The Tenth Justice

Two weeks later, at seven-thirty in the morning, Ben read through the newspaper at his desk. Wearing jeans and an old wool crewneck, he was thrilled that the absence of the justices also meant casual dress for all Court staff. Reaching the op-ed page, he leaned forward and pored over the opinions of Washington’s top columnists. He looked up when Lisa entered the office.

“Happy New Year,” she said. Lisa had spent the previous week in California, celebrating Christmas and New Year’s with her family. Although she was wearing a stark black sweater and faded jeans, the first thing Ben noticed about his co-clerk was her deep brown tan.

“You look great,” Ben said, kissing her on the cheek.

“Thank you. You look pale.” She opened her briefcase and dumped a six-inch pile of paper on her desk.

“You got through all of those?” Ben asked, amazed.

“What can I say? I’m that good.” As she started to organize the pile of papers, Lisa noticed a memorandum on the corner of her desk. “What’s this about?”

“Clerk lunches,” Ben explained. “Since we’re halfway done with our term, they’re starting to organize private lunches with the justices so we can get to know them better.”

“That’s really nice,” Lisa said.

“It should definitely be interesting,” Ben said. “Besides Hollis, I don’t think I’ve said two words to any of them.”

“So we get to rub elbows and the Court picks up the tab? What a deal.” Leaning on the back of her chair, Lisa stared at Ben. “Speaking of deals, I can’t stop thinking about this whole Grinnell thing.”

“What can I say? It was a great plan.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Lisa said coldly. “It was completely stupid. The more I think about it, the more I realize it was the dumbest thing you could’ve done.”

Ben sat up straight in his chair. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Lisa said, shuffling papers. “I just think the plan was stupid.”

“How was it stupid?” Ben asked, annoyed.

“It was stupid because all you did was piss off Rick. When everything was said and done, the plan accomplished nothing else.”

“It did more than that.”

“Really?” Lisa challenged. “Tell me what else it did.”

“It got Rick off my back.”

Lisa stopped shuffling the papers on her desk. “Let me ask you a question,” she said. “When you designed the whole Grinnell thing, what was your actual goal?”

“What was my goal?”

“Your goal,” Lisa repeated. “What did you hope to accomplish?”

“There wasn’t a true goal,” Ben explained. “Rick approached Eric, then Eric approached me. From there, I kinda planned it out so Rick wouldn’t win.”

“But what was your number-one concern? What was going through your head?”

“Tons of things were going through my mind,” Ben said. “Excitement, fear, anxiety, anger, revenge—”

“Exactly,” Lisa interrupted, pointing a finger. “Revenge.”

“What’s wrong with revenge? After everything Rick put me through, I was pissed.”

“And you have every right to be pissed,” Lisa said. “But since this thing started, you’ve been so obsessed with revenge, you’ve stopped thinking about how you’ll actually get yourself out of this mess.”

“Don’t give me that,” Ben said. “Getting out of it was my first priority.”

“Then why didn’t you try to get Rick arrested? If you knew where Eric was meeting with him, why didn’t you stake the place out with the authorities?”

“We didn’t know where they were meeting,” Ben explained. “Rick always called Eric moments before they met. Eric would be in the lobby of one hotel, and then he’d get a phone call to go to the lobby of another. It was impossible to track Rick down. Besides, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t go to the authorities—they’d arrest me in a heartbeat.”

“See, there’s the main flaw in your thinking. You can go to the authorities; you just don’t want to.”

“You’re damn right I don’t want to. No offense, but I like my job.”

“Forget about your job. Your life is more important.”

“Lisa, I don’t know why you’re so crazy. The past three weeks have been perfectly calm. I have no worries. Nothing’s hanging over me. Rick is gone—”

“Rick is not gone!” Lisa said, raising her voice. “When are you going to get that through your head? Rick may be pissed off, and he may be broke, and he may be angry, but he is certainly not gone! And if you just screwed me over for a few million dollars, you can bet your ass that I’d be plotting some serious revenge of my own from the moment it happened.”

“What are you getting so nuts about?”

“I just want you to see what’s going on. You’re not safe.”

“So what do you want me to do? Run to Hollis and ask for help?”

“I don’t know if Hollis is the right person, but I think that’s the right idea. Otherwise, you’re never getting out of this mess. I mean, this guy has already slashed your father’s tires—do you really want to wait to see his next move?”

Saying nothing, Ben grabbed a calculator from his desk. Nervously, he started tapping its keys.

“You know I’m right,” Lisa added. “Throughout this whole disaster, you really haven’t been thinking about getting out of this mess—you’ve just been obsessed with the fact that Rick outsmarted you.”

“That’s not true,” Ben said as he continued to tap at the calculator keys.

“It is true,” Lisa insisted, picking up Ben’s calculator and throwing it in the garbage can next to his desk. “You hate the fact he beat you. And you’re obsessing over revenge. But let me tell you, getting revenge is easy. Screwing Rick was cake. The hard part is catching him. To do that, you have to make some sacrifices. So for once in your life, you’ll have to admit you can’t do it alone.”

“Maybe I can’t, but we—”

“No, we can’t,” Lisa said. “We can’t do anything. No offense, but you, me, and all your friends, even with all their little spy toys, do not have the resources to anticipate where Rick’s going to turn up next. No matter how smart we are, we’re not that good. And until you’re willing to admit that, you’re never going to get out of this.”

Ben stared silently at his desk. “You think I should turn myself in?”

“Yes,” Lisa said. “For the past week, I’ve been thinking about every possible outcome of this scenario. No matter what happens, the authorities are going to find out somehow. That’s the one truth you have to accept.”

“Unless we get something on Rick.”

“It doesn’t matter if we get something on Rick. Rick doesn’t care if we tell the police he’s the mastermind. They can’t find him. But they can always find you. And as long as Rick’s out there, you’ll always have that hanging over your head.”

“But what if we catch Rick ourselves?”

“It wouldn’t matter,” Lisa said, impatiently. “Even if we caught Rick on our own, we’d have to turn him over to the police at some point. It’s not like we can lock him in our basement forever. And the moment we turn Rick over, you can be sure he’s going to blame everything on you.”

“Then I’m screwed no matter what.”

“That’s my point,” Lisa said. “So you might as well go to the police and preempt whatever Rick can do to you.”

“Maybe they’ll go easier on me because I’m the one approaching them.”

“Possibly,” Lisa said. “And if we give them a solid enough plan, they might let you walk away so they can catch Rick in the act.”

