Supreme Justice

Oswald was halfway home when he conceived of a small act of defiance. He turned his car around and headed back to the station. He had the fingerprints he’d hidden from the goons from Homeland Security. It wasn’t much, but he could scan those fingerprints into AFIS, the Automated Fingerprint Identification System, and see if he could get a match. He had no idea what he would do if he identified the person who’d left the latents. His satisfaction would come simply from doing something he’d been ordered not to do.

Part II.The Court of Last Resort

Chapter Four

When Brad Miller checked his tie in the mirror, he noticed that a few silver strands had insinuated themselves in his curly black hair. This was not surprising, given what had happened last year. But that was last year, this was now, and Brad smiled as he adjusted the knot.

Brad had several reasons to be happy, the biggest being Gi

The clerkship was another reason to smile. It might not pay much, and Brad’s workday might last ten to twelve hours, but a clerkship on the Supreme Court was every lawyer’s dream job, one that opened the door to any position in the legal universe. The fact that he was clerking for someone as brilliant and as nice as Justice Moss was a bonus.

And there was one final reason to smile. Brad’s life had been blessedly uneventful since he’d arrived in Washington. Uneventful was very, very good if the exciting incidents that had made your previous year event-filled consisted of being attacked by gun-wielding assassins, digging up a jar filled with severed pinkies that had been buried by a serial killer, and, last but definitely not least, bringing down the president of the United States.

“Guess what I did?” Brad said when he’d finished fixing his tie.

“What?” Gi

“I made a reservation at Bistro Bis for eight tonight.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“The six-month a

“Has it been that long?”

“Yup. I guess I’ve finally become a nonentity again.”

“Oh, Brad,” Gi

Brad laughed. “I guess I can handle one person who still thinks of me as a god.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Brad kissed Gi

Visitors to the United States Supreme Court cross a raised plaza paved in gray and white marble, climb fifty-three broad steps that lead to the fluted Corinthian columns supporting the west portico, and enter the high court through a pair of magnificent bronze doors decorated with eight panels depicting The Evolution of Justice. When Brad Miller and the other law clerks came to work, they crossed a different marble plaza at the rear of the building and entered through the employees’ entrance on Second Street. After punching in his code, Brad passed a small desk ma

From day one, Brad had the sense that everything about the Supreme Court was very serious. Everywhere he looked he saw thick marble, dark wood, and no sign of architectural frivolity. Even the air in the building felt heavy. And the law clerks… There were thirty-six of them, and most had been the kind of students who had to be talked in off a ledge if they got an A minus. Not that any of them had ever suffered a tragedy of that magnitude.

Many of the clerks regarded Brad as they might an exotic exhibit in a carnival side show. He had not been Phi Beta Kappa, nor had he gone to a prestigious college or law school or clerked for a federal appellate court judge. On the other hand, none of the other clerks had brought down a president of the United States. Brad felt self-conscious around these legal geniuses even though he had been an editor of his school’s law review, and he was still nervous about giving a legal opinion to Justice Moss, afraid that he might have missed something that one of the Harvard grads would have spotted with ease. But Moss seemed pleased with his work, and he was gaining confidence. Last week, she’d even complimented him on a memo he’d written. The judge was stingy with praise, and her verbal pat on the back had lifted him six inches off the ground.

Brad’s day was taken up drafting opinions and dissents, writing bench memos that helped Justice Moss prepare for cases the Court was about to hear, crafting memorandums that commented on the opinions from other chambers, recommending whether to grant or deny petitions asking the Court to review decisions from lower Courts, and advising the justice on emergency applications, which were often last-minute requests for stays of execution.

The work at the Court never slowed down, and juggling these assignments seven days a week was exhausting. Brad was thankful that the building housed a gym, a cafeteria, a barbershop, and other amenities that allowed him to groom himself, eat, and exercise, activities normal humans did in locations other than their place of work. But Brad had no complaints. He might work like a dog, but knowing that he had input into decisions that shaped American history was energizing.

Justice Moss had four law clerks, and Brad shared an office adjoining her chambers with Harriet Lezak. Harriet was perpetually frazzled. She had curly black hair that seemed never to have known a comb and a tall, wiry figure, the result of ru

Brad and Harriet’s office was one of several clerks’ offices that lined a corridor on the first floor. The office was small and cluttered, with barely enough room for two desks. Its saving graces were a floor-to-ceiling window that let in light and the courtyard across the hall with its flowers and fountain that could be seen when the door was open.

“Good morning, Harriet,” Brad said. Harriet’s eyes were glued to her computer monitor and she flicked a hand at him rather than reply.

“Is the boss in yet?”

“She’s waiting on this memo,” Harriet answered distractedly as she maneuvered the cursor across the monitor screen and clicked the mouse. The printer whirred and Harriet stood over it, impatiently tapping her fingers on her thigh. When the machine stopped making noise, Harriet snatched the papers it had produced and raced next door.