Deadlock

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…

A

She’d get hers, though. Even if he was put away. A

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 i

“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 stu

Sources say many of the admissions relate to the impeachment of Chief Justice Millicent Ma

The major accusations against Hollander were false, according to the statement. One charge, that Hollander was under the influence of alcohol when she stumbled into the street and nearly died last June, was false according to Levering. It was he who was drunk, he states in the document, and made unwanted advances on Hollander, who attempted to get away from him.

Also named as co-conspirator was a reporter for the National Exposure. Daniel Ricks, the statement claims, was hired to collect dirt on Hollander during her recuperation from the accident in Santa Lucia, California.

Calls to the National Exposure went unreturned.

But perhaps the most stu

Arnold Rutledge, chief legal counsel to the president, issued a statement late last night denying the allegation.

2

“You probably hate me, don’t you?” Helen said.

Millie shook her head. “I couldn’t hate you, Helen. Not after all these years.”

“That’s fu

“What is?”

“I hated you.”

They were standing at the perimeter of the Jefferson Memorial. It was where Helen had wanted to meet. For Millie it was like a scene out of a political thriller. She made sure she wasn’t followed by reporters. She had even told the taxi driver to make sure they were free and clear.

“Why?” Millie asked, as surprised by Helen’s admission as anything else in the last five months.

“I thought you were a traitor,” Helen said. “I thought you had gone off the deep end and that you would start rolling back everything I believed in.”

“I gathered that much.”

“And I hated your – I don’t know – integrity.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me about this?”

“I didn’t know how.”

“But you talked to that reporter for the Exposure?”

Helen nodded. “Levering convinced me I had to do it. He and that Gestapo agent of his, A

“I don’t feel ruined.”

“How can you not?”

Thinking of Bill Bonassi, Millie had to smile. “I’m a reverse paranoid.”

“A what?”

“Let’s just say I’m ready to start a new chapter. I’m moving back to Santa Lucia.”

“No.”

“My clerk, Rosalind Wilkes, and I are going to open an office.”

“A lawyer? You’re going to be a lawyer?”

“Why not? Maybe even be a TV star. Fox has been calling. They want me to be a commentator on national legal news. I don’t know what God has in store.”

They were near the portico now, the majestic figure of Thomas Jefferson deep in thought inside. Millie watched a group of children being led toward Jefferson by a woman who was obviously a teacher. Hope for the future, went the cliché. But she couldn’t think of a better place to start than with the author of the Declaration of Independence. Millie thought of the stirring final words of that document. “With a firm reliance on Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.”

When she looked back she saw Helen with her face in her hands.

“What is it?” Millie said.

“Can you forgive me?”

Millie put her arms around Helen. It was not a natural gesture for Millie. Or maybe it was. Now.