Pausing as he processed the information, Ben eventually said, “If I go in, I can kiss my job good-bye.”

“Not necessarily,” Lisa said. “For all we know, you may get a medal for your bravery.”

“You know what? Let’s just stop, okay?” Ben said, turning his chair away from her.

“What’s wrong? What’d I say?”

“Nothing,” Ben said, refusing to turn around.

“Are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself. I should’ve ended this weeks ago.”

“That’s easy to say now. Things were different weeks ago.”

“Sure they were,” Ben said sarcastically.

Lisa walked back to her desk. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet,” Ben said. “Let me think.”

At a quarter to eight that evening, Ben left the Court and made his way to Union Station. He took the escalator down into the dimly lit, underheated, advertisement-decorated hall and was surrounded by fellow overachieving, business-clad Washingtonians. Ben started counting blue pin-striped suits, brown leather briefcases, and black wing tips in his immediate vicinity. The majority of those with all three were losing their hair, and only one had actually loosened his tie since leaving work. Ben suddenly felt claustrophobic and walked to the far end of the platform. What the hell am I doing to myself? he wondered, staring at his peers. When the silver train hissed into the platform, Ben got on board and found an empty seat. Two minutes into the ride, the train came to an abrupt halt.

“We regret the inconvenience, but we have another train in the station ahead of us,” a grainy voice announced through the public address system. “We’ll be moving again in a few minutes.”

The crowd let out a simultaneous groan, and Ben settled back in his seat.

“Every day,” sighed the passenger sitting next to Ben. “I mean, can’t they ever time it right? It’s not like there’s never been a rush hour before.”

“Yeah,” Ben muttered, glancing an acknowledgment at the young man. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen, even though he was wearing a suit and tie.

“Why is it the same story every night?” the boy asked. “Why can’t they fix it?”

“I have no idea,” Ben said. “And I’m too tired to think about it.”

“Don’t talk to me about tired,” the boy said in a slight Massachusetts accent. “Run from the Senate buildings to the House buildings twenty times a day and then talk to me.”

“So you’re an intern?”

The boy proudly pulled open his coat and showed off the laminated Senate I.D. card that hung around his neck. “I prefer to be called a page. And just so you’re aware, if you need to know the coffee preferences of any senator, I know them all by heart.”

“The pee-ons of the People, huh?”

“That’s what they say. But I won’t be for long.”

“And why’s that?” Ben smiled.

“Because I’m good at what I do. I solve problems.” The boy motioned to the front end of the train. “That’s what’s wrong with the people who set the train schedules. None of them are problem solvers. They’re boring, staid, reactive. That’s why we’re sitting here right now. No one goes after the problem proactively.”

“So what’s your solution?”

“It’s not so much a solution as it is an approach. In my mind, if you really want to deal with a problem, you have to go straight to the heart of it. But no one in this city ever does that. They just dance around everything defensively.”

“And that’s your grand plan?”

“I never said it would change rail travel as we know it,” the boy snapped. “I’m just telling you my approach.”

“You planning to go to law school?” Ben asked.

“How’d you know?”

“I can smell lawyers a mile away. They have a distinctive scent.”

“Don’t mock what you don’t understand. Being a lawyer is the only way to be taken seriously these days. Without a law degree, no one will listen to a single thing I say, but if I’m a lawyer, they’ll give me real responsibility.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” the boy insisted as the train started moving. “Good ideas can only get you so far. You need credibility to get real work. If you’re suffocating at your job, you should think about it. Law school’s for everyone. It’ll open up your future.”

“I appreciate the advice,” Ben said, as the train arrived at its next stop. “I’ll give it some thought.”

“I hope you do,” the boy said. “It may change your life.” The boy got up and walked to the door. “Well, here’s where I get off. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“You, too,” Ben said as the boy stepped out. Seconds later, the subway doors slid shut and the train pulled away.

When Ben arrived at home, Eric and Ober were washing dishes in the kitchen. “Finally,” Ober said the moment he saw Ben.

“Don’t tell him,” Eric said, running a dish towel across the outside of their large ceramic pasta bowl. “He’ll hate it.”

“No, he won’t,” Ober said, his hands foamy with soap. “He’ll love it.” As Ben put away his coat, Ober called across the room, “We thought of a whole new way to organize the judicial system.”

“That’s great,” Ben said dryly, as he approached the kitchen.

“What happened to you?” Eric asked when he caught sight of Ben. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” Ben said.

“Everything okay at work?” Eric asked.

“It’s the best,” Ben said, pulling some leftover Chinese shredded beef out of the refrigerator. “Every day’s a pleasure.”

“You didn’t hear from Rick, did you?”

“Not yet.” Ben grabbed a fork from the utensil drawer.

“Screw Rick. He’s gone,” Ober said, rinsing a plastic mug. “Now listen to this idea. Here’s what we propose: To make the judicial system more efficient, wouldn’t it be great if everything—every case, every motion, every hearing—was decided by arm wrestling?”

“Just think about it for a second,” Eric said. “Don’t dismiss it too quickly.”

“Consider the possibilities,” Ober said. “Law firms would be populated with huge wrestlers; they’d recruit at all the best gyms.”

“It’d be a return to Darwinism,” Eric interrupted. “Survival of the fittest! Instant justice!”

“Your Honor, I object. One, two, three—case dismissed,” Ober said, pretending to be beaten by an imagined arm-wrestling opponent.

“So?” Eric asked as Ben sat down at the kitchen table. “What do you think? Pretty good idea, eh?”

Ben stared down into the carton of shredded beef. “Do you think I should turn myself in?” he asked.

“What?” Eric asked.

“You heard me. Do you think I should turn myself in?”

“Why would you do that?” Eric asked.

“So I could get out of this mess.”

“You wouldn’t get out of this mess,” Eric countered. “All you’d do is get in deeper. The moment you told anyone, you’d be fired.”

“So what? Is my job worth all this headache?”

Eric threw his dishrag on the counter and approached Ben. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked. “You have the best legal job on the planet. Why would you want to jeopardize it?”

“What do you think?” Ben asked Ober.

“If you’re actually serious, I agree with Eric. Why risk it all now? Rick’s beaten. He’s gone. What’s to worry about?”

“What if he comes back?” Ben asked. “What do I do then?”

“I have no idea,” Ober said. “But if you’re going to wreck your life, I’d at least wait until Rick showed his face again. Otherwise you’re throwing it all away for no good reason.”

“Maybe,” Ben said as he stabbed at his shredded beef. “Although I’m not sure that’s true.”

