The Simple Truth

The reply was automatic. This is a maximum-security prison facility and every prisoner here is classified as violent and dangerous. Im here for your safety.

The men hereweredangerous, both prisonersandguards, and that was just the way things were, Rider knew.

I understand that, replied the lawyer. Im not asking you to abandon me, but Id be obliged if you could stand farther away. Attorney-client privilege you understand, dont you?

The guard didnt answer, but he did move to the far end of the room, ostensibly out of earshot. Finally, Rufus Harms looked over at Rider. You bring the radio?

A strange request, but one that I honored.

Take it out and turn it on, would you?

Rider did so. The room was immediately filled with the mournful tunes of country-western music, the lyrics contrived, shallow in the face of the genuine misery sensed at this place, Rider thought uncomfortably. When the lawyer looked at him questioningly, Harms glanced around the room. Lotta ears around this place, some you cant see, right?

Bugging the conversations of an attorney and his client is against the law.

Harms moved his hands slightly, chains rattling. Lot of things against the law, but people still do em. Both in and out of this place. Right?

Rider found himself nodding. Harms was no longer a young, scared kid. He was a man. A man in control despite being unable to control one single element of his existence. Rider also observed that each of Harmss physical movements was measured, calculated; like he was engaging in chess, reaching out slowly to touch a piece, and then drawing back with equal caution. Here, swift motion could be deadly. The inmate leaned forward and started speaking in a tone so low that Rider had to strain to hear him above the music. I thank you for coming. Im surprised you did.

Surprised the hell out of me to hear from you. But I guess it got my curiosity up too.

You look good. The years have been kind to you.

Rider had to laugh. I lost all my hair and put on fifty pounds, but thank you anyway.

I wont waste your time. I got something I want you to file in court for me.

Riders astonishment was clear. What court?

Harms spoke in even lower tones, despite the cover of the music. Biggest one there is. Supreme Court.

Riders jaw went slack. You got to be kidding. The look in Harmss eyes would not brook such a conclusion. Okay, what exactly do you want me to file?

With smooth increments of motion, despite the restraints of the manacles, Harms slid an envelope out of his shirt and held it up. In an instant, the guard stepped across and snatched it from his hand. Rider protested immediately. Private, that is a confidential attorney-client communication.

Let him read it, Samuel, I got nothing to hide, Harms said evenly, eyes staring off. The guard opened the envelope and sca

You going to help me, aint you?

Rider could not answer, apparently still digesting all that he had heard. If the waist chain had not prevented such a movement, Harms would have reached out and put his hand over Riders, not in a threatening ma

Finally, Rider nodded. Ill help you, Rufus.

Harms rose and headed for the door. Rider put the paper back in the envelope and tucked it and the radio away in his briefcase. The lawyer had no way of knowing that on the other side of a large mirror that hung on the wall of the visitors room, someone had watched the entire exchange between prisoner and attorney. This person now rubbed his chin, lost in deep, troubled thought. ["C6"]CHAPTER SIX

At tenA.M., the marshal of the Supreme Court, Richard Perkins, dressed in charcoal-gray tails, the traditional Supreme Court dress of lawyers from the Solicitor Generals Office as well, stood up at one end of the massive bench, behind which sat nine high-backed leather chairs of various styles and sizes, and pounded his gavel. The packed courtroom grew silent. The Honorable, the Chief Justice, and the Associate Justices of the United States, Perkins a

Perkins sat down and looked out over a courtroom with the square footage of a mansion. Its forty-four-foot ceiling made the eye look for drifting clouds. After some preliminary business and the ceremonial swearing in of new Supreme Court Bar members, the first of the days two morning cases would be called. On this day, a Wednesday, only two cases during the morning would be heard, afternoon sessions being held only on Monday and Tuesday. No oral arguments were held on Thursday and Friday. On it would go, three days a week every two weeks, until the end of April, approximately one hundred and fifty oral argument sessions later, the justices assuming the modern-day role of Solomon for the people of the United States. There were impressive friezes on either side of the courtroom. On the right were figures of lawgivers of the pre-Christian era. On the left, their counterparts of the Christian period. Two armies ready to have go at each other. Perhaps to determine who had gotten it right. Moses versus Napoleon, Hammurabi against Muhammad. The law, the handing down of justice, could be damn painful bloody, even. Right above the bench were two figures carved in marble, one depicting the majesty of the law, the other the power of government. Between the two panels was a tableau of the Ten Commandments. Swirling around the vast chamber like flocks of doves were carvings Safeguard of the Rights of People, Genii of Wisdom and Statecraft, Defense of Human Rights representing the role of the Court. If there ever was a stage of perfect proportion for the hearing of matters paramount, it seemed that this landscape represented it. However, topography could be deceiving. Ramsey sat in the middle of the bench, Elizabeth Knight at the extreme right. A boom microphone was suspended from the middle of the ceiling. The moms and pops in the audience had noticeably tensed up when the justices appeared. Even their gangly, bored kids sat a little straighter. It was understandable enough even for those barely familiar with the reputation of this place. There was a discernible feeling of raw power, of important confrontations to come. These nine black-robed justices told women when they could legally abort their fetuses; dictated to schoolchildren where they would do their learning; proclaimed what speech was obscene or not; pronounced that police could not unreasonably search and seize, or beat confessions out of people. No one elected them to their positions. They held their positions for life against virtually all challenge. And the justices operated in such levels of secrecy, in such a black hole, that it made the public personae of other venerable federal institutions seem vainglorious by comparison. They routinely confronted issues that had activist groups all over the country banging heads, bombing abortion clinics, demonstrating outside prison death houses. They judged the complex issues that would bedevil human civilization until its extinction. And they looked so calm. The first case was called. It dealt with affirmative action in public universities or, rather, what was left of the concept. Frank Campbell, the counsel arguing on behalf of affirmative action, barely got through his first sentence before Ramsey pounced. The chief justice pointed out that the Fourteenth Amendment unequivocally stated that no one shall be discriminated against. Didnt that mean affirmative action of any sort was impermissible under the Constitution?