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 whiteout, 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.”