Lying in bed that evening, Ben tried to fall asleep. His feet were clammy from sweat, and he searched endlessly for a comfortable sleeping position. Lying on his back, he thought about open green meadows. Shifting to his side, he pictured the tumbling of sapphire ocean waves. Turning on his stomach, he fantasized about sex with a long-legged redhead. But in the end, the meadow always became the Supreme Court, the waves always crashed too loudly, and the redhead always became Rick. His eyes long since adjusted to the darkness of his room, Ben eventually got out of bed and sat down at his desk. On one of his bookshelves, he spotted the cheesy metal scales of justice his mother had bought for him when he first got his clerkship. He grabbed the scales from the shelf and smiled.

Alternating his fingers, he tipped each side of the scale, hoping the repetitive movement might lull him to sleep. Five minutes later, he was still wide awake. He opened his top drawer looking for a new distraction and pulled out erasers, paper clips, highlighters, and other desk accessories. He placed a staple remover on the left balance of the scale and watched justice tip toward the left. Adding a paper clip to the same side, he said, “This is all that is good in the world.” Adding a highlighter, he said, “This is all that is bright.” Smiling as he added a small bottle of Wite-Out, he whispered, “This is my honesty.” Slowly, he added pencils, extra staples, rubber bands, and an eraser to the balance: his intelligence, his integrity, his happiness, and his future. He grabbed his wallet from the corner of the desk and held it over the still-empty right side of the scale. “And this is the Supreme Court,” he announced as he dropped the wallet into place. When it hit the scale, the desk accessories flew through the air.

“Are you sure?” Lisa asked, surprised.

“Not entirely,” Ben said early the following morning. “But I’m ninety percent there. Just tell me what you think the next step is.”

“It depends who you trust,” Lisa said, sipping her coffee. “You can probably go to Hollis.”

“I was thinking about that,” Ben explained, hoping that his cup of tea would calm his nerves. “But I don’t think he’s the right person to turn to. He may be able to smooth things over if he takes me to the authorities, but he certainly won’t be able to help me catch Rick.”

“I agree. Hollis may be a great justice, but there’s no way he’ll let you use your position on the Court to trap Rick.”

Ben wrapped the string of the teabag around a pencil to squeeze the teabag dry. “So who does that leave?”

“I wouldn’t go to Lungen and Fisk. They’ll never help you.”

“No question about it. They’d arrest me the moment I opened my mouth.”

“What about going over their heads? Go talk to the head of the marshals.”

“That’s what I was thinking last night. I need someone with authority who isn’t looking for a promotion. That way, they’ll be more concerned with catching Rick than with simply turning me in.”

“Then you’ve got to go to the head of the marshals.”

“Then that’s that.”

Lisa leaned back in her chair. “I can’t believe you’re going to turn yourself in!”

“What are you talking about? You’re the one who suggested this whole thing.”

“I know. I just can’t believe you’re doing it. What put you over the top?”

“The next head of the D.C. Transit Authority.”

“What?” Lisa asked.

“Nothing. Forget about it,” Ben said. “When it came right down to it, I thought your argument yesterday really made sense. For the past few months, I haven’t been in control.”

“So when are you going to do it?”

“I think during lunch. I just have to find out the name of the chief marshal.”

“Have you thought about how you’re going to get in to see him?”

“I’ll tell his secretary that I have to personally deliver a vital message from Justice Hollis. The moment I get in his office, I can explain the real story and ask him if he’ll help us catch Rick.” When Lisa nodded her approval, Ben continued, “So that means we only have one more thing we need to do.”

“Which is what?”

“We have to figure out how to catch Rick.”

At noon, Ben grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

“So this is it?” Lisa asked, handing Ben his briefcase.

“It could be,” Ben said. “If he buys the plan, we’ll have some more time, but if they arrest me—”

“I’m sure they’ll buy the plan,” Lisa interrupted. “It’s their best option.”

“Maybe I should call my parents first,” Ben said. “That way they won’t be surprised if they see their son on the news tonight.”

“You’re not going to be on the news,” Lisa said. “The marshals will love the plan.” Lisa noticed the panicked crease in Ben’s forehead. “But are you okay with all this?”

“I guess I am. I mean, this is what we planned. I shouldn’t be so worried. . . .”

“But you are.”

“Of course I am,” Ben said. “It’s my life. In the next hour, I’m going to take it and flush it down the toilet. For some silly reason, that doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Do you want me to come down there with you?”

Ben paused. “No.”

“I’m coming,” Lisa said, opening the closet.

“No. I’m fine,” Ben insisted, his voice shaking. “There’s no reason to get you involved.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lisa asked, coat in hand.

“I’m perfect,” Ben said firmly. “You don’t have to come.”

“Be careful.”

“I will,” Ben said, noticing that his briefcase handle was damp with sweat. “Just be sure to look for me on the news tonight. I’ll be the one in leg irons.”

“Don’t say that,” Lisa said. “You’ll be fine.”

“Thanks for lying,” Ben said. “And thanks for all the help.”

“Anytime,” Lisa said as Ben walked out the door.

As Ben rode the Metro to Pentagon City in Virginia, his stomach churned with both anxiety and anticipation. For months, he had done everything in his power to avoid this moment, and now he was actively riding toward it. As the subway crossed into Arlington, Ben wondered if he was crazy and if this current plan was really the best way to solve the problem. Steeling himself against indecision, he reassured himself that he was right. There was, after all, no other way.

Ben got out of the train and stood facing the Pentagon City Mall. Following the instructions he had been given by the receptionist, Ben walked toward the offices of the United States Marshals Service. Housed in a twelve-story contemporary office building, the U.S. Marshals Service was headquarters to ninety-five presidentially appointed marshals, including the director of the Marshals Service. Responsible for protecting the federal judiciary, they ensured the safety of federal judges as well as federal witnesses. Although Carl Lungen and Dennis Fisk protected the Supreme Court justices while they were in the District of Columbia, the main office assigned individual marshals to protect those justices who ventured outside the District.

Ben took a deep breath and pulled on the glass doors of the office building. Walking inside, he was stopped by a security guard. “Can I help you?” the guard asked.

“I have an appointment. Ben Addison.”

“With who?” the guard asked suspiciously.

“Director Alex DeRosa.”

Checking his clipboard, the guard turned to his desk and picked up the phone. “I have a Ben Addison here to see DeRosa,” the guard said. “Okay, I’m sending him up.” Looking at Ben, the guard said, “It’s the twelfth floor. You can’t miss it.”

