him down. “Still worried about microphones?” Ben asked.

  “I’m told you have a habit of wearing them.” After establishing that Ben was clean, Claremont opened the door for Ben. “All aboard,” he said.

  Thirty-five minutes later, the Jeep pulled into the back parking lot of the Palm Hotel, in Bethesda. “Follow me,” Claremont said as he walked toward the back entrance of the building. “And if you say one word to anyone…”

  “I get the picture,” Ben said.

  They took the elevator to the twenty-fourth floor and walked down the hallway to room 2427. Claremont slid his coded card into the electronic lock, pushed open the door, and entered the lavishly decorated suite. The main room was empty.

  “Where is everyone?” Ben asked.

  “Shut up and follow,” Claremont said. He led the way through the bedroom and opened the door that connected the suite to the one next door. They walked through the second suite and reached a door that connected that suite to a third. Finally, they entered the largest of the three suites, where Rick, Lisa, and Nathan were waiting.

  When Ben and Claremont entered the room, Rick got up from his seat on the sofa. “Well, well, the gang’s all here,” he said. “Lisa, Nathan, I believe you know Ben. Ben, this is Lisa and Nathan.”

  Ben was surprised to see Nathan and Lisa sitting calmly at the large glass dining-room table. Looking through the glass tabletop, he noticed that they were both handcuffed to their chairs. A swollen black eye colored the left side of Nathan’s face.

  “Are you okay?” Ben asked.

  “Fuck off,” Nathan said, turning away.

  “Children,” Rick scolded. “No fighting.”

  “You didn’t have to hit him,” Ben said.

  “Yes, we did,” Rick said glibly. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have come with us.”

  Looking at Lisa, Ben asked, “They didn’t hit you, did they?”

  “Are you kidding?” Rick interjected, showing off the scratch marks on the side of his neck. “She did more damage than you.” When he approached the small mahogany desk in the corner of the room, Rick reached into his briefcase, pulled out two sets of handcuffs, and threw them to Claremont.

  Claremont pushed Ben toward the large wooden chair next to Nathan. “Take a seat.”

  “Let them go first,” Ben demanded.

  “And let them run to the police?” Rick laughed. “Take a seat, Ben. You’re in no position to argue.”

  When Ben sat down, Claremont used both sets of handcuffs to fasten Ben’s arms to the chair.

  “And if you’re thinking about screaming,” Rick said, “you can save your lungs the wear and tear. We have most of this floor, and the manager promised us complete privacy. You can buy just about anything these days.”

  “I don’t know why you’re so smug,” Ben said. “Eric’s still out there. When we don’t come home tonight, he’ll head straight to the police.”

  “No, he won’t,” Rick said coldly.

  Lisa looked at Ben. “Nathan called Eric and told him that he was working late tonight. And then I called him and told him that we were both okay—that the phone call from Rick was just a fake threat.” Seeing the bewildered look on Ben’s face, she added, “Rick said he would kill you if we didn’t make the calls.”

  Surprised by the gravity of Rick’s threat, Ben looked up at his captor.

  “Satisfied?” Rick asked.

  “Are you going to stop the decision?” Fisk asked, sitting impatiently in Lungen’s office.

  “I don’t see how,” Lungen said. “We have no more proof than we did on Friday. Ben and Lisa haven’t been in all weekend.”

  “I knew we should’ve staked out his house,” Fisk said, pointing at Lungen. “Now we have no idea where he is.”

  “For all we know, he’s out shopping.”

  “I still say we pull the plug on the decision. Tell the justices we don’t want it announced until we find Ben.”

  “Will you listen to what you’re saying,” Lungen demanded. “You want me to hold up the Supreme Court of the United States because one of their clerks didn’t work this weekend? Do you know how fast we’ll be standing on the unemployment line?”

  “What if he doesn’t show up tomorrow?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Lungen said. “Until we have all the facts—and I mean every last detail—we cannot bring this Court to a screeching halt. Believe me, when we have the information, Ben Addison’s ass is mine. But until that point, we just sit and wait.”

  “And listen,” Fisk said, turning up the speaker on Lungen’s desk.

  Ben’s arms were growing stiff from being restrained. “You made a mistake taking only three of us.”

  “Oh, we did?” Rick sat on the plush sofa and flipped through the paperwork laid out on the coffee table.

  “I mean it,” Ben said. “Eric won’t believe those stories. I bet he’s talking to the police right now.”

