The Tenth Justice - Brad Meltzer [131]
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