Minutes later, Ben exited the elevator on the twelfth floor.

A receptionist was seated in front of the glass entryway that led back to a series of offices. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“I have an appointment with Director DeRosa. I’m Ben Addison.”

“Yes, he said to leave Justice Hollis’s message with me.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I have strict instructions to deliver the message personally.”

“You can deliver it to me, sir. Director DeRosa is very busy today.”

“Let me explain something to you,” Ben said, his agitation turning to annoyance. “Justice Mason Hollis is also very busy. He has three personal assistants and two legal clerks. Not to mention the three hundred Supreme Court employees who are also under his direct authority. Any of those people could have typed up the message and sent it over here. But Justice Hollis decided I should deliver it verbally. Now, if a Supreme Court justice has a message that is so important he’s not even going to put it on paper, do you really think it’s okay for me to simply leave it with you?”

Ben stared at the receptionist until she picked up her phone. “I have a Mr. Ben Addison to see you, sir. Justice Hollis asked that the message be delivered in person.” The receptionist paused. “Yes, he is quite serious about it.” Listening for another minute, the receptionist hung up the receiver and pushed a small button that unlocked the glass doors to the offices. “You may go in, Mr. Addison. He’s in the far right corner.”

Following the hallway, Ben tried to act as calm as possible. As he reached for the handle to DeRosa’s door, the door flew open. “This better be damned good,” DeRosa said, blocking the entrance to his office. Short and squat, Alex DeRosa was known for both his ruthless intellect and his lack of patience. With his sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, hairy forearms, DeRosa pointed to the single chair that was in front of his desk. “Sit.”

Military awards decorated DeRosa’s office: framed medals, ribbons, commendations, and diplomas from the Naval Academy and Columbia Law School. On the right wall of the office were photographs of DeRosa with two past presidents.

“So tell me this top-secret message,” DeRosa barked, sitting down behind his desk.

“This is a matter of great importance, but it’s not from Justice Hollis—” Ben began.

“Then what the—?” DeRosa asked, rising from his seat. “Get your ass out of here! I’m going to call Hollis personally and make sure that you—”

Ben stood as DeRosa rounded his desk. “No one knows this, but a clerk’s been leaking information from inside the Court!” he blurted. “Charles Maxwell knew about the CMI merger before it came down!”

DeRosa stopped in his tracks and narrowed his eyes. “Sit.” Ben sat. “Now start from the beginning. Who’s the clerk?”

Ben paused. “I am.”

“I’m still listening,” DeRosa said.

“A few weeks into the fall term, a guy named Rick Fagen, who said he was one of Hollis’s former clerks, called the office to help ease us into the position. Lots of old clerks do the same thing. It’s hard getting started there and—”

“I know how it works,” DeRosa interrupted.

“Anyway, thinking Rick was an old clerk, I was talking to him one day, and he asked me the outcome of the CMI case. I told him I couldn’t tell him, but he promised he’d keep it secret. He knew all about the ethics code we signed, and he had helped us for over a month with all our Court stuff.” Sensing DeRosa’s impatience, Ben continued, “So I casually told him the outcome of the CMI case. A few days later, Maxwell bet on a legal victory. When I tried to find Rick, he’d disappeared. His number was disconnected; his apartment was abandoned. When I tried to track him down, I found out that Rick Fagen was never a Supreme Court clerk. And for the past four months, he’s been trying to get another decision out of me.”

Still standing, DeRosa scratched his chin. “Have you given him anything else?”

“Last month, I purposely gave him the wrong outcome to the Grinnell case. But that was just to piss him off.”

DeRosa snickered.

“It got him off my back for a while. But I’m sure he’s going to approach me again.”

Silent as he thought about Ben’s predicament, DeRosa finally said, “So you violated the foremost rule of our highest Court, and now you want me to save your ass? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you taken into custody and charged with judicial interference?”

Ben looked straight at DeRosa. “I can help you get Rick.”

DeRosa walked to his chair and sat down. “Keep talking.”

Two hours later, Ben returned to the Court. “What happened? Did you do it? How’d it go?” Lisa asked before Ben was even through the door.

“I did it. I told them.”

As Ben sat in his chair, Lisa sat on the corner of his desk. “What’d they say? Tell me already!”

“Calm down, I will,” Ben said, his voice sedate.

“Don’t tell me to calm down. Tell me what happened.”

“I think it went okay. He wanted—”

“Who’s ‘he’? DeRosa?”

“Yes,” Ben said. “He’s the big man there. He wanted to hear every detail. And I mean everything. How I beat the lie detector, how Eric was contacted by Rick, how Rick reacted to Grinnell. It took me over an hour to tell it all. And after that, I told him our plan.”

“Did he like it? Was he impressed?”

“I don’t think he’s ever impressed. He’s one of those stone-cold, ex-military types. No matter what I told him, I couldn’t get a reaction.”

“He obviously wants you to help him catch Rick, though. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have let you walk out of there.”

“That’s what I’m hoping. But all he said was he wanted to think about it.”

“He’s definitely going to go for it,” Lisa said. “If he didn’t believe you, you would’ve left his office in handcuffs.”

“Y’know what I was wondering?” Ben asked. “What if Rick was watching me today? What if he saw me go into the marshals’ building?”

“I doubt it,” Lisa said. “That was the whole purpose in being proactive. Rick’s too busy setting things up to waste time watching you.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“So did DeRosa say when he’d be in touch?”

“He said he’d get back to me, and he told me not to go to anyone else with the story. He knew the media would freak if they got wind of it.”

“So that’s it. For the time being, you’re set.”

“For the time being,” Ben said.

“Don’t worry about it. You did the smartest thing you could do—you finally put your head in front of your heart. This is the first step in the best direction.”

Later in the week, Ben squeezed into a crowded subway car heading downtown. Ben always arrived at the Metro station at exactly six-forty-five in the morning and had started to recognize many of his equally early-rising co-commuters. Though they shared fifteen minutes of every day together, few, if any, of them actually spoke to each other. On most mornings, like this one, they spent their time lost in thoughts of the business day ahead. Ben, however, was thinking about the marshals. Why the hell haven’t they called? he wondered.

After the train unloaded a handful of commuters at Farragut North, Ben found an empty seat and sat down. He stared at his briefcase in his lap. Maybe they’re not going for it, he worried. When the train reached Metro Center, dozens of commuters crisscrossed through the car. The woman standing directly in front of Ben reached into her pocket and handed him a letter-sized envelope. “Did you drop this?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” Ben said, studying the blank white envelope.