  “That’s a pretty crappy theory,” Rick said, his eyes still focused on his paperwork.

  “And why’s that?”

  “You expect Eric to run to the police?” Rick asked, looking up at his captives. “Is this the same Eric who told you to avoid the authorities at all cost? The same Eric who said you could catch me all by yourself? This is the person who’s going to blow this wide open? Even Ober was more resourceful.” Ben’s jaw tightened. “Hit a raw nerve, huh?”

  “If it wasn’t for you, he’d still be alive,” Ben said. “I’ll kill you for that.”

  “Sure you will. And if you believe that, I can see why you think Eric’s coming to your rescue.” Making himself comfortable on the sofa, Rick added, “I hate to break it to you, but you’re on your own this time.”

  Sitting at his desk in the political bureau, Eric was annoyed. For the past three hours, he had tried to locate his roommates. Nathan wasn’t at work, Ben wasn’t at the Court, and Lisa wasn’t at home. Those phone calls had to be a setup, Eric thought as the crumbs of his late lunch fell into his computer keyboard. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he flipped through his Rolodex. No more playing around, Eric thought as he dialed the number of the Marshals Office at the Supreme Court. I need real help.

  “U.S. Marshals Office,” a man answered. “This is Carl Lungen.”

  “Mr. Lungen, this is Eric Stroman—Ben Addison’s roommate.”

  “How’d you get my private line?” Lungen asked, sounding annoyed.

  “I stole it from Ben’s Rolodex—you never know when you’re going to need a marshal,” Eric explained. “I’m only calling because it’s an emergency. I think Ben’s in trouble.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Well, without getting into the whole story, Ben was being blackmailed by this guy named Rick. A few hours ago, I got a call from Ben telling me to get out of my house because Rick was after us. A half hour after that, Lisa called and told me everything was okay. Maybe I’m just being neurotic, but I think something happened to them.”

  “Eric, I’m very glad you called,” Lungen said. “Now start from the beginning and tell me the whole story.”

  At ten o’clock that evening, Rick and Claremont sat in the center suite, picking at the remains of their room-service dinner. “Only twelve more hours,” Rick said, nibbling on a french fry. “We’re almost there.”

  “You promise we’ll cash in the options by noon?” Claremont asked.

  “How many times do you need to hear it?” Rick asked. “It’ll all be done by noon.”

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Claremont said. “If you were in my position, you’d be just as concerned. It’ll only take a few hours before the SEC realizes that an American Steel execut
ive cashed in all of his stock and risked it all on a long-shot bet. This deal is going to raise one hell of a lot of eyebrows over there.”

  “We’ll be long gone by the time they put it together,” Rick said. “Don’t get crazy over it.”

  “I’ll just be happy when it’s over,” Claremont said.

  “You’ll be more than happy,” Rick said. “You’ll be rich. Those options will be worth millions.”

  “What if Ben’s lying and Steel actually loses?”

  “Don’t worry,” Rick said. “After what happened with Grinnell, I’m not putting a dollar down unless I know he’s telling the truth.”

  “Nathan, will you stop it already?” Ben begged. “Talk to me.”

  “Leave him alone,” Lisa said. “He’ll talk when he’s ready.”

  “Silence doesn’t help anyone at this point,” Ben said. “Get over it.”

  “Get over it?” Nathan asked, looking up and facing Ben. “Ober is dead. That’s not something I’ll just get over. Not today. Not tomorrow. Never.”

  “Enough with the fighting,” Lisa interrupted, pulling on her restraints. Leaning to her left, she peered over the armrest and saw that her handcuffs were attached to the wooden supports that connected the front and back legs of the antique chair. “I say we focus on getting out of here.”

  “Let me guess,” Nathan said. “You have a bobby pin in your hair and you’re a master lockpick?”

  “I wish,” Lisa said, tipping her chair forward until she could stand. Hunched over, she shuffled toward Ben. She then lowered her chair, sitting in front of him. “See those supports?” she asked. “I bet if you kick them hard enough, they’ll break in half.”

  Ben looked at the width of the supports. “There’s no way,” he said. “It’ll never—”

  “Don’t give me that,” Lisa demanded. “Try. Kick the shit out of it. Just don’t kick my hand.”

  Ben jerked his chair into position and prepared to kick the support. “Hold on a second,” Lisa said, waving her handcuffed hand. “Give me your other foot.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if you don’t, the moment you kick this chair, you’ll go flying backward.”