The woman stared insistently at him. “I saw you drop it.” Switching to a warm, congenial tone, she repeated, “Are you sure it’s not yours?”

“Actually, it is,” Ben said, taking the envelope and putting it in his briefcase. “It must’ve slipped out of my coat. Thanks.” As the train once again started moving, Ben looked up. The woman was gone.

As the Metro pulled into Union Station, Ben calmly stepped out of the train and headed for the escalator. Although he was dying to open the envelope, he knew that whatever was inside was something he shouldn’t read in public. He slowly weaved through the hundreds of commuters flooding Union Station until he spotted a sign for the men’s bathroom. He looked over his shoulder before going in. No one was behind him. He checked under each of the five stalls. No one there. Walking into the corner stall, he locked the door and ripped open the envelope. Trying not to skip to the end, he read:

Finding Rick is our foremost concern. However, our agreement is wholly contingent on your promise to aid us in our search. Your protection is guaranteed only so long as you help us find everyone involved with Rick.

We have included a list of potential suspects. You must not tell anyone on the list about our agreement. We believe this is necessary to ensure the arrest of all parties involved. If you ignore this restriction, our deal is off.

When Rick asks you for a new decision, you must stall him until the Sunday before the decision comes down. Only then should you actually hand over the decision.

If you decide to accept our agreement, you will be under our surveillance. As long as Rick acts as predicted, we see no reason for further concern.

From this point on, communication will be limited to when we contact you. If something goes wrong, call the 800 number at the end of this letter. It will notify our field agents that you need their immediate assistance. This should be used only in the event of an emergency.

Your complete assistance will ensure your future. I hope the next time we talk, it is under better circumstances.

Ben turned the page to see the list of potential suspects. Suddenly, the door to the bathroom flew open. Through the space between the door hinge and the stall, Ben saw a figure rushing toward him. The man banged on Ben’s stall, screaming, “Get the hell out of there! I know who you are!”

Panicking, Ben crumpled up the letter and stuffed it down the front of his pants.

“Get the hell out!” the man shouted. “I know you’re trying to find me out!”

Ben noticed a slight slur in the man’s voice. “Who are you?” Ben asked.

“You know damn well who I am!”

Ben stepped out of the stall with his briefcase. Before him was a shabbily dressed street person with a long, dirty beard.

The man banged on the next stall. “I know you’re in there!”

Ben approached the man. “Are you—”

“Give me a dollar!” The man pushed his palm under Ben’s nose.

Convinced that the man was neither a marshal nor a threat, Ben opened his briefcase and pulled out his regular turkey sandwich. “It’s not a dollar, but—”

“Thank you,” the man said, grabbing the sandwich. “You’re a good man.”

After rushing through Court security, Ben avoided the elevator and ran up the stairs to the second floor. When he arrived in his office, he threw his briefcase on the sofa, reached into his underwear, and pulled out the letter. He smoothed it flat and passed it to Lisa.

“I hope you don’t expect me to touch that,” Lisa said from her desk.

“Someone passed me this on the subway,” Ben explained, his voice racing with excitement. “The marshals went for it!”

Quickly reading through DeRosa’s missive, Lisa flipped the page and scanned the list of potential suspects. Included were Lungen and Fisk, Nancy, fellow legal clerks, and a variety of other Supreme Court employees. The first three names on the list were Nathan, Ober, and Eric. “Do you think this is real?” Lisa asked, looking up at her co-clerk.

“What do you mean, is it real? Of course it’s real.”

“The only reason I’m asking is because it’s so cryptic. I mean, it’s not addressed to you, it’s not signed by anyone. It makes no reference to the fact that you already met. For all we know, it could be from Rick.”

“It can’t be from Rick,” Ben insisted, snatching the letter back. “It’s from the marshals.”

“Hey, if you’re satisfied, I’m satisfied,” Lisa said.

“Well, I’m satisfied,” Ben said. “Completely satisfied.”

“What do you think of their list?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Ben said, rereading the list of suspects. “But I don’t think my roommates are the ones we should be worried about.”

“I don’t know about that,” Lisa said. “I mean, who else could’ve told Rick about our plan with the yearbooks?”

“Who knows? It might’ve been the people in the mailroom. They received the packages. Anyone could’ve gone through them before we picked them up.”

“Maybe,” Lisa said. “But you’re not telling your roommates about this, are you?”

“No way,” Ben said. “You read the letter. Without my full cooperation, we don’t have a deal. In the end, my roommates will be pissed for being left out, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“Exactly,” Lisa said. “That’s—”

Ben’s phone rang. “Hold on a second,” Ben said, picking up the receiver. “Justice Hollis’s chambers. Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m looking for an Alvy Singer.”

“This is Alvy,” Ben said hesitantly, remembering the fake name from his P.O. box.

“Hey, Alvy. This is Scott over at Mailboxes and Things. I wanted to let you know that your payment is once again overdue on your second P.O. box, and we need a payment as soon as possible or we’ll have to turn it over to a collection agency.”

Ben realized that Scott was talking about the box that Rick had opened. “I’m real sorry about that,” Ben said. “It just slipped my mind. When do I have to make the payment?”

“All it says here is that they want it by the end of the month,” Scott explained. “And if I can give you a piece of advice, I’d make it as soon as possible. If the owner doesn’t get her payments, she’ll confiscate the mail that comes in for you. It’s not my policy, but that’s the way it works.”

“You know that’s against the law,” Ben said matter-of-factly.

“It doesn’t matter what it is—that’s her policy. In fact, she wanted me to tell you that you’re not getting your package until you pay your bill.”

“What package?”

“Oh, I’m sorry—I thought you knew. We have a package here for you. That’s probably why she had me call.”

“Can you see what the postmark says?” Ben asked nervously. “I want to know if it’s anything important.”

“Sure. Hold on a second.”

Ben turned to Lisa. “You won’t believe this one.”

“Alvy, are you there?” Scott asked.

“I’m here,” Ben said.

“It’s postmarked a few days ago, but it probably came in yesterday.”

“Thanks for the help,” Ben said. “I’ll be in to pay the balance by the afternoon.”

“You got it. We’ll have your package waiting behind the counter.”

Ben hung up the phone and headed straight for the door.

“What’s wrong?” Lisa asked. “Where are you going?”

“There’s a package waiting in my P.O. box.”

“So what? That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Of course it does,” Ben said. “Rick’s the only one who communicates that way.”

“Big deal. The marshals have it covered.”

“I don’t know about that,” Ben said, his hand on the doorknob. “The package has a postmark from a few days ago. The marshals may not’ve put everything in motion until today.”

“I’m sure they—”

“I wouldn’t be sure of anything,” Ben shot back as he opened the door. “If Rick started before we did, we’re in serious trouble.”

Twenty minutes later, Ben returned to the office holding a small manila envelope. Before he could say a word, he noticed the disturbed look on Lisa’s face. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Dennis Fisk from the Marshals Office was just up here. He said he wanted to speak to you as soon as you got back.”

“Did he say anything else?” Ben asked, throwing the envelope on his desk.

“He asked me why Eric was in our office the day Grinnell was announced.”

“I don’t believe this,” Ben said as he picked up his phone. “Could more things go wrong today?” Furiously dialing their number, he waited for the receptionist to answer. “Hi, this is Ben Addison. I want to speak to Carl Lungen.”

Moments later, Lungen picked up. “Hi, Ben. Long time no speak. How was your New Year?”

“Let me tell you something,” Ben said, enraged. “If you suspect me of something, I expect you to have the decency to tell it to my face. Don’t send Fisk up here to scare me. I passed your damn lie detector test and answered every one of your questions.”

“First, why don’t you take a deep breath and calm down,” Lungen said.

“I don’t want to calm down. I want to know what this is all about.”

“Fisk wasn’t trying to scare you. He was just passing along a message.”

“I have voice mail. I assume you’ve grasped the function of a phone.”

“Listen, Ben, I think we’ve been more than fair with you since this whole thing started.”

“What thing?” Ben interrupted. “You’re always talking about some thing, but you can never exactly say what this mysterious thing is.”

“Let me put it to you this way,” Lungen said. “Three weeks ago, you swore to us that you and Eric weren’t speaking. A couple days after that, Eric was in the Court and in your office. Not only that, but he also used Nathan’s name to get in here. Now, do you want me to tell you what I think, or do you want to finally tell me the truth?”

“You got me,” Ben said. “You figured it all out. Eric and I are friends again. Alert the local militia.”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“You’re damn right it’s not a joke,” Ben interrupted. “It’s my life you’re playing with. For the past two weeks you’ve obviously been racking your brains trying to come up with my crime. But let me tell you, it’s not against the law to make up with your roommate. So until you can actually prove something, I’d appreciate it if you just stayed the hell away from me.”

“Tell me why Eric was in the Court that day.”

“He’s the reporter who’s assigned to the Court! What do you think he was doing here?”

“Why did he use Nathan’s name?”

“To be honest, because I told him that if you guys found out we’d made up, you’d be all over our asses. What a surprise—I was right.”

“That still doesn’t—”

“Listen, I’m done with this conversation. No matter what I say, you’re still going to suspect me. I’ve done nothing wrong, and I have nothing to hide. If you don’t believe that, I’m sorry. But if you’re committed to interfering with my life, you’d better get proof or go away. Because I swear, if this doesn’t stop, I’ll slap your office with a workplace harassment suit faster than you can say, ‘Forced retirement and bye-bye pension.’ Now if you don’t mind, I have to go do some work. I hope I won’t hear from you soon.” Before Lungen could respond, Ben slammed down the phone. When he noticed Lisa staring at him, Ben asked, “What?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m just admiring your ambassadorial abilities—always calm and level-headed; never once losing your temper.”

“What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“Take it easy,” Lisa said. “Forget about the marshals. They don’t have anything on you.”

“Of course they don’t. If they did, I’d be out of here by now.” Ben grabbed the manila envelope from his desk and threw it to Lisa. “Now, back to the original crisis.”

Dumping the envelope’s contents on her desk, Lisa saw a miniature cassette tape and a small stack of photocopies. She picked up the copies and looked at the first page, which resembled the first page of a bankbook. There was a single entry for $150,000, and the words “City of Bern” were in fine print at the bottom of the page.

“As far as I can tell, it’s a Swiss bankbook,” Ben said.

“Is this Rick’s account?”

“In truth, it is,” Ben explained. “But take a look at the last page.”

Lisa reached the final page in the stack, titled “Registration of Account,” and saw that the account holder’s name was Ben Addison.

“I know,” Ben said, noticing Lisa’s distressed reaction. “He took out all the vital information like the bank’s name and the account number, but he made damn sure we saw my name in there.”

“November seventeenth?” Lisa looked at the date of the first and only deposit. “What happened then?”

“I wanted to check that,” Ben said, grabbing his desktop calendar. He flipped back toward November. “It’s what I thought. That’s the day the CMI decision came down.”

“Any idea what’s on the cassette?” Lisa asked, putting down the papers.

“None,” Ben said. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out his Dictaphone. “But I bet it’s not James Taylor’s Greatest Hits.” Ben put the tape in the small recorder.

“What’s happening with the CMI merger? Doesn’t that come down next week?”

“Actually, it probably won’t come down for another few weeks. Blake and Osterman asked for more time to write their opinions. You know how it is—merger cases always wind up confusing everyone. It takes forever to sort through all the regulatory nonsense.”

“So who wins?”

“It was actually pretty amazing. When the justices were voting in Conference, it was five to four against CMI. At the last minute—”

“Shit,” Ben said, stopping the tape. “He taped the whole conversation.”

“Was that when you first told him the decision?”

“No, it was when we were exchanging recipes. Of course it was the time.”

“Don’t—”

“Damn!” Ben said, slamming his desk with his fist. “How could I be so stupid?”

“Listen, there’s no way you could’ve known,” Lisa said. “You thought Rick was a friend.”

“But if I never said anything—”

“You probably wouldn’t be in this mess. You’re right—you wouldn’t. We’ve been through this before. The point is, for the first time you’re finally in a position to get out of it.”

“I don’t even know if that’s true anymore. What if the marshals didn’t set everything up in time?”

“I’m sure they did,” Lisa said. “I’m sure they started working on it the moment you left DeRosa’s office.”

“I hope so,” Ben said, staring at the small tape player on his desk. He looked up at Lisa. “You have to admire the way Rick set it up, though. Before today, the only thing at risk was my job. All he could prove was that I broke the Court’s ethics code. But by combining the tape with the bankbook, Rick’s created a whole new reality: Now it looks like I was paid for the information. He’s created proof that I was paid. That’s more than an ethics violation. Accepting a bribe as a public official is a federal offense.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Lisa said, walking over to Ben’s desk. She opened his Dictaphone and pulled out the tape. “We’ll send this to DeRosa just to be safe.”

“Do you think DeRosa would ever believe it happened that way?” Ben asked. “That he’d see this and think I really took a bribe?”

“Not anymore,” Lisa said, dropping the tape in an envelope. “By going in and being honest about it, you’ve preempted that conclusion. Mailing him this just seals the deal.” As Ben wrote a quick note to DeRosa, Lisa asked, “Do you think DeRosa is listening to us talk right now?”

“No way,” Ben said. “He’d only bug us if he thought I was lying. And if he thought I was lying, there’s no way I’d still be working at the Court. They can’t risk another breach like that. This is the one place we can actually feel safe.”

Lisa went to her desk, picked up the copies of the bankbook pages, and handed them to Ben. He inserted the copies in the envelope. “So what do we do now?” Lisa asked.

“We sit here and hope Rick calls.”

“Oh, he’ll definitely call,” Lisa said. “Mark my words. He’s going to make sure you got his package of incriminating evidence, and then he’s going to blackmail you. My guess is he’ll threaten to distribute the tape and the bankbook unless you give him a new decision.”

“I never thought I’d say this, but I hope he does.”

At six-thirty that evening, Ben returned to the office. “Anyone call for me?”

“Not yet,” Lisa said. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” Ben said. “Antsy, but okay. By the way, in case you were wondering, I flipped through the U.S. Code and confirmed that accepting a bribe usually carries a sentence of five to fifteen years.”

“Great,” Lisa said wryly. “Any other vital bits of—”

Ben’s phone rang. When he didn’t grab it, she said, “What are you waiting for? Pick it up.”

“Should I—”

“Pick it up!”

Hesitantly, Ben lifted the receiver. “Hello, this is Ben.”

“Hey, Ben. It’s Adrian Alcott calling.” Before Alcott even identified himself, Ben had recognized the voice of Wayne & Portnoy’s most persistent recruiter.

“It’s not Rick, is it?” Lisa asked.

“I should be so lucky,” Ben whispered, covering up the mouthpiece of the phone.

“So how is everything in the ol’ Court?” Alcott asked.

“It’s fine. We’re super-busy.”

“I’m sure you are,” Alcott said. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay there. Last time we spoke, we got cut off abruptly.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Ben said. “We had to get something directly to Hollis, so I had to run.”

“No apology necessary,” Alcott said. “I mean, who’s more important, me or a Supreme Court justice?” When Ben didn’t respond, Alcott added, “By the way, the reason I’m calling is that I wanted to tell you that we’re going to be there in three weeks. We’re arguing for the respondent in Mirsky.”

“That’s great,” Ben said, struggling to act surprised even though Alcott had told him the news on three previous occasions.

“It looks like it’s going to be a hard one, too,” Alcott said. “After Osterman’s majority in Cooper, no one’s had any luck with Sixth Amendment cases up there.”

“No comment,” Ben said coldly. “You know I can’t talk to you about pending cases.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Alcott said. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to—”

“No apology necessary,” Ben said. “It’s just one of the perks of working here.”

“Well, I hope you’ll let us show you the perks of working here,” Alcott said, sounding proud of his transition. “It’s not the Supreme Court, but we do okay for ourselves. Speaking of which, the other reason I called was to set up another lunch meeting. We haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’d love to. But can I get back to you in a week or two? I’ve got so much on my plate right now, I’m afraid I’d be a terrible guest.”

“Definitely,” Alcott said. “You take care of whatever you need to. I’ll give you a call in the next few weeks.”

“That’d be much better,” Ben said, doodling a picture of a gun pointed at the head of a man in a suit. “Hopefully, things’ll be calmer by then.”

When Ben hung up the phone, Lisa asked, “Wayne and Portnoy?”

“You got it.”

“Let me guess—they’re hoping to stick their head farther up your butt, and they want to give you another ten grand to do it?”

“They just want to take me to lunch,” Ben said as he added another gun to his doodle.

“Hey, cheer up,” Lisa said. “You should be happy that prestigious firms are still interested in you. There are worse things in life.”

“You mean like having a psychopath dangling your biggest fuckup in front of the whole world?”

“Exactly. Having a personal psychopath is so much better,” Lisa said. “Meanwhile, are you going to tell your roommates about the cassette Rick sent?”

“Probably not,” Ben explained. “If I do that, I have to act upset all night.”

“And you’re not upset?”

“I’m trying not to be,” Ben said as he added a third gun to the doodle of himself. “Hopefully, everything’s going according to plan.”

Ben walked up the block toward his house and took in the silence that winter brought to the city. It was cold but clear; no snow and all stars. Taking deep breaths of crisp air, he paused on the front steps. It’s almost over, he thought. He eased his key into the lock and turned the knob.

“Where the hell were you?” Nathan asked. “Lisa said you left the Court almost an hour ago.”

“We’re in deep shit,” Ober added from the couch.

“This is the final straw for me,” Nathan yelled, waving a piece of paper in front of Ben’s face. “I’m done.”

“What’s going on?” Ben asked, dropping his briefcase on the floor.

“Read this,” Nathan said. He handed Ben the piece of paper.

“Dear Mr. Bachman,” Ben read to himself. “Since October of last year, Nathan Hollister has illegally used the following equipment for his own personal use:” Scanning down the list that included the telescopic camera lens, the wireless microphones, and even the Prynadolol for the lie detector test, Ben’s eyes darted to the letter’s closing paragraph. “Although I am unwilling to reveal my identity, you can rest assured that this information can be verified by checking the equipment records in the Office of Security. There is no reason for a member of the Policy Planning Staff to have access to such equipment. I hope you will investigate this matter. A copy of this letter has been sent to your supervisors, as well as the Secretary of State.”

“Crap,” Ben said, looking up at his roommate. “Mr. Bachman is your boss?”

“He’s the general counsel,” Nathan said. “Which means that if Rick sent this letter, it was entered into Bachman’s correspondence log the moment it was opened. And that means Rick can get proof the letter was received.”

“So Bachman will have to start an investigation,” Ben said.

“Exactly,” Nathan said. “If Bachman doesn’t investigate, he’s at risk since there’s clear proof that his office opened the letter. It’ll look like he ignored the whole thing. And after that disaster with his confirmation hearings, he’s terrified of looking like he sat on a scandal. Rick did his homework here.”

“When’d you get that letter?” Ben asked.

“It came in the mail today,” Nathan explained accusingly. “One for me, another for Ober, and a third for Eric.”

“Damn,” Ben said, pushing the letter back in Nathan’s hands.

“As soon as I got the letter I tried calling you,” Ober explained, holding his own letter. “When I heard you left, I called Nathan and Eric and told them to rush home.”

“Did Rick send anything else with it?” Ben asked, terrified by the fact that his friends were not only deeply involved, but were in serious trouble.

“Nothing,” Nathan said. “No instructions. No explanation. Just the letter. It’s not clear whether he sent it to Bachman or not.”

“What’d yours say?” Ben asked Ober.

“I’m dead,” Ober said. He passed Ben the sheet of paper. “Mine’s addressed to my staff director. It tells her that the death threat written to Senator Stevens was written by me. And it says I did it to get myself a big promotion.”

“Which you got,” Nathan said indignantly. Looking at Ben, he continued, “You better do something, because this just got out of hand.”

“What do you want me to do?” Ben asked as the room started to spin. “I got my own letter today—in the form of a cassette tape and a bankbook.” Ben sat on the sofa and wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve. “But there’s no reason to believe that anyone else has gotten copies of any of it. What’d Eric’s letter say?”

“Eric’s was addressed to The New York Times,” Nathan explained, “but I’m sure Rick plans to send it out to everyone in the national press.”

“What’d it say?” Ben asked, putting his hands to his head.

“Eric’s letter explains the whole story start to finish. It talks about how you leaked the information about CMI, and it names you as Eric’s source for his first story. As far as I can tell, it doesn’t really have any devastating effect on Eric—”

“Except it shows that he was lying to his bosses about not knowing anything,” Ben interrupted. “Does Eric even know yet?”

“He was out on assignment when I called,” Ober said. “He’ll wander in soon.”

Letting Ben have a minute of silence to process the information, Nathan said, “So I guess this means you’re finally going to the authorities.”

“What?” Ben asked, looking up at his roommate.

“You are going to turn yourself in now, aren’t you?” Nathan asked.

“No,” Ben said coldly. “I’m not.”

“Ben, don’t get mad at me,” Nathan said. “What choice do you have?”

“We can wait for Rick to make his next move. I’m sure he hasn’t sent the letters out yet. If he wanted to get us all fired, he could’ve done that months ago.”

“Who do you think you are?” Nathan demanded. “This isn’t just your life you’re playing with anymore—this is mine, and Ober’s and Eric’s.”

“But if I go to the authorities, Rick can still mail the letters,” Ben pointed out. “Which means you’re implicated no matter what I do.”

“Not if you tell the police you’re the one at fault. If you cooperate with them, we have a better chance of getting off.”

Before Ben could respond, the front door opened and Eric walked in. Looking around the room, he asked, “What’s wrong? Who died?”

“We got some mail today,” Nathan said, as he and Ober handed Eric the letters.

When he was finished reading all three, Eric asked, “What are we going to do?”

“We don’t have to do anything,” Nathan said. “It’s up to Ben.”

“He thinks I should turn myself in and take my punishment,” Ben explained.

“No way,” Eric said. “You’ll be fired in a heartbeat.”

“Forget about being fired,” Ben interrupted. “If the bankbook gets out, I’m going to jail.”

“If that’s the case, then you should take your chances trying to catch Rick,” Eric said, finally taking off his overcoat.

“Don’t give us that macho bullshit,” Nathan interrupted. “You have the least to lose.”

“How do you figure that?” Eric asked.

“If your letter gets out, you’ll probably get credit for breaking the story,” Nathan pointed out. “Which means it’s in your best interest to egg Ben on.”

“You are unreal,” Eric said, shaking his head. “Do you really think I’m that much of a scumbag?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time your self-interest interfered with your judgment.”

“You can go fuck yourself,” Eric shot back.

Looking at Ober, Ben said, “You’ve been way too quiet. What’re you thinking?”

“I guess I lean toward Nathan,” Ober said. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s crazy—” Eric began.

“It’s ridiculous to argue,” Ben interrupted, hoping to end the conversation. “I can’t do anything until I hear from Rick.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry, but that’s my decision for now,” Ben said. “All I can say is trust me. I would never do anything to put you guys at risk.”

“Do you have a plan in the works?” Nathan asked suspiciously. “Because if this is like Grinnell—”

“There’s no plan,” Ben interrupted. “I don’t have a plan. But I want you to know that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you guys. I swear. I wouldn’t.”

“Fine,” Nathan said. He grabbed his coat from the closet and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Ben asked.

“Out,” Nathan said. “I’m hungry and I need to get some dinner.”

When the door closed, Ober turned to Ben. “Ben, you’re forgetting what’s right. You better talk to him when he gets back.”

“But if you talk to him, be careful what you say,” Eric pointed out.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ober asked.

“It means that if I were Ben, I wouldn’t trust anybody.”

“So you still suspect Nathan?”

“Not at all,” Eric said. “I just think a better friend would’ve offered a bit more support.”

“You can be a real jerk,” Ober said as he got up from the couch. “You of all people should never talk about what a better friend would do.” Before Eric could respond, Ober was halfway up the stairs.

“Let him go,” Ben said, grabbing his coat from the closet.

“Where are you going?” Eric asked.

“I need to get some air,” Ben said, closing the door behind him.

As he inched up the block, Ben kept looking over his shoulder. Scrutinizing every person he saw, he wondered where DeRosa’s agents were, and if they were even in place. When he reached the commercial section of his neighborhood, Ben ducked into Jumbo’s, the area’s best late-night eating spot. He sat down at the counter and ordered one of the daily specials. He then got up and walked to the pay phone at the back of the restaurant. Ben inserted the required change and dialed Lisa’s number. “C’mon, be home. Be home, be home, be home.”

As the phone rang, Ben thought about everything he wanted to tell Lisa: how scared he was about Rick’s new letters; how apprehensive he was about lying to his friends; how nervous he was for their safety; how anxious he was to talk to someone he could trust. But when the answering machine picked up, Ben knew Lisa wasn’t home. He was alone.

His eyes rapidly scanning the customers in the restaurant, Ben hung up the phone. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the phone number from DeRosa’s note. Maybe I should call, he thought, and picked up the receiver. No, nothing terrible has happened yet. The plan should still work. He hung up the phone. For all I know, Rick will do everything else as expected. Agitated, but ever-cautious, Ben stepped away from the phone and walked back to the counter. But if anything else goes wrong, I’m pounding that